A day in the life of Anegra Grimwell

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She looked like a giant white rock from a distance, her matted fur steaming with warmth in the pouring rain. There she sat, in the muddy grass, idly staring at the city - only her sides and wet bear nose occasionally moving as she inhaled and exhaled the soggy air around her. She was daydreaming again.

In front of her the dead city began to change and twist, all of the grey colors coming back to life again. The sun was shining, and the streets were suddenly filled with old and young people going about their business. She found herself swimming across them like a sparrow, dodging their sudden moves and merry chattering. She could feel the echoes of the ghosts with the tips of her feathers as she flew across the streets.

Anegra held her breath for a moment as she reached the murky alley, looking for the familiar wooden sign. It was still there, a chipped and tattered plank with a sheep painted on it. There were writing and numbers underneath the picture, but she never paid much attention to them. She averted her eyes from the sign onto the rusty door handle which hadn’t been used in a while. Behind the sturdy looking door was a basement bar called “Black Sheep”. In the old days it used to be a gambler’s paradise and heaven on earth for poor drunk bastards.

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She reached a toned arm towards the latch and pulled the door open with ease, only the familiar creaking sound was amiss for some strange reason, and the door certainly weighed a lot less than it did a decade ago. She sprinted downstairs into the basement with cat-like grace, finding the bar dimly lit, warm and welcoming.

“Closin’ time, brown eyes. Come help yer daddy with these.” A sturdy looking man nearing his sixties stood behind the counter, beckoning her over with a wash cloth in one hand and an empty mug in the other. His hair was combed over his head in a desperate attempt to cover the balding scalp and his clothes reeked of sweat, tobacco and liquors – just like she remembered. She dared not to smile at him for too long, as his face seemed to distort and change in front of her eyes - She was slowly forgetting how he looked.

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She snatched a rag from the table and begun to clean the mugs with her father, hoping he would say something more. It was strangely calming that she could still smell his familiar scent and know that he was there with her, even if it was all just her imagination.

“Times are changin’, Annie.” Her father coughed viciously for a good few minutes, before catching his breath and continuing his babbling: “I hope ye find a good man, Annie. No’ a drunk like yer daddy. No’ a drunk. No good men we are…” His head sunk between his shoulders as he leaned on the counter, shaking uncontrollably – he was crying. She opened her mouth to say a few comforting words to the old man, like: “It’s alright Edgar, I forgave you a long time ago” but no sound escaped her lips. Instead she wrapped her fingers around a dusty bottle, uncorking it and pouring its contents into the mugs they had just finished cleaning. And as surely as a child calms down after receiving a bottle of milk, her father composed himself over the mug of moonshine. “Yer father is a clown. A clown I tell ya. I’m sorry, Annie” He was watching her features, and with a heavy sigh he shook his head. “Ye’ look so much like yer mother. I miss her”.

She couldn’t remember much of the woman who gave birth to her. Only that she had cold hands and freckles around her nose. And a beautiful smile that turned hollow, almost eerie, during the times of her sickness before she eventually withered away. Anegra lifted the dusty mug on her lips and took a swig from it, frowning at the bitter taste as one more memory crept up her spine. She remembers being baffled about the funeral at the age of six, not quite grasping the reason why they couldn’t just wait for her mother to wake up, why it had to be so permanent.

Anegra found herself holding the mug tightly in her hands, as if it would magically gain feet and run away from her reach. Her father’s mumbling echoed in her ears like a slurred mess - the bottle was half empty, or half full, depending on which way you looked at it. Had she drunk it all by herself, or was the ghost of her father really drinking it with her? The madness of even pondering about such things made her chuckle briefly as she drank down the liquid and poured herself a new drink.

Something stirred the peace of the basement, something that didn’t belong there. Her father noticed it first, probably: “I’m so tired Annie, so tired” Said the old man before disappearing into thin air behind the counter. “No.. no! Don’t go yet!” She found herself pleading like a child, but he was already gone. All that was left were the cobwebs embracing a row of empty barrels on the floor.

There was an intruder on top of the stairs, a tall wolf which reshaped itself into a human, shadows playing around his silhouette as he descended down into the basement. That simply won’t do, she concluded to herself as she stood up from the chair and rushed towards the stranger, the mug on her hand leaking its contents on the floor. Her feet felt like they belonged to someone else and so did her tongue. “Gettthe fheck out of here! We’re closhed!” She roared and rolled up her sleeves as she prepared herself for close combat.

“Annie, wot the bloody fel ya’ doin’?!” Grunted the man as her well aimed fist missed his rugged jaw by a good few inches, gravity sending her downwards in slow motion. Luckily the stranger had fast reflexes and he caught Anegra before she hit the floor face first. “Barney?” She calmed down somewhat and took a better look at the man, recognizing the familiar features. “Wot? Yer drunk! Let’s get ye’ out of here” he mumbled while releasing her slowly, as if to test whether or not she could stand on her own. Although he had a nice frame and strong arms, she could never really look at him with a straight face. His name was Bareth Mason, but she called him Barney for the comical value of it.

“Wot ya’ doin’ here anyway?” Bareth inquired while turning and pushing the reluctant woman up the stairs; she clearly didn’t want to leave. “None of yer business” She hissed out in a theatrical manner and groomed her wild red hair behind her ears. “Ye’ mourn the skellies at the graveyard, I drink with mine!” She blurted out and turned around in attempt to go back down after reaching the last step. “Yer’ losin’ it, Annie” Bareth grunted sternly as he shoved her out of the basement, like she was nothing more than a stack of hay.

Outside it was getting dark already. Leaves bounced in the air like puppets being jerked on by their strings. “I’ll walk ye’ home” Bareth growled as he casually shape shifted from a man into a worgen; his ginger hair turning grey in the process. “I can fly just fine, ye’ nitwit!” she declared, but who was she kidding. She couldn’t even walk straight, let alone find her way home. A brief verbal battle erupted, after which both of them sighed in a dramatic way and gave up. It was a rare occasion, as they were both stubborn as mules. Situations like that often ended up in wrestling, clawing, punching and biting – nothing was sacred for the two of them.

Bareth wrapped his furry arm around Anegra’s arm in a caring way. She mumbled a few curse words but accepted defeat while slowly walking east towards her home. They had known each other for over a decade, almost two. It was Bareth’s family who had offered her shelter after her father passed away, his mother often cleaning up her wounds when she got into fights. Although they were not related, Bareth had taken the role of her big brother right from the start. His desperate attempts to keep her safe from harm had more than often proved useless though.

Rain framed the sounds of their steps and they both kept silent until they reached the house. “I still don’t get why ya’ don’t have a door in yer house. Sum one might attack ya’ while ya’ sleep!” Bareth howled down at her. “I’ll jusht punch them in the fhace then!” Anegra slurred back at him and struggled away from his grip. She stumbled towards her bed, not even bothering to wipe her muddy feet, let alone take off her wet clothes. Upon reaching the bed she collapsed sideways on top of it, like it was the best damn effort she could give.

Bareth stared at the drunk and sleeping woman for a while before planting his huge worgen hand across his face and sighing deep. He made his way to the doorway and sat down with his ears perked towards the road, listening carefully to spot any possible intruders. It was an inbuilt guarding instinct which he could not escape, and he knew he’d be sitting there until she would wake up again.

Very nicely written! I like it quite a lot.