I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art
The laughter that echoed along the walls of the Fingers seemed haunting and too loud, however gruff it might be. It bounced off the water that flooded the areas below, echoing back up at her. And when they appeared - because of course it was a they - it was with a great deal of bravado and swagger. Three of them, brutes all, looking very pleased indeed to see the blueblooded slip of a thing all alone in the labyrinthine pathways.
"You got what you promised, darlin'?" one of them wanted to know, falling to a halt only a few steps away from her. In his hand he clutched a cloth bag which clinked with the sound of crystal. "We don't waste a deal like this. Cough it up, we're busy men."
"You got what you promised, darlin'?" one of them wanted to know, falling to a halt only a few steps away from her. In his hand he clutched a cloth bag which clinked with the sound of crystal. "We don't waste a deal like this. Cough it up, we're busy men."
