Snippet #1891502

The old bartender raised an eyebrow at his customer's odd statement, but did little more. He followed Hagen's request, keeping his cup filled as he played the tables - no doubt scouring for information. Well, aside from the news of his partner's latest act of mass murder, he doubted the gamblers would talk about much. Word traveled fast in the slave trading community, and Szaya had made sure to hit a major operation - as always. The player crowd changed with each new game, and someone had to have found the bodies by now.

"'Ey, ol' man!" One of the gamblers shouted, attracting his attention. "Where's yer daughter? This place ain't half as enjoyable without a pretty face hangin' around."

Delrich stopped, turned, and smiled slightly, a proud look in his eyes. Although the guard was still hanging around, he had no clues that Delrich was, in fact, Szaya's co-conspirator. On top of that, even if he did, he didn't even know that the Black Hunter was a girl. None had seen more than distant glimpses of her and lived, so it wasn't like that was exactly forthcoming information. Therefore, he would also have no clues to her being his "daughter," and his knowing he had a daughter would make it all the more believable when "Lia" returned late that night. These considerations flashed by in a fraction of a second, and he spoke with no hesitation.

"Aha!" He exclaimed proudly. "I'm glad ya' asked, my friend. My litt'l Lia's takin' a trip to Aria! I tol' ya lot she was somethin' special. Turns out, some big, fancy ol' college ended up takin' an in'trest i'n 'er. She's off 'ere fer a day ta' see if she can get educated." Delrich clapped his hands enthusiastically, his voice and countenance exuding all the pride of a father watching his daughter rise up from the trash surrounding them and become something great. Of course, this was all a farce, but the barkeep was a master actor, having played his part for many a year now. He sold his lie with gusto, and nothing seemed off about any of it.

In any case, the attention in the room swiftly changed from being directed at the rejoicing barkeep to the door, for just then, a boisterous young man with a slave on a chain practically broke down the door. While the sight might have outraged the half-demon once, Delrich was used to such things by now. Such things were common sights in Ralfar. While he might have had to quiet his fury at the barbarity of slavery displayed before him once, now he barely even blinked. Assuming a stern face, he motioned to the young man in the door.

"'Ey, lad, ya' read? 'Cause there's a sign on the door 'at says ya' can't bring wep'ns, pets, or Demons inta my bar. They'rr dang'rous, whether they wannabe 'r not. I've had one too many dead clients ta' let in any'un who can kill a man with their mind," He said authoritatively. While he would have liked to buy the slave off the young man and set her free, he knew he couldn't. Such would attract attention, and with a man here looking for clues on his partner, Delrich knew he would just have to let the poor girl be. For the sake of all the Demons Szaya might save in this victim's place, he knew he would have to sacrifice her. Who was he to decide who lived and who died? It didn't matter. It was just common sense. No matter what Szaya said, the half-Demon knew full well that you couldn't save everyone.

I'm sorry, miss. Perhaps Szaya might rescue you, too, in time. Until then, have faith in her. Have faith in us all, Delrich thought, his cool, collected expression and firm voice not betraying an inkling of the remorse he felt. He sat behind his bar, washing out glasses, and did nothing.