8th day of Summer, 519 AV
“Grayson, I think I should go home.”
He looked at her for a tick with what Roh thought was mix between pity and annoyance before the impression faded into a nod, his eyes downcast. She knew she couldn’t leave without talking to Grayson about it. She almost wished he would ask him to stay, but they had no real relation. He was the owner of The Malt House, that was all. It didn’t matter that he had been her main source of strength and support over the years she had lived alone upstairs. Roh figured he was simply a man trying to make a living through his own establishment. He wasn’t family afterall.
Grayson lifted his eyes once more, from where his hands had been idly drying off a wooden mug behind the barkeep. It was past closing time, all of the patrons had been gone for at least half a bell, and Roh had just come downstairs because she couldn’t sleep. Usually, she wouldn’t say anything. Usually, she would just walk out the door and continue walking to clear her head.
She couldn’t anymore. Not since the petching curfew.
Calloused fingers reached up to scratch his own nose before the man snapped his gaze back onto his resident sybil. He had a feeling this was coming. For several seasons she had been telling fortunes in his place of business; but there was something about her demeanor that didn’t seem like it was enough for her. She seemed restless. He would have dared to mention that she seemed bored but he knew Roh wouldn’t want to hear it. She would blather on about how she met an old lady who told her a funny story at the market that day, or the little boy who taught her a new little game, or some other ridiculous story while her eyes stayed somewhat lifeless. As if she just wanted to seem like the parts of her day were as exciting as she hoped they would be. He figured it had something to do with this craft she had been learning. Something about fortune telling probably wasn’t quite right for her. He had suggested that she make art, something she could even make in Rhysol’s name, to honour him and bring about the change she wished to see way back when. He’d admired that about her. He’d enjoyed seeing her push for what she wanted, like when she’d asked to have a table to practice her skill here. She did a fair job of convincing him. What happened to that spirit?
He stopped his train of thought in its tracks when he saw her eyes begin to glaze over.
“Why?” The question came out in a voice that was slightly higher for him than usual, surprising himself with the way he’d expressed something almost leaning on anguish. Grayson quickly cleared his throat with a short cough before continuing in his normal, logical tone, and the sybil barely noticed. “I mean, you should do whatever you want, really.” He paused, looking down again, not sure if he was willing to say any more.
Rohka tapped her boot against the freshly mopped wooden floor, trying to keep herself from acknowledging the feelings of exasperated frustration within her while holding back the obvious tears that were welling in her eyes. She didn’t really want to go back home. Home wasn’t far away, she’d been home to visit a few seasons ago. She just felt—
“Roh, look, you deserve to be happy. I don’t know about your situation right now or how it is at home, but you definitely don’t have to live this way if you don’t want to.” Grayson had put the mug down now. He gripped the edge of the bar with both hands, leaning forward to look straight into the sybil’s face of confused gloom. His voice began to rise in volume as he continued to speak at Rohka, his will to be clear and concise as strong as it was intimidating:
“Don’t ask me what it takes to be happy cause I can’t tell you that, there’s nothing I can tell you that I haven’t already told you before. You want to change something, do it. Don’t come here telling me what you think you should or shouldn’t do. Go petching talking to Vanessa about that shyke, I don’t need to hear it, I couldn’t care less what you do with your life. What I care about is my patrons being entertained and their stomachs being full, and if you can’t bring that through your little business of yours anymore, then quit and leave. Is that what you’re saying? Are you saying you can’t do this anymore?”
Rohka blinked as a sinking feeling plunged into her gut, the first drops of tears beginning to fall onto her cheeks. “I—”
“Listen Roh. You’re young. Decide whatever brings you and Rhysol the highest good.” The owner quickly turned his back, picking up the mug and putting it back up on the shelf. “That’s all I’ve got,” he threw a glance behind his shoulder “Go.” He start to walk out from behind the the bar and towards his room in the back of the Malt House. He called out as he opened the wooden door without looking at the sybil, knowing that her expression would start to tear something within him. “I expect all the tables to be set tomorrow if you choose to stay.”
And the door slammed shut.
WC = 915
“Grayson, I think I should go home.”
He looked at her for a tick with what Roh thought was mix between pity and annoyance before the impression faded into a nod, his eyes downcast. She knew she couldn’t leave without talking to Grayson about it. She almost wished he would ask him to stay, but they had no real relation. He was the owner of The Malt House, that was all. It didn’t matter that he had been her main source of strength and support over the years she had lived alone upstairs. Roh figured he was simply a man trying to make a living through his own establishment. He wasn’t family afterall.
Grayson lifted his eyes once more, from where his hands had been idly drying off a wooden mug behind the barkeep. It was past closing time, all of the patrons had been gone for at least half a bell, and Roh had just come downstairs because she couldn’t sleep. Usually, she wouldn’t say anything. Usually, she would just walk out the door and continue walking to clear her head.
She couldn’t anymore. Not since the petching curfew.
Calloused fingers reached up to scratch his own nose before the man snapped his gaze back onto his resident sybil. He had a feeling this was coming. For several seasons she had been telling fortunes in his place of business; but there was something about her demeanor that didn’t seem like it was enough for her. She seemed restless. He would have dared to mention that she seemed bored but he knew Roh wouldn’t want to hear it. She would blather on about how she met an old lady who told her a funny story at the market that day, or the little boy who taught her a new little game, or some other ridiculous story while her eyes stayed somewhat lifeless. As if she just wanted to seem like the parts of her day were as exciting as she hoped they would be. He figured it had something to do with this craft she had been learning. Something about fortune telling probably wasn’t quite right for her. He had suggested that she make art, something she could even make in Rhysol’s name, to honour him and bring about the change she wished to see way back when. He’d admired that about her. He’d enjoyed seeing her push for what she wanted, like when she’d asked to have a table to practice her skill here. She did a fair job of convincing him. What happened to that spirit?
He stopped his train of thought in its tracks when he saw her eyes begin to glaze over.
“Why?” The question came out in a voice that was slightly higher for him than usual, surprising himself with the way he’d expressed something almost leaning on anguish. Grayson quickly cleared his throat with a short cough before continuing in his normal, logical tone, and the sybil barely noticed. “I mean, you should do whatever you want, really.” He paused, looking down again, not sure if he was willing to say any more.
Rohka tapped her boot against the freshly mopped wooden floor, trying to keep herself from acknowledging the feelings of exasperated frustration within her while holding back the obvious tears that were welling in her eyes. She didn’t really want to go back home. Home wasn’t far away, she’d been home to visit a few seasons ago. She just felt—
“Roh, look, you deserve to be happy. I don’t know about your situation right now or how it is at home, but you definitely don’t have to live this way if you don’t want to.” Grayson had put the mug down now. He gripped the edge of the bar with both hands, leaning forward to look straight into the sybil’s face of confused gloom. His voice began to rise in volume as he continued to speak at Rohka, his will to be clear and concise as strong as it was intimidating:
“Don’t ask me what it takes to be happy cause I can’t tell you that, there’s nothing I can tell you that I haven’t already told you before. You want to change something, do it. Don’t come here telling me what you think you should or shouldn’t do. Go petching talking to Vanessa about that shyke, I don’t need to hear it, I couldn’t care less what you do with your life. What I care about is my patrons being entertained and their stomachs being full, and if you can’t bring that through your little business of yours anymore, then quit and leave. Is that what you’re saying? Are you saying you can’t do this anymore?”
Rohka blinked as a sinking feeling plunged into her gut, the first drops of tears beginning to fall onto her cheeks. “I—”
“Listen Roh. You’re young. Decide whatever brings you and Rhysol the highest good.” The owner quickly turned his back, picking up the mug and putting it back up on the shelf. “That’s all I’ve got,” he threw a glance behind his shoulder “Go.” He start to walk out from behind the the bar and towards his room in the back of the Malt House. He called out as he opened the wooden door without looking at the sybil, knowing that her expression would start to tear something within him. “I expect all the tables to be set tomorrow if you choose to stay.”
And the door slammed shut.
WC = 915
5- Grow a prehensile tail that acts as an extra limb with half the strength of one’s arm. While not capable of supporting body weight, it can hold and manipulate items with limited capacity. 3 - One’s body becomes luminescent in the absence of light. A dull glow is given off by any exposed flesh when in the presence of limited to no light. Glow in the Dark.