?Consider the implications. We think we know what we want, but we can never really know until we've got it. And sometimes when we have, we discover we never really wanted it in the first place - but then it's too late?- Alexandra Potter
Mona Oliveira doesn?t wish upon stars.
Though she is so often taken with childish things, the very idea fills her with hopelessness, and she cherishes hope above most things these days. But sitting in a hotel room with the sun still hours away and Bart slumbering at her side, her mind begins to drift to the closest thing to a husband she?s ever (and will ever) have.
Bakar Barinaga had once been her entire world, and she still cares for him, of course she does, but melancholy has been his true mate for centuries. With his relationship with his wife Anouk having recently crumbled (for good this time), and even though Bakar is currently pretending to care what the guests of his Barcelona hotel have to say, his pain resonates in the marrow of Mona?s bones like gospel filling a cathedral.
Unaware of the strange falling star, but perched next to a window, Mona draws her knees to her chest and wraps her pale arms around her legs. What she says next she does so without thinking, the dried black plum of her heart overpowering her mind.
?I wish that Bakar would find peace??
It?s selfless for such a selfish little creature, and Mona gets what she asks for.
-------------------------------------
Far away from Rhy?Din in the Hotel Lavandera, Bakar Barinaga wishes the last of his night owlish guests a pleasant stay and watches the bellhop lead the couple to their room. He turns his hazel eyes to the clock. Seven hours, thirty five minutes and six seconds until sunrise.
He smiles at the pretty little receptionist, who blushes and pretends to be entirely too interested in her computer?s keyboard. Chuffed at her reaction, Bakar heads for the elevator and punches the button for the fifteenth floor. Strolling down the hall, he admires the patterns on the wallpaper, draws his fingers along the dark green wainscoting and listens with a smile at the various conversations going on behind closed doors.
When he reaches his own room, one of a dozen or so in as many boutique hotels, he looks at the clock again. Five hours, six minutes, and seven seconds until sunrise. He?s gone two hours without thinking about Anouk.
Bakar goes through his usual motions of showering and laying out his clothes for the next night. He hums to himself while he searches for the TV remote, a gruff, throaty rendition of Patsy Cline?s Walking After Midnight. There?s absolutely nothing on, just late night infomercials and syndicated melodrama.
Bakar calls his childe Helene without regard for the time difference and she is startled by how happy he sounds to hear her voice. Without explanation- and too be fair, Helene is not the pressing sort- he informs of where he keeps his books, his lists of Kindred connections. He asks her to tell Anouk and Mona that he is sorry, and before hanging up he apologizes to her.
Time continues to march on, as it has and will always do. Two hours, four minutes and five seconds until sunrise.
He strips out of his boxers and wife beater and pulls on kit meant for tomorrow night; a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled up and a pair of black wool pants. Then he slips into his loafers and heads out of his room, cutting a path to the door that leads to the roof.
Barcelona is beautiful from where he stands and the only sadness he feels is birthed by the idea that he should have realized it sooner. A halo of cigar smoke surrounds his face and Bakar takes a seat on one of the ancient glider chairs resting by the ledge. He watches the lights of the city twinkle below him with all of the awe of a child meeting Santa Claus for the first time. He savors the flavor of his cigar; cane sugar and dark herbs.
He glances at his watch. Ten minutes, thirty seconds until sunrise.
As the sun begins to pink the sky, the beast within him rebels and pleas with him in its silent, brutal way to go back inside. His head becomes heavy, and as the sun rises and he falls into slumber, its deadly rays closing the book of Bakar Barinaga?s existence.
He was a man who had traveled the world, lived countless lives and had over that time accumulated a sinful amount of riches, but in the end Bakar found in his final death the one thing that had always alluded him.
He finally found peace.
(For this awesome playable)
Mona Oliveira doesn?t wish upon stars.
Though she is so often taken with childish things, the very idea fills her with hopelessness, and she cherishes hope above most things these days. But sitting in a hotel room with the sun still hours away and Bart slumbering at her side, her mind begins to drift to the closest thing to a husband she?s ever (and will ever) have.
Bakar Barinaga had once been her entire world, and she still cares for him, of course she does, but melancholy has been his true mate for centuries. With his relationship with his wife Anouk having recently crumbled (for good this time), and even though Bakar is currently pretending to care what the guests of his Barcelona hotel have to say, his pain resonates in the marrow of Mona?s bones like gospel filling a cathedral.
Unaware of the strange falling star, but perched next to a window, Mona draws her knees to her chest and wraps her pale arms around her legs. What she says next she does so without thinking, the dried black plum of her heart overpowering her mind.
?I wish that Bakar would find peace??
It?s selfless for such a selfish little creature, and Mona gets what she asks for.
-------------------------------------
Far away from Rhy?Din in the Hotel Lavandera, Bakar Barinaga wishes the last of his night owlish guests a pleasant stay and watches the bellhop lead the couple to their room. He turns his hazel eyes to the clock. Seven hours, thirty five minutes and six seconds until sunrise.
He smiles at the pretty little receptionist, who blushes and pretends to be entirely too interested in her computer?s keyboard. Chuffed at her reaction, Bakar heads for the elevator and punches the button for the fifteenth floor. Strolling down the hall, he admires the patterns on the wallpaper, draws his fingers along the dark green wainscoting and listens with a smile at the various conversations going on behind closed doors.
When he reaches his own room, one of a dozen or so in as many boutique hotels, he looks at the clock again. Five hours, six minutes, and seven seconds until sunrise. He?s gone two hours without thinking about Anouk.
Bakar goes through his usual motions of showering and laying out his clothes for the next night. He hums to himself while he searches for the TV remote, a gruff, throaty rendition of Patsy Cline?s Walking After Midnight. There?s absolutely nothing on, just late night infomercials and syndicated melodrama.
Bakar calls his childe Helene without regard for the time difference and she is startled by how happy he sounds to hear her voice. Without explanation- and too be fair, Helene is not the pressing sort- he informs of where he keeps his books, his lists of Kindred connections. He asks her to tell Anouk and Mona that he is sorry, and before hanging up he apologizes to her.
Time continues to march on, as it has and will always do. Two hours, four minutes and five seconds until sunrise.
He strips out of his boxers and wife beater and pulls on kit meant for tomorrow night; a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled up and a pair of black wool pants. Then he slips into his loafers and heads out of his room, cutting a path to the door that leads to the roof.
Barcelona is beautiful from where he stands and the only sadness he feels is birthed by the idea that he should have realized it sooner. A halo of cigar smoke surrounds his face and Bakar takes a seat on one of the ancient glider chairs resting by the ledge. He watches the lights of the city twinkle below him with all of the awe of a child meeting Santa Claus for the first time. He savors the flavor of his cigar; cane sugar and dark herbs.
He glances at his watch. Ten minutes, thirty seconds until sunrise.
As the sun begins to pink the sky, the beast within him rebels and pleas with him in its silent, brutal way to go back inside. His head becomes heavy, and as the sun rises and he falls into slumber, its deadly rays closing the book of Bakar Barinaga?s existence.
He was a man who had traveled the world, lived countless lives and had over that time accumulated a sinful amount of riches, but in the end Bakar found in his final death the one thing that had always alluded him.
He finally found peace.
(For this awesome playable)