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[attr="class","tequilas"]#29 | coming home

[attr="class","margiewrites"]Was it early or late, when the day ended at 4 a.m.? Tommy was still thinking over the question, posed to him by a bar patron, as he walked back home after his shift. Whether early or late, it was a great time to ponder this and other such philosophical questions. Like... like...?

Well, maybe Tommy wasn't really a philosophical sort of guy, and he didn't have any deeper questions to mull over in the early hours of the morning.

...was that the answer? Early? Becuase of how the expression went?

Nodding his head, he accepted it, tucking his hands into his pockets. Glad he had put that to bed, before he put himself to bed. A hum, a sigh, a scuff of his sneaker-- and he stopped, pausing to listen.

Damn, but it was quiet right now.

He took another step forward, and his footsteps were loud against the pavement. Another step, and the swish of his jacket, the jingle of his keys against the loose change in his pockets, the sound of his breathing and his knee cracking and his heartbeat and--

--and suddenly it wasn't so quiet anymore, and Tommy let out a laugh. God, shit got weird when his brain got lonely. Next time, he'd make sure to grab his headphones. Or next time, he'd accept the drive home, so he couldn't be left alone with so much weirdness.

...there was a more philosophical thought, maybe. Was he lonely?

Going from noise to silence to more silence. But was quiet the same as loneliness? Tommy thought about it for a while, but eventually shook his head, letting out a sigh. He didn't have enough brain to think over such thoughts this late in the day.

...ah. And the question started over again. Philosophy - if that even what this was - was not for guys like him.

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[attr="class","tequilas"]#20 | rain, rain

[attr="class","margiewrites"]Rainy days were muchly bad for Ori.

He sniffed from where he crouched within the barn, sheltering among the hay with the generous cows. So kind, so kind to him he thought, though he had to keep his tail in check, unless they tried to nibble on it again. They smelled, too, like manure and grass and sour milk, but even that was better than the rain.

The rain tickled at his insides and made his hair stand on end. His magic would not be quiet about the water right in front of his nose and all around him, even though he could see and hear and smell it. It was right there, but still his head would not be quiet.

Ori let out a quiet hiss at the water, demanding it go away-- but it would not, not right now. Not now that the Kings had decided it should fall. It was needed for some things, and he knew this. He had been learned how the rains made the plants grow, and the crops, and the flowers. And it was good for drinking. And bathing, when he felt like it.

He did not feel like it now. He was wet enough for three bath days.

With a sigh, he let all of him relax and flopped backwards into the hay. Ori giggled as a soft nose nuzzled at him, smelly and warm, followed by another and another. It tickled, and he said so, but the cows did not reply.

Rain, at least, let him meet such lovely ladies as these. Ori blew out a soft breath before turning onto his belly to crawl further into the barn. Tonight, he would be warm and safe. Tonight, he would have wonderful company, safe from rain and moon above.

And tomorrow... tomorrow he would find a new adventure.

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[attr="class","tequilas"]#2 | a memory of dust

[attr="class","margiewrites"]When would she fade from his memory entirely?

Already a year had passed, and while the seasons never changed, time was nevertheless unforgiving in its forward momentum. Time passed, hours and days and weeks and months and now it had been a year. And with each passing day, with each passing hour, minute, second, with each beat of his heart, she slipped further and further away from him.

Aran sat quietly on the low marble bench in the hall of portraits, gloved hands folded loosely between his knees, elbows resting on his thighs. His posture, his countenance, even his hair, presently none were befitting of one of his position. But that was why he came here, beneath the quiet, staring faces collected within the Hall of Memories in the Palace. Few came here, and fewer lingered before the dusty canvases.

She had come here, for many years, to speak to the likeness of her predecessor; she came for comfort, for counsel, for a connection when custom dictated her solitude. So much time he'd spent here, simply watching her. Sitting quietly on this bench as she spoke to a face she had never met, humming a song only she knew, hands gentle as she laid flowers in thanks for the one-sided conversation. Always, there was dust on her skin and in her hair and a smile on her lips.

Already a year, and her face in his memory grew ever fainter, her features blurring in his mind's eye. Seventy years, gone in one. No longer could Aran remember the curve of her smile, or the way she'd worn her hair. He couldn't remember the way she'd looked back at him over her shoulder, asking for something. He couldn't remember the sound of her voice-- but sometimes he dreamed that song she liked to sing, a melody without words.

Aran sighed quietly and closed his eyes, letting the stillness of the hall wash over him. Her portrait was here, but already it was the face of a stranger. It was familiar and not; he'd been here, and he'd looked upon it, but she was no one too him. She was no one to him now, when once she had been everything.

And yet, here he was.

When would he forget his reason for coming here? When would he forget to come at all, and abandon her memory to the dust and the dark?

His eyes opened. Standing, Aran approached the portrait and stood before it, gaze searching the flat expression that stared back at him. She was beautiful, elegant and poised, a dimple indenting her cheek beside her smile. She was lovely-- but he didn't know her.

Quietly, he brushed the thin film of dust from the surface of the canvas, leaving it clean. His fingers lingered near her face before he dropped his hand to his side and turned away. Aran did not look back as he walked out of the hall, the door shutting heavily behind him with a sound of finality.

He would not return.

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