It was in the cusp of winter that had Valene Connors staring impassively at the bloody form of Ascot Hunter, unyielding. He met her gaze, head-on with a purpose, but with the subtle slacking of his shoulders, Valene could see his resolve failing.
He pursed his lips in a scowl. “Fine,” he spat, holding out a red hand in resignation.
Valene smiled serenely and handed over her prize. “Pleasure doing business with you,” she hummed.
Hunter let out a defeated sigh and shook his head, getting back to work. Her breath was misty in the frigid air, and her thick cloak was warm despite the sliver of cold that seeped through the morning frost. With learned patience and mild fascination, Valene watched as the man skillfully skinned and butchered the small wolf.
“Have some mercy, Val,” the man whined with a teasing grin. “A guy’s gotta’ make a living, ya’ know?”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Valene replied easily. “Something other than winter meat is sure to attract customers, Hunter.”
His chuckle was slightly difficult to hear against the hacking of his butcher knife. When he was finished, Hunter gave her a roguish smile, and with bloody hands, gave her some notes to fill her purse, along with a thin red bag that held the bloody hide of her kill.
“Here ya’ go, Val,” he said, as they exchanged hands. She nodded her thanks, but before she could leave, Hunter stopped her. “Take this with ya’.”
She blinked in mild surprise at the offering. It was a small thing of his tell-tale brown wax-paper that he used to wrap his merchandise.
Valene gave a small quirk of her lips as she accepted his gift. “Thank you.”
He shrugged in response and gave her a grin that would have been charming had he not been covered in blood. “It’s nothin’,” he said. “I figured ya’ and yer siblings wouldn’a mind getting something like this before the winter completely sets in. Wouldn’a wan’ something to happen ta’ my favorite lil’ rascals, now would we?”
“Of course not.” She laughed. “Who else would keep you and your business running?” And with that, she walked away from his shop with a heavier satchel as the butcher let out a joking cry of indignation behind her.
As a gust of cold air whipped her face, Valene tugged at her cloak higher in an attempt to burry herself in as much warmth possible. Idly, she wondered what she would do with the new addition to her fur collection. Perhaps a trip to the seamstress was in order? Maybe a new coat? Did she have enough to make more than one? The twins were growing out of thei-
Before she knew it, Valene was sprawled on the ground. She shook her head to clear her disorientation. Wha-
It was a girl.
Wide, grey eyes stared back at her in shock and apprehension. Valene didn’t know how long she sat, sprawled on the ground, but before she knew it, the girl had fled. Slowly, Valene stood up and dusted herself off, taking her time to collect herself, the girl’s face imprinted in her mind.
“Val!” Someone called from the crowded street. “Val! Wait a moment, would’ja?”
Valene stiffened at the familiar voice, only to move along as if she heard nothing. She maneuvered through the crowds with familiar ease, securing her satchel from any wandering hands. To her dismay, a hand caught her elbow to turn her around.
“Val!” It was the nuisance. “I kept callin’ ya’ earlier. Did you not hear me?”
“’Pologies, Mason,” she greeted. “I must have been distracted.”
Standing before her in all his boyish charm was Richard Mason. A good-looking young man – according to the female denizens – who, in her honest opinion, loved to make a nuisance of himself. Valene had often seen the pest frolic around with his little band of misfits, tormenting some unfortunate soul over who-knows-what.
To be honest, she had never had a problem with him before, and could have cared less about his hobbies. But when he had decided to set his sights on her little brother, she had no qualms about beating his face bloody with a plank of wood that just so happened to be innocently laying around within arm’s reach. A few months after the incident, she had forgotten all about him until one day, the young man had shown up at Hunter’s shop in the middle of her barter.
He had stared at her in recognition and his face quickly morphed into an alarming red before he fled. Dumbfounded, she had turned to Hunter and asked, “What was that all about?”
Hunter had given her a strange look. “Val, don’t ya’ remember? Ya’ beat that kid black and blue for tryin’ ta’ bully yer lil’ brother.”
It had taken her a while to remember, but when she finally did, she could only let out a blank, “ah… What’s his name again?”
“Ya’ clubbed the guy so bad, he’s lucky his face healed up right, and ya’ can’t even remember his name?” Hunter sighed and shook his head in resignation. “For shame, Val. His name’s Richard Mason. At least try to remember the names of the people ya’ assault. Who knows who may knock on yer doorstep.”
She had hummed absently in response, paying his next words no mind.
After that, Valene had encountered her former victim on several occasions, all quickly followed by his escape. That is, until one day, he had finally managed to muster the courage to walk up to her, face still a scorching red.
“I don’t regret it!” Had been his first words to her, followed by a fluster of words. His accent became thicker as he rambled on. “What’s your name? – No, I already know. Valene Connors, right? I asked around about you, ya’ know? I’m Richard Mason, but ya’ prob’ly already knew tha’. No one’s ever beaten me like tha’ b’fore, ya’ know? Go out with me.”
“… What?”
Mason took a deep breath, as if to steady himself, but the longer he talked, the more flushed his face became. “After that… encounter, I couldn’t get you out of my mind. At first, I resented you, but the longer I thought about you, I became curious, and soon enough, I…”
“Are you touched in the head?” she asked dubiously.
“That would be your fault, so take responsibility.”
“Should I finish the job?”
Ever since then, Mason had relentlessly dogged her steps and made a nuisance of himself. If she had known that the bully was a masochist, she wouldn’t have beaten him within an inch of his life – she would have just finished him off right there and then. But, alas, it wasn’t like she could turn back time to fix her mistake.
What a pity.
Valene had tuned out his rambling and impatiently interrupted. “Was there something you needed? I have somewhere to be.”
Mason deflated, but Valene could still see a spark in his eyes. “Right, of course.” He coughed. “Did you happen to see a guy run past? Me an’ the boys have some business with ‘em.”
Looking past his figure, Valene finally noticed his entourage standing behind him. When they began to encircle her with practiced ease, a hint of malevolent amusement seeped into her at the thought of them entertaining the notion of bullying her.
“Is that right?” She looked up at the ringleader through thick eyelashes. “You aren’t intending to push me around, are you?”
“O-of course not!” He took notice of his little underlings and barked at them in reprimand. “Sorry ‘bout them, Val,” he said gently, running his hand down her arm. “Got a new batch wi’ me today. They’re stupid and don’t know ya’.”
She gave him a pursed look and turned away. “You’ll have to train them better,” she said as she gripped an unfamiliar face with a hand. The boy gave her a disgruntled glare and she tightened her grip to incite a yelp. “They may get hurt if you don’t.”
Valene didn’t know if Mason made a face behind her, but when she received his acknowledgement, she let the boy go and walked past the group’s formation.
“As for your question,” she started, “my answer is ‘no.’” And with that, she continued her trek, leaving the boys behind without so much as a backward glance.
Richard Mason watched as Valene disappeared into the crowd.
“Boss,” a voice whined. “Why’d you let that bitch get away?”
“Yeah! Isn’t she some aristo-spawn, Richie?” Another griped.
“Idiots!” Richard smacked them over their heads. “My Val ain’t some aristo-spawn! Her ma came from Causica. And who said ya’ could try ta’ bully my girl?!” He twisted their ears painfully, ignoring their yelps. “Whatcha’ gonna’ do if she dun’ talk ta’ me anymore, huh? See what I do ta’ ya’ morons then!”
“AHH! Sorry, sorry! We won’t do it again,” they cried as their poor ears were abused.
“Ya’ better not,” Richard scowled, letting them go. “I’ll send ya’ to the butcher fer’ sure. Now, let’s go. We gotta’ find that aristo-bastard.”
And with that, the gang continued their search, ignoring the two members who pitifully rubbed their ears. Along the way, they listened as Richard lectured them about this and that and who they were to avoid picking fights with.
There weren’t too many names to remember, but one thing was certain: anyone who claimed to be a Connors were to be left alone.
misminor 