With Annie now properly bandaged, Connor was deep inside of one of the utility closets in the motel lobby. The place had been properly wrecked after Annie’s scrap with that bounty hunter, and Tallis had told him she had a broom tucked away in there somewhere as the two of them had returned to the lobby. He was no carpenter, but he could at least sweep up a bit before he left for the day’s patrol.
He’d just found a broom shoved into the corner behind a mountain of towels when he heard a curt voice from beyond the door.
"Whiskey, neat."
Connor stopped. He knew every person in this town. He did not know that voice. He poked his head out of the closet, broom brandished like a spear.
A woman in black armor sat at the bar slowly sipping a whiskey. Her white hair had been pulled back in a messy ponytail that draped down atop the metal plates that adorned her. They caught the light and shimmered in an array of colors not unlike a beetle carapace in contrast to the deep black of the fabric that wrapped her waist.
The woman looked at Tallis and Connor could see the scar that traced its way down the side of her face, “I’m looking for someone; tall, dark hair and red eyes. Goes by Andromeda if I’m not mistaken.” she said. There was a hardness to her voice, like the cold steel of a blade. Connor stiffened.
Connor emerged from the closet and strolled over to the bar, “May I ask what your business with her is?” he asked.
A brief twitch disturbed her blank expression, “It’s a… Personal matter. There’s some unfinished business between us.”
He hesitated, the woman narrowed her eyes.
“Right.” She said matter-of-factly and turned away to walk back towards the bar, “I’ll just wait here until… She… Gets back.”
The back of his neck prickled. There was a very specific way some people spoke about folks who were different. As if they only acknowledged their identity as some sort of formality, a minor detail not to be taken seriously or an inconvenience to be navigated. He’d heard it many times himself, the insincerity that dripped from the way they referred to him. Like they were trying to use his identity to mock him, or it was some sort of phase they expected him outgrow with time. It sparked an ember of defiance in him, and he grabbed her by the shoulder to spin her back around.
“There’s nobody like that here!” He growled, placing a hand on his sword to emphasize the words, “You’d best be moving along, stranger.”
The woman’s face twitched again as she shrugged off his hand, “I think I’ll stick around all the same. You never know who might turn up in a quaint little town like this.” Behind that blank expression her eyes dared him to argue.
Connor quickly weighed his options. This woman was obviously dangerous, but she wasn’t technically doing anything wrong. Bad vibes aren’t against the law. That put him in a difficult position. The source of his magic, his Icon, was empowered by the ideal of order and bound by the law. It only aided him when he was dealing with someone who had actually broken the law. If he tried to fight this woman now, force her out of his town, he’d get no help from it. He had to try something else.
“She just left town,” he said through gritted teeth, “Took her money and left. Said something about a job up north.”
The woman raised an eyebrow, “Is that so?”
“Yes. Seemed like she couldn’t get out of here fast enough,” He spat, “Good riddance.”
This elicited a chuckle, “Can’t say I’m surprised. That one’s used to the finer things. I doubt there’s anything like that out here, given the state of this place.” She glanced around the ruined motel lobby, “No offense.”
Connor was grinding his teeth so hard he thought they might crack, “None taken. We like to keep things simple out here. Complications can get messy”
The stranger shrugged, “Alright,” she said, “I can take a hint. I’ll be on my way.” She strode back to the bar and picked up her drink, downing it in one gulp. Then she planted the glass on the counter with a clack and turned back to him, leaning on the counter, “Let’s hope I don’t need to come back.”
Tension hung in the air between them as the two locked eyes. She smiled at him, it reminded Connor of a wolf. His grip on his sword tightened.
“That would be best.” He said.
The woman brushed past him and waved over her shoulder, “Thanks for the drink. I’ll be seeing you.”
As she left Connor looked at the ground by his feet, then to Tallis, “Sorry I spat on your floor, Tallis. You got a rag I can clean it up with?”
Outside the bar the woman in black armor stopped, pulling a necklace from beneath her breastplate. A small red sphere hung from a golden chain, glowing dimly as the liquid inside it pressed against the glass as if it were a living thing. It squirmed back in the direction of the motel. She tucked it back beneath her armor and frowned. That was fine, she could wait a while longer for her guard dog to leave.
Your Stranger Winds: First Draft vignette’s gritty mix of post‑apocalyptic tension and character moments, like the mysterious armored stranger sipping whiskey in Millpoint’s wrecked motel and Annie juggling alchemy in a bathroom turned lab. pulled me right into The Wasteland with its vivid worldbuilding and unpredictable energy, and I’m curious, will you expand on how that glowing red sphere necklace connects to the stranger’s past or the larger mysteries beyond town?