by Thaedael » Sun May 27, 2012 6:38 pm
Illusionist Shard - The Bar
It had been an evening like any other evening, not too hot, nor too cold. The sun had set casting the sky into a brilliant blaze of colors, the fading out screams of daylight giving in to the muffled blues of a star-filled night. Out across from the open window he could stare from his bed, tracing the flickering lights of the city below mirroring the stars above, man`s defiance of the natural order. Yet what was natural about it?
He traced the inside of his left palm with the back of his index, the rough skin of his finger grating audibly above the snoring of children. He looked around the room, it couldn`t have been more that twenty by twenty feet, yet it was packed deep with orphans from countless untold tragedies. For as perfect as the illusionist`s city was, there was nothing that could stop misfortune.
Silence once more. As if to confirm his existence he ran the length of his finger, tracing the shallow bridge of his nose up to the peak of his cheek bones. Slowly tracing the contours of his amber eye he continued up to his forehead, before giving one strong stroke through his braided hair. He stood up heading to the bathroom, sure not to step on any of the sleeping ones as he made his way through the room known as the barracks. Ducking under hammocks and stepping over mattresses he made his way towards the winding corridor of a hallway, before ducking into the washroom.
Rushing water greeted his hands, splashing his face. The water continued to roll down the length of his cheeks, catching onto his chin before plunging back to the sink below. The mirror, himself, the man he said he would be. I am gallant, he thought to himself, as much as a nickname as his identity. The owners of the orphanage would call him this as he went out of the way to help the kids, either through story telling, or being like an older brother, or taking them to school. It was his only defining trait, the only thing he had.
``Fuck I am getting all sentimental``he sighed under his breath, the sound reverberating around the tiled room. Grabbing one of the musky, towels he wiped the last of the moisture of his brow, before working it down to his chin. He decided he would go to the local bar and talk to Typhoon. As much a friend as his own version of himself, a person to sound ideas off and to get help from.
Rounding the corner off one of the man streets Gallant strode head and shoulder above the crowd. Scantly clad women, a flash of thigh capped by a short cut skirt, giving way to more flesh of the stomach. The party goers were out in droves, the atmosphere of the perfect party district in full effect. Aside the long side of the bar rested Typhoons beater of a motorcycle. Gallant had smiled to himself. This is exactly where he would find him.
Making his way round through the main entrance, his eyes were assaulted with the sudden shift to the dark low-lit mood lighting of the bar.