Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Darling, another one on the tab!"

"Comin' right up, babe!"

The words escaped her mouth, paired with a rehearsed smile, both of which nearly dissolved into the cacophony of drunken voices, discordant piano tunes, and clinking glass. Smoke coiled amongst the din, permeating the cramped room with a pallid fog that obscured her vision and made dodging the occasional unidentified projectiles sailing through the air a considerable challenge

Following an erratic aerial trajectory, of which she happened to be in the path, the sole of a shoe grazed past her cheek before colliding with an empty stool and clattering to the floor. For a fleeting moment, she contemplated hurling it back toward its sender; they surely deserved it, whoever it was. And yet she remained passive, a synthetic smile plastered across her lips as she wove around a table and slipped behind the counter.

Perhaps unconsciously, she bit the inside of her cheek, barely able to restrain her mind from indulging in the fantasy of driving her fist into someone's nose. Sure, it was her job to serve; to keep her mouth shut and look pretty. But that did not mean she wasn’t seething at being compelled to endure such abuse without so much as a word of protest.

Sometimes it was outright insults; most of the time, it was degrading compliments. And it was always fucking insufferable. Straining to extract keywords from slurred, unintelligible speech just to decipher an order was the least of her concerns, yet she had no choice but to wage war against every instinct in her body not to roll her eyes. And that was when she wasn’t dodging hurled glasses or fending off wandering hands. Why were the most accessible ways to make money invariably the most demeaning? 

She was barely conscious of her fingers closing around a jug; only registering how rigidly she had been gripping the glass once a hand settled on her shoulder and drew her out of her trance.

Her head pivoted towards Sophie, her colleague for the night. “All good?” she asked, her thin lips twisted upward; if her smiles were fake, she was none the wiser about it. 

“Yeah,” she responded with a scoff. “Just spaced out is all.”

She was smiling as well; she had been all evening. In truth, you weren’t really permitted to stop smiling. Not if you wanted to make money, that is; drunkards were far more inclined to part with their coin for another drink when treated like royalty. The only way to scrape together a decent wage in this dump was to smile, feign interest in their wretched problems as though you gave a damn. So that’s what she did. She smiled, biting her tongue every time she was tempted to slam a man’s head into the table.

Sophie giggled, twisting open a bottle of liquor in her hands. “At least it’s not too rowdy.” 

Her colleague deadpanned back at her. You’re on bar duty, she thought. It’s considerably easier when you’re not doing table service.

But she said nothing, shutting off the tap before pulling the keg from beneath the barrel. She turned on her heel and was back on the battlefield, sidestepping a groping hand that lunged for the glass she was carrying. She eventually reached the patron's table, setting down the jug on the wooden surface as delicately as someone who’d spent an entire minute fantasizing about slamming it down ever could. 

A boisterous laugh greeted her arrival; she turned her gaze toward the middle-aged man beside her, whose head was thrown back in a fit of snickering. "My thanks, darling." His words were punctuated by hiccups as his hand surfaced from beneath the table to press a bill between her fingers. "What would I do without you?" 

I don't know, maybe reconcile with your wife? Be a decent father to your children? Stop flirting with a woman twenty years younger than you are?

She grinned broadly. "Ah, but what would I do without you, Henry!" Her voice was so unnaturally bright that she was nearly giving herself a headache. "You're, like, my best customer tonight!" 

Henry tilted his head, finally tearing his gaze from his jug to fix the bartender before him; his half-lidded eyes were accompanied by a sly smirk she all knew too well. "Am I your favourite too?" His hand was now tracing idle circles on her forearm.

There was another table behind her, alongside an empty chair; how swift would it be to seize that wooden furniture and bring it down on his skull, she wondered. "Well, shall we see after a few more drinks?" she replied instead, spinning backwards to slip free his grasp while keeping the gesture playful; she even threw in a wink for good measure. Figures. 

"Yes, ma'am!" Henry nearly shouted, tossing back his glass; beer dribbled down his chin, and she seized the opportunity to walk away. 

In a way, Sophie had been right; they had endured far worse nights. The tavern was often packed to the rafters, with people barely having enough room to breathe. Whether it was locals or travellers (she had yet to determine which of the two was more insufferable), they would congregate, bellowing unrecognizable tunes under the cover of darkness and hurling themselves at one another like children in a playground. Such was the nature of Skullpeak, an obligatory waypoint for all those crossing the Savabridge Mountains through the Brisroy Canyon. Most would argue that this was the only viable route. Some might have disagreed, but those people were no longer particularly alive; at least not alive enough to protest. 

Compared to what she had witnessed in the past, the night had been reasonably peaceful so far. Irritating, but peaceful. She could weather a shoe sailing past her face and Henry's insufferable drunken advances over the sheer mayhem that accompanied a convoy of bandits. Or soldiers. Again, difficult to say which was worse.

Sophie's voice cut through her reverie, calling out her name from across the room. The youngest bartender quickly made her way back to the counter, joining the smiling redhead who was occupying herself wiping glasses clean with a rag. 

"What's up?" she asked, leaning her elbow against the wooden surface, her brow furrowed. "Everything alright?"

Sophie nodded blissfully, her apricot curls bouncing over her shoulders. Gosh, she was so pretty... "Oh yeah! I'm good," she laughed softly. "Well, actually, I have a favour to ask you."

"Shoot." 

Following her approval, Sophie's gaze went around her, reaching the wall further behind; this prompted her to pivot as well. "See that man, alone near the back wall?"

It took her a few seconds to find the target; after all, there were so many tables, most of which had two or three occupants sharing heated conversations. "The one with the green hat?"

"No, no, on his right. Red coat, blonde hair."

Her eyes finally landed on the man Sophie was describing; his tall frame, conspicuous even as he sat, was nearly swallowed by an enormous crimson jacket, the swathe of red broken only by a flash of aquamarine that appeared to be a prosthetic arm. His blonde hair was swept into jagged spikes above an undercut of a noticeably darker shade, and his eyes were concealed behind a pair of amber-tinted glasses.

His gaze appeared submerged in the void before himm almost perfectly still. "What about him?" she eventually asked, her eyes drifting back to Sophie, who set her newly polished glass down on the counter.

"He paid for a room upstairs, earlier this afternoon," the redhead explained quietly. "Just came down a few minutes ago." 

It was worth noting that they weren't merely serving the cheapest drinks in the Savabridge region. They also offered low-cost rooms, which, though affordable, were largely occupied by battered drunks who couldn't stagger back from the tavern to their caravans; by that point, they wouldn't so much as flinch when she inflated the price to pocket a little extra.

She was renting one of the rooms herself. After all, securing permanent lodging anywhere was a near impossibility around here. Renting a room every night, even after negotiating an arrangement that obliged her to work the night shifts, was hardly what anyone could call cheap.

Her gaze shifted back to Sophie, mostly confused if anything. "Yeah?" she shrugged. "What's the issue?"

"Actually, I was thinking of getting him a drink."

She nearly choked on her incoming breath. "For free?!"

The redhead pouted, her eyebrows drawing a frown over her lovely emerald gaze. "Oh come on, don't be stingy," she grumbled, her hand gripping another jug to wipe.

"But why would you do that?" her coworker inquired, eventually earning herself an elated giggle.

Sophie's smile was often infectious, but this time, her friend was far too bewildered to reciprocate. "Ah, because he was remarkably kind to me earlier!" she beamed, her gaze drifting to some private reverie. "He was very gracious. Said hello, and thank you, and all that."

In response, her friend held a blink for a beat too long. "Sophie, that is like… the bare minimum." 

"He offered me a ring!" the redhead retorted, abandoning her cleaning duty to thrust a hand in front of her colleague's face. "Look!"

With Sophie's finger shoved practically in her eyes, the younger bartender had no choice but to look. Indeed, Sophie wore a piece of jewelry around her finger that hadn't been there before. It was fashioned from a greenish metal; the left side bore unmistakable signs of rust, several fragments having already flaked from its surface.

There was little point in scrutinizing it further; the ring was utterly without value. Sure, Sophie was a boundless optimist, but even she could not soar on so thin a cloud for long. "You know, Soph, this is worthless," she eventually murmured, earning a slow tilt from her friend. "This isn't even worth a beer."

For once, Sophie seemed perplexed; lost in thought even. Her eyes slowly traced the shape of the ring around her finger before meeting her again, a wave of newfound conviction settling over her expression. "Well, you know…" she paused. "I guess it's the thought that counts."

Unbelievable. Honestly, she loved Sophie with every fractured corner of her small, battered heart, but the girl was far too kind for her own good. One day, this world would undoubtedly grind her to dust. 

"So why don't you get him a drink yourself, if you're so keen to thank him?" she replied instead. "He was taken with you, wasn't he?"

Her friend laughed at her insinuation. "Oh, come on," she scoffed, her mouth curling upward. "I wouldn't stoop so low as to flirt with him." Harsh. "I just want to thank him for his kindness, that's all." 

Unbeknownst to her, Sophie's words had cut deeper than she had intended. Despite being a few years older, the redhead had never known anything beyond the confines of the canyon. By virtue of her father owning both the tavern and the inn, it was common knowledge even among travellers that she was beyond their reach if they wished to depart with all their limbs intact. She was sheltered and insulated from harm, spared the particular anxieties of a woman in such a trade. Untouched by the fear of being insulted, degraded, or worse. 

After all, she wasn't doing this for the money; why would she ever deign to flirt mindlessly with a handful of drunkards? Why would she manufacture those nauseating performances of affection to the point of nausea, if not out of financial desperation? Why would she allow her pride to be trampled and her dignity stripped bare, then be reduced to weeping herself to sleep in the dead of night, haunted by choices she had no power to refuse?

Sophie's smile was genuine, unsullied by the horrors of this world. Unspoiled by pain, corruption and death. How fortunate.

She came to the realization that this wasn't even about bartending anymore.

Sophie must have noticed her spacing out, because she slipped a freshly filled jug of beer in between her fingers. "Think of it as a welcome gift, maybe?" she beamed, as if that would make any of this any better. "For renting a room." 

After a moment of hesitation, her coworker eventually sighed, unable to suppress a grin. "Fine," she breathed, her grip tightening around the glass. "But only because you asked."

"Thank you so much!"

She nodded softly before turning away, drink in hand, her gaze sweeping the room in search of her target. It turned out that even after her exchange with Sophie, the man had barely stirred; he was still staring at the wall, not unlike some unsettling effigy from one of those archeology volumes she’d once leafed through. Most people came to the tavern to unwind, drinking their gruelling days and life problems into oblivion as they commiserated with fellow travellers sharing the same wretched lot. Yet somehow, this man seemed to be there for none of these reasons. 

Not that it mattered in any way; she didn't care about his motivations. 

He eventually seemed to register her presence as she drew closer, his pale eyes tracking her through his tinted lenses; apart from a single raised brow, the man remained perfectly still and silent. Nothing she couldn’t manage; reticent patrons were as much a fixture of the job as tiresome ones. Her only task was to deliver a complimentary drink, quietly hoping he would order more for the sake of her own purse.

As such, it was inevitable that she would have to go beyond the bare minimum, which is why her hand closed one of the chairs across from the man, drawing it back once she had set the beer jug before him. He was now decidedly more astonished than confused, she noted as she settled herself against the chair back. 

Her gaze lingered on the drink for a moment before drifting back to his eyes. Were they green? Certainly too murky to be blue. “On the house,” she announced, offering no further explanation.

She watched with quiet amusement as his eyes ping-ponged between the glass and her face; once, twice, a third time for good measure. His mouth made a valiant attempt at opening before thinking better of it, and it took another few seconds of apparent internal debate before his gaze finally committed to landing on her.

"What?" Truly the pinnacle of eloquence.

Her lips curved as she offered an innocent shrug. "A welcome gift." God bless Sophie and her inexhaustible goodwill. Though if she were honest with herself, this was turning out to be mildly entertaining.

The blonde blinked, gears visibly turning, before the penny finally dropped. "Oh." He dipped his head with solemn gravity, his hands clasping together. “Much obliged, fair maiden. I am forever in your debt.”

Ah, there it was. Never mind, he was insufferable, just like the rest of them. Ugh.

Nevertheless, she managed to coax a laugh out of somewhere deep within herself. "Oh, it's really not a big deal," she said, waving a dismissive hand through the air. "To be honest, we don't get many guests renting the rooms upstairs." As rehearsed as ever. She punctuated with a smile sharp enough to cut glass. "Consider it a token of our appreciation. For your patronage."

If he had been reluctant to so much as address her at the outset, that hesitation had apparently dissolved entirely, and whatever remained of his self-awareness along with it. He had doubtless mistaken her civility for attraction, as every single one of them before him, and now sat so thoroughly pleased with himself that it was almost impressive. He let out a self-satisfied scoff. "Ah, this is nothing," he assured her, sliding his right hand across the table to claim the beer. "Anything to be of service. You're offering me a warm bed and a complimentary drink, delivered by the finest woman in the room." He gestured vaguely at the tavern around them, which was perhaps the biggest insult to Sophie. "What more could a man ask for, truly?"

More drinks before I lose whatever patience I have left. “I suppose it mustn’t be such a terrible day for you, then,” she answered instead, propping her chin between her palms with practiced ease. 

"Well, it's true that I've weathered far worse weeks," he smirked, taking a long sip of his drink, long enough for her to roll her eyes and compose herself before he resurfaced.

She tilted her head, lifting a brow. "Care to elaborate?" The words came out warmer than intended. Occupational hazard.

In truth, sitting down to endure a patron's ramblings wasn't the worst thing in the world. It often got her off her feet, and a captive audience had a funny way of turning into a generous one by the time the night was out. Low effort, reasonable returns: she could live with that. Didn't make it any less tedious, but one couldn't have everything.

At least, this one wasn't too difficult to look at. Quite the contrary, in fact, if she were being generous, he was objectively rather striking. The crimson jacket, as absurd as it was, sat well on his broad shoulders; his jaw was sharp enough to be interesting, and there was something disarming about the way the amber lenses caught the light, softening whatever expression lay beneath them. The prosthetic arm was a curiosity too, now that she was close enough to notice: aquamarine against the red, gleaming faintly in a way that was more elegant than it had any right to be. And he appeared to be roughly her age, too, for once, which, given the usual clientele, felt nothing short of miraculous.

Small mercies. One had to catalogue the victories wherever one could find them, however shallow. 

"So he emptied his entire clip at me before driving off. The nerve of the guy!"

Her answer was a smile. 

This had been going on for a full hour and a half. The man, who had yet to give his name, by the way, had been monopolizing her attention for the better part of her night shift. Luckily, he was on his fifth drink, so this wasn't a complete waste of her time, but her patience was wearing thin.

She'd gotten up a few times to refill his glass, using the opportunity to tend to other customers scattered around the room, but the rest of her time had been spent at his table, nodding and occasionally tossing in a word or two of commentary on whatever travel anecdote he happened to be rambling about. By that point in the evening, she couldn't even tell if he was making them up.

Sophie had thrown her a questioning look more than once, no doubt wondering whether she was still over there. The tavern was slowly emptying, most of the drunkards shuffling off with arms slung around each other just to stay upright. And still, she sat there, listening. 

"Even as he drove off, he was still shooting at me!" his words were getting garbled, barely recognizable under the weight of the alcohol. "Through the window!"

She blinked at the emphasis. "No way. Really?" She wasn't really listening. 

"I swear!" He let out a sharp breath, apparently satisfied with her response. He dropped his head into his palm and closed his eyes. "Like I said. Long week."

"I can see that." What a loser. 

One eye cracked open, half-lidded, and drifted toward her. "Not easy, being on the run," he mumbled, more to the ceiling than to her.

Her mind stalled on his confession. Of course: another criminal. Not that it was uncommon in the Savabridge region: it sat dead center of the Badlands, the part of Gunsmoke that most people with any sense steered well clear of. The land out here was harsh and unforgiving, and the few towns that had taken root around the Brisroy Canyon clung to existence more out of stubbornness than anything else: people who settled in them weren't generally the kind who had a lot of other options. Police presence was thin at best: the terrain made regular patrols near impossible, and the bandits running the trade routes had powerful ties. Most lawmen had quietly decided that the area wasn't worth the trouble. 

Anyone looking to disappear usually did just fine around here. Still, most fugitives knew to keep their heads down when passing through Skullpeak. It was the largest settlement in the mountain chain: more eyes, more loose tongues, and more desperate people who wouldn't think twice about turning someone in for the right price. You were never truly safe from someone looking to collect a bounty.

Speaking of bounties, the thought of claiming the one on his head didn't take long to surface. She didn't know his name, didn't know what he'd done or what he'd crossed to end up here half-drunk and running his mouth to a barmaid in the middle of nowhere, but she knew the bulletin board nailed to the post a few blocks away from the tavern. Odds were decent, there was a mugshot on one of those posters that matched the one currently face-down in his palm. Could be worth something; perhaps a lot.

Then again, whatever heat came with turning him in wouldn't stay on him alone. And so she'd rather keep her head down. Even if it meant another night in this dump.

Forcing herself back into the conversation, she let out a quiet laugh. "I can imagine," she answered. "Must be exhausting, going from place to place like that."

I know all about it remained unsaid. 

He gave a faint nod, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Then, as if the weight of what he’d just said finally caught up to him, his eyes went wide. “Wait,” he blurted out, “you're not going to rat me out, are you?”

“Of course not.” She raised both hands in a placating gesture. "Don't worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

That seemed to settle him. “Much obliged,” he breathed, the tension leaving his shoulders as he smiled at her again. “I knew I could trust you.”

She had to bite her tongue to keep from pointing out that he didn't know a single thing about her, since he'd never bothered to ask. But she let it go; she was just doing her job and was making good money off of him. 

As if he'd somehow heard her thoughts, he circled the conversation back to her. More or less. "You must get a lot of rough types around here," he mumbled, tilting his head. 

Being addressed, probably for the first time in their entire conversation, left her momentarily at a loss. "Sometimes," she replied. "They tend to keep to themselves, though. Hard to make a fuss when there are only two roads out of the city."

"Fair enough." He nodded, and she was genuinely surprised to still find any coherence in his eyes, given how much he'd had to drink. "I mean, you could cut across the mountains if you're bold enough. But it's a whole ordeal. Ain't worth the hassle."

She raised a brow, surprisingly attentive for once. “Speaking from experience?” The corner of her mouth curled upward, an expression he mirrored after a beat of delay.

“Well, believe it or not, but-”

“There you are!”

A hand came down hard on her shoulder, spinning around, and there was Sophie, a frown etched across her face. Of course, she was annoyed; she'd been holding down the bar for the better part of the night. 

She flashed her a smile, hoping it might cut through the tension. “Hey, Soph.” 

The redhead wasn't buying it. Her brows pulled together as she glanced past her at the man, briefly, as if she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. "I'm sure it's a lovely conversation. I still need you back at the bar." She paused. "Please."

She turned back to him with a small shrug. "You heard the lady." She snorted. "Sorry."

The man waved her off. "No, my fault entirely," he said, the interruption seeming to sober him up a notch. "Kept you long enough. I was about to turn in anyway."

His chair scraped against the battered wooden floor as he hauled himself to his feet, swaying slightly while he found his balance.

Eventually, his pale eyes found hers. “See you around…” He trailed off, letting the silence stretch. She was starting to wonder if he'd nodded off while standing up. "Uh..."

And that’s when it hit her. Of course. 

He still didn’t know her name.

She grinned, which surprised her a little, given how tired she was. She told him her name, and something shifted in his smile.

“Pleasure to meet you.” He dipped his head, just slightly. “I’m Vash.”

“Good night, Vash.”

It took him a moment, but he eventually managed to navigate away from the tavern floor and up the stairs to the second floor, where the rooms were. She wasn't entirely sure he'd make it to his own door, but she had no time to go up and check. If he ended up locked out or asleep in the hallway, she'd find out soon enough when her shift ended.

Walking back to the bar, she fell into step beside Sophie. "For the record," she started in defence of her pride, "you're the one who told me to go talk to him."

Sophie was too good-natured to stay angry at anyone for too long. Even now, a laugh escaped before she could stop it. "And you're the one who accused me of having a crush on him," she shot back, nudging her with an elbow. "So, I guess we're both idiots."

"He tipped well, at least."

Sophie stared at her. "How much?"

"Enough that I might actually let him ramble at me again tomorrow."