The Saintess Is Still Hungry
The sky was dark. The sun had set, and overhead hung a moon cleft in two—a moon already worn down by half, and halved, to her eye, once again. Eila glanced up and let the thought settle.
"Who are you?"
Light fell from above and laid itself across the man standing in front of her. He was tall, with black hair in loose curls. The curls hid his eyes, so she could not read his face entire, but his lips had parted, just slightly, and he looked startled.
He said nothing. He only looked at her.
"…What is your purpose in approaching me?"
He gave no answer. Slowly, he began to walk toward her.
Eila set her stance. Mana clung to this man as well. A swordsman? Or one of the martial sorts? He might be a mage, which meant she had to watch his mouth. She drew her nerves out to a fine edge, ready to answer in the same breath no matter how he moved—and in the instant she pulled her senses taut, light burst down with a sudden pop.
Not from the sky. Closer to the earth by far. A streetlamp had flicked on, and the shock of it tore her eyes off him.
The light rose, and the man was there in full. Curling hair, a dark brown verging on black. His eyes still could not be seen. Slowly, his mouth opened.
"———God—"
The world stretched, as if some hand had seized it and pulled. Too late. He had begun to speak. Eila braced to throw herself at him; she had to put him down before the incantation could finish. She had just gathered low to spring when the rest of the words arrived.
"—damn, you're so fucking pretty……."
What did he just say?
"……Huh?"
"……Uh?"
Eila's feet stopped. The man faltered where he stood. And then his face went a blazing red.
"Ah, uh… that's—I—I wasn't trying to say it out loud. I only meant to say it in my head, I just…"
He thrust both hands out and waved them wildly. Eila let the tension go. This man was not going to attack her. The air settled, and she spoke.
"So. Who are you, and why did you approach me?"
"Huh?! Th-that's… the boss told me to…"
"Boss?"
It was a word she had never heard.
A harsh screech of iron split the quiet, and a door swung open with it—the rusted door right beside the place where she had been sleeping.
"Hey, what are you still doing out here? Wandering off like an idiot…"
The voice was a little thick and yet pitched high, and it rang down the narrow alley.
"Ack? Boss?"
Eila followed his gaze and turned. A woman stood in the doorway.
"Hurry up and get in—huh? Who's the young lady over there?"
Red hair, bound back in a single tail, swung behind her. Red—though that was not quite the word. It was not the bright red of a living flame, nor the deep red of blood. It was a rich, vivid wine, touched with the faintest purple, so deep and so clear that Eila felt she might catch the scent of it if she only leaned close enough to breathe.
The woman had been hiding her eyes behind dark glasses. She turned her head toward Eila, folded the glasses in her right hand, and slipped them into a pocket. Green eyes caught the light.
"Ah, the one you told me to clear away earlier…"
"Ah, right, right. So what happened?"
"I—I went up close to wake her, and she just suddenly got up, and…"
"Hmm…"
The woman set the cigarette from her left hand between her lips. Smoke slipped out of her mouth.
"So, miss. What were you doing here?"
"…Who are you?"
"That's my line. Who are you, sitting in front of somebody else's front door? You trying to chase off all my customers?"
"A shop?"
"Yeah. A shop."
The corner of her mouth lifted. Eila answered.
"If a shop keeps its front entrance in a place like this, I can't imagine it's a very good shop."
"Ooh. Little heavy on the prejudice, aren't we?"
"What? She's right, though—ow! That hurts! Why did you hit me?!"
"Because you were right, so you get hit, you little shit."
"Ah! Ah—stop! Stop!"
"You don't tell me to stop. You ask."
"Boss, please stop!"
"Tsk."
The hand that had been cheerfully pounding the man's back came to a halt. For a moment Eila thought her sense of distance had gone strange—but no. The woman was tall. The man was not short, and still she overtopped him. More than that, she gave off a dangerous air. Worse than his.
"…I'll talk with the young lady. You go inside and put away the groceries. If that ice cream melts, you're a dead man."
"…Yes."
She stepped out through the door. He stepped in. It closed, and unlike the opening, the closing made very little sound.
"Hoo…. Well, that turned into a report after the fact, but it was all right to send him in, wasn't it?"
"…Yes. I suppose."
"So why were you sitting in front of our shop? Here to meet someone? A client, looking to use our company? Or if it isn't that… someone with an eye on us?"
"This was the only place I could sleep."
"…Sleep?"
"Yes."
The woman dropped her cigarette and ground it out under her shoe, twisting until it died.
"Well. It is narrow here. No sun. Hardly any people."
"And you put your shop's front door in a place like that?"
"Our clients like places like this, so it can't be helped. The door the regulars come and go by—that's the front door, isn't it?"
"I suppose."
"Right?"
Silence eddied between them.
Eila lifted a foot, ready to leave. She understood now why the man had approached her, and the worst of her fatigue had eased. There was no reason left to stay.
She had just begun to turn when the voice came again.
"But why sleep in a place like this? Run away from home?"
"Why are you asking?"
"Well, I'm an adult, aren't I? Looking after kids who've lost their way is an adult's duty."
It would have been a rather fine thing to say, if only she weren't holding two cigarettes in her mouth, produced again from who knew where. With one she blew a ring of smoke, and with the other she sent a stream clean through the heart of it. Not a trick anyone managed on a first try, or a second.
"I appreciate the words, but I'm all right now. It's time I went back. So I'll just—"
A long, thunderous growl rolled out.
Not from the sky. From Eila's stomach.
No one spoke.
It could not be helped. The magical beasts she had eaten on the way had been only enough to keep hunger from biting, never enough to fill her, and she had pushed her body hard on top of waking.
"…Pfft. Pffft. Ha—ahahahaha!"
"P-please don't laugh…"
"Aah, sorry, sorry. You hungry?"
She said it clutching her stomach, eyes bright with tears. Her breath kept snagging on itself. Apparently she was having a wonderful time.
"If you don't mind, want to eat at our place before you go?"
Eila considered. She was hungry; that much was true. If they offered her a meal, she was perfectly capable of accepting it with thanks. Even so, imposing on them did not sit quite right. A paltry sort of pride. It was not as if she would die for skipping a meal.
"……I'm grateful, truly, but I'll have to pass—"
"I'll let you eat until you're full."
"—on nothing. I'll eat, and with gratitude."
It was far too tempting an offer to refuse.
Pride? And would pride fill her stomach?
Eila followed the woman through the door.
"Come on, eat your fill!"
"O-ohh…"
Dish after dish crowded the table. Soup, rice, and small plates of side dishes.
"I put out a lot, so eat as much as you want! Ah—the only thing you can really eat your fill of is the rice. Side dishes and soup are rationed per person, so go easy."
"I'm the one who made it, though."
"You little shit. An employee makes it, it belongs to the boss. You signed on under exactly those terms. All fruits of your labor shall belong to the company~ And now you're changing your tune?"
"Insane company…"
The man and the woman kept talking. Not a word of it reached Eila. All five of her senses were nailed to the food on the table.
The smell was far too good. Sweet, and spicy, and heavy with oil.
Could she eat? When? This was a spoon, and that—what was that? Two sticks? Ah. Chopsticks. She didn't know how to use them.
"You can eat."
"Thank you for the meal."
The moment permission came, Eila offered a swift grace in her heart and lifted the spoon. A strange food: fluffy as fresh snow, and hot. She mounded the spoon with rice and shoveled it into her mouth.
Her eyes flew open. What is this? It's delicious. It's sweet! The more she chewed, the sweeter it became!
Tears spilled down her face as she gave herself over to the food. It had been so long, and it was truly delicious. It had, quite literally, flavor.
The meat of magical beasts tastes of nothing. Flavorless flesh that reeks. She had eaten things that barely deserved the name of food for nearly five years, and now there was spice, and salt, and a faint drifting sweetness, the richness of oil, a deep savory depth that lingered—
"Waaah… delici—it's so goood…"
So of course the tears poured out of her, even as she went on eating.
"Uh… you were really hungry, huh…"
"Sniff… it's delicious… it has flavor…. One more bowl."
"Ah—yes."
How long she went on that way—crying, eating, crying again, eating again—there was no telling. Only when she had emptied an entire rice cooker by herself did Eila's tear-soaked meal at last come to an end.