Prankster's Paradise Pillaged! Manager MIA!
Salvador Delahada really didn't give much of a care for the news. Hell, he didn't much like reading at all, but what else was he to do? The sinner had told him he wasn't allowed to duel again until his knee healed up. This probably came with the stipulation that he shouldn't be training in the sparring room either. Sitting around doing nothing rarely bothered him, but then generally he wasn't precisely doing nothing when he was sitting around.
He kept a tight exercise regimen. So many dozens of push-ups and sit-ups and crunches. A bit of time on the work bench in the weight room. He even went running, usually over rooftops. But today his mobility was depressingly limited, thanks to torn ligaments and sliced up muscles that had yet to properly heal. Thanks to that jack hole Anubis.
Some of his regular routine he could manage without twisting the joint up too bad. Others he had to give up on until he could run again without collapsing in stabbing pain. When he wasn't exercising, he often spent a lot of time just wandering through the City looking for nothing in particular to do. But now here he was, stuck on the chaise, sprawling with his left leg elevated, and forced to stare out the window.
He found the sky to be tremendously boring today. There weren't enough clouds up there to imagine being anything. Not that he had much of an imagination to begin with. Laying there thinking was even more depressing. So at some point he had picked up the newspaper that Sin had brought in and dropped on the coffee table.
Today's headline caught his attention surprisingly quickly. "Prankster's Paradise?" That sounded awfully familiar. In some other time and in some other place, he was sure he'd heard of that shop before. He read on, and when he came to the name of the owner near the end, he suddenly remembered.
"Bill Sullivan," he read aloud. The name stuck out at him like a sore thumb that he could feel throbbing in his knee instead. "That's ... Jack's friend."
Three years ago, he remembered....
That crazy old coot of a nocker had left a message at the Silver Moon Inn. Some time before that, Jack had died. He remembered talking to Hat and reading what happened off the chimera. He remembered Irina's tears. And he remembered... "Dimitri."
Best not to reflect on that, he chided himself. Shaking out of those memories quickly, he looked back at the article and puzzled over its meaning. He found himself sympathizing with this girl Janie Gross for a moment. "Who would bust into Prankster's Paradise and scare off someone like Bill?" Not to mention the theft part. That hardly seemed important.
Salvador remembered Bill. He and that kid Harry were fearless for a couple of rabbits. They had known what they were getting into with that fight three years back, against the Redcaps. Those bastards weren't ones to be trifled with lightly, as he remembered, but they took them on bravely despite the odds. These were people who stuck together no matter what the cost. And as he remembered, Bill put a lot of pride into his stores. Which led to another thought.
"I didn't know he'd put up a franchise here in Rhy'Din. Huh."
The reporter listed had been so very kind as to provide the address too! Salvador committed that to memory with a notion of breaking the rules of his currently unofficial house arrest. Folding up the paper, he tossed it back onto the coffee table and tilted back his head to take a look around the living room. He listened intently and heard no signs of a sinner stirring about the house.
"It's not dueling," he mused to himself. "I'm just going for a walk," he reasoned. "No harm can come from having a look around."
Grabbing the side arm of the chaise, he hauled imself up into a sitting position and turned to put his feet on the floor. Standing up was a pain in the knee, but he managed, he suffered through it. "I'll be back before he even knows I'm gone," he told the quiet walls of the house.
So, he pulled on his boots, a clean shirt and his jacket, and Salvador Delahada embarked on a little investigative side trip in an effort to ease the ache of boredom.
Salvador Delahada really didn't give much of a care for the news. Hell, he didn't much like reading at all, but what else was he to do? The sinner had told him he wasn't allowed to duel again until his knee healed up. This probably came with the stipulation that he shouldn't be training in the sparring room either. Sitting around doing nothing rarely bothered him, but then generally he wasn't precisely doing nothing when he was sitting around.
He kept a tight exercise regimen. So many dozens of push-ups and sit-ups and crunches. A bit of time on the work bench in the weight room. He even went running, usually over rooftops. But today his mobility was depressingly limited, thanks to torn ligaments and sliced up muscles that had yet to properly heal. Thanks to that jack hole Anubis.
Some of his regular routine he could manage without twisting the joint up too bad. Others he had to give up on until he could run again without collapsing in stabbing pain. When he wasn't exercising, he often spent a lot of time just wandering through the City looking for nothing in particular to do. But now here he was, stuck on the chaise, sprawling with his left leg elevated, and forced to stare out the window.
He found the sky to be tremendously boring today. There weren't enough clouds up there to imagine being anything. Not that he had much of an imagination to begin with. Laying there thinking was even more depressing. So at some point he had picked up the newspaper that Sin had brought in and dropped on the coffee table.
Today's headline caught his attention surprisingly quickly. "Prankster's Paradise?" That sounded awfully familiar. In some other time and in some other place, he was sure he'd heard of that shop before. He read on, and when he came to the name of the owner near the end, he suddenly remembered.
"Bill Sullivan," he read aloud. The name stuck out at him like a sore thumb that he could feel throbbing in his knee instead. "That's ... Jack's friend."
Three years ago, he remembered....
That crazy old coot of a nocker had left a message at the Silver Moon Inn. Some time before that, Jack had died. He remembered talking to Hat and reading what happened off the chimera. He remembered Irina's tears. And he remembered... "Dimitri."
Best not to reflect on that, he chided himself. Shaking out of those memories quickly, he looked back at the article and puzzled over its meaning. He found himself sympathizing with this girl Janie Gross for a moment. "Who would bust into Prankster's Paradise and scare off someone like Bill?" Not to mention the theft part. That hardly seemed important.
Salvador remembered Bill. He and that kid Harry were fearless for a couple of rabbits. They had known what they were getting into with that fight three years back, against the Redcaps. Those bastards weren't ones to be trifled with lightly, as he remembered, but they took them on bravely despite the odds. These were people who stuck together no matter what the cost. And as he remembered, Bill put a lot of pride into his stores. Which led to another thought.
"I didn't know he'd put up a franchise here in Rhy'Din. Huh."
The reporter listed had been so very kind as to provide the address too! Salvador committed that to memory with a notion of breaking the rules of his currently unofficial house arrest. Folding up the paper, he tossed it back onto the coffee table and tilted back his head to take a look around the living room. He listened intently and heard no signs of a sinner stirring about the house.
"It's not dueling," he mused to himself. "I'm just going for a walk," he reasoned. "No harm can come from having a look around."
Grabbing the side arm of the chaise, he hauled imself up into a sitting position and turned to put his feet on the floor. Standing up was a pain in the knee, but he managed, he suffered through it. "I'll be back before he even knows I'm gone," he told the quiet walls of the house.
So, he pulled on his boots, a clean shirt and his jacket, and Salvador Delahada embarked on a little investigative side trip in an effort to ease the ache of boredom.