[Sodium_noir] Whispers of the Past

[Colette Coeur]

  John, Abby
Beneath Mike's Place

John walked over to one of the chairs, a soft black leather one that seemed to want to swallow him up.  There was a small table in front of it, with a couch to its right.  On the table were two classes and a bottle of what appeared to be bourbon.  John spoke as he poured them drinks.
  She takes the drink and sips it slowly, walking around the room.
  If I opened these cases would these clothes and weapons bear your scent, your taste? Even after decades, centuries, and millennia?
   
  "To say I am old would be an understatement.  I have been alive for a long long time.  Occasionally I die and rest while my soul travels the lands of the dead, and then I return and live some more.  I returned to the lands of the living three years ago, and have only just acclimated to this new day and age.  I came to Gotham because it was as good a place as any to be."
  He didn't say that he knew what she was.  It would be rude, and put her on the defensive, maybe make her feel threatened.  Better to let her tell her story when she was ready.
   
  She looks at him again, not entirely surprised his words echo her thoughts. She brushes her nails over the glass covering the Roman gear. “Yours then are they?” She knows the answer even as she asks. “What must it be like watchin’ the years bloom and fade, seein’ people come and go the same way? It must hurt to have to let go so much.” She recalls her own losses, before and after her Change. 
  “I remember Da singin’ me to sleep, warm and safe in his arms. Then his funeral in the cold rain, the drops beadin’ on the tightly folded colors of the flag they gave me. Surrounded by black clad mourners like a Murder of Crows. All with the Pipes wailing. I remember my paw prints in the wet snow, the blood dyein’ them pink as I ran... that first night on the road, cold and alone, hunted
” Her voice trailed off, these memories were painful to bear, and she tried imagining them multiplied over so many lives.  She moves close enough to feel the warmth of him through the thin, ancient silk. She places her hand, slender and pale, over his heart, feeling it beating strongly against her palm.
  “How d’you keep that from breakin?” Her voice is soft, barely audible. 
   
  Tags
   
   

   


"Life is Short, let Love be Long."
 		
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