Fragment II - Uncounted

“Now that we’re free ‘n clear, don’t wanna seem greedy, lads. Here’s the cut of our score - fifty silver.”
 
Songbird stared at the currency that sat in Fynn’s outstretched hand before hesitantly reaching forward. His long, slender fingers wrapped around the silver pieces, eyes flicking up to the astral elf’s face.
 
Upon making eye contact and realizing that Fynn was watching him, Songbird looked away – down – quickly.
 
Be small, be small, be small.
 
He could feel the heat of Fynn’s gaze on him for the briefest of moments before the astral elf said something to MarV instead.
 
Songbird’s shoulders slowly inched down from their tense position. He took the time to actually look at the coins in his hand.
 
Fifty – according to Fynn.
Silver in color.
Smooth.
Cool to the touch.
Heavy for something so small.
 
Fifty.
 
That number had been said before. Not to him – around him. Accompanied by voices that smelled of wine and laughter; by hands that weighed him like fabric.
 
He had seen it.
 
But it hadn’t been silver. It had been another color. The exact shade escaped him now, but he could still see the sparkle.
 
He knew coin bought things.
Bought time.
Bought sound.
 
Bought him.
 
But it had never been placed in his hands before.
 
Songbird looked up from his open palm. MarV and Fynn were talking, though he couldn’t hear what they were saying, only that the two were gesticulating wildly, arms – appendages – cutting through the air.
 
Armitage had gone below deck.
Angry.
 
Songbird closed his fingers around the silver slowly, unsure whether he was meant to keep holding it or give it back right away. Fynn would tell him when he needed it, surely.
 
Or was this a test?
 
After a few minutes, Songbird slowly slipped the coins into his pocket, loose and uncounted.
 
He would hold them for Fynn until asked.