Like a loved, old whore, Suliss'urn thought as the night waddled heavily pregnant with the moon across WestEnd.
Buildings were greedy, dirt-smeared palms crowding one another out to try and garner a drop of attention from the sky, begging for gold-sun or the rich ink of night. Like broken teeth, it seemed as far as Suliss'urns eyes could lurch across the horizon peppered in all of the eclectic lights (where there were lights, at any rate,) WestEnd grinned its unhinged grin--Makos and graffiti stuck between each. To Suliss'urn, it was like a fine, aged whore. In her youth, she must have been an amazing sight to see, perhaps fine buildings taut with the promise of youth now sagged under the weight of years of misuse; her face no longer lined, she could still fool you into believing she loved you, even as she conned you out of your coin purse and kept you wanting more of her. And you didn't care--because despite how many times she may have opened her legs to the realm, spit in your face or held you to her breast--you wanted more of her.
WestEnd had its own story-book legends, bruised fruit, coffee pots, pawn shops and physic roast beef sandwiches that just knew you were going to love them--but they hadn't one particular small-time legend grace its magic made spluttering lit alleyways...
It was not that Suliss'urn feared WestEnd or vice versa. WestEnd did naut, the drow believed, know of fear. It was that, like the drow, WestEnd was a beast. Beast respected Beast and did not encroach on fellow territory unless insult or need had arisen.
As the drow added her own shadow to the dense streets she passed by a building that by all rights--should have been abandoned. Spilling bright lights and crashing music with decidedly loud bass beat--Once-Once-Once-Tiss-Once-Once--Suliss'urn winced at how loud it was. Perhaps even muttered about understanding why youth had become deaf and continued on. There were others in the shadows with her, their eyes felt like skin crawls in cold. But they did nothing to stop her padding further in--either because of her skin colour of because of word of mouth, none of the gangs busy fighting or fXhxing in the streets made effort to stop her. Tomorrow night, Fio had said. And so Suliss' had remembered.
She had remembered and actually made good time in showing up precisely when Fio had asked. She hadn't waited a day later or longer. This little detail enough might have been tale-telling enough....If the fact what the drow had uttered the night before in the inn, over a bottle of drow wine had not been hair raising enough.
Despite the fact that she had never stepped foot into WestEnd before, she knew well enough to raise her eyes upward once the dilapidated husks of warehouses began to outnumber everything else. She could smell the Oak and Ash as she passed it and made no further efforts to discern anything past the usual Inn-scent (which could be good or bad.) She looked for the Eye, unblinking and all-seeing and it was not very long before she had rounded a building and came under the gaze of it. Several steps more and closer inspection her eyes skim over a shop and a brass Les Quarantes Voleurs, proprietor, Ali al Amat.
It had been so long since she'd visited anyone, Suliss'urn, bane of light elves, fellow drow, killer of babies and eater of children (apparently) hesitated. Because she was unsure if she remembered what to do. Knock? Yell? Climb the side of the wall and stare into one of the windows above with a light in--no, the latter probably wasn't right.
Eventually the dark-elf discovered a button. Inwardly, all instincts twitched. Once, she had been told it would be better in her life if she simply didn't press every button she ever came across just to see what happens. That it was, at times, most inconvenient. But what sort of drow would she be if she didn't?
A finger tip pointed, touched, and then pressed.
Buildings were greedy, dirt-smeared palms crowding one another out to try and garner a drop of attention from the sky, begging for gold-sun or the rich ink of night. Like broken teeth, it seemed as far as Suliss'urns eyes could lurch across the horizon peppered in all of the eclectic lights (where there were lights, at any rate,) WestEnd grinned its unhinged grin--Makos and graffiti stuck between each. To Suliss'urn, it was like a fine, aged whore. In her youth, she must have been an amazing sight to see, perhaps fine buildings taut with the promise of youth now sagged under the weight of years of misuse; her face no longer lined, she could still fool you into believing she loved you, even as she conned you out of your coin purse and kept you wanting more of her. And you didn't care--because despite how many times she may have opened her legs to the realm, spit in your face or held you to her breast--you wanted more of her.
WestEnd had its own story-book legends, bruised fruit, coffee pots, pawn shops and physic roast beef sandwiches that just knew you were going to love them--but they hadn't one particular small-time legend grace its magic made spluttering lit alleyways...
It was not that Suliss'urn feared WestEnd or vice versa. WestEnd did naut, the drow believed, know of fear. It was that, like the drow, WestEnd was a beast. Beast respected Beast and did not encroach on fellow territory unless insult or need had arisen.
As the drow added her own shadow to the dense streets she passed by a building that by all rights--should have been abandoned. Spilling bright lights and crashing music with decidedly loud bass beat--Once-Once-Once-Tiss-Once-Once--Suliss'urn winced at how loud it was. Perhaps even muttered about understanding why youth had become deaf and continued on. There were others in the shadows with her, their eyes felt like skin crawls in cold. But they did nothing to stop her padding further in--either because of her skin colour of because of word of mouth, none of the gangs busy fighting or fXhxing in the streets made effort to stop her. Tomorrow night, Fio had said. And so Suliss' had remembered.
She had remembered and actually made good time in showing up precisely when Fio had asked. She hadn't waited a day later or longer. This little detail enough might have been tale-telling enough....If the fact what the drow had uttered the night before in the inn, over a bottle of drow wine had not been hair raising enough.
Despite the fact that she had never stepped foot into WestEnd before, she knew well enough to raise her eyes upward once the dilapidated husks of warehouses began to outnumber everything else. She could smell the Oak and Ash as she passed it and made no further efforts to discern anything past the usual Inn-scent (which could be good or bad.) She looked for the Eye, unblinking and all-seeing and it was not very long before she had rounded a building and came under the gaze of it. Several steps more and closer inspection her eyes skim over a shop and a brass Les Quarantes Voleurs, proprietor, Ali al Amat.
It had been so long since she'd visited anyone, Suliss'urn, bane of light elves, fellow drow, killer of babies and eater of children (apparently) hesitated. Because she was unsure if she remembered what to do. Knock? Yell? Climb the side of the wall and stare into one of the windows above with a light in--no, the latter probably wasn't right.
Eventually the dark-elf discovered a button. Inwardly, all instincts twitched. Once, she had been told it would be better in her life if she simply didn't press every button she ever came across just to see what happens. That it was, at times, most inconvenient. But what sort of drow would she be if she didn't?
A finger tip pointed, touched, and then pressed.