Lucid
04-24-06, 08:29 AM
Rastic listened to the sound of his own raspy breathing as people passed him on the damp cobblestone avenue. The moon cast his shadow before him so he could watch as it dipped and slithered over the rough pavestones. The air was cooling quickly and everything was sweating a fine layer of dew; including Rastic. He paused his steady shuffle for a moment to search the inside of his worn leather travel coat. He produced a packet of rolled tobacco leafs in his left hand, he tried to grab one with his right but had too much difficulty, "Bloody damp weather always makes things a pain in the ass," he thought before switching hands. He raised his eyes to the sky and brought one of the rolled leafs to his lip without looking this time. His gaze drifted back down to the street, there weren't too many people about at this time of night. Only a few drunks heading back early from the bar and the late boozers, like himself, just heading on their way there. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and continued walking.
The door of the tavern was worn, one could tell how it had accepted its years of abuse in the worn scratches and furrows in the wood. Rastic pushed it open a tad too forcefully, a few patrons turned their heads at the sound of the door banging open but most were too focused in drunken revelry or liquid-fueled amorous outings to pay any attention. Rastic let his gaze slide over the bar and noted how full it was. He also noticed, with a disappointing squeeze, how little money he had in his pouch. 'Getting more difficult to find a god honest job lately, I need to find a better scam operation...' The tobacco leaf rolled between his lips thoughtfully, shadows from the dancing torchlight cast him as a brewing devil. He made his way to a table, lighting his ciggarette on a brazier as he passed.
He sat at the table, smoke whisps trailing from his lips and nostrils for ten minutes before he'd smoked his leaf to a stump. The whole time he'd been there no waitress had stopped at his table. Irritated at the lack of service he looked back to the bar again, still full. The tobacco stub still smoking from the corner of his mouth, Rastic stood and maliciously slid his chair back under the table. 'A fine start to the night, the service is shit and where did all these new faces come from? Damn bastards think bars are for anyone, well locals everywhere know who should really be favored. Maybe these fools haven't heard of patronizing yet.'
He tapped the shoulder of the first man he didn't recognize seated at the bar. A young man that couldn't have been older than 23 turned to glare at Rastic.
"Can I help you friend..." The look the stranger gave Rastic made the words less of a question and more an insinuation of trouble if provoked.
"First, I don't know you. You're not my friend, if you were you wouldn't be sitting in my seat.' Rastic inhaled, then paused letting the smoke trail out slowly in the nobody's direction. He passed the tobacco butt to his left hand. 'I can tell already, however...that you aren't going to move for me, are you?"
The young mans brows furrowed quizzically, Rastic could feel the air around the youngster tensing. He tried to meet Rastics gaze but couldn't hold it. As the kid averted his eyes, Rastic saw his hand ball into a fist. Before any action could be taken, Rastic brought the all but finished burning ember down to connect with the mans wrist. The poor kids eyes immediately lost their drunken glaze and widened in genuine surprise. He gave out a yelp and clutched the seared flesh to his chest as if he'd just broken an arm as he slipped off the back of his chair. 'Bloody right pansy no doubt, well its all his fault anyways. Serves you right for taking another mans seat,' he rationalized. In mock concern he lifted the mans mug and turned to pour it over his forearm, "It'll help put the fire out," Rastic said with a cruel sneer.
The man looked miserable, rolling in the straw cradling a black dot on his arm. An expression of distaste rolled over Rastics face and he winged the mug at the young man, "Sonofabitch," he half muttered and turned his back on the man to face the barkeep, "Something strong goodman, and just keep bringing 'em."
The door of the tavern was worn, one could tell how it had accepted its years of abuse in the worn scratches and furrows in the wood. Rastic pushed it open a tad too forcefully, a few patrons turned their heads at the sound of the door banging open but most were too focused in drunken revelry or liquid-fueled amorous outings to pay any attention. Rastic let his gaze slide over the bar and noted how full it was. He also noticed, with a disappointing squeeze, how little money he had in his pouch. 'Getting more difficult to find a god honest job lately, I need to find a better scam operation...' The tobacco leaf rolled between his lips thoughtfully, shadows from the dancing torchlight cast him as a brewing devil. He made his way to a table, lighting his ciggarette on a brazier as he passed.
He sat at the table, smoke whisps trailing from his lips and nostrils for ten minutes before he'd smoked his leaf to a stump. The whole time he'd been there no waitress had stopped at his table. Irritated at the lack of service he looked back to the bar again, still full. The tobacco stub still smoking from the corner of his mouth, Rastic stood and maliciously slid his chair back under the table. 'A fine start to the night, the service is shit and where did all these new faces come from? Damn bastards think bars are for anyone, well locals everywhere know who should really be favored. Maybe these fools haven't heard of patronizing yet.'
He tapped the shoulder of the first man he didn't recognize seated at the bar. A young man that couldn't have been older than 23 turned to glare at Rastic.
"Can I help you friend..." The look the stranger gave Rastic made the words less of a question and more an insinuation of trouble if provoked.
"First, I don't know you. You're not my friend, if you were you wouldn't be sitting in my seat.' Rastic inhaled, then paused letting the smoke trail out slowly in the nobody's direction. He passed the tobacco butt to his left hand. 'I can tell already, however...that you aren't going to move for me, are you?"
The young mans brows furrowed quizzically, Rastic could feel the air around the youngster tensing. He tried to meet Rastics gaze but couldn't hold it. As the kid averted his eyes, Rastic saw his hand ball into a fist. Before any action could be taken, Rastic brought the all but finished burning ember down to connect with the mans wrist. The poor kids eyes immediately lost their drunken glaze and widened in genuine surprise. He gave out a yelp and clutched the seared flesh to his chest as if he'd just broken an arm as he slipped off the back of his chair. 'Bloody right pansy no doubt, well its all his fault anyways. Serves you right for taking another mans seat,' he rationalized. In mock concern he lifted the mans mug and turned to pour it over his forearm, "It'll help put the fire out," Rastic said with a cruel sneer.
The man looked miserable, rolling in the straw cradling a black dot on his arm. An expression of distaste rolled over Rastics face and he winged the mug at the young man, "Sonofabitch," he half muttered and turned his back on the man to face the barkeep, "Something strong goodman, and just keep bringing 'em."