Out of the frying pan.

He shouldn't worry about her so much; the girl just needed her rest. But something about her always seemed to linger in his mind. As much as he tried to ignore it, there was a barrage questions he wanted to ask her - about her life, her past, her hopes and her dreams. There were many opportunities, but he couldn't bring himself to question her. Miraye was certainly mysterious. Perhaps some mysteries were better left unsolved.

She returned not long after she the few minutes she had promised. He saw that her eyes were red, and though her face was dry, it concerned Tic for a moment. She looked exhausted, but still managed to return to her work, and in a tedious manner.

As the day passed, a ho-hum atmosphere had set about the tavern. Every hour or so, the door would creak open, and someone would either enter or depart. Tic, soon enough, became accustomed to the washing, serving, cleaning and whatever other rituals took place in a bar. Needless to say, there wasn't much skill required for the work. The monotony was almost a relief.

There weren't many new faces in the bar. Many had come the previous day, returning again today for the same drinks. Most of the familiar faces were agreeable people; it was usually a traveller who became roudy. But if anyone appeared to be giving him or Miraye a hard time, the bartender, who he learned was called Gaston, would accost them with a warning. If they did not heed, they were to be kicked out. Fortunately for them, Gaston did not need to do this yet.

Once the daylight was completely gone, they were once again putting up the chairs for the night. As Tic swept the floor, and Miraye cleaned the counter, Gaston approached them with a small sack in his hands.

"It's a little early, but you've paid off your debt," he said as he placed the bag on the counter. It clinked.

Miraye took the sack into her hands, weighing it unconsciously.

"Your first payment," he grunted, "for the both of you."

She nodded to Gaston, who returned the nod and relieved them of work for the rest of the night.

--

Tic lied in the cot, watching her hands. She was sitting beside him, taking coins from a small pile of silver pieces on the bed and returning them to the sack, one at a time. She muttered numbers to herself.

"Thirty pieces," she finally said after placing the last coin in the bag. "That's fifteen for you, and fifteen for me."

She tightened the string around the neck of the sack and sat the bag on the floor. After blowing out the nearby candle, she pulled the blanket over her, and laid her back against the cot. There was silence, save for the meager whistling of the wind through a crack in the window. Tic stared at the shadows on the ceiling.

"How much longer will we need to work.. do you think?" he managed to ask.

"A few days," she said tiredly.

"Days?"

"Yes." She paused. "Given that nothing bad happens."

Given that nothing bad happens, he repeated in his mind. Maybe they would be lucky; maybe they would manage to avoid trouble and soon be on their merry way. But somehow he didn't believe that would be the case. A foreboding feeling washed over him whenever he recalled the last few days. They might be out of the frying pan for now.. but something told him they would be thrown into the fire next.