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."

 

[Itch]

The emergence of the 'nice lady' in question was quite surprising—an understatement, really. An abrupt fright of flames caused the young woman to lurch backwards with a yelp into a somewhat passable roll, all the more impressive given that her legs had been crossed moments prior.

Itch looked to the woman, then back at Claude, then back at the woman, before finally settling on her best rat friend with a look that screamed, 'REALLY!?'

A devil! A real bloody devil!

Or, at least, a devil, in her estimation (or by the smell of brimstone). Her readings into the profane and arcane in search of a solution to her... condition had taken the vagrant across the pages of demons and devils galore. Apparently, it was bad form to mix the two up, a fact that seemed quite useful to remember right there and then.

"P-purple and yellow...?" Itch repeated in half-hearted disbelief, still stunned by the notion that Claude was out here making infernal deals with an abhorrent taste in interior decoration.

There was a very adamant squeak.

Part of her, the normal girl with some modicum of sense wanted to scoop up the rotund rodent, apologise profusely for wasting the devil's time and promptly flee. The rest of her, that inquisitive creature that lurked in the muck and touched magical artefacts with reckless abandon, couldn't help but find a certain sense of intrigue, terrified intrigue but intrigue nonetheless.

"...for-forgive me for interjecting, my lady," Itch half-stammered out, opting to adorn the devil with a formal title (it wasn't covered in the books), "b-but am I to believe that you are making a deal with Claude?"

Claude. The rat of a thousand schemes, with not one single thought given to care or consequence. Well, perhaps one thought; otherwise he'd already be in his garish castle by now, no?

"Might I... I trouble you to ask what he has offered in return?"

 

[Mathalla]

Mathalla did so like when the mortals gave her the deference she deserved.

In the old days, back when things had been right, there had been entire nations which had worshiped her kind. Things had been easy then, and quite fun. The bargains would always come easily, and the requests had been very interesting.

The girl's words offered and echo of that time, and it practically sent the Devil into a moment of nostalgia. "So polite."

She beamed.

"Much better than that other girl." Ugh. She could still smell the rancid perfume the woman had doused herself in while they'd ridden in the carriage together. She'd claimed it smelled like lavender, but for Mathalla the scent had been practically nauseating. If she were capable of feeling such a thing, anyway.

Still ruminating within her memories, Mathalla hardly seemed to notice Itch's line of question. A long, almost wistful sigh escaping the Devil as she seemed to look off into the distance. Pinging for the days when Queens had called her 'Mistress'.

Squeak!​

"Hm?" The Devil intoned as Claude drew her attention once more. "Oh, right."

The Devil said, attentions returning to her two new mortal friends. "Yes, he's making the best of deals!"

Mathalla praised. "One castle, for one hundred measly little souls. Quite simple really."

Squeak squeak squeak!​

"No no no!" Mathalla said shaking her head. "The souls aren't measly because they come from rodents, Dear Claude. They're measly because you mortals have them at hand so easily!"

The Devil said, turning to Itch with a self satisfied smile, as if the entire thing couldn't be questioned.

 

[Itch]

Well, it didn't hurt to be polite.

Since becoming part of the sodden tapestry considered filth and vermin, she had learned very swiftly that manners were entirely free and that kindness should not have existed only for those who had the means to demand it. Everybody deserved a modicum of courtesy, from the royalty that ruled on high down to the fleas that made themselves home on Claude's rotund flesh.

Even devils.

That wasn't to say that she wasn't still terrified, still taken aback that her best friend was currently negotiating for a castle for the price of...

...one hundred souls?!

The girl's nostrils flared with evident outrage, and for a moment, she forgot what manner of being was leaning against the wall across from her.

"Claude! That's too much!"

The rat squeaked indignantly in return as if Itch was in the wrong for reprimanding him for the price he was willing to pay. From his point of view, a hundred souls was a fine price to pay; it would have guaranteed him a castle worthy of his status! He chittered in irritation, offering that exact counter-point swiftly met by his best friend's objections.

"One soul is too much!" The homeless girl exclaimed before finally remembering that the devil he was making a deal with was standing right there with them. "Ah, ah. S-sorry, I'm shouting... my... is it my lady? Do you prefer to go by something else?"

Oblivious to the concept of manners, Claude interrupted with a series of inquisitive squeaks towards the devil, in which he asked, much to Itch's horror, what a soul even was.

 

[Mathalla]

Mathall acted as startled as she could, surprise flickering over her features as though the she hadn't been manipulating the deal the whole time. "Is it?!"

She asked as the rat quickly squeaked in her defense. Bright red finger quickly gesturing to Claude as she nodded along with his objections.

"I thought he'd negotiated rather well." If in poor taste. The little rat certainly wasn't going to win any styling competitions, but at the very least she could respect the fact that he made strong decisions. Even if they were ultimately incorrect.

The Devil blinked for a moment, as Itched asked her if she would want to by another name. "Hells no."

Mathall said, waving dismissively towards the girl.

"Why would I? It's lovely to be recognized again." Eyes flickering down towards sweet innocent Claude a second later . "Oh, don't you worry my lovely."

The Devil continued as she leaned down and gently patted the little rat on top of the head. A toothy smiling pulling across her lips. "It's really an unimportant facet of mortal existence. You can live for years without it. A lot of people I make deals with go on to live very happy lives."

For a time.

 

[Itch]

It was challenging to balance the weights of fear and outrage that swung back and forth on the see-saw of Itch's mind as the devil unhelpfully added her running commentary, feeding Claude's ego and emboldening his greed-addled potential decision. The girl felt a swelling in her chest that wanted to interject more firmly, to stand up and stop this nonsense, but managed to swallow it with reasoned dread.

She hadn't really put 'stand up to a devil' on her itinerary for the day.

There was little choice but to retreat into the neck of her patchwork clothes, recycled and reused from discarded tatters, as the red woman bent down to give Claude some encouraging pats. It hadn't helped that the vagrant hadn't shifted from her spot on the floor, having rolled backwards in shock and onto her knees. She didn't appreciate the looming.

"I...I don't think that's true," she squeaked upwards, her hand unconsciously going to her chest and touching the pendant obscured by her clothing. "Souls are important."

The rat on her shoulder squeaked with quizzical indignation as his friend seemingly stomped upon the dreams of his castle. He wanted to know why, which only caused Itch's face to scrunch like an old discarded rag. Was she supposed to define a soul on the spot in front of a devil for the sake of a hundred of them?

No pressure, then.

"Well, a soul is..."

But she couldn't define it! For as well-read as the girl was, souls were matters of magic and faith, and that was beyond the pale for her. A brain controlled the body; a heart pumped the blood, but a soul? Ask two people to tell you what a soul did, and you would rarely get the same answer.

"...it's you. It's who you are... and... and... it's the only part of you that goes on after you die. If you gave her those souls, she would have them forever and-"

Claude interrupted, turning his attention to the devil and posing a new flurry of questioning squeaks. He asked her what she did with souls, which was actually a fair line of inquiry for once. Getting her best friend to think before he acted was half the battle.

 

[Mathalla]

"Isn't it?" Mathalla said with now small amount of surprise in her voice. "Aren't they?"

"Is it?" Her questions truly did not sound the least bit mocking. They were genuine surprise, curiosity, as though the very idea of what Itch so purely offered were utterly foreign to the Devil.

Which in fairness; it was.

No one had ever told her such notions, she had never read the works of great philosophers, nor in her ages past listened to the prattles of mortality.

It was different now of course, on her current tour of pleasure everything and anything new was fascinating. Even the notion that a soul was more than a simple currency, a thing to bargain away that her father hoarded for his own pleasure.

How novel!

"Well it's not ME who does anything with them!" Mathalla answered, not liking the accusatory tone Claude was taking.

"It's my father who takes the souls, I just strike the bargains." She said, turning her nose up. "I'd not even know what I'd do with the bloody things."

The thought had never occurred to her. "You've not signed anything."

Mathalla remarked, feeling a little bad now that the human had explained souls might be more than just another one of their little metal bits. "You can still negotiate."

 

[Itch]

It was impossible to tell by the devil's interjections if she was being serious or not. Her intrigue did seem entirely genuine, but in the same breath, trusting a devil in any scenario seemed to be bad for one's soul. Itch's face scrunched like an old rag, the quandary one she was ill-prepared for.

As the vagrant digested the devil's answer to Claude's question, she took time attempting to digest it. The souls weren't even for her? Did she even know anything? Was this real life? Her rodent companion was not one to contemplate. He immediately squeaked to haggle, apparently satisfied with the answer. Rather boldly, he moved to twenty souls.

"N-no!" Itch interrupted, throwing up her hands in frustration.

A coughing fit took the girl, who had the good graces and manners, to find the crook of her elbow lest she sprayed the devil with the phlegm from her constant miasma.

Claude squeaked again, fifteen souls this time. He wasn't an expert haggler.

"...please forgive me, my lady... but do you... do... do you not know what a soul is?" The girl practically squeaked out after recovering from her coughing. "I really don't mean to be rude, but... shouldn't you ought to know?"

Ten souls, Claude squeaked.

"None, Claude!"

 

[Mathalla]

"A hard bargain, bu-" The Devil began to say, only to be so rudely interrupted.

"N-no!" ​

The Devil gave the girl an exasperated glance, letting out a sigh which almost immediately disappeared as Itch once again showed the proper amount of deference. Mathalla preening slightly at the graceful prose until Claude's squeak once again echoed through the cavern.

Briefly her eyes flickered down to the rat, but her attentions were now on the questions asked.

It was new, and new was interesting. "Well, no. Like I said, what would I do with the bloody things?"

"I don't use them, or need them." Idly, Mathalla scooped up the end of her tail, beginning to flick it back and forth as she spoke. Seeming to use it as a prop within her musing. "It's all my fathers game you see. He brought my sisters and I into existence and then told us to make bargains. Mortals gain what they want, enacted by a sliver of my fathers magic, and he gets..."

Mathalla gestured towards Claude with her tail. "What he does with them never much seemed important."

A pause seemed to linger for a moment, and the Devil touched her chin.

"Though, now that I'm on this..." She glanced around. "Vacation, it does seem an interesting question."

 

[Itch]

It hardly seemed believable.

A devil who didn't know what to do with souls? Was everything she ever read a lie? It wouldn't have been outrageous to believe that the devil was messing with her as a jape; they were hardly trustworthy. Then again, her father had always warned her about believing everything written and that lies could be found in ink just as frequently as on lips.

Itch nodded nonetheless, her fearful politeness dictating that she listen, whether truth or a lie, because it was preferable to bargaining souls. She waned when her tail pointed at Claude, who gave a repugnant little chitter; the only thing on his mind was that bloody castle.

"...vacation?" Itch asked nervously, her curiosity trying to outweigh her fear, the fact that she had inspired the woman to consider souls quite foreboding.
"Do you... do you like working for your father, my lady?" The vagrant followed up with, wringing her hands together as a knotting brow tried to formulate words in the least offensive manner possible. "Forgive me if I'm prying... b-but... do you, well, do you have a choice?"

What if the devil didn't even want to collect souls? The books definitely didn't say anything about that.

"C-c-could you just... not do it?" The end of her question tapered off into a high squeak, attempting to guide the devil away from interesting questions.

 

[Mathalla]

"I don't dislike it." Mathalla admitted quite readily, her other hand reaching up into the air. A loud snap rang out and suddenly fired poured into the room.

It was so sudden and abrupt that Claude hardly had time to let out a flurry of panicked squeaks. The little rodents mind flaring with fear as he jumped and quickly bounded behind Itch. Only for the flames to fade, and three plush high backed chairs to suddenly stand in their place.

One particularly sized for a rat.

Almost absently as she continued to speak, Mathalla wandered over to one of the chairs. "But it does become rather droll after several millenia."

As the Devil plopped herself down in the chair, she let out a long and wistful sigh.

"Do you know how many mortals I've made pretty?" Her head tilted upward in exasperation, horns nearly piercing through the fabric of her chair. "The actual interesting bargains are few and far in between."

An understatement.

She shifted in her seat, eventually resting her elbow on the arm so that she could rest her chin upon the splay of her palm. "That's why I've been taking this...vacation, you see."

Mathalla smiled, only recently having learned the word.

"I doubt my father's rebuke would be soft if I ceased completely." She explained. "Though, I had never thought to question as to why."

The Devil's eyes locked onto Itch. "Until now."

 

[Itch]

Claude wasn't the only one who erupted into panicked squeaks. Itch joined in when flames were summoned, and the girl threw up her hands to instinctively protect her face from being scorched, only to find, moments later, three chairs summoned... from the HELLS?!

The rodent recovered swiftly, scampering around Itch in an excited circle before taking his place on the second larger chair instead of the one clearly here for him.

The vagrant girl, meanwhile, was still recovering from the sudden emergence of hellfire into her sewer sanctuary. Her eyes bulged as she tried to catch some semblance of breath, her hands still held up frozen in the air, before a tentative sense of safety returned to her—well, as safe as one could feel in the presence of a devil.

Funnily enough, she had a good idea of how many mort- people desired nothing more than to be beautiful. Itch tried not to think of home often as if it might have caught up with her if she did, but she always remembered how the boys and girls their age only seemed to care about appearance. Every unsightly pimple and undesirable trait inherited the only thing that mattered in their lives.

Having seen the other side, the girl knew there were things far more important than being pretty and owning castles.

With her wits nearly reclaimed, Itch listened to the devil as she spoke of her vacation and her father's potential ire if she stopped, her head shrinking into her neck as eyes were laid upon her. Just be calm. Speak to her as you would a friend. Perhaps devils aren't so different after all?

"...I m-mean, is there... is there anything you've ever wuh-wanted to do with your life, my Lady? M-maybe something you've always wanted...to try, or see, or... or learn? Like the... uh... viola?" Itch practically squeaked out, the prospect of having made a devil rethink her life choices putting her on edge.

 

[Mathalla]

A lingering question remained floating within her mind. Why did her father care so much? What was he doing with all these mortal souls? And most importantly, she couldn't help but wonder what she could do with them if she tried.

Though her attentions were instantly turned as Itch begged her question.

A frown almost immediately pulled on Mathalla's lips as she considered the girl's words. The Floodgates finally opening as finally someone let her simply complain about her problems, rather than seeking an end to theirs. "Well, that's what I've been trying to figure out!"

The Devil declared in exasperation as she threw herself further back into the plush chair, clearly more upset with herself than Itch.

"I've made half a dozen bargains with Criminals, pirates, even one nobleman who wanted to take me to a ball!" They'd all been fun experiences, new and thrilling in their own way...but none had been what she wanted.

Of course, Mathall wasn't entirely sure what she wanted at all.

"My father made me to make bargains." She supposed. "I suppose he might not have included anything else at all."

The devil frowned deeper, though didn't linger on the thought. Clearly uncomfortable by the implication she might have simply been a shell for bargain making. "But what is a Viola?"

She asked, her curiosity piqued. "A form of torture?"