4/5/2017
Red Dragon Inn
The Dark Man took to his feet, his left hand moving behind him to catch the back of his barstool seat, to drag it forward and tuck it back beneath the bar. It was time for a cigarette. His steps took him out the front door and to the end of the porch, where he leaned to a column behind a bench swing and lit up. The end of his cigarette glows like a firefly. It brightens. It dims. It marks where he is in his lean against the back porch in the dark.
Shivering a little in her oversized coat, Takara looked less pleased about the rain than she has previously as she makes her way up the lane and onto the porch. At the top step, she paused, trying to brush some of the water off her jacket and out of her hair, ostensibly so she can be found less offensive for being rain-drenched in public. Unhooking the little clasp that held thick, damp waves up in a knot, she lingered against the newel post, finger-combing water from the strands.
Another man approaches. His hair and coat should be damp, but they aren't. The porch seems to be the gathering place. Cris heads up the steps, lingers there at the top to finish the cigarette off.
People were coming and going. Momentary flashes of light, mood swings of a moon. His thumb scraped over his brow, the smoke left his lips like he was breathing out part of who he was into the evening.
"Cris, hello," her voice is soft, because he's suddenly right there beside her, looking...well. A lot less rained on than the girl called Tsuru does, in any case.
He cheats. He recognizes Tsuru's voice before he looks up. Offers a nod, his frown momentarily flattening out into something more agreeable. "Good evening, Tsuru."
She's wiped most of the water from her hair and cheeks, is in the process of twisting her hair back up the way it had been before. For a moment, a heartbeat, she holds it up in a ponytail, the way she used to wear it when she was young. A nostalgic smile drifts into place, washing away with the rain as deft fingers coil the tresses into their thick loop anew, fasten the clasp.
Offering the man at her side a smile of greeting, she nods. "It's nice to see you again," her voice is soft, but it carries just over the gentle hum of the rain, the words clear enough despite the heavy Japanese accent.
The scent of smoke draws her gaze aside, down the porch, into the shadows. For a moment, she stares. Is it a ghost? A trick of the light? A shadow? There is someone there, a shade of black that is subtly blacker, a silhouette in the night. For a moment, she imagines someone else. More nostalgia. With a wistful shake of her head, she turns back to Cris.
Senka jogged from the Outback over to the Inn and pushed through the door. Her hair and leather jacket both were damp, but she had avoided getting soaked. Despite only being outside briefly, it was long enough to decide that the cool mist felt good on her face where KC had just punched her. It was too chilly to linger however, and she rushed inside, looking to warm up.
"Likewise." He watches a wispy figure rush past, on inside. "Are you enjoying the rain?" stubbing out the filter on the porch railing.
"To a point," her reply is chased by a soft little laugh, a giggle that is at once too quiet to be loud and too loud to be quiet. "When I was very young, it rained a good deal where I lived, and I was never allowed to go outside in it. These last two days, I..." her shoulders rolled in an impish shrug. "I have gone out in it as much as possible. But it is cold tonight," she frowned. "I like it less."
Cris pockets the cooling filter to avoid leaving trash behind, crosses to the door and pushes it in enough to let a fat bar of light escape across the porch. "Tea is just the remedy for that." He lets himself inside, holding the door for her to follow.
It takes a blink, a wayward glance, to lose him. The dark man didn't stay long, he slipped off the back end of the railing and wandered his way to the marketplace, preoccupied with picking up the abstract thoughts of someone who had left him before she was dead. Wishing it would rain on a cotton-mouth night.
He was trying to melt into the shadows. Maybe it would work. The firefly of his cigarette followed his journey.
Glancing down the edge of the railing, Tsuru peers once more into the shadows. Nothing. There is no one there. A trick, perhaps: the shadow of her past is chased away by the escaping light. With a small shake of her head, she chides herself for painting corners with ghosts long dead. Resolutely, she follows Cris through the door, out of the dark.
(edited from the room log)
Red Dragon Inn
The Dark Man took to his feet, his left hand moving behind him to catch the back of his barstool seat, to drag it forward and tuck it back beneath the bar. It was time for a cigarette. His steps took him out the front door and to the end of the porch, where he leaned to a column behind a bench swing and lit up. The end of his cigarette glows like a firefly. It brightens. It dims. It marks where he is in his lean against the back porch in the dark.
Shivering a little in her oversized coat, Takara looked less pleased about the rain than she has previously as she makes her way up the lane and onto the porch. At the top step, she paused, trying to brush some of the water off her jacket and out of her hair, ostensibly so she can be found less offensive for being rain-drenched in public. Unhooking the little clasp that held thick, damp waves up in a knot, she lingered against the newel post, finger-combing water from the strands.
Another man approaches. His hair and coat should be damp, but they aren't. The porch seems to be the gathering place. Cris heads up the steps, lingers there at the top to finish the cigarette off.
People were coming and going. Momentary flashes of light, mood swings of a moon. His thumb scraped over his brow, the smoke left his lips like he was breathing out part of who he was into the evening.
"Cris, hello," her voice is soft, because he's suddenly right there beside her, looking...well. A lot less rained on than the girl called Tsuru does, in any case.
He cheats. He recognizes Tsuru's voice before he looks up. Offers a nod, his frown momentarily flattening out into something more agreeable. "Good evening, Tsuru."
She's wiped most of the water from her hair and cheeks, is in the process of twisting her hair back up the way it had been before. For a moment, a heartbeat, she holds it up in a ponytail, the way she used to wear it when she was young. A nostalgic smile drifts into place, washing away with the rain as deft fingers coil the tresses into their thick loop anew, fasten the clasp.
Offering the man at her side a smile of greeting, she nods. "It's nice to see you again," her voice is soft, but it carries just over the gentle hum of the rain, the words clear enough despite the heavy Japanese accent.
The scent of smoke draws her gaze aside, down the porch, into the shadows. For a moment, she stares. Is it a ghost? A trick of the light? A shadow? There is someone there, a shade of black that is subtly blacker, a silhouette in the night. For a moment, she imagines someone else. More nostalgia. With a wistful shake of her head, she turns back to Cris.
Senka jogged from the Outback over to the Inn and pushed through the door. Her hair and leather jacket both were damp, but she had avoided getting soaked. Despite only being outside briefly, it was long enough to decide that the cool mist felt good on her face where KC had just punched her. It was too chilly to linger however, and she rushed inside, looking to warm up.
"Likewise." He watches a wispy figure rush past, on inside. "Are you enjoying the rain?" stubbing out the filter on the porch railing.
"To a point," her reply is chased by a soft little laugh, a giggle that is at once too quiet to be loud and too loud to be quiet. "When I was very young, it rained a good deal where I lived, and I was never allowed to go outside in it. These last two days, I..." her shoulders rolled in an impish shrug. "I have gone out in it as much as possible. But it is cold tonight," she frowned. "I like it less."
Cris pockets the cooling filter to avoid leaving trash behind, crosses to the door and pushes it in enough to let a fat bar of light escape across the porch. "Tea is just the remedy for that." He lets himself inside, holding the door for her to follow.
It takes a blink, a wayward glance, to lose him. The dark man didn't stay long, he slipped off the back end of the railing and wandered his way to the marketplace, preoccupied with picking up the abstract thoughts of someone who had left him before she was dead. Wishing it would rain on a cotton-mouth night.
He was trying to melt into the shadows. Maybe it would work. The firefly of his cigarette followed his journey.
Glancing down the edge of the railing, Tsuru peers once more into the shadows. Nothing. There is no one there. A trick, perhaps: the shadow of her past is chased away by the escaping light. With a small shake of her head, she chides herself for painting corners with ghosts long dead. Resolutely, she follows Cris through the door, out of the dark.
(edited from the room log)