Private Tales Friends In The Dirt

[Mathalla]

Alliria - The Shallows
Itch

"No, I'm not saying your soul isn't worth as much." The Devil explained to her latest patron. Sitting on what a small box within the dark and dingy alleyway, her fingers rapping against the makeshift tabletop she had put together. "But you see, all of you mortals have different..."

She considered for a moment, wondering how best to explain. "Well, you wouldn't consider yourself the same as one of the two legs, right?"

Squeak. Squeak squeak! Squeaaaaaaaak!
​

The little Rat on the tabletop replied, it's tiny hands still wrapped around the coin. Clutching it as tightly as anyone ever had.

Mathalla nodded her head in understanding, offering a face full of sympathy to the little mortal. "Exactly. So you understand."

Squeak.​

"Right. So, simply put, I can get you a castle, but it will be a castle suited to your size." The Rat nodded it's head in understanding, and Mathalla smiled. She did always enjoy reaching a suitable compromise with these bargains. Most mortals came into the negotiations believing that they would be tricked in some way, and while she had played that game at one point, it was no longer within her desire. Sometimes the mood struck her still, of course, but by and large she was here for her own purposes.

The bargains were just a side venture now. "So we have a deal?"

Mathalla asked, her finger gently pushing the ink well towards her tiny companion.

Squeak squeak!​

"Oh, you want a friend to weigh in first?" Mathalla said curiously, smiling. "What friend?"

The Devil asked. "I would love to meet them."

 

[Itch]

It was blissful to have a bit of peace now and again.

A funny little thought given that Itch was a young woman who lived in solitude in the sewers of Alliria. One would have assumed that out of all things, she might have craved companionship, an ear to turn red with the frustrations of a day, another voice to laugh at the absurdities of this world, or even a shoulder to lean upon when times proved challenging.

One would have assumed incorrectly.

For she found all those things and more in the company of rats, hearing and seeing more than the scrabbling squeaks of mere vermin. So much so that it was nice to get a break.

Her home, an errant hole in the wall of the sprawling underground gutters, was enjoying a rodent respite, as was Itch. She sat cross-legged in her meagre den, all her focus poured into the incomplete tower of cards before her. As far as structures go, it was not the sturdiest of creations. The pilfered pack of cards was dog-eared and somewhat soggy, requiring extra fortification as she went.

Regardless, she persevered, having reached the second-to-last layer that made her fingers nervous lest the smallest mistake bring it all down.

A sneeze threatened, and she took a sharp inhale, anticipating the gust ready to shoot forth from her mouth. Swift action prevented disaster as the girl exploded into the crook of her elbow, brought up at the last moment. Crisis averted, she had thought, almost smug.

Alas.

Hubris came as a rotund grey rat, who dashed excitedly through the lowest layer of organised cards, only to bring it all tumbling down as his tail followed.

"Claude!" Itch shrieked, bringing filthy hands up to her face in initial despair, the heels of her palms pressing into her temples lest they pressed into the rude rodent instead. "You-you are an insufferable little... git!"

The rat did not care, scarpering up the woman's shoulder, telling a frantic yet exciting tale with a series of loud squeaks, a coin inexplicably held in his grubby little paws. He was incredulous. Bold as brass, and quite frankly very selfish (most of the time), she wondered why they were even friends. He was also, apparently, on the cusp of owning property.

"Wait, slow down. What do you mean a castle?" Itch inquired, staring at the flattened pile of cards that had been the better part of an afternoon's work. "What would you possibly do with a castle?"

Claude squeaked his delusions of grandeur, imagining a world where he was king, and the days of scavenging were long gone with a more luxurious roof over all of their heads. At least, in his fit of fantasies, he was thoughtful enough to consider inviting her to stay.

"Do you know how much upkeep goes into a castle? It's not an insignificant investment." Itch inquired, dampening his maddening shpiel somewhat. "And who is going to clean the castle? And how shall we heat the castle? What if the castle is invaded?"

His response was a huffy series of squeaks that implied that she could perform all the upkeep (and castle defending) as rent, which she pointedly ignored, instead focusing on where this came from.

"More to the point, where are you getting the castle from?"

The next set of squeaks caused her to narrow her eyes, and she studied his corpulent form with a teasing scrutiny reserved specifically for Claude's variety of harebrained schemes.

"What nice lady? For goodness sake, I told you to stay out of the tavern barrels! That stuff will rot your brain, you know."

 

[Mathalla]

Fire suddenly burst into existence on the other end of the room. A self contained immolation that sparked and rent like a torrential inferno for all of a second. Creasing the air with soot, and leaving behind the distinct scent of sulfur as a woman clad in red flesh and bare leathers suddenly appeared from within the flames.

Poised on a piece of fallen earth within the little hole in the wall now saw a Devil. The very one which has offered Claude his deal. A toothy smile already peeled a part her lips, and a stra.ge coin flickered over the backs of her fingers as she leaned against the cool damp wall. "Don't be so hasty."

Mathalla chided the girl, all mirth and amusement.

"He might have a weakness for spirits, but many mortals do." Some, more than others, in her experience. More than once had she taken a soul from some drunken lout who'd had one too many. Those deals had always been easy, too easy. Which of course made them boring. "He has quite the astute mind."

She frowned. "Though an ecclectic taste to say the least."

The little rat rounded on Mathalla almost instantly. Letting out a bevy of squeaks which even a layman who only spoke common would likely identify as a series of objections.


"I am sorry, but purple and yellow do not go together." The devil insisted. "It's your castle, but I'll not be creating those drapes."