(OOC note: this game was set and started for Alu Marein. If you wish to join, out of courtesy please contact the writer LupinGerald to ask if it’s alright with them. I will agree with their wishes in this particular thread.)
Morgan moved the receiver of the landline down to rest on the glass and wood counter of his broom closet sized shop. Fanny was relentless about rent, ‘due by the 10th’ she said, ‘I’ll evict you,’ she said. She wouldn’t, who else would rent this dump? And now all the words and threats were spoken to the scratched and pockmarked glass surface that was about as uncaring as Morgan himself.
It was a place with no name, or rather no sign past the oh so well known eye and palm resting on the door, windows covered with layers of thick jewel toned cloth. Not much really indicated that there was anything of interest there at all. No window display seen through dirty glass, no neon sign that indicates the place was even open. But when he was tending, people came. Somehow they knew what it was and that it was there. Morgan liked to be alone, he liked the privacy of being off the main streets back behind a The Skep and Skine bar where drunks could piss away their money, he liked that his life was as simple as he could have possibly made it. He liked the dark woods and creaky floors and piles of boxes and useless ‘occult’ tourist trinkets that lined shelves set up with no actual sorting system to find what one was looking for. Nobody came in here looking for anything in particular anyway. They just left with junk, the true objects of power stored in the back where the massive man kept his cot, where he kept his books, where he kept his whole life.
Listening to the high pitched sounds the loud woman made off the glass Morgan watched the phone vibrate ever so slightly. Almost not enough to notice. Then, silence, as Miss Fanny hung up. Sweet, beautiful silence. The only sounds coming faintly from outside, through the wood and the glass and the heavy cloth. The sounds of a damp rainy city, not anything loud enough to be disruptive.
Dressed in simple loose fit jeans and a grey thermal shirt unbuttoned at the neck, Morgan tied his mane of hair into a comfortable bun upon the back of his head, shoes creaking to sing along with the light jingaling if silver charms that hung on a leather cord down to his sturnium as he made his way to the back wall.
Taking up the old wood handled broom Morgan began to sweep the worn red and blue rug that had once held many designs and now faded to a muted pink of vague blurry blobs. The plush fibers worn down to the point of resembling a beach towel one might find in the house of a frugal grandmother. It ran the length of the center aisle though in actuality the shop only had the one, straight to the back, to his counter and that phone still sitting off the hook.
A deep breath brought in the familiar smells of coffee, dust and amber perfume. The smell a permanent part of the tiny shop since a display case had broken sending the oily substance soaking into and under the floorboards. It wasn’t strong, but enough to be sweet, enough to make the air inside seem somehow more than that of the narrow street outside. The large man liked it, just as he liked the rest of his old, worn things.
***
Morgan moved the receiver of the landline down to rest on the glass and wood counter of his broom closet sized shop. Fanny was relentless about rent, ‘due by the 10th’ she said, ‘I’ll evict you,’ she said. She wouldn’t, who else would rent this dump? And now all the words and threats were spoken to the scratched and pockmarked glass surface that was about as uncaring as Morgan himself.
It was a place with no name, or rather no sign past the oh so well known eye and palm resting on the door, windows covered with layers of thick jewel toned cloth. Not much really indicated that there was anything of interest there at all. No window display seen through dirty glass, no neon sign that indicates the place was even open. But when he was tending, people came. Somehow they knew what it was and that it was there. Morgan liked to be alone, he liked the privacy of being off the main streets back behind a The Skep and Skine bar where drunks could piss away their money, he liked that his life was as simple as he could have possibly made it. He liked the dark woods and creaky floors and piles of boxes and useless ‘occult’ tourist trinkets that lined shelves set up with no actual sorting system to find what one was looking for. Nobody came in here looking for anything in particular anyway. They just left with junk, the true objects of power stored in the back where the massive man kept his cot, where he kept his books, where he kept his whole life.
Listening to the high pitched sounds the loud woman made off the glass Morgan watched the phone vibrate ever so slightly. Almost not enough to notice. Then, silence, as Miss Fanny hung up. Sweet, beautiful silence. The only sounds coming faintly from outside, through the wood and the glass and the heavy cloth. The sounds of a damp rainy city, not anything loud enough to be disruptive.
Dressed in simple loose fit jeans and a grey thermal shirt unbuttoned at the neck, Morgan tied his mane of hair into a comfortable bun upon the back of his head, shoes creaking to sing along with the light jingaling if silver charms that hung on a leather cord down to his sturnium as he made his way to the back wall.
Taking up the old wood handled broom Morgan began to sweep the worn red and blue rug that had once held many designs and now faded to a muted pink of vague blurry blobs. The plush fibers worn down to the point of resembling a beach towel one might find in the house of a frugal grandmother. It ran the length of the center aisle though in actuality the shop only had the one, straight to the back, to his counter and that phone still sitting off the hook.
A deep breath brought in the familiar smells of coffee, dust and amber perfume. The smell a permanent part of the tiny shop since a display case had broken sending the oily substance soaking into and under the floorboards. It wasn’t strong, but enough to be sweet, enough to make the air inside seem somehow more than that of the narrow street outside. The large man liked it, just as he liked the rest of his old, worn things.
***
Alu had promptly fallen asleep at the bar in this random little pub she found while on a rare adventure into town. Yes, yes, embarrassing as all hell but give the elf a break, she just finally paid off the IRS who'd been on her ass about not paying something or other, she couldn't remember but in her dream, she was running. Actually running. Can feel the wind on her face and her hair moving, exertion in her lungs and her legs pumping-
Her left knee jerked up sharply and smacked the underside of the glossy bartop, rattling her three empty shot glasses perched there and calling the attention of a few other slurring patrons. The pain there radiating through her thigh and down her shin was enough to shock her awake and she slowly sat up from her slump, her body feeling as sluggish as molasses and she seemed to just roll herself off the stool to stand. Once she had slapped a couple 20 dollar bills beside her empty glasses, she made her way toward the doors. Well, she hobbled her way to the doors. Drunk Alu was a clumsy Alu and she found herself now outside in the bitter cold with a giant eye and a hand looking down at her.
Who do they think they are? What kinda place has just a hand and an eye for a logo?
Despite her thoughts, she found those blankets or whatever in the window to be pretty so she found the door handle and pushed. The scent of coffee and somethin else made the place smell similar to a nice cologne, sweetness her head as she stumped her way down the single aisle. The trinkets were cute...? Some of them were pretty creepy and she considered getting a make-shift shrunken head as a key chain. The coarse sound of a broom and carpet caught her attention, spotting the only other person in this joint. A rather tall man with hair crazier than hers. The feather ear'd woman sorta crept up, her boots scuffing along the rug he had just swept.
"You work here?" Apparently she had grown attached to that shrunken head key chain for it was dangling from her fingers as she spoke, "Is this place even open? 'Cos there's no sign or anything..." She probably smelled like whipped cream vodka, which was her go to anxiety killer.
Her left knee jerked up sharply and smacked the underside of the glossy bartop, rattling her three empty shot glasses perched there and calling the attention of a few other slurring patrons. The pain there radiating through her thigh and down her shin was enough to shock her awake and she slowly sat up from her slump, her body feeling as sluggish as molasses and she seemed to just roll herself off the stool to stand. Once she had slapped a couple 20 dollar bills beside her empty glasses, she made her way toward the doors. Well, she hobbled her way to the doors. Drunk Alu was a clumsy Alu and she found herself now outside in the bitter cold with a giant eye and a hand looking down at her.
Who do they think they are? What kinda place has just a hand and an eye for a logo?
Despite her thoughts, she found those blankets or whatever in the window to be pretty so she found the door handle and pushed. The scent of coffee and somethin else made the place smell similar to a nice cologne, sweetness her head as she stumped her way down the single aisle. The trinkets were cute...? Some of them were pretty creepy and she considered getting a make-shift shrunken head as a key chain. The coarse sound of a broom and carpet caught her attention, spotting the only other person in this joint. A rather tall man with hair crazier than hers. The feather ear'd woman sorta crept up, her boots scuffing along the rug he had just swept.
"You work here?" Apparently she had grown attached to that shrunken head key chain for it was dangling from her fingers as she spoke, "Is this place even open? 'Cos there's no sign or anything..." She probably smelled like whipped cream vodka, which was her go to anxiety killer.
Nika only looked up for a moment as the door opened, then it was back to sweeping. He could hear the sound of the phone as it switched from static to dialtone, that annoying, beep, beep, beeping. In honestly, it made him want to smash the thing. Instead, he reached over and placed it quietly on the hook. The yellowed chunky plastic a relic of a past most youth wouldn’t really know.
Again, it was back to sweeping. The clearly drunken woman who had entered not making a scene so he let her be. Eyes on the ground as he got at dust that would never truly leave the rug. But then, boots. Boots on his nice never clean floor. After a moment, the tall man looked up, fixing his eyes on the face of the elf. Outwardly he looked no different, that soft frown never changing. Inwardly? He was a touch curious. It was uncommon to see an elf here. They tended to stick to their own kind, didn’t they? Not that it was any skin off his teeth.
“Do I… work here?” The question sounded halfway sarcastic, completely rhetorical. Voice deep and resonant from his barrel chest. He glanced down at the broom in his large hands before one thick brow rose as if with a mind of its own.
“Sure. Let’s say I do. And that it’s open.” Offering a brief, slight smile Morgan moved a few steps back to the wall the broom called home and hung it back where it belonged. If he’d been sweeping to ‘clean’ he’d only really succeeded on moving dust around. Perhaps the source of one of the distinct smells as it pushed the particles into the air. “Are you looking for something, Pchelka? Or we strictly talking a drunken parooze through the shelves of infinite possibility.” He was joking, playing with her as one long fingered hands gestured to the overpacked shelves that were anything but infinite.
***
Again, it was back to sweeping. The clearly drunken woman who had entered not making a scene so he let her be. Eyes on the ground as he got at dust that would never truly leave the rug. But then, boots. Boots on his nice never clean floor. After a moment, the tall man looked up, fixing his eyes on the face of the elf. Outwardly he looked no different, that soft frown never changing. Inwardly? He was a touch curious. It was uncommon to see an elf here. They tended to stick to their own kind, didn’t they? Not that it was any skin off his teeth.
“Do I… work here?” The question sounded halfway sarcastic, completely rhetorical. Voice deep and resonant from his barrel chest. He glanced down at the broom in his large hands before one thick brow rose as if with a mind of its own.
“Sure. Let’s say I do. And that it’s open.” Offering a brief, slight smile Morgan moved a few steps back to the wall the broom called home and hung it back where it belonged. If he’d been sweeping to ‘clean’ he’d only really succeeded on moving dust around. Perhaps the source of one of the distinct smells as it pushed the particles into the air. “Are you looking for something, Pchelka? Or we strictly talking a drunken parooze through the shelves of infinite possibility.” He was joking, playing with her as one long fingered hands gestured to the overpacked shelves that were anything but infinite.
***
As he spoke, her eyes would drift around his features. All he needed was an axe, some pine trees and to be featured in the calendar for the month of November. Lumberjack themed, obviously. He was annoyingly good looking and it kinda pissed her off a little, being as tipsy as she was. Plus, she had a feeling that he was making fun of her for something. Crossing her arms, Alu adjusted how she stood, more so using her left leg to keep her slightly swaying self balanced.
He used long words, like 'parooze', 'infinite', and that weird one, 'pchelka', whatever that meant.
"Sir, I am not as drunk as I seem to be," she pointed at her temples, emerald hues foggy and dulled, "Steel traps and whatnot." She shrugged a slim shoulder before taking in a breath, "I dunno, just saw this eye starin at me and what kind of shop doesn't even have a name on it?" She asked, giving him a little look displaying her confusion before glancing behind him at the desk, the dinosaur of a phone being the first thing she spotted, probably because of how yellow the damn thing was.
"Wicked cool phone, have it all your life?" She asked, the jesting smile curving her lips giving her an almost feline expression. Did she just call him old? Maybe it was the beard or the small scowl, or both. Regardless, it was something to poke fun of in retaliation. And besides, he was a big boy, she's sure he can handle her pourly thought and alcohol induced insults.
Idly playing with the shrunken head she had plucked from the shelves he mentioned, she rolled it between her fingers before holding it up to the light as if it were a coin of high value.
"What kind of shop even sells weird little things like this?" She asked, more to herself than him. She still thought this bity lil shrunken head would look cute on her key ring and she bounced it a little from it's string, "How much is this? Can't be very much, it's so small..."
He used long words, like 'parooze', 'infinite', and that weird one, 'pchelka', whatever that meant.
"Sir, I am not as drunk as I seem to be," she pointed at her temples, emerald hues foggy and dulled, "Steel traps and whatnot." She shrugged a slim shoulder before taking in a breath, "I dunno, just saw this eye starin at me and what kind of shop doesn't even have a name on it?" She asked, giving him a little look displaying her confusion before glancing behind him at the desk, the dinosaur of a phone being the first thing she spotted, probably because of how yellow the damn thing was.
"Wicked cool phone, have it all your life?" She asked, the jesting smile curving her lips giving her an almost feline expression. Did she just call him old? Maybe it was the beard or the small scowl, or both. Regardless, it was something to poke fun of in retaliation. And besides, he was a big boy, she's sure he can handle her pourly thought and alcohol induced insults.
Idly playing with the shrunken head she had plucked from the shelves he mentioned, she rolled it between her fingers before holding it up to the light as if it were a coin of high value.
"What kind of shop even sells weird little things like this?" She asked, more to herself than him. She still thought this bity lil shrunken head would look cute on her key ring and she bounced it a little from it's string, "How much is this? Can't be very much, it's so small..."
With a chuckle that was more two hard breaths out his nose Morgan glanced to the temple that the woman pointed to. Listened to how she insisted she wasn’t quite what as drunk as she appeared. Honestly, even if that was true it still sent her into the category of shitfaced. At least in his opinion, the sweet vodka on her breath corroborating such feelings.
“Right. Little Hunter, what you do with your traps is your own business.” Making a small gesture to the shop as a whole he moved to stand in the narrow space between counter and wall. The place he should be if she wanted to buy anything, leaning against the wood and glass surface with one hip.
“This kind of shop, and of course it has a name... for tax purposes. Got to be above board if you aren’t selling oranges on the side of the highway.” One couldn’t simply go cheating the IRS, a business licence was needed, address forms, income documentation, not to mention insurance. Though that was more for Fanny’s benefit than his own.
“Ah, this?” Tapping the phone with the nail of his index finger Morgan rose one shoulder, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side. Only perhaps a quarter commitment to a shrug. “All your life at least.” He caught on that the elf had called him old, but well… he didn’t show it on his stoic features. Though it seemed he had just called her a child.
“Again, this kind,” he grumbled, looking to the head in her hands. He wasn’t about to tell her that the prices were arbitrary, that most days there wasn’t any tags at all. Not unless an item was of any kind of importance and then, well, it was likely not to be in the front of the shop. “You’re right about that, not very expensive. We’ll call it five even. Less ya want something else, I’m gonna guess by your question of my lovely establishment you didn’t come here for a palm reading. Miss…?”
***
“Right. Little Hunter, what you do with your traps is your own business.” Making a small gesture to the shop as a whole he moved to stand in the narrow space between counter and wall. The place he should be if she wanted to buy anything, leaning against the wood and glass surface with one hip.
“This kind of shop, and of course it has a name... for tax purposes. Got to be above board if you aren’t selling oranges on the side of the highway.” One couldn’t simply go cheating the IRS, a business licence was needed, address forms, income documentation, not to mention insurance. Though that was more for Fanny’s benefit than his own.
“Ah, this?” Tapping the phone with the nail of his index finger Morgan rose one shoulder, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side. Only perhaps a quarter commitment to a shrug. “All your life at least.” He caught on that the elf had called him old, but well… he didn’t show it on his stoic features. Though it seemed he had just called her a child.
“Again, this kind,” he grumbled, looking to the head in her hands. He wasn’t about to tell her that the prices were arbitrary, that most days there wasn’t any tags at all. Not unless an item was of any kind of importance and then, well, it was likely not to be in the front of the shop. “You’re right about that, not very expensive. We’ll call it five even. Less ya want something else, I’m gonna guess by your question of my lovely establishment you didn’t come here for a palm reading. Miss…?”
***
He was quick thinking, able to make a come back against her remarks and it made her want to puff up. Wasn't every day she found someone who had something interesting to put forth.
Regardless, she found her lips curving, trying to keep that Cheshire at bay as she followed him to that counter, that bright phone the only seemingly neon thing in this joint; it stuck out against the faded, dusty theme of his shop. It could use some work as far as aesthetic and comfort, that's for sure.
His quipped words about having phone rose a giggle to her lips. Well, it sounded a little dry, less like a giggling girl and more like how it would feel to have hay in your mouth. "At least I'm not some old fart with a banana yellow dino phone, a bunch of little trinkets and no name on my shops door..." She trailed off, her eyes down cast on the shrunken head rolling between her fingers.
His price was simple enough, the tilt in her lips displaying cheaper thoughts but she reached back to slip a hand in her back pocket for her wallet.
At his mention of palm reading, she stopped, her gaze lifting and her brows rising.
"Palm reading... You palm read?" She asked, her expression something along the lines of disbelief and intrigue. Palm reading. Alu remembered one of the older ladies at the brothel doing something like that, although it was all just part of the act for their patrons.
When small, barely out of toddling Alu gave the woman her palm, that kind smile greeted her and a wrinkling hands folded it, returned it, saying 'I can't, but it's just as real as you and me.' Alu proceeded to call it 'horse-hockey' and resumed her chores.
The elf was pulled from her reverie upon remembering where she was and she slid her wallet back into her pocket, her smaller hand reaching forward for his.
"Alu Marein, how much for a palm reading?" She went right to the point before she smiled, her head turning a bit. It was an expression of embarrassment. For him, "Your memory must really be going, you still haven't told me the name of your shop..." She snickered to herself, trying her drunkest hardest to keep herself from the permanent giggles, biting both lips in her grand effort.
Regardless, she found her lips curving, trying to keep that Cheshire at bay as she followed him to that counter, that bright phone the only seemingly neon thing in this joint; it stuck out against the faded, dusty theme of his shop. It could use some work as far as aesthetic and comfort, that's for sure.
His quipped words about having phone rose a giggle to her lips. Well, it sounded a little dry, less like a giggling girl and more like how it would feel to have hay in your mouth. "At least I'm not some old fart with a banana yellow dino phone, a bunch of little trinkets and no name on my shops door..." She trailed off, her eyes down cast on the shrunken head rolling between her fingers.
His price was simple enough, the tilt in her lips displaying cheaper thoughts but she reached back to slip a hand in her back pocket for her wallet.
At his mention of palm reading, she stopped, her gaze lifting and her brows rising.
"Palm reading... You palm read?" She asked, her expression something along the lines of disbelief and intrigue. Palm reading. Alu remembered one of the older ladies at the brothel doing something like that, although it was all just part of the act for their patrons.
When small, barely out of toddling Alu gave the woman her palm, that kind smile greeted her and a wrinkling hands folded it, returned it, saying 'I can't, but it's just as real as you and me.' Alu proceeded to call it 'horse-hockey' and resumed her chores.
The elf was pulled from her reverie upon remembering where she was and she slid her wallet back into her pocket, her smaller hand reaching forward for his.
"Alu Marein, how much for a palm reading?" She went right to the point before she smiled, her head turning a bit. It was an expression of embarrassment. For him, "Your memory must really be going, you still haven't told me the name of your shop..." She snickered to herself, trying her drunkest hardest to keep herself from the permanent giggles, biting both lips in her grand effort.
“Clever” Morgan muttered, a brow lifting. “But I would call it a mustard yellow phone. Though I can see where you might have been going.” One hand brushed across the counter as if flicking away dust, though it might have been the least dirty thing in the vicinity. Watching those pretty brows lift Morgan kept the same neutral face, inwardly he thought it fully how expressive the drunken woman was.
“Yes.” The reply was smooth, as if what he was saying was completely normal. “But it’s not what many people seem to think, Pchelka. I can not tell you your future, only who you are. And I am guessing you already know that.” The large man was being a touch more forthcoming than he might normally be, figuring that this elf would sniff out bullshit like a truffle pig. With others though, he’d bend the truth. It was easy to make them believe it.
“Well, Alu Marein, I will read your palm and throw in that head in your hand for a grand total of twenty. Not a bad deal. And I never had any intention of telling you the name of this shop, Alu. You are here now, what use would it be to you.”
Even as he spoke one large hand reached across the counter so that Alu could place her hand in his if she chose. No thatrics, no pretend at something more. He just, wanted to look at her palm, as simply as making a phone call on that debated yellow phone. “What do you say?”
***
“Yes.” The reply was smooth, as if what he was saying was completely normal. “But it’s not what many people seem to think, Pchelka. I can not tell you your future, only who you are. And I am guessing you already know that.” The large man was being a touch more forthcoming than he might normally be, figuring that this elf would sniff out bullshit like a truffle pig. With others though, he’d bend the truth. It was easy to make them believe it.
“Well, Alu Marein, I will read your palm and throw in that head in your hand for a grand total of twenty. Not a bad deal. And I never had any intention of telling you the name of this shop, Alu. You are here now, what use would it be to you.”
Even as he spoke one large hand reached across the counter so that Alu could place her hand in his if she chose. No thatrics, no pretend at something more. He just, wanted to look at her palm, as simply as making a phone call on that debated yellow phone. “What do you say?”
***
She gave a shrug, looking down at to judge the yellow of the phone. She mocked an artist, putting her hand on her chin and staring in contemplation at the phone.
"Canary yellow. Or maybe mustard but I hate mustard, it's too strong, " she made a sour expression, now focusing on listening to him speak of palm reading, how foretelling futures weren't reachable by simple means of reading her hand. Bummer but still, guess she'd figure out from a valid source how others see her.
A one-legged hermit drunk was probably the answer, and she wouldn't argue with it. It was pretty much on point.
A smile would curve her lips at the sound of price, "Sounds like a fair deal, maybe you can even tell me something I don't know about myself." She chose to leave the shops name a mystery and not press further on the subject. The name might even be dumb, like "Mike's Seeing Eye" except his name wasn't Mike and he didn't have a seeing eye. That she knew of.
With his larger out out to take hers, Alu's hesitance almost went unnoticed before her hand lay palm up in his. It was small, her fingers and the pale flesh lightly calloused, a few scars here and there. She had the hands of someone who had been worked well in the past yet was there was only remanence of hard work. Nothing new to scratch up her hands. What exactly could she do, other than just sit at home by herself and watch TV or play games? Not like she would be able to make it out to any sort of job and what help would she even be then? It was just best to stay at home where she couldn't cause trouble.
She refocused back on the man before her, the quirk of a smile and eye brow displaying her still laxidasical mood.
"Read away, before the lines disappear." It was a bad joke.
"Canary yellow. Or maybe mustard but I hate mustard, it's too strong, " she made a sour expression, now focusing on listening to him speak of palm reading, how foretelling futures weren't reachable by simple means of reading her hand. Bummer but still, guess she'd figure out from a valid source how others see her.
A one-legged hermit drunk was probably the answer, and she wouldn't argue with it. It was pretty much on point.
A smile would curve her lips at the sound of price, "Sounds like a fair deal, maybe you can even tell me something I don't know about myself." She chose to leave the shops name a mystery and not press further on the subject. The name might even be dumb, like "Mike's Seeing Eye" except his name wasn't Mike and he didn't have a seeing eye. That she knew of.
With his larger out out to take hers, Alu's hesitance almost went unnoticed before her hand lay palm up in his. It was small, her fingers and the pale flesh lightly calloused, a few scars here and there. She had the hands of someone who had been worked well in the past yet was there was only remanence of hard work. Nothing new to scratch up her hands. What exactly could she do, other than just sit at home by herself and watch TV or play games? Not like she would be able to make it out to any sort of job and what help would she even be then? It was just best to stay at home where she couldn't cause trouble.
She refocused back on the man before her, the quirk of a smile and eye brow displaying her still laxidasical mood.
"Read away, before the lines disappear." It was a bad joke.
A slow, small smile tugged at the corners of Morgan’s mouth, unable not find the action of ‘critiquing’ the to be somewhat charming. Perhaps it was because the woman was drunk. As her slender fingers slipped into his hand he noted the facing calluses against his own lightly roughened skin. He was no farmer but the man knew how to use his hands.
A free finger came to trace along the palm. Along the heart line, the head line, the life line, the fate line. As if he could feel something there through touch alone. But really, it had nothing to do with her hand. For a moment the dour tower of beard and hair was more still then he had been, Morgan’s breathing slow in a way that suggested he almost seemed to be forgetting how. Blue eyes intent on her palm closed as instead he searched deeply into her mind. Swam around in the things he didn’t want or care to know until he found that twinkling gemstone, that vein of gold. The tidbit of information he’d wanted.
Slowly, he looked back up to Alu letting her hand slip from his be that to the countertop or taken back to her person.
“You lead such a lonely life, Pchelka. No friends, no lovers. The world, she weighs on you. Locking yourself in that cabin of an ivory tower to play your games and make your escape. But you can’t run from who you are, miss Alu. You can’t run from what’s already happened. And the thing is, you don’t think you can run at all. But it’s not your leg that holds you back. Exotic, that’s what they called you. Those feathers that grow from your ears. That word, even now you hate it. Just as accepting that money which allows you to slink away and hid from living your life.” He shrugged. “I think you need friends, Pchelka. But do you feel you deserve them? Do you feel you deserve to be happy again? It wasn’t your fault what he did. But a part of you blames yourself for ‘letting’ it happen. Though perhaps I am simply full of shit.” It was all said so casually, as if the man had been there with her through it all and was simply giving his long held opinion to a self destructive friend.
***
A free finger came to trace along the palm. Along the heart line, the head line, the life line, the fate line. As if he could feel something there through touch alone. But really, it had nothing to do with her hand. For a moment the dour tower of beard and hair was more still then he had been, Morgan’s breathing slow in a way that suggested he almost seemed to be forgetting how. Blue eyes intent on her palm closed as instead he searched deeply into her mind. Swam around in the things he didn’t want or care to know until he found that twinkling gemstone, that vein of gold. The tidbit of information he’d wanted.
Slowly, he looked back up to Alu letting her hand slip from his be that to the countertop or taken back to her person.
“You lead such a lonely life, Pchelka. No friends, no lovers. The world, she weighs on you. Locking yourself in that cabin of an ivory tower to play your games and make your escape. But you can’t run from who you are, miss Alu. You can’t run from what’s already happened. And the thing is, you don’t think you can run at all. But it’s not your leg that holds you back. Exotic, that’s what they called you. Those feathers that grow from your ears. That word, even now you hate it. Just as accepting that money which allows you to slink away and hid from living your life.” He shrugged. “I think you need friends, Pchelka. But do you feel you deserve them? Do you feel you deserve to be happy again? It wasn’t your fault what he did. But a part of you blames yourself for ‘letting’ it happen. Though perhaps I am simply full of shit.” It was all said so casually, as if the man had been there with her through it all and was simply giving his long held opinion to a self destructive friend.
***
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