Collector

“Did ya hear that, fellas?  The girl fancies herself a collector!”

The guffaws and laughter that broke out in the room made the girl’s face flush red.  The room itself was dingy, full of broken tables and chairs, dirty dishes and run-down-looking men.  The girl looked tired and filthy even in comparison – no easy feat.  Her blonde hair was grimy, hanging limply in her face.  Her lips were cracked, her fingernails were broken, and her clothes were well-worn.  The brown leather of her coat was loose and thin, nearly touching the floor.  The belts that held it in place around her waist were crumbling, and the coarse linen bag slung over her shoulder was fraying.

“I don’t ever believe I’ve seen a collector quite so small!”  One voice called, setting off another ripple of chuckles and snorts across the room.

The girl dipped her chin, letting her eyes hide behind her hair as she mustered the courage to cross the room.  Her shoes, leather slippers wrapped in linen, were silent as she walked.

“Can I help you?”  The bartender asked, cleaning a dish and holding back a smirk.  The girl nodded once, lightly touching her lips with two fingers.  The sign was universally understood to mean “water” – so even those who didn’t speak the language could indicate their need.  The bartender nodded, taking out a tin mug and pouring the girl a generous portion of murky-looking creek water.

Her lips twisted for a moment at the sight of the silt spinning in the water, but she downed the whole mug anyway.  With a refreshed sigh, she leaned on the counter, which was far too tall for her.  She barely came up to the elbows of most of the men in the room, and was further dwarfed by the fact that her coat was made for a man.  She looked around the room slowly, still leaning on the counter with her arm.

“So… you’re a collector, huh?”  The bartender asked quietly.  The girl, still looking away, didn’t answer.  She slid the tin mug across the counter, and touched her fingers to her lips again.  Annoyed, and a little scared of the girl, the bartender refilled the cup and set it down again.
“Oy right she is, Toddie!”  One of the men across the room shouted.
“A right terror, inn’t she?”  Another laughed.  The bartender laughed a little, but was growing increasingly unnerved by the presence of the ghostly girl.  She turned to drink her water, letting her rough cloth bag slip through her hand and drop to the floor.  A light puff of white dust rose up from it, and something rolled out.

The entire room watched as a short, thin glass rod rolled out of the bag.  A soft red glow emanated from within the glass itself, casting a dim light on the floor.  Without even looking, the girl nudged it back into the bag with her foot.  The bartender saw her smirk as she drank down the water in the mug.
The men in the room were silent, staring in horror from the girl, to her bag, and to the girl again.

“She’s true, Toddie.”  Someone whispered hoarsely.  “The girl’s a thought collector.”