Cache leaped after the thief, but quickly regretted it as he passed through the doorway. His stomach suddenly squirmed causing him to fall to his knees in the doorway, tripping up a few people as they surged just as quickly as he had toward the street and pickpocket. A hand grabbed him roughly by the back of the shirt and heaved him out of the doorway towards the tavern's outside wall. Cache didn't even care to see who manhandled him, his eyes teared up involuntarily as he spilled his empty guts on the ground. He heard a laugh from somewhere beside him. A long, dirty fingernail ran along his scalp, along the side of his face, and under his chin, making him lift himself up to prevent it puncturing his skin. Forcing back bile and tears, he looked at the strange old woman.
"Who--" She cut him off with just a look. As the tears drained, he saw the woman more clearly. Elderly, a shock of white hair, wrinkles as numerous as dunes in a desert, and the posture of a crested wave. Her crooked nose had a blister on it that almost sent him gagging again, if he wasn't so distracted by her voice. It was almost mesmerizing in it's surprising grace.
"Poor poor sailor, lost in a sea of troubles. This pin under your neck could be a blessing you know, a deadly poison; a cure from this world." He did his best not to swallow, the tendons around the nail tightening voluntarily.
"Oh, you don't want to die? You would rather face your torments? Then take this." She handed him a cylindrical object. He couldn't lower his head to see what.
"What is it?" He mumbled, not wanting to move.
The old woman smiled like a madman might do when drowning his children. "Not much, but at the same time it will prove to be quite useful for someone in your situation."
I hope it has water in it. He thought bitterly, feeling a nozzle on one end of the cylinder. Before he could even figure out which way it was facing, however, the wicked hag redrew her hand from his throat. Cache swallowed and stepped back, even though his throat was painfully dry and he was pressed against a wall. The woman was gone. The tired sailor sighed thankfully, now looking at the item in his hand. "What the H***!?" He cursed. What use could this be? But being superstitious about omens and the like, he stowed it in a pocket in his tunic. The metal was cold against his skin through the hole in his sleeveless shirt. "Crazy wench." Looking around the street he realized that the rest of the group had dispersed after the phantom thief. "I'd better ship out as well..." Cache trudged off down the street, hoping that his writhing gut knew where it was going after all that chaos.
_________________ Anything is Possible... And Yet, Nothing is Probable.
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