Chapter 2: SeenThe midday hours bled into a long, grueling afternoon. The Copper Buck remained a cacophony of voices and clinking gsses, a relentless tide that Amber navigated with practiced, weary grace. Each interaction was a negotiation, a subtle act of appeasement. Her body moved on autopilot, serving, appeasing, collecting coins, every gesture a subtle performance. Her smile, bright and wide, felt stretched and brittle, a painted mask over the suffocating exhaustion that clung to her like the tavern's stale air.
She was in the midst of refilling a particurly boisterous merchant's tankard, enduring his booming ughter and a hand that lingered a moment too long on her arm, when the doors to The Copper Buck opened with a quiet, almost imperceptible swish. A figure stepped in, and for a split second, the tavern's raucous energy seemed to dim around them, as if the very air hushed in deference. The usual boisterous shouts seemed to soften, the ctter of tankards less jarring, as a collective, unconscious awareness of the newcomer settled over the room.
It was a Lynanth, like her, but unlike any Amber had ever seen in this city. She was tall, with sleek, dark fur patterned in stripes that seemed to absorb the light, making her appear almost sculpted from shadow, yet her presence radiated a quiet, undeniable power. Her powerful, athletic build spoke not of brute force, but of disciplined strength, every muscle honed and controlled, suggesting years of rigorous training. Her movements were fluid, economical, utterly devoid of the nervous energy that pgued Amber, of the hurried, anxious steps she herself took. She wore practical, well-made leather armor, subtly embellished with intricate, almost organic patterns that seemed to shift in the dim light, and carried a long, slender sword in its sheath at her hip, the hilt worn smooth from countless draws. Her green eyes, deep and knowing, scanned the room with a quiet intensity that missed nothing, taking in every face, every shadow, every detail, yet without judgment, only a profound, assessing calm. She moved with a serene, almost intoxicating grace, finding a small, unoccupied table in a shadowed corner without seeming to jostle a single patron, a feat Amber herself found impossible in the crowded room.
Amber, mid-pour, felt a prickle of unease that was entirely new. This Lynanth was different. Her usual "charm" felt flimsy, transparent, against such an unreadable, self-possessed presence. It was like trying to charm a mountain, or flirt with the unyielding stone of the city itself. She finished serving the merchant, her smile faltering for a beat, a tiny crack in her facade, before she forced it back into pce and padded towards the new arrival, her tail giving a nervous, almost involuntary twitch beneath her tunic, a betraying flicker of her internal disquiet.
"Welcome to The Copper Buck, ma'am," Amber purred, her voice a practiced melody, carefully moduted to be both inviting and respectful. Her tail, usually hidden, gave a subtle, inviting sway behind her, a subconscious offering she'd learned was effective. She leaned slightly, her cleavage hinted at by the low neckline of her tunic, her eyes meeting the stranger with a practiced, alluring directness, a desperate attempt to engage her usual, predictable defense. "What can I get for you? Our Wepeh ale is quite popur, or perhaps something stronger?"
The other Lynanth's green eyes, however, didn't linger on Amber's exposed skin or her forced smile. They met Amber's own, not with lust or judgment, not with the usual calcuting appraisal, but with a calm, discerning gaze that seemed to see right through the performance, piercing the yers of her practiced bravado. A flicker of something akin to recognition, or perhaps profound empathy, passed through those emerald depths, a silent acknowledgment of a shared, unspoken burden. This silence was not like the awful, awkward tension between her and her boss earlier, thick with unspoken threats and demands. This was a quiet, observant stillness that felt oddly profound, almost a question. The two locked eyes, a strange, electric connection forming, until the stranger was the one to make the first move.
"A simple cup of spiced tea, if you have it," the stranger replied, her voice a low, resonant purr that vibrated with a calming warmth. It was a sound Amber hadn't heard outside of her own strained efforts, a sound that felt utterly foreign in the harsh human city. "And... are you well, little one? There’s a weariness about you.” She reached through the tension with an empathic knife.
Amber blinked, her carefully constructed facade momentarily cracking, shattering like thin ice. "Weariness?" she stammered, the word feeling alien, foreign to her vocabury of polite deflections. No one ever asked if she was well. They only asked for drinks, for smiles, for compliance, for the continuation of her performance. Her tail, which had been swaying invitingly, stilled, then gave a tiny, involuntary twitch of anxiety, a betraying flicker of her true state. "Oh, no, ma'am, I'm perfectly fine! Just... a busy day, you know. Always busy here." She forced a bright, dismissive ugh, trying desperately to regain control of the interaction, to push the conversation back to the familiar, transactional ground. She was stammering, the words feeling alien on her tongue. With a practiced curtsey she nodded and started to walk off, her body already moving towards the kitchen, before catching herself. “Oh, I need a name for your tab.” She stopped, putting her paw on the table, her gaze returning to the mysterious warrior, a flicker of genuine curiosity breaking through her anxiety.
“BD,” the dark woman said with a warm, soft smile, a rare expression that truly reached her eyes. She extended a hand out, not to shake, but to give Amber's paw a gentle, reassuring touch. “No rush.” The contact was brief, but profound, letting Amber go with the softest of touches. Her fur was short and a little wiry, but silky smooth beneath Amber’s rougher pads, a stark contrast that spoke of a different life, a different world. As the Barmaid went into the kitchen to get a drink, she kept running the two letters through her head - BD, BD. What could they stand for? Bailey Dare? Bck Diamond? Brooke Dent? It was a name, but an expectedly coy one from another feline person like herself. She knew all too well the power of a name in the human world, how it could be used, twisted, or lost. This new person’s obvious caution, her choice to offer only initials, made a strange kind of sense to Amber, a kindred spirit in the art of concealment. As she was waiting on the kettle to heat up, its whistle a shrill punctuation in the kitchen's quiet, Vay spoke up, her voice a warm, knowing murmur - “You seem chipper, did something good happen?”. Before Amber could speak, the steam whistled, and she just gave a happy little nod to her friend, a genuine, unforced smile momentarily gracing her muzzle.
Moving with care, Amber took the steaming tea kettle, a delicate porcein cup, and a small wooden box of tea leaves out to the corner of the bar where BD sat. “Here you go, ma’am! We only have Elmflower and Brayberry tea from Nuvuski, I think you’ll like it. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do.” She set the items down, her movements precise, expecting nothing else. Her internal script dictated that the transaction was complete. Amber turned her attention to another patron from across the room, already mentally rehearsing her next performance, before BD spoke up again, her voice a quiet thread that pulled Amber back.
“Yes, there is something else.” She carefully poured the hot liquid over the mass of leaves and took in the aroma. “Can you please tell me about your neckce? A lovely little piece, it looks very personal to you. I find it quite stunning.”
Amber's breath hitched. The question, spoken with such quiet understanding, hit a raw nerve, a vulnerability she guarded fiercely. No one, absolutely no one, had ever looked at her neckce with anything but a passing gnce at its meager value, or perhaps a crude comment about its cheapness. Her hand instinctively went to clutch the stone, her fingers trembling slightly. She felt exposed, seen in a way that terrified her, yet also... strangely, profoundly, comforted. It was as if a hidden part of her soul, long locked away, had just been acknowledged, a fragile, aching truth brought into the light.
"I... I suppose so," Amber whispered, her practiced smile entirely gone, repced by a raw, unadorned vulnerability. She felt a strange, calming warmth emanating from the stranger, a stark contrast to the cold indifference of the city, to the rough hands and crude comments she endured daily. “I actually made it myself. I found this old chain that just needed some repair and tried to facet this stone as best I could. It’s truly worthless in the best way possible - in all the ways it matters to humans! This little faded gem is worth so much more to me than anything anyone could offer…” Amber said as she pyed with the small green stone in her hand. BD’s eyes go from watching it slowly tumbling in the barmaid’s hand, back up to her golden eyes.
“Stunning. They always overlook the best and brightest simply because it can’t make them money.” BD said with her eyes fully fixated on the entirety of the woman before her. Her gaze was not assessing, not judging, but simply seeing, absorbing Amber's essence with a quiet reverence that made Amber’s fur tingle. Amber stood frozen, her heart thrumming with a mixture of bewilderment, fear, and a fragile, alien sense of being truly seen. She felt a blush come over her cheeks as she turned slightly from the armored woman, a nervous chuckle escaping her, softening into genuine amusement. Reaching down into her bag, BD produced a small, worn coin purse, its leather soft with age. From it, she drew a single, strange, silver coin with a woman’s serene face imprinted on one side and a delicate butterfly on the other. Pushing the polished, unusually cool silver coin on the table towards Amber. “For a moment of true rest, when your shift ends. You deserve it. Thank you."
Amber’s tail flicked back and forth behind her, a spontaneous expression of interest and curiosity she usually suppressed. Every part of her yearned to sit down at the table, to share tea with this fascinating, enigmatic person, to ask questions, to learn more about this "kin" who saw her so clearly. She stared down at the silver coin with flickering interest and hesitation, “T-thank you. “I don’t recognize this coin - where’s it from?” she asked. Valentia used no silver in their currency, so she rarely had to interact with real silver like this one; something she avoided at all costs but tried to not call attention to that fact. Amber smiled as she tried her best to take the coin with only her talons, not touching the actual surface itself. BD’s green eyes remained locked on Amber’s as she ungracefully pced the coin into her apron pocket. Unfocused on how gingerly Amber held the simple coin, trying to keep it from touching her flesh.
Before BD could respond, Amber’s eyes flitted across the bar as she saw Bernard exit from the kitchen. His usual sneer firmly in pce, his grey eyes already scanning the room, a silent reminder of her duties, of the precariousness of her existence. “L-let me know if there’s anything else-” Amber stammered, her voice catching, one st desperate look at BD before she forced herself to turn and return to her endless duties, the warmth of the strange coin and a small, secret comfort in her pocket.
