Alive At Crepusculum ✓ [TPL Book One]

XVI

The following morning, Richard arrived at Bayland in the rain-thick air anticipating a downpour. He had not anticipated the horrors of all the filth that wandered. Bayland was so bad it made Tupper look clean!

"I'm dying," Richard the Immortal groaned as nausea clouded his thoughts, poked needles in his stomach, bringing up breakfast that he forced down. The amount of filth here, suffocated him.

Richard was a planner. He never did something underprepared. "Never" was an understatement though because he certainly had miscalculated in the past though he hated admitting it. His ego wouldn't allow it.

"You bastard." Charcoal laughed, unaffected by what Richard was seeing. For Charcoal, he saw people as normal, and the only abnormality was that he could tell which ones had given themselves to demons or had protective angels behind their backs.

"Shut up, Charlie," Richard whispered, clutching his stomach.

Filthy gray dusty clouds swarmed the wharf and the bay area. It didn't help that the air was heavy with humidity enticing clouds to just vomit raindrops on the denizens below who all seemed to have come unprepared for rain in Montgomery.

"Vomit" was not a good metaphor for Richard. He could feel his own vomit coming up from his stomach, threatening to leave a literal bad taste in his mouth. He never consumed alcohol to feel like complete garbage, but he guessed this feeling was quite close to having a brick in his old hat. The world was closing in on him and the dusty gray clouds were touching him, breathing on him, making his skin crawl, and surrounding him in a silent attack.

Still, Richard managed to continue on with a straight face, the mighty actor, and as Charles Reuben Rushford. One would have to admire Richard for never once showing what he felt inside. He should be given a "Best Actor Award".

To anyone else, the dusty gray clouds would have been well-dressed gentlemen taking their pretty ladies on a well-deserved vacation from "Any Elsewhere" to rural paradise. Montgomery, with its vast swaths of green pastures and mountainous cliffs with waterfalls curtaining down to land in a pool of crystal-clear water, was an ideal location to many looking for a "get-away". Rich men and women came from any industrial or smoke-curdling city to rest their eyes upon nature's beauty.

Richard stumbled into Plattatood Inn and was unhappy to see filth sitting at tables. Only the plump red-haired woman at the front was normal. Richard gave her a kind smile and asked for a room to which she replied with a key and a nod.

"Dinnie's a six. After-hour's nine to the dot. Smokes outside," she said.

"The dot?" Richard cocked his head.

"Twelve. Not a Montgomerian, eh?" She wiggled her brows.

Richard shook his head. "Penwood."

The woman gave a squeak of delight. "A Penwood Proper!" she exclaimed. Then she immediately narrowed her eyes to look him up and down.

"But we ain't takin' bonders," she said and heads in the diner turned. "I'm 'fraid you'll have to leave."

Bonder or snow hacker were slang words for Roktion slave traders, but more recently, in Montgomery it pointed to traders that took virgin slaves on ships to sacrifice them in Satanic rituals abroad. Customers were said to mostly come from Penwood State thanks to Geoffrey Brews' stash of Satanic memorabilia making talk on tables.

Richard widened his eyes. "Why, I'm against all forms of slavery, miss! Why," He shook his head as if he could not believe what she suggested, "how dare you even suggest such a thing!"

The woman hastily apologized, bobbing her round head. "Pardon me, forgive me ignorance. Your room is on the second floor. Shall I have Sammy carry your bags?" A young boy that was her son came out from a room behind her. Richard shook his head and hoisted the bags up himself. He would rather have dogs urinate on his clothes than have someone touch his precious things.