Post by ashling on Jan 2, 2006 17:28:29 GMT -5
Ashling walked into the pub cautiously. Outside it was raining hard, but inside the warm, artificial air seemed almost stifling. Ash hated to be inside. Even though the city was moderately small, it still felt like the whole thing was going to come crashing in upon them. He felt himself beginning to breathe a little too fast and forced himself to take several deep breaths and control his heart rate. Everything is fine, he told himself.
Shaking himself off, Ashling ruffled his damp hair until it was untidy and unruly as always. His baggy pants were soaked through, clinging too him tightly enough to clearly see the outline of his legs. His black jacket was more sturdy though, enough so to keep him fairly warm. His bare feet felt cold on the smooth floor.
The pup was small with dim floresent lights hanging from the ceiling. They flickered on and off dangerously. Several people lay spread out around the room, some sitting at tables in small groups, a few more at the bar. Everyone talked in quiet, hushed voices. Ashling felt like was at a funeral. Maybe his own.
"Oi!" someone called from the back of the room. "Close the damn door!" Ashling blinked for a second, before realising that it was him holding the door open. Blushing furiously, he let it slam close with a bang. He ducked his head behind his shaggy hair, as though trying to hide. Walking towards the bar, he hopped up on one of the stools, letting his large bag slide to the floor next to him. He hooked the strap around his ankle. He had stolen enough bags to know the tricks of how to prevent it.
The bartender, a large man of middle age with several large tattoos, strolled over to Ash, raising a bushy eyebrow. "What'll you have?" he asked the boy in a drawling accent.
"You have coffee?" Ashling asked. He hated the way alchohol made him feel.
The bartender gave him a weird look. "This is a pub, boy, not a coffee shop."
Ashling felt himself go cold in irritation. This is why he disliked people. "Does that mean you don't have any?" he asked, holding back a snarl.
The bartender sighed. "Let me see what I can find."
He left, rummaging around in some shelves, pushing aside various bottles of different substances with all sorts of foreign markings Ashling couldn't read. He couldn't help but think it would be all to easy to poisen him, if anyone felt so inclined. He'd never be able to read the bottle.
A heavy mug was slammed down on the counter, making Ashling jump slightly as he glanced down at it.
"Coffee," the bartender told him, a slight growl in his voice. "We don't have milk or sugar, so don't ask."
"Black's fine," Ashling told him softly, rapping his hands around the cup to warm them, letting the steam heat his face. He took a gentle sip, but it was too hot, burning his tongue slightly. He set it down to let it cool.
Pulling out a pouch from his pants pocket, he set the smooth, velvet black bag on the counter. Undoing the laces carefully with his overly long fingernails, Ashling pulled out a deck of old, yet carefully preserved cards. On the back side, every card was black with what appeared to be a small moon, though it was unclear which moon exactly. It was an illusion, however, and when studied carefully enough, each moon really appeared to be a white leopard, curled in a circle and eating its tale. It was an icon the Reyls often used to symbolize many things, namely life and how each end circled back around into a new beginning. Ashling couldn't help but think how perfectly the symbol was like his own life.
Closing his eyes and taking a deep, meditative breath, Ashling reached into his deck and pulled out a single card. He opened his eyes, and looked at the back moon leopard for a moment, before slowly turning the card over. On the other side there was a seed of dark green, its roots just beginning to go deep into the ground and it's head just beginning to poke out. From each new leaf sprang a small leopard cup, each one looking as though it was pouncing. "The Birth," Ashling muttered to himself as he slipped the card back into the pile. "Changes and new beginnings."
Shaking himself off, Ashling ruffled his damp hair until it was untidy and unruly as always. His baggy pants were soaked through, clinging too him tightly enough to clearly see the outline of his legs. His black jacket was more sturdy though, enough so to keep him fairly warm. His bare feet felt cold on the smooth floor.
The pup was small with dim floresent lights hanging from the ceiling. They flickered on and off dangerously. Several people lay spread out around the room, some sitting at tables in small groups, a few more at the bar. Everyone talked in quiet, hushed voices. Ashling felt like was at a funeral. Maybe his own.
"Oi!" someone called from the back of the room. "Close the damn door!" Ashling blinked for a second, before realising that it was him holding the door open. Blushing furiously, he let it slam close with a bang. He ducked his head behind his shaggy hair, as though trying to hide. Walking towards the bar, he hopped up on one of the stools, letting his large bag slide to the floor next to him. He hooked the strap around his ankle. He had stolen enough bags to know the tricks of how to prevent it.
The bartender, a large man of middle age with several large tattoos, strolled over to Ash, raising a bushy eyebrow. "What'll you have?" he asked the boy in a drawling accent.
"You have coffee?" Ashling asked. He hated the way alchohol made him feel.
The bartender gave him a weird look. "This is a pub, boy, not a coffee shop."
Ashling felt himself go cold in irritation. This is why he disliked people. "Does that mean you don't have any?" he asked, holding back a snarl.
The bartender sighed. "Let me see what I can find."
He left, rummaging around in some shelves, pushing aside various bottles of different substances with all sorts of foreign markings Ashling couldn't read. He couldn't help but think it would be all to easy to poisen him, if anyone felt so inclined. He'd never be able to read the bottle.
A heavy mug was slammed down on the counter, making Ashling jump slightly as he glanced down at it.
"Coffee," the bartender told him, a slight growl in his voice. "We don't have milk or sugar, so don't ask."
"Black's fine," Ashling told him softly, rapping his hands around the cup to warm them, letting the steam heat his face. He took a gentle sip, but it was too hot, burning his tongue slightly. He set it down to let it cool.
Pulling out a pouch from his pants pocket, he set the smooth, velvet black bag on the counter. Undoing the laces carefully with his overly long fingernails, Ashling pulled out a deck of old, yet carefully preserved cards. On the back side, every card was black with what appeared to be a small moon, though it was unclear which moon exactly. It was an illusion, however, and when studied carefully enough, each moon really appeared to be a white leopard, curled in a circle and eating its tale. It was an icon the Reyls often used to symbolize many things, namely life and how each end circled back around into a new beginning. Ashling couldn't help but think how perfectly the symbol was like his own life.
Closing his eyes and taking a deep, meditative breath, Ashling reached into his deck and pulled out a single card. He opened his eyes, and looked at the back moon leopard for a moment, before slowly turning the card over. On the other side there was a seed of dark green, its roots just beginning to go deep into the ground and it's head just beginning to poke out. From each new leaf sprang a small leopard cup, each one looking as though it was pouncing. "The Birth," Ashling muttered to himself as he slipped the card back into the pile. "Changes and new beginnings."
