1. The son of a b***h was late.
A tense hand ran through thick gold hair for what seemed like the hundredth time, settling the short waves against his scalp once again. If smoking had been permitted inside the restaurant, Nicholas was certain that he would have been working his way into his second pack. Perhaps that was an exaggeration, but he was in no mood to have that pointed out to him, especially with the pack in his jeans pressing oh-so temptingly against his leg. As it was, his mouth had set into a thin line and it was only by the grace of God that one of his looks hadn't killed the waitress who kept tossing him inquisitive looks. If only she knew the reason he was here, and the reason that a certain someone else was supposed to be here.
It was likely that he would have been sour even if Benjamin had been on time. Nicholas had spent the entire day with a smile frozen on his face, as usual, waiting for screaming mother after screaming mother to calm their also-screaming children while he stood patiently behind his camera. They all seemed to come in for family portraits on the exact same day. He bet they planned it. When he tried to tell himself that at least they were better than the brides who found something wrong with every single shot or changed their minds so frequently it was impossible to get anything done at all...yeah, not really.
Not that he had nothing else to do other than dwell at the moment anyway. He hated having nothing to do. But just because Nicholas was four years older, that didn't give Benjamin the excuse to be the child in their partnership, damn it! Dark brown eyes, nearly black in most lighting, skipped around the room yet again, finally landing on the object of his search and narrowed in a blatant glower. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across the spotless black canvas of his t-shirt clad chest, not making a move to wave his partner over. Let him figure it out.
Should have gone home. The suggestion had been rolling itself over in his head from the moment he had received the call. He should have gone home and let Benjamin take all the time in the world to screw around after work. Nicholas could have used twenty minutes for a lot of things: a nap, TV, a shower, watching paint dry...
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2. The darkness of night had all but retreated when a tall, lanky fellow finally arrived to unlock the doors of the comfortably peculiar bookstore. Flaming red hair twisted into wild almost-curls, barely tamed into looking respectable. Save for the thick brown fur he favored wearing as a cloak across his shoulders on cooler mornings, his attire was reasonably ordinary for someone his age and in his line of work: a simple grey button-up shirt, a dark pair of jeans, and a well-worn pair of leather shoes that looked more comfortable than they had any right to be.
A small, furry companion followed close on his heels, small and as grey as the morning, rubbing up against the door with an entitled impatience that only a spoilt house cat could manage with any degree of dignity. Her master grumbled a half-hearted command of patience as he sorted through the well-worn leather pouch at his hip for the right key. The moment the lock finally clicked open, the feline darted in and was immediately lost within the maze of shelves, wall-to-wall and ceiling-to-floor. In the back of the room a narrow stairway hinted at what was perhaps an upper story, but still more tomes blocked the pathway leading upwards. It was anyone's guess as to what was up there.
The usual morning routine consisted of folding his fur and storing it behind the wooden counter, checking the notes he had written for himself the previous evening, sweeping imaginary dust from the smooth wooden floors, and flipping the wooden sign in the front window to 'open' after pushing aside the heavy draperies that kept out both sunlight on hot summer afternoons and the attentions of the unsavory sorts of individuals who tended to prowl the city's streets after hours. Not that they would have gotten out with anything anyway; Jasper had made quite sure of that the very night he had moved into town and set up shop ages ago.
There were books on every conceivable subject here, as well as a handful of oddities that were appreciated by a rare few who knew what they were looking for. Certainly no one had gone away disappointed in recent memory. That alone seemed to hold a significant amount of appeal for regular customers and travelers alike, and word of mouth alone brought new people in daily. Collectors, mostly, followed closely by people who were, for all intents and purposes, merely curious.
Eventually he came to rest on the stool behind the counter, flipping through the soft, frequently-thumbed pages of a book that had just come in the previous day. Enamored would have been an accurate statement to describe his fixation on his task of appraising the item, gauging its particulars. In fact, near an hour had passed before he gently closed his treasure and stood, stretching hard enough to hear several joints crack in the shop's warm silence. Many would find it dull, he knew, but his love of books was unrivaled. He knew that as well. Still, he had found himself without enough to occupy his time as of late...
Peering at the antique clock sitting on one of the shorter shelves, storm-grey eyes flickered to the door, and then back to the clock, an uncharacteristic frown crossing boyish features as, once again, his distraction of choice returned to his mind. Burning curiosity was an understatement when it came right down to it; he was quite convinced that it would kill him at some point. The local clocksmith had continued to occupy more and more of the shopkeeper's thoughts recently, until the mysterious man was never all that far from Jasper's inner musings.
Well...curiosity killed the cat, true, but Shakespeare, the cat, was skulking about in some dark corner, waiting for someone to compromise her location so she could go galumphing off in mock-panic. Even so, any plans to leave the bookstore would have to wait at least until lunch rolled around, when he would at least have an excuse to lock up for an hour...or maybe two. Time never had been his strong suit.
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3. "Don't shout." Kathias growled as he forced himself not to feel the nails pressing into his wrist; he didn't bruise easily, anyway, and wouldn't give a damn if he did. It was too much, though. He tried not to cringe when the scents of alcohol and coffee reached his nose. Aidia drank so early? Had his Aidia become a raving drunk? That wasn't important right now.
The shaking and the sight of his former lover's pain, and he knew the blacksmith would feel worse if the rogue brought his own discomfort to the other man's attention. God, Aidia was strong. He exhaled slowly, kept his voice low, steady, as if he had just taunted and enraged a Majorurous and was now trying to fast-talk his way out of a corner.
"I know you're nothing like her, you'll take care of me. I..." And even then, through the hesitation, 'I'm yours', could not be said. Truly, he wanted to say it, to just submit and make life easy on the both of them. But to submit was weak, to be taken care of like this was...the same. If he had not given up the fight after all the hell he'd been through so far, he could make it just a little farther.
And regardless of what Aidia had worked out, Kathias needed to hold onto that, to remain strong for both of them right now. "I'm sorry, Aidia." It was the first time he had managed to say it since he had returned. A rare, genuine version of his trademark smile accompanied his next words. "Don't be upset with me. You know I didn't mean anything by it."
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4. The disgruntled kal'dorei found himself helping to fish buoyant supplies from the waters surrounding the ship. Some clod had actually managed to trip and knock over a stack of crates that some other idiot hadn't tied down. Really, every member of his crew had been doing this for years; there was no reason for such simplistic mistakes.
"I should drown you morons before we even set sail!" The gnomish duo hastily plucked the rest of the crates from the surf and scrambled to get out of sight. "Get back here and tie these things down!" He gave up when he got no response and completed the task himself. Normally, he'd merely chase down the gnomes and fling them overboard as well, probably the reason the small Allies had vanished as quickly as possible. They could swim, so he didn't really see the problem.
At the dwarf's call, Aeveli turned his attention to the potential passenger. The potential passenger who looked distinctly horrified. What fun. The night elf moved closer to the ship's railing for a closer inspection. His eye narrowed slightly as he took in the other's appearance. Too tall for an average human, not tall enough for the average night elf. Nothing was certain, but he was pretty confident with his guess. His words were crisp, filled with strength and authority. "This ship follows a pre-set trade route which--"
The human child interrupted as she bounced back into view, out of breath but with a disturbingly large rat in tow, at least the size of a worg pup. "No one else wants to go, Li, but some orc boy gave me this for a few silver!" She held the rodent high above her head and clambered aboard the ship, ignoring its hissing protests. Aeveli looked stressed, beginning to regret not going on a Horde-slaying rampage like the rest of the Alliance. It was so much easier than this 'neutral' business.
There was sudden shout from the general direction of the galley followed by high-pitched giggling, and loud, angry squeaking. No one paid it any mind.
"...As I was saying, we follow the coastline from Booty Bay up to Menethil Harbor in the Wetlands. Kid advertises a certain rate, but you are welcome to try and convince me to lower price if you can make yourself useful." It was challenging to retain his cool and intimidating aura with a little monster galloping around in the background with a peeved worg-rat, but he managed.
Sorta.
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5. "Huh..." Mouthy pups were familiar enough to Leif, having been one himself years ago. Even at this stage in life, he still hadn't fully grown out of it. He decided not to voice that particular detail to Rudolph, though the other man had probably noticed it already.
The doctor knew that Connor's situation would be stuck in his head for ages now, something to think about when he wasn't working. Things always worked like that. He would be just sitting around, smoking, maybe reading a bit, then some irrelevant train of thought would drift into his head. And, of course, it always had absolutely nothing to do with himself or anything job-related.
"Well, it'll hit him eventually. Unless he's especially stupid, like Morgan." A thumb was jerked a the sulking vampire. Hathaway had rested his chin on the van's steering wheel, his face masked with an unblinking, dark expression, too similar to one of Vincent's. Ethan was subconsciously pressing himself against the passenger's door. The human was clearly uncomfortable, but didn't want to draw attention to it by actually climbing out the open window.
Leif suddenly became aware that his childhood tutor was conversing with the intimidating vampire they'd been eying earlier. A single honey-colored eye narrowed. "So, Dr. Marrok. Who's that?" He liked to know who was interacting with his little friendship circle and why. Also, it was worth noting that Vincent typically didn't hold extended conversations with suspicious people unless it was unquestionably required.
The true master of evil expressions cracked one side of his neck in a rather un-elegant fashion, his seemingly infinite patience fading ever-so slightly. "While I am sympathetic toward Mr. Gardi, I do not feel an overwhelming need to bring you up-to-date on my life, stranger." Vincent's polite tone never wavered. He was used to dealing with 'nosy' people... though they were usually of the female variety. Unfortunately, they were far more personal and detailed about their queries, which tended to lead to generic 'I think I left a roast in the oven' excuses. The English professor was a terrible liar, so he tried to avoid situations that required it.
Celka Morroc · Mon Apr 13, 2015 @ 05:17am · 0 Comments |