Loosely Lawful | 3

Once upon a time, adventuring had been a real profession. Sure, half the workforce had stumbled into it instead of training for it, but it was an honest, respectable job that had to be done. There had been a guild. The work had paid well.

Then, of course, the whole system had gone down the shitter.

Sera sat at her usual booth, tucked deep inside her and Kyle’s usual bar, and squinted in the dim light at the expense ledger in front of her. Kyle’s non-affiliate room and board fee had taken a major bite out of their gross profit, as had the temple’s job match fee. Then there was the money set aside for donation. Then there was sundry money. Then there was anticipated travel financing for their next job. Kyle and Sera got bored with temple food on a regular basis, so she had to budget for outside meals and snacks as well. And bath house admission. And a million other little things. And after all was said and done, Kyle and Sera would each take one gold piece for their personal bank accounts, while another three in total would go to their shared equipment fund. Maybe in five years they’d be able to afford new armor.

Of course, some parties barely broke even each month, so Sera and Kyle were doing pretty good.

As she scanned through her ledger again to hunt for additional savings, Sera sensed a body sliding into the booth across from her. A toe tapped against her toes. A hand slid over the grimy, oily, wood table to tug at her papers.

She glanced up and scowled. “Avon.”

Avon was a freckled redhead, and that was all that could be said of them as a general introduction. Some days, Sera hardly recognized them, because they’d done up their hair in a way that totally transformed their face. Some days, they dressed up to look prim and proper and feminine, and others they wore baggy, men’s exercise clothes. Sera never knew what to expect, only that Avon would always have that spray of freckles and shock of red hair.

With an infuriating grin, Avon dog-eared a page of Sera’s ledger. “Sera,” they said, in an exact copy of her tone.

“Do you need something?”

Avon pretended to think for a moment. “No. Just thought I’d come congratulate you on your latest job. Must be nice being a temple lapdog.”

“Oh, sorry, was I the one who had to live off their roommate's side hustle because I took a job that put me out of commission for a month?” Sera un-dog-eared the page and gathered her papers up to keep them from Avon’s wandering hands, then shot them a pointed look. "Hmm, no, that was you."

Avon rolled their eyes. “It was barely a scratch. Besides, we earned enough from that job that we took a break on purpose.” They steepled their fingers and leaned in, a dangerous smile stretching across their chin. “And guess what? Kaliko's already lined up something even better for us next.”

"Really now?" Sera pretended to be amazed. "Better than having to reattach your own arm and leg? I do hope you make enough money for the funeral."

"Like we'd invite you," Avon scoffed. But then they returned to that infuriating grin. "But anyway. It's seven hundred gold, just to hunt down a monster in Timberheight."

“Are you stupid? No one offers seven hundred gold for plain old monster slaying.”

“Obviously,” Avon agreed, leaning back to stretch luxuriously over the booth seating. “But think about it, Miss Acolyte-of-Librata. Damages for a misleading job description are half the reward. We'll either get seven hundred for finishing, or we can sue for three-fifty. It's a win-win situation.”

“Oh please. All three-fifty will go to the lawyer who fights your case, and you know it.”

“Sounds like you’re just jealous.”

Sera took a deep breath. Librata above, Avon was such an ass. “Fine then. If you want to die on this hill, you’re more than welcome to do so.”

With a sneer, Avon leaned back, stretching their legs under the table so they knocked, annoyingly, against Sera's. "And you're welcome to rot on yours."

In an ideal world, Avon would have left the table after that. They would have stalked off into the night, having satisfied their need to be the cat to Sera's dog, and gotten roaringly drunk, and would then pass out in a ditch somewhere at two in the morning. Well, maybe that last bit was wishful thinking. Avon could drink even Kyle under the table.

But this was not an ideal world. When Sera and Avon finally tired of glaring at each other, they turned, in tandem, toward the bar, where their teammates were drinking together like friends. Traitors.

Kyle's massive form blocked out half the bar. His silhouette, lit from behind by an array of dim electric bulbs, curled around the much smaller shape of Kaliko, Avon's trusty teammate and flatmate.

Kaliko was the kind of pretty that graced gossip rag covers and fashion runways. She was petite in a charming, helpless way, even if Sera knew she was anything but, and her vestigial fins fluttered with each movement, drawing attention to the soft curves of her jawline, her hips, and her calves. But what really drew in the stares was her bold, koi fish coloring. Few fishmen wore such brightly colored scales, and fewer still were blessed with such perfect, symmetrical patterning. It was no wonder Kyle had hopped on the bandwagon the minute he'd laid eyes on her. Sera would have jumped too, if Kali didn't make her feel so woefully inadequate.

"I cannot for the life of me understand what she sees in him," Sera said. “Isn’t Kali like, a certified genius?”

Avon shrugged. "He’s got nice abs."

"Should I go home without him? Do you need earplugs?"

"No thanks. He's all yours," Avon replied, waving one hand in dismissal. Then they grinned. Smug asshole. "Kali and I have an early morning tomorrow."

For the Timberheight job, Sera assumed. Turning her nose up at Avon, she wondered, spitefully, if this would be the last time she had to see their stupid face again. Whatever trouble they got into, Sera was going to enjoy watching them fall.