Minded Business

Bena staggered against the wall, taking a slow breath as she lifted a hand. She wiped blood off the corner of her lip, looked at it on back of her fingers, and growled. She curled her hand into a fist and pounded on the thick oak door. She heard quiet, heavy footsteps as she dug into a pouch. The rain in the dark evening weighed as heavily on her as the fatigue.

The Gilnean lifted herself from the wall when she heard the small window open. A burly Kul Tiran was on the other side. “We’re closed, Ma’am. You need to come back tomorrow.” Bena found her item and pulled it up, pressing it into the window as he went to close the window. A moment of hesitation crossed over his mustached features before he accepted the insignia she had presented.

“The Bloodsaw Marauders…,” The man said quietly. The window closed, and Bena, mercifully, heard the locks open before it swung open. “Come in — you look like shite.” He said, interrupting himself as he pushed up his glasses. Bena stumbled past him. The tools of a doctor’s office were arrayed before her.

She made a beeline for a tray on the desk to the left. The same hand that had retrieved the Bloodsaw insignia wiggled free the stopper of a large bottle of bourbon. She tilted the bottle over, nearly dropping it on the tray it rested on, and filled a glass near to the rim. “You want me to treat those wounds, aye?”

Bena turned and nodded. “If you could be so kind, I’d appreciate it.” She walked over to the chair he stepped aside from and gestured to. She eased herself in with a hiss. The slice on her leg — not to mention that bullets that had passed through her shoulder and gut — stung as she sat. She tilted the first bit of bourbon back as the Kul Tiran sat in a chair in front of the Gilnean.

“Who are you, lass? Y’ain’t from Kul Tiras, I can tell from your accent. An’ how did you come across one of those emblems?” The doctor toned as he tugged Bena’s shirt free from her belt, lifting it past the lower wound to look at it. He reached for a small lantern and lit it up, retrieving a pair of pliers and a small mirror with the other hand to inspect the wound.

“Benathi.” She replied, lowering the glass against her chest, opposite of the other bleeding wound. She took a slow breath, wincing as a bullet was tugged free from her stomach. He sure works fast…. “I got it from someone who worked for me… Avera Hoxlyn.”

The Kul Tiran cast a critical eye up to her, and let out a small breath. She heard a bullet shard drop to a tray to her left before she felt the pliers pressing into her again. “Aye? Knew her. Guessin’ you were her last boss? Heard what happened, what with your lot in Gilneas and the Fourth Anchor. Shame.” He quickly pulled the second shard he found and dropped it to the tray. Bena pushed back more bourbon, noting the glass. She let out a breath.

“Shame…,” Bena snorted derisively, “If that’s what you’d call it. Think they came back to finish the job.” She watched the movement of his hands, grabbing thread to stitch her wound, and a small bottle. First, of course, the alcohol. She winced and grunted as it poured over the wound. “I looked into their bullshit, after how they behaved. Took offense to it, I guess.”

“Aye. They’re bastards, the lot of ’em.” He paused as Bena hissed when he began to stitch her wound with the thread and needle. She lifted her glass in acceptance and tilted it back a third time. He nodded and continued. Bena closed her eyes and rested her head against the head of the chair.

“Shouldn’t be surprised they can do this in their own damn city. Street was deserted, and nobody so much as heard the gunshots. Killed all four of them, though. Assholes….” Bena grumbled, pulling in smoother breaths through her nose as she was stitched up.

She blinked a few times, furrowing her brow. Had she fallen asleep? She looked down and she noted her pants were pulled down only far enough to expose the slice. “Well, it’s not a serious cut. Oughta be able to just sew it up.” The Kul Tiran murmured to himself as he poured the alcohol over it to wipe away the sweat and blood. He looked up, as though feeling her gaze, “Ah, good morning. Think the night caught up to ya.”

Bena shrugged, and looked over to her shoulder. She was only out for a few minutes, then. She felt both wounds were stitched closed. “Don’t suppose you have an extra bed? Turns out, I’m having a terrible week.”

He didn’t answer until he sewn the slice fully shut. He set his needle and thread aside and leaned back in the chair. It creaked under his size. He adjusted his glasses again. “Aye, on one condition. You get back out there an’ make those Fourth Fuckers pay. They’ve wrecked enough lives, even if you’d never see it. Doubt they’ll take this lack of wars as an excuse to take a break.”

Bena lifted a brow, then nodded. “I’ll do what I can, though I may have to make you wait for a while, Doctor…?”

“Aulegarde.” He ran his bloody hands through a large cloth to begin cleaning them. “I’ve a couple of extra rooms for patients. Ain’t great, but it’ll do you fine.” He said, nodding to a side door. “If you need any extra treatment, I’ll be upstairs. Have a good night, Miss Benathi.” He stood up with a nod to her before turning to elbow his way through the door.

Bena sat there for a few moments. She stood up shakily, quickly downed a second glass of bourbon, leaving the used glass facing upward, so that it was easily identifiable as used. The door was left open, and she closed it behind her. She pushed herself into the left room, and closed it.

She quickly found her way to the bed, sitting down. She lay on her back, looking up at the ceiling momentarily. This is some shit, she thought. Another game is afoot, and now this… Who did I piss off?

Related posts:

In a Sunday meeting with the British diplomat, the Iranian foreign minister’s assistant and director general for the European affairs of the Iranian Foreign Ministry expressed the Islamic Republic‘s…

It is important for me to note that the fat body positivity movements would not exist without black women. Every time an all white (and usually not fat) body positivity post crosses your feed, know…

It was inevitable that President Biden’s ambitious legislative agenda, particularly his $1.9 trillion COVID relief package, would hit a few snags on its way through the House and the Senate. And so…