Wraithvine, Lilibit, and Gikka meet a person who is deep in depression and drinking themselves into an early grave. And stops them before they end up destroying their life. -- Anon Guest
Gikka didn't dip into the Hellkin's pockets. One of the rules of Wraithvine was not to steal from people who were already going through enough. Hellkin were automatically in that category most of the time, but this one was having a worse time than normal.
She was drunk and unhappy, steadily imbibing assorted liquors as if it were her job. And, because she was a Hellkin, was generating an aura of shadows surrounding her. Like a cloud of doom.
Giving her money might solve her problems, but it may also make them worse. Gikka looked to Wraithvine, who nodded.
Gikka clambered up onto a neighbouring stool. Ordered some finger-foods, and tried to look cute."Share your troubles?" Gikka offered. "Maybe my friend and I can help."
The Hellkin began a glare, but gave up on that plan when she saw that Gikka was a fellow member of the Unwelcome Peoples. She took a deep breath and sighed out, "Life expectancy."
This was a little too cryptic for Gikka. "I... beg your pardon?"
"You and I both can live to one hundred and twenty, at least," said the Hellkin. "But how long we get to live? That average is thirty-two. For men. Twenty-four for women[1]." Another slammed-down drink. "Guess what birthday today is."
"Twenty-four." Gikka decided to avoid discussing the short shrift that Kobolds got. Twelve in the bad areas. Eighteen in the better ones. This was not a competition. "I suppose you know how the infant mortality skews that average."
A long stare into infinity. A dead, emotionless voice. "Yeah. I know." Another drink. "Starting tomorrow, I'm overdue to die."
Then Gikka said the words that saved her life, "So... you're helping them along with that goal?"
She put her tankard down and did not gesture for a refill. "I don't know what else to do. The world keeps telling me I belong dead. I'm tired of telling them otherwise. I'm tired of having to earn the right to live."
"You could come with us," offered Gikka as the cat Lilbit came smudging for scritches. "We'll help you find somewhere that will give that right for free."
"Ha," she said, pushing her tankard away. "That's enough of a miracle to make me follow a god."
When she did, she named herself Redemption.
[1] Of course this is shorthand for "visibly read as male or female by complete strangers." Because aggressive strangers don't stop to ask your pronouns when they've already decided you deserve to die.
[Photo by Mark Daynes on Unsplash]
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