— I meant the beat the crap out of me part seriously. — Ivy smirked crookedly. She had absolutely no desire to play along. Earlier in the day she had worked out a whole possible story, taking her experience with mechanisms into account, but now she simply didn’t have the strength for it. Whatever happens, happens. She was ready to face sincere misunderstanding. — Unless, of course, you’ve got people who prefer to take their anger out on others. Exotic option… Besides, with skin like this, bruises barely show on me. And I can’t have children. My hands are rough, though, if that’s a downside.

  — Huh? What the hell are you talking about? — the elf frowned. — Why the fuck would I need to know that? You planning to have my baby or something? Thanks, I’m infertile too. Not exactly aspiring otherwise. If this is a love confession or some shit like that, you’re way off, kid. We don’t even know each other, do we? What’s your name, poor thing?

  The tall woman ran her hand along the door, inspecting it from bottom to top. She shook it back and forth a little, clearly checking something and obviously displeased. Of all the elves the peasant girl had ever met, this one was the most straightforward. Her face practically said: Shitty door. Gotta put in a new one, fuck. Word for word — you could literally read it on her.

  — Ivy, milady. — The peasant replied, watching the elf’s expression. The displeasure practically hung in the air, making the dark-skinned girl smile faintly. — If you have a suitable piece of wood, I can carve you a new one. You don’t like this one.

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  The girl shrugged slightly. That wasn’t why she’d come, but if she got even a little money for work, that would already be good. Still, they definitely wouldn’t trust her with something like that. She’d probably need to play at hints after all.

  — What fucking milady? Do I look like some kind of princess to you?! — the elf snorted. — Ivy, huh? Interesting name for an interesting creature. You look like a little black, beaten-up ferret. I like it. And you—

  A sudden gust of wind tossed lemon-colored hair into her restless mouth. The elf started spitting it out, and kept doing so for about two minutes as it kept blowing back in. Barely managing, she continued:

  — Fucking wind! Now, what was I… Ah, right! You really can make a good door? Like, exactly how I want it? You’re not bullshitting me?

  No one had compared her to a ferret before. Usually it was a beaten rat, but ferret actually sounded nicer. The gust of wind stirred her long hair too, though it only fluffed up like an animal’s fur. It didn’t seem to bother her at all. A few strands settled softly on her shoulders, curling at the tips.

  — If you stand nearby and show me what you want — of course. I’ll need wood and tools. — Ivy answered, blinking a few times and almost immediately reaching into the pocket of her dusty breeches. She pulled out a clean, long, sturdy green ribbon. It seemed to be left over from a jar of honey. Without thinking long, the dark-skinned girl held it out to the elf. — Take it. The wind won’t bother you.

  — Thanks a lot, but you can shove it up your ass, — the elf said, maybe sarcastically, maybe not. — Well, come in if you can help. I don’t have shit in here, and I still don’t get what you forgot here, but whatever.

  She ducked back into the building and swaggered over to the only long table standing almost in the middle of the spacious room. It was made of rusty metal. And the whole building inside looked like everything had been carried out of it — even the wallpaper. And the chairs. Only that same rusty table remained.