Chapter Two

"EFFIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!"

The whole town could undoubtedly hear my mother screaming my name. Perhaps I should have followed the girl? I could have implored her to shield me from my mother's wrath, who was wielding her ladle like a weapon. Sleeping in an alley would have been a preferable alternative to enduring the night, shutting out the torrent of scoldings from my ears that awaited me.

Seated at the table next to my father was my brother, a sight that nearly provoked laughter spluttering from my lips. His head was wrapped in bandages, but the most striking feature was the bruise swelling around his mouth. Did my brother truly believe he could challenge that dragon girl? I smirked, laughing to myself that I had seen the spectacle and he was none aware.

Engrossed in the exhibition of the wounds on my brother’s pale face, I failed to notice my mother's approach until she seized my elbow, forcing me into a seat at the table. My father remained silent, wearing a bemused expression, wisely choosing to stay out of the sure-to-be impending storm. He had somehow been married to mother for years, and every time I muse upon how he has survived, I imagine it’s because he keeps his mouth shut.

Remarkably, my mother uttered little that night, only casting disappointed glances at her two children. Her son had picked a fight and her daughter was gallivanting around time and time again and coming home in a shoddy state.

Perhaps she was tired of scolding us two?

Had she run out of punishments?

Or was it because I nearing the age of being wed away and she didn’t want to mar these soft, gentle hands of mine? She had given up on finding my brother a wife, so it was undoubtedly my turn.

My brother often got into scraps at the Adventurers Guild to come home and be bandaged up by mother. Usually, it was over some stupid argument or pointless competition. The last was who could slay the blueist slime. Why? Was it boredom since the hunting areas had been restricted only recently?

He was rarely punished, mother must think a wound's sting and the pain of healing were punishment enough.

Me? My mother thinks I should stay at home and learn to be a good housewife. As a toddler, it was fun to help sweep the floor and help eat- I mean help put the ingredients into the cooking pot. Once I was old enough to go on errands I was trusted never again after the first outing. If you give a girl an allowance to go buy a list of things for dinner, why can’t she choose an assortment of cakes that would be far more enjoyable than another vegetable stew? It was on that day I learnt not to underestimate my mother's punishments. After that day I couldn’t look at sweet things the same again, not after she made me eat them all. The thought of that sickly sweetness still churns my stomach.

So instead of staying home to get a scolding for not fulfilling my role in the home, I chose to go out far from my mother's watchful eyes. If the weather was sunny I’d often go out to the hunting fields and watch the adventurers, placing bets with myself about which adventurer will slay the most slimes, or imagine who would win, one giant slime and 100 adventurers or one adventurer and 100 tiny slimes.

On overcast or rainy days, non-adventurers have been forbidden to leave the town ever since the increase in monster activity. Slimes pop up more often during the rainy weather, bouncing around in groups. Apparently, it’s bad news to be overwhelmed by those creatures without a weapon. I can’t imagine slimes hurt much? Their jello bodies always look so soft and squishy from a distance. I bet my mother could flick one away if she sensed her daughter was in danger.

Instead, when the sky is drizzling and I manage to sneak away from under my mother and her list of rainy-day housework, I usually wander around the town. My most frequented location was the merchants’ alley, where I would peruse their wares, fantasizing that if I were a rich woman I’d be able to snap up all their jewels. What I would do with them I’m not sure. Maybe stash them under my bed like a dragon hoarder? Or perhaps offer to the girls around the town for some fake company. We could giggle over tea about a cute puppy we might have seen or gossip boys our age. Yuck. When the sun is high in the afternoons, threatening to break through the clouds, I’ll sit on the fountain and wait for any drama to unfold. The drama is never exciting, the pigeons are more far interesting. Mrs. Pernickity complaining to Mrs. Noseypants that she’s upset her husband came home AGAIN in muddy boots. Or Mrs. Punctual is dragging her husband along, mad that he came home late after drinking while the poor guy still looks queasy from his hangover. Such mundane, trivial problems. As the sun starts to set and I’ve heard of the wives' woes, I wave goodnight to the shopkeepers, sometimes getting some bread that’s about to go stale, or a leftover bag of veggies that didn’t sell, something to take home to sweeten mother. She’d still be angry, sure, but it would be concealed by a smile.

Tonight I would have to be on my best behaviour, albeit already in the proverbial dog house, if I wanted to hatch my plan tomorrow.