Hazel, the Sarcastic Medieval Cat
#7 of Slices of Life
A Slice of Life written for R_oadkill.
The Slice of Life is a commission experiment aimed at capturing a glimpse of someone's character in action. The idea is to see if a quality piece of writing can be made in a short length of time, and if someone would be amenable to paying for such a thing. They involve four prompts, ten minutes of writing, and five to ten additional minutes of finalization.
The prompts for this story were
Name: Hazel Craft
Species: Cat
Descriptor: Sarcastic and cold
Setting: Medieval fantasy
Other: Singed by dark magic in childhood, retains fel powers she tries to hide. Has hatred for herself which bleeds into hatred for others.
Hazel, the Sarcastic Medieval Cat By Finn Panther
A building, with a roof, and a fire, and a bed. That's all I want. Just a roof, a fire, and a bed. And then this horrible hell of a day can end.
Hazel, suffice it to say, had not had a good day. What use is there of fel powers if they can't be fully controlled? The rainstorm was NOT her idea, but at least that bastard was out of the picture. No good two faced son of a-
''Evenin' m'lady! Come for a room have you? Or maybe for the minstrel. We have a real-'' ''A bed. I need a bed.'' ''Absolutely m'lady-'' ''Just a bed. That will be all.''
Her tone of voice must have hit its mark because the idiot barkeep... stableboy... well, whoever it was, he stopped dead in his tracks, turned heel, and followed orders like a good boy. Hazel glanced through the commons of the inn to see what she was working with, all while wishing desperately that she had just ruined the kid's night. Maybe THAT would perk her up. Just a bit.
Unfortunately she quickly realized that it would be impossible to perk her up. The night was already ruined for good - even more than it already was.
Bloody hell. They really DO have a minstrel.
Some form of a common bard was singing - RIGHT next to the fire. He was singing with his shitty voice, in his stupid clothes, right next to her fire. If she had wanted to calm down and try to get a grip on her powers, this was NOT the right place. Instead she escorted herself to a quiet corner. The only quiet corner. Unfortunately it was also so far from the fire that she swore she was somehow getting even MORE wet, the roof above her head be damned.
Nothing sudden, Hazel. Nothing. Sudden-
''W-will there be anything else, 'mam? F-food, o-or-'' ''I SAID NO.''
Her words came out with a vicious hiss, and if the boy didn't piss himself she'd have been amazed. He practically ran back to the bar with his tail literally tucked between his legs. Some sort of fat pig was there, no doubt the owner. He should know when to tell his servants to fuck off.
There was nothing in this town. Nothing. No, not even in this town. In this country, in this entire goddamn world. EVERYONE was a backstabbing sonofabitch, and if you weren't the one to screw someone over than you better sure as hell be ready to lose everything, because that's EXACTLY what happens in this no good, god-forsaken-
No, Hazel, She told herself. Calm down. Let it subside. Just wait patiently, that's all. Dry out a little, have a sit, and when the room is ready go and try to relax. That's all. It'll all be fine, just breathe. In, and out. And in, and out.
Hazel blew several long breaths to try and calm herself. If she didn't get under control fast she'd surely do something she'd regret. The rainstorm she had called was bad enough. She didn't need to cause another accident. Just a tiny bit of quiet, that's all she needed.
Hazel was busy desperately trying to keep to herself and calm herself down and didn't notice the ranger step into the inn. But then, not many people did. He made it his job not to. He made a mistake, though, when he took a seat next to Hazel. He didn't seem to notice her cold, cold stare, nor the dark absence of light in her eyes. The leopard seemed perfectly aloof.
Try as hard as she might she couldn't get the man to go away. Not that she tried very hard - mostly she just stared at him coldly. Very coldly. But the man didn't seem to notice. But at least he kept to himself. Stayed right there in his chair, unmoving, and as uninterested in this ''minstrel'' as Hazel was. Hell, as far as Hazel was concerned this minstrel jackass could go die in the fire he was puppyguarding.
It was a few moments later, after Hazel had decided to ignore the stranger and continue breathing, that her focus was broken. The contemptible stranger (because everyone was contemptible) had the gall to open his jackass mouth.
''I think,'' he began, clearly unaware of the imminent death he was bringing upon himself, ''that this minstrel would serve us all better by catching his mangy tail on fire. Put an end to this scratchy hell and give us something pleasant to listen to.''
Hazel's tail stopped flicking in annoyance as she comprehended the stranger's words. She turned to find him looking her dead in the face, and for just a moment the two locked eyes. And Hazel saw something in them that she had never seen before - or, at least, not for a very, very long time.
The stranger's eyes were every bit as dead as her own.
Well, Hazel reasoned. Maybe the night isn't quite so dead as I had thought.