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 Short Story, Unititle, WIP (TP) (T) 
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Post Short Story, Unititle, WIP (TP) (T) • Posted: Wed Nov 03, 2010 8:44 pm
Btw, in case the teacher finds this, Tetromino is me. Yes, I'm expecting you to figure out what that means!

Alright. Before you read this, if you are one of those lucky people that loves FF (II), you will notice that one of the characters is Jaros. This is not the same character. Please, if you want to Give a critique or such, don't do so to the grammar, that will be fixed tomorrow and all that good stuff. Some ideas on how to enhance details or like if the character are inline with their personalities, a title for this piece, and a last scene idea (or first...or whatever.) So, yeah. Have fun reading this rather unedited piece and happy hunting. I'm sure you'll see the done version sometime in December...or sooner. Have fun! :D

Short Story, (WIP; TP)

--Warning: Alcohol usage and swearing.--

“They say this is rare, son.” the barkeeper wiped a dish, speaking to the young man who sat on the three-legged stole at his bar. The rest of the small bar was notably empty, only a few others were there, at the very edges of the bar, lingering and glancing at the youth, but silent as the streets outside under the watchful eye of the red moon and flickering stars.

“Sure they do.” He stared into his drink—a deep, amber brew—it was half gone. He’d have to ask the barkeeper for more soon. “But, they fear it like they would some disgusting creature or a rabid dog.”

The barkeeper shook his head, “How would they know you have it?”

“They can tell. Why else do they slink a way?”

The larger man sighed, “Might be that they’d never think to see you drunk. Can you blame them? You’ve father—“

“My father doesn’t care.” The youth said, downed his drink, and held it out to the barkeeper. The older man frowned, but filled the young man’s mug. “Why would he? I can’t join the military, by law they have to know of it. What does it matter if I get drunk, damn, why should I care what that man thinks? Now that he knows, he looks at me with shame and disgust; don’t think that’s a man who wants this as a son.”

“Are you sure?” He asked. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Oh?” The young man looked into the barkeeper’s eyes. Those silver eyes of his even in the drunken haze were sharp, piercing. It was fitting that his nose was thin and sharp, and those high cheekbones. The face of a knife. “Why do you have to defend him? All of you. You all think he would never do wrong. He’s isn’t perfect, fact is, he’s the reason for this.”

“It might be an increased chance, but—“

The young man stood and something sparkled on his skin, his eyes glowed faintly, and reached towards the barkeeper, then stopped. Confused. He backed away, tripping over his stole, barely managing to turn himself around and hobble out the door, allowing the gusting autumn breeze inside the bar. The barkeeper sighed, placing the forgotten dish a way before getting back to work and closed the door.

***
She stuck her rag in the bucket of soppy water, glancing out the window of the second story of the establishment. By the shallow light of the red moon she thought she saw someone stumbling along, vomiting once. Just another drunk from the bar, but no, he glanced up at her, his silver eyes shined ever so slightly in the dark of the night. Her heart beat faster and she bit her tongue, this wasn’t the time to shout. What did she want to do, wake up her neighbors?

He staggered into an alleyway.

She clambered down the stairs, threw open the door, and stepped into the cool, muggy bar. The remaining patrons stared at her, watching as a woman dressed in an azure blouse, tan pants, and a stained apron walked into this place that no woman was supposed to go. She could read the questions in their eyes, but she marched forward to where the barkeeper stood, pouring a cup for a scrubby man in the back.

“Was that Jaros that staggered out of here?” She asked.

The fat barkeeper did not look up at her. No, he closed plugged the bottle of wine and stared at the window. “No.”

“Wait.” She frowned. “I saw his eyes. Most of us don’t have eyes like that; only he and his father have that specific shade! And he had the silhouette of a young man…even if he was drunk.”

“That man you saw isn’t the one you know.” He placed the bottle on the counter. “No, that one is gone, I think.”

“You do?” She took the bottle and poured herself a drink.

“You’re not supposed to…,” he sighed. “What’s the use? You’re my daughter.”

“It’s good you finally realized that.” She gave him a small, fake smile. “But, if that’s not the same boy I knew as a child, then who is he?”

“A drunk.”

“Why’s he like that? He wasn’t like that a few days back when…” She stopped herself, staring at her working boots.

“What? You don’t think I’m smart enough to have figured that out?” He tilted her head up, gently. “Even his dog knew that one.”

“The mutt? That dog can’t tell a rabbit from a mountain lion.” She laughed, but stopped, this wasn’t a time for laughter and distractions, and her father was good at causing both of those. No, she needed an answer. “Why was he here?”

“Naria,” he spoke in that gentle voice, the one he had used when he had told her why her mother had died three years after her birth. She dreaded that voice, but Jaros, other than being, was completely fine. He had to be fine. “Couldn’t you ask later?”

“No.”

“Or ask him.”

“Jaros?” She frowned. “But he’s drunk. You don’t even want me to do that though.”

Her father shook his head.

“Do you even want me to see him again?” She asked.

“That’s your choice.”

She looked past him and out into the dimly lit street and noted that the sun had begun to rise, “But, you really don’t want me to find him.”

***
A light-blue snowflake fell from an all-too clear sky settling on an unconscious man lying by forgotten barrels and crates filled with half-rotten food. A rat scurried over his bare feet and looked up at him, then, an orange-tabby poised it, breaking the rat’s neck with its sharp teeth. He slowly opened his eyes and lifted one hand to his head, “What…where’s this? And why…”

The cat discarded the rat for a moment and crept up to his other hand, nudging it gently; he winced sharply, glaring at the cat. “Don’t…”

It did it again. He snatched it by his other hand, holding it up so that it stared right into his face. “Listen. Well, I know you can’t understand this, but if you continue I’ll break your body on that brick wall over there. You’ll be done, and, I won’t feel—“

“I know you hate the baker’s cat.” A woman said, her face obscured by the thick hood of her furred cloak. “But, he’s brilliant. That cat’s got the nose of a fine hunting hound on him.”

He snarled at the cat, but placed it down beside him then it snaked between the woman’s legs, hissed at him, and she picked it up. Her hand stroked its back. “That cat’s an evil mongrel if it’s at all related to any kind of dog.”

“Him?” She shook her head. “He would like you if…by hell, Jaros, he found you back here in the dirtiest part of the city. How did you get back here?”

He sighed. “I don’t remember.”

She knelt beside him and lifted his wrist. “Did you break it when you fell? No. That can’t be it.” She looked at his bare feet, his only a thin, gray shirt and brown breeches; he could’ve fit with anyone back in this part of the city. He let out a short laugh, she probably could already tell there was more wrong here then she could mend.

“No.” He answered. “Whoever they were, they stole my wallet and even. Well, you can see they took my boots too. I can’t recall any of it, but what does that matter? Why should it matter? Does—no, you wouldn’t want to hear this.”

“Yes, you get it by now.” He could hear her faint smile in her voice, and the calm serenity of knowledge too. She placed her hand on his, gently moving the bones back in place better than a doctor of ever could, but never as well as the women who worked at the clinic. No, they had studied the body more than her, it would hurt for some days yet, but it was well on the way to healing itself.

“Anything else?”

“No.” He said, but she continued to inspect him, frowning at something here, mending something there.

She sighed, removed her hood, and he saw sweat on her brow. “I…I’ll have to take you in, but…”

“It’s not that bad.” He said. “You’re mistaken, Naria.”

“Me?”

“Could you do something for the headache? I believe they may have made it even worse than drinking your father’s brew ever could.” He said.

“No,” She rolled her eyes and untied her cloak. “Don’t you dare tell me not to.”

“You shouldn’t.” He said. “Really…you should just leave me here. I don’t want to see that place again.”

“From what I remember,” She laid the cloak on him, “they like you and hate me. Probably because they don’t like a young woman without her mother learning how to heal on her own.”

“See. They’re little more than fools.” He gave her a fake smile. “I—you need this more than I do. It doesn’t matter if I have.”

“Stop that.” She leaned forward, but he shook his head then she asked: “What’s wrong with you?”

“It’s cold and we’re in the back of an alley—it’s not right.”

“Then you’ll have no problem putting this on and getting out of these parts.” She grimaced. “They stink.”

“Why do we look down on them so?” He asked, tying the cloak around him and leaning on her and the barrow behind him to get to his feet. “Haven’t you ever thought of helping people like these?”

She raised an eyebrow. “No. Not till I’m older at least. Probably not ever. They’re…different.”

“What?” He asked. “They’re better than me. They don’t have…”

She stared at him. “What don’t they have?”

He sighed. “It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t worry about—“

“I’ve got no choice.” She said. “I love you, and I can’t fathom why you’re acting like this. Why?”

“No.” He said. “Do you know why I was in your father’s bar last night?”

She sighed. “Why did you get drunk? Your father…”

He laughed; bitterly. “He never drinks more than a glass of anything stronger than water, of course! Yes, what a great man he is, Naria. He even fought for a country not his own all for a young, beautiful woman with auburn hair and brown eyes. A great and perfect man! Why! Every boy in this whole city should long to be like him. Am I not lucky to be such a great man’s son?”

She gave him a bewildered glance, but he did not answer her questions. They continued on, slowly through the poorest places of the city. Children running past, some stopping to look up at them and then their parents came, moving them along. They saw orphans and the disable and others begging for money and food, but Naria refused to give it; she passed them by, blind to the sight him. They stunk too much, she had said, but all he could see were children and people, why had he never seen them before as more than animals? He felt a chill rise up his spine then they had crossed the river and left the impoverished behind.

“Why didn’t you…?”

“It’s nice to know you can still speak.” She groaned. “We should stop here, but, what do you mean?”

“Them. I just don’t…”

“We can’t help every one of them.” She explained. “So, what’s the use? Why do you care so much? You won’t like this a few days ago…”

“Things have change since then.”

“How?”

“And what would happen if I told you?” He asked. “I’ll thank you for helping me out there, but I’m like them now. Only a shadow of a person, it would seem, damn, you didn’t even see those children.”

“You’re wrong. I was helping you and I couldn’t help them—nor can you.” She pointed at his hand. “Put your hand down. Do you want to hurt me?”


“I…”

“And why does the glow have a bluish tinge?” She narrowed her eyes. “It should be pure white.”

“Yes, it is.” He watched as another light-blue flake feel from the sky. “Just like the stories say snow should be? There’s enough things that should be one way but aren’t despite what we want them to be.”

She meant his eyes, but then looked away. “You have it, don’t you? That’s why you were there last night.”

“Yes you could say that, but what does it matter?” He asked. “I only have a few years left, a few years! And most of those just spent wasting away until I’m little more than a child. That’s, of course, if a cold or some other thing doesn’t take me first or if I don’t drain myself sooner… Only a few days ago, I wouldn’t have thought of death as something so tangible, and now I stare it right in the face.”

“I’m sorry.” She said.

“No, I am.” He gave her a half-hearted smile. “What you should’ve had, well, we’re not going through with that anymore. I—“

“What do you mean? Why do you get to make that decision for me?” She asked. “I disobeyed my father’s wishes to come out and find you! You’re just placing your just assuming too much. For once, Jaros, let me make this choice.”

He stared at her, shocked. How could she ask for such a thing? Women weren’t allowed to choose to end or start a relationship; it was against traditions. He had asked her to court her, she would never have asked him, didn’t she trust his judgment?

“But…”

“Be quite.” She said. “If you love me, you must trust me, not only to heal your wounds or your injuries but in this too. Please, Jaros, trust me. Let me make the choice to leave you or to stay for what little time you have left.”

“Alright.”

Her full, red lips smiled and her deep, brown eyes meant his then she stood on her toes and bent her head up to kiss him. He did not back away, but returned her gentle kiss. She wrapped her hand around his, “Does this answer your questions? I’ll stay. I promise.”

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“Asphixation, defenstration, breathing wool, decapitation. Drinking from a lava pool, driving drunk to look so cool. Crazy bees sting you a lot, eating any rats you caught - all these ways that you can die. Don't forget poisonous pie!" -Classic SmashQueen, Fri Aug 16, 2013 11:03 pm
There's always another secret... ~ Mistborn, Sanderson


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Post Re: Short Story, Unititle, WIP (TP) (T) • Posted: Fri Nov 19, 2010 1:10 pm
You really have talent Tetromino, can't wait for the next one.

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