It was snowing out. The dark man walking down the street had learned to dress for snow and frigid weather. He?d spent time at university in Oxford, and come to accept the cold there, but that didn't make him any happier with the weather. Especially not here in this stinking city, where the snow should have chilled and laid the scents to rest and instead only seemed to lay over them as an accent to the stench. His lip was curled up into a fine faint twist of distaste as he walked through the drifts filling the sidewalk.
The neighborhood he traversed was not affluent, but neither had it sunk into disrepair. The buildings on the particular street he trod were all similar: brownstones and row houses, every one neat and well cared for. Some had been split into apartments and others stood as single homes. The neighbors watched out for one another, and while they rarely gossiped, there weren't too many secrets about who came and went, and when.
His destination was one of these, an apartment on the third floor of an unprepossessing brick building, and while it was cold and rather dismal in the hallway and stairwell, she had turned the inside of her home into a taste of the Basque region she was from. She kept it warm and brightly decorated - sometimes the clashes of colors were an assault to his eyes - but right now the warmth would be welcome. So would the embrace of her arms, soft and yielding, giving way without argument to his desires.
On the steps of the building next door, a woman hidden beneath the folds of a cloak and scarf swept some of the accumulated snow off of her steps as he strode up the walk and entered the apartment building. The lights of her home blazed cheerful warmth through lace curtains and onto the blue-white streets beyond. She paused in her work, the shh-shh of her broom stilled, to watch him as he stopped to knock snow off of his shoes at the threshold and then entered.
Seven minutes. No more. Seven minutes, and he exited the building with the stiff-legged stalk of an angry cat. He buttoned his coat as he did, long fingers twisting the buttons into place with very precise care. Seven minutes, to find the cloaked woman from the neighboring building standing at the end of the walk to the apartment, waiting for him.
She blocked the path. He paused and one eyebrow lifted in inquiry. Cool Oxford mixed with the deep resonant desert of his voice when he spoke. "Good evening, madam. If you will excuse me?"
Her hood still concealed most of her features, but her ungloved hands were smooth and fine. She tilted her head to one side, examining him briefly, and murmured to herself, "Ydw, rwyf yn meddwl hynny." Yes, I thought so. The icy air sucked all of the vowels right out of her throat. "Come with me," she added softly in Common. "I have something for you."
Without waiting for his answer, she turned with a spiraling sweep of her trailing cloak against the snowy walk, and retraced her steps to the neighboring house.
(Thanks to the player of Sadir Shenouda for contributions to this post.)
(Note: Some scenes depicted in The Viper?s Bite are based on live play interaction written by the players of the PC and NPC characters depicted, as noted. Others are original writings by the players intended to offer additional background and depth to the story. Authors involved in the creation of this tale include the players of Ali al-Amat, Idoya Antes, Giorgios Spinakis, Sadir Shenouda, Saif Khoury, and Zahra Khoury. Per en Diwa Bastet is a generic screen name that acts as a narrator for portions of the tale, but is not a character involved in any interactions.)
The neighborhood he traversed was not affluent, but neither had it sunk into disrepair. The buildings on the particular street he trod were all similar: brownstones and row houses, every one neat and well cared for. Some had been split into apartments and others stood as single homes. The neighbors watched out for one another, and while they rarely gossiped, there weren't too many secrets about who came and went, and when.
His destination was one of these, an apartment on the third floor of an unprepossessing brick building, and while it was cold and rather dismal in the hallway and stairwell, she had turned the inside of her home into a taste of the Basque region she was from. She kept it warm and brightly decorated - sometimes the clashes of colors were an assault to his eyes - but right now the warmth would be welcome. So would the embrace of her arms, soft and yielding, giving way without argument to his desires.
On the steps of the building next door, a woman hidden beneath the folds of a cloak and scarf swept some of the accumulated snow off of her steps as he strode up the walk and entered the apartment building. The lights of her home blazed cheerful warmth through lace curtains and onto the blue-white streets beyond. She paused in her work, the shh-shh of her broom stilled, to watch him as he stopped to knock snow off of his shoes at the threshold and then entered.
Seven minutes. No more. Seven minutes, and he exited the building with the stiff-legged stalk of an angry cat. He buttoned his coat as he did, long fingers twisting the buttons into place with very precise care. Seven minutes, to find the cloaked woman from the neighboring building standing at the end of the walk to the apartment, waiting for him.
She blocked the path. He paused and one eyebrow lifted in inquiry. Cool Oxford mixed with the deep resonant desert of his voice when he spoke. "Good evening, madam. If you will excuse me?"
Her hood still concealed most of her features, but her ungloved hands were smooth and fine. She tilted her head to one side, examining him briefly, and murmured to herself, "Ydw, rwyf yn meddwl hynny." Yes, I thought so. The icy air sucked all of the vowels right out of her throat. "Come with me," she added softly in Common. "I have something for you."
Without waiting for his answer, she turned with a spiraling sweep of her trailing cloak against the snowy walk, and retraced her steps to the neighboring house.
(Thanks to the player of Sadir Shenouda for contributions to this post.)
(Note: Some scenes depicted in The Viper?s Bite are based on live play interaction written by the players of the PC and NPC characters depicted, as noted. Others are original writings by the players intended to offer additional background and depth to the story. Authors involved in the creation of this tale include the players of Ali al-Amat, Idoya Antes, Giorgios Spinakis, Sadir Shenouda, Saif Khoury, and Zahra Khoury. Per en Diwa Bastet is a generic screen name that acts as a narrator for portions of the tale, but is not a character involved in any interactions.)