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| Soprano Snap; [closed] | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mon Feb 4, 2013 10:59 pm (244 Views) | |
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Mon Feb 4, 2013 10:59 pm Post #1 |
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The tight-bodied soprano belted out a lilting dirge in warbling octaves that brought tears to the eyes of the ale-addled patrons of the Arrowhead Inn. She sweat as she sang, the strain showing in the way her lips seemed to tremble with every sweet lyric; her pauses were sighs, her runs like pulled taffy. Outside, late night rains beat a staccato percussion on the tin roof and stray dogs, huddled beneath the stained emerald awnings, bayed and howled in their loyal pursuit of scraps and attention. Inside, it was warm and smoky; a virginal womb of sallow faces, callused, oily hands and stubbly faces with hard set jawlines. They were the casualties of a war fought in memory, the sonless fathers and fatherless sons tending to the bloodless wounds of honor and tradition. Taiaka was there because of the archery range just outside of town. His efforts to rebuild it had been met with skepticism as first, but the former caretakers had appreciated his dedication and hard work and the old scavenger had caused no them no trouble in the process. He worked the land with his own dark hands, fed the soil with his own red blood and found reasons to smile as he sat upon the sawhorses smoking his hand rolled cigarettes. The labor had made him skinny, more so than he had ever been; his high cheek bones could cut glass, his pale eyes, set oddly into his skull with their feline tilt, seemed sunken and distant. He thought only of his bow rather than the narrow fingers that plucked its string. This night though, he decided that he had earned a moment of respite. The rain ushered him in and when he arrived, he curled up near the crackling fireplace wearing the skin of a small black cat. No one bothered the feline and he, in turn, did nothing but listen to the sad melodies and let his mind drift. He did so with mystical efficiency; his soul walked while his body remained still, eyes half open and purring. Taiaka's spirit drifted to the soprano and for a brief tick of the clock, he was pressed against her cheek to cheek. He danced with her scent and whispered incorporeal words to her praising her beauty and talent. He was a flea in her hair, a shiver down her sweaty spine and a clandestine smile behind closed lids. "'Ow many times do I havta tell ya!?" Screeched the serving wench as she made a beeline for the fireplace. "Mangy thing!" She bent down and snatched the cat up by the scruff of the neck. The creature was limp, soulless. Sneering, the wench twisted the head of cat savagely, cleaning and quickly breaking its neck. Carrying it by the tail, dragging its face against the splintering floorboards, the woman stomped to the back, threw open the door and flung the animal into the heap of rotting cabbages behind the inn. The stray dogs barked at her and hopped from foot to foot. When she returned inside, they set upon the cat and devoured him, leaving only clumps of black fur behind on the wet street. Taiaka last thought revolved around the sweet-faced soprano and her creamy skin and rose water scented hair. It was not a terrible last thought. It was raining this night. Steely clouds stretched across the moonless heavens and hid the appearance of a new star in the Imythessian sky. The Old Scavenger was finally home. |
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7:29 PM Jul 11

