Excerpt: As Yet Untitled

Watching the pair from the doorway, Haruka leaned down so that he could only be heard by the alien woman. "What of the young man, he's wounded. He can't travel in his condition, and-"

"He'll survive. If not, it's more than he deserves," Amaranthe replied coldly, casting a look at Jun and Anko as they left the shop and returning upstairs. There, Klotho was in the shopkeeper's bed - at the man's insistence, Amaranthe would have been happy to let him sleep in the back alley - staring at the ceiling. His wound was mostly closed and wrapped.

"Quite a commotion," he remarked, tone indicating he didn't actually much care one way or another.

She cast him a dark and lethal glance. "If you speak to me again, traitor, I'll cut out your tongue," she told him.

"Was talking to the ceiling," Klotho replied flippantly, drumming his fingers on the blanket over his chest. "And if I had no tongue, you couldn't get any information out of me that I know you're dying to get a hold of. So really it's in your best interest to ensure I remain free of bodily harm."

Amaranthe paused in her gathering of supplies to look at him, then her expression unfurled into a smile of disturbing sweetness. "You don't need your legs or arms to talk, now, do you," she said, as pleasant as could be.

"Your Ephemeris must think you're an absolute treat to have around," the man muttered, and cried out in pain as Amaranthe ground her fist into his wounded shoulder. "The fuck is wrong with you?! Stars FUCK!"

Clutching at his shoulder as redness blossomed on the white bandages, he doubled over in pain while Amaranthe just smiled serenely. "Dear me, what a foul mouth you have," she remarked, leaving him to gasp and moan. "I wonder if you heard that from your mother."

"Fucking bitch," Klotho grit out through his teeth, feeling sick to his stomach. "Go fuck yourself."

On the stairs came the pounding of someone running up them in a panic, Haruka throwing open the door. "What happened, I heard a yell," he demanded, looking between the indifferent woman and the man on the bed. "Miss Amaranthe!"

Kneeling beside the bed, the shopkeeper guided Klotho to lay on his back, pulling his hand away to reveal the bloodied bandages. "Damn," he muttered, scowling over his shoulder. "His wound is open again. What did you do to him?"

"No less than he deserves," Amaranthe replied with what had to have been her favorite phrase, and she left the living area with her gathered supplies.