Fancy meeting you here! -- Alt. Board for the world of Variance

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Date Posted: 02:55:51 02/06/03 Thu
Author: Rowan
Subject: Fancy meeting you here!

Rowan thought about Soran all morning.

He thought about him as he walked down the street from his house, passing Laric Cunax�s illegally owned house, partially shielded by the low wall and climbing rose garden. It made him chuckle, remembering the incident from yesterday. The nerve of the man, knocking on his doorstep and introducing himself, merely so that he might ask to borrow his supposedly rented whore! It was proof, he supposed, that no matter how well you dressed them up, the low-born, less than useless scum of this world would always be just that: low-born, useless scum.

Storm. That�s what he called him, Storm. It was strange, that his new young friend had chosen such a life for himself. With a face like that, what brothel wouldn�t hire him? The life of a streetwalker was unpredictable, dangerous, even suicidal, some would say. It pained him to imagine Soran having to go through all that. No, it more than pained him. It was just downright depressing.

He frowned absently to himself, raising his hand in the air to catch a cab. He wasn�t the type to get depressed. Best not dwell on it, then, let his mind rest on other things for now. Besides, the kid was doing okay at the moment, wasn�t he? Thanks to him, anyway. Probably sleeping like a baby up in that big, soft bed of his, in the midst of some young man�s dream about a pretty girl or some exciting battle of which he was the hero. Rowan had had the seem dreams at his age; a long string of untouchably beautiful girls and boys to wake him up, all bright-eyed and panting in the middle of the night. It made him feel old now, in a queer sort of way.

He thought about Soran again as he tipped the carriage driver and dipped his hat to a pair of blue eyes peeking out from beneath a passing parasol. Maybe, he reflected, as he continued down the busier, downtown street, a kid like Soran had never really had a chance to encounter such dreams. A pretty girl�what was that to a bitter young whore? Perhaps Soran instead dreamed of nothing, an immense, blank feeling of nothingness, in which no one wanted to so much as touch him. It was too daunting a thought to dwell on.

They were always bitter, the young ones who�d been forced into it; he knew that for a fact, it was just how it went. He knew you could be born into it and still hate it, but not quite so much that you wouldn�t leave it for a man you didn�t love, no matter how brightly his eyes shone when he stared into yours.

�Bullshit,� he muttered, his eyes cast irritably down for once instead of staring straight ahead at the world. �This is bullshit!�

A group of passing ladies gave him a combined look of disapproval, but he ignored them. Soran, he decided, would be something new. A project, perhaps, something to occupy his mind for awhile. He needed some direction in his life. No, that was stupid�he wanted some direction in his life, then. Longed for it, even. Yearned for it.

Well, all right, maybe that was a bit much. But still.

�Tell him yes,� he said, stopping before a small, grubby-looking boy of about seven or eight. �Tonight.� He slipped a silver coin into the urchin�s dirty hand, smiling briefly to himself as he watched him run off and disappear down the nearest alley. A moment later, he averted his gaze and continued on his way, a lighter spring to his step.

He was still thinking about Soran as he arrived at the gates before the Fighter�s Guild, but that was only natural. There, he bribed one of his �friends� to speak to one of the people in charge, and within minutes, the entire arrangement was concluded. He pocketed Soran�s returned gold and, giving the gruff fighters a somewhat mocking little bow and a wink, hurried briskly back down the steps and into the streets again.

There wasn�t much else to do at this hour. He dropped off a few of his letters and spoke to a couple business associates along the way. It was too early to make any social calls, as those who would be awake by now would be out at breakfast or brunch for the moment. And besides, he didn�t feel much like making any calls. He was beginning to find the false social niceties of this city to be more than tiring, almost overbearing, even. There were no nobles here, only pompous fools with too much money who fancied themselves more important than their less-fortunate peers.

As he was passing between a bakery and a caf� he sometimes stopped in once or twice a week, he noticed a familiar face staring intently at an easel. A totally unexpected feeling of delight washed over him, bringing the first genuine smile to his face as he quickly crossed the street to where she stood. So intent on her work was she, that she didn�t even notice him until he obligingly cleared his throat.

�Morning,� he said, his grin slightly more controlled as he gave her a polite little bow. He raised an eyebrow at her easel, nodding slightly. �I see you�ve gotten an early start on the day, already. Any luck? With a talent such as yours, I�d be sorry to hear otherwise.�

She smiled politely and made a demure gesture at the bag near her feet. �Ah,� he said, bending over slightly to peer inside it. �A generous amount, were it for any other artist. But it shames me to see your presence not more gratefully appreciated.�

He straightened and met her eyes once again, an almost impish grin on his face. �Why, you really are the only thing worth looking at right now, though any fool with eyes in his head would say the same. And I must confess to being very foolish, despite my being equally clever. Most men are, as I�m sure you�d agree.�

He paused and glanced at the painting she was working on, tried to think of something polite to say about it, but couldn�t. �Would you�� He cleared his throat, returning his gaze to meet hers once again. �Would you like to have an early lunch with me this morning? I know a place just down the road; it�s very lovely, I assure you. Or we could dine there, at the caf�, if you don�t wish to leave your post. Or if you�re in too much of an artistic frenzy to even pause for a simple bite to eat, I could fetch you something and bring it to you, if you�d rather that.�

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