74th day of Spring, 510 AV The soft, sweet music did nothing to stir the stone face man sitting with his back against the wall, staring into a mug of the house brew. The Silver Sliver running through his veins like wildfire hardly put a damper on Solomus' mood. The man's topknot hung over his shoulder, which he tugged at unconciously; he always did that when a strong emotion overtook him. At the moment, anger outshined all else, brought on my his father. He didn't drop his hammer on his foot on purpose, but his father snapped anyway. Solomus stared at the hammer, resting on the table on his left, with mixed feelings. He loved it, but also detested it. A rocky relationship. Solomus tried to take his mind off of his father by watching the maids scurry to and fro. They wore nice blouses, their pale bosoms hanging out at the right amount. But his mind wasn't on women at the moment. At least, he didn't care just to look. He wanted to balence two of them on his knees maybe, not just stare. He was missing something. He was missing some excitement. But what excitement was he missing? If it was something womanly, the whorehouse was down the street, and he could probably hire one off the street for less money. Shaking his head, he considered it was because he hadn't had a good fight in a while. Picking out a man at random, who appeared to be a guard for a merchant, with his sturdy wool and cudgel, he gripped the handle of his hammer. The man took one look at him, with his permanent scowl, and stuck his nose almost completely into his mug. Cursing softly, Solomus released his hammer, letting it rest. If he really wanted a fight, he could just start one. And if he didn't wanted a fight of sex, what was it? He had booze, the third biggest desire of men. Maybe something new? Something he hadn't experienced before? Like that would ever happen. With a city drowning in schemes and plots, what else could happen that didn't involve fighting? Just yesterday, a minor noble was killed with a knife between the ribs. Crossing his arms, his lips fell into what appeared to be a pout, but his brown eyes were like fire. Solomus looked at the door, wondering something odd. Did he just want to talk to someone, without it leading to a duel or binge of ale? A soft chuckle, with a hint of coldness, sent a young stableman out of his seat like a Myrian was after him, across the room to a seat farther away from the man with the hammer. Closing his eyes, Solomus knew that was crazy. Talking just to talk?! What madness. But a feeling in the back of his head told him that was true. |