Eghir Yekryte was half elf, half sprite, half something else, so he was 150% completely messed up. The collision of fey DNA gave him a rather sleight appearance, but he was a rather tall fellow and dealt with the lank as best he could.
He drove carriages for the less modern, or the moreso. The way of the world these days. You had your metal beasts, you had your horses, and then you had men like Eghir who could drive either or. He did prefer horses, though.
The evening brought in a rather unusual client, though he fit what was called for. The horse & carriages were for the out-worlders, the medieval-types, the ancient, or the lovers. This kid could be a lover with his looks and charm, but he was flying solo. No, instead he opted for a stretch-limo with the tinted windows and the high-grade stereo. Figures.
Eghir learned the hard way not to ask questions. Clients tend not to tip too high...
"Where to?" He figured he'd ask him at least that.
The gentleman looked up for a moment, as if he were gathering his wits while counting the stars. Shame, though, thought Eghir. It was a cloudy autumn eve. A cold storm was on the way.
"Marketplace. The offices of Dewey, Cheetham, and Howe."
"I know it," said the driver with a sigh. He knew it well. His employer was slapped with a lawsuit several months ago when one of the drivers failed to stop of a sign and injured some inept pedestrian.
Killed their bonus for the year.
"Then let's go mate. I've a girl to call on."
That figures too, thought Eghir.
He drove carriages for the less modern, or the moreso. The way of the world these days. You had your metal beasts, you had your horses, and then you had men like Eghir who could drive either or. He did prefer horses, though.
The evening brought in a rather unusual client, though he fit what was called for. The horse & carriages were for the out-worlders, the medieval-types, the ancient, or the lovers. This kid could be a lover with his looks and charm, but he was flying solo. No, instead he opted for a stretch-limo with the tinted windows and the high-grade stereo. Figures.
Eghir learned the hard way not to ask questions. Clients tend not to tip too high...
"Where to?" He figured he'd ask him at least that.
The gentleman looked up for a moment, as if he were gathering his wits while counting the stars. Shame, though, thought Eghir. It was a cloudy autumn eve. A cold storm was on the way.
"Marketplace. The offices of Dewey, Cheetham, and Howe."
"I know it," said the driver with a sigh. He knew it well. His employer was slapped with a lawsuit several months ago when one of the drivers failed to stop of a sign and injured some inept pedestrian.
Killed their bonus for the year.
"Then let's go mate. I've a girl to call on."
That figures too, thought Eghir.