The rain danced down unrelenting in it's fury. A fitting touch to the grief that bled out of him as he staggered down the street. The cold sunk through his vestments to the bone and yet he embraced it all in some eagerness to feel, to forget and yet he was all too aware there was no void to embrace it all. Narcotics had just smudged the lens on life. Alcohol blurred it with a tug of war between rose coloured glasses and mindless spouts of rage. Sleep was a momentary reprieve but the dreams would no longer come. He was alone and the heavens above in it's fervent watery spat only saw fit to remind him of that. Every step was a resounding echo on pavement that would leave no print, every contact with another an empty face passing and colour had all but drained to grey. His momentum came to a pause, his fingers curling into whitened knuckles and he began to chuckle - if someone screamed out in all this, would anyone hear it?
Light came, blinding but with no scorching heat but a warmth. A door cracked open spilling light in a central line towards him. A wooden door to a low lit bar with a red neon sign that flickered in and out.
Lucky Jacks.
A scoff escaped his lips. Another escape seemed to be the greater Will above's answer to his problems. Fine. Another night of obscure merriment to scratch away memory would do. He took this path to light, his cold weathered hands touching the wood of the door frame to prize it aside and enter.
Despite the low amber lighting, his eyes still winced against the change and slowly he took in an empty bar that seemed dated in it's interior. Old red, green and mustard yellow seating framed in dark oak were arranged around matching tables with glassware and mirrors running parallel to them. Motivational and humorous posters stuck to the wall, whether by nails or simply age he couldn't tell. Central to it all was a bar that seemed a touch more well kept than the surroundings with various equipment and glasses allowing for a great many creative blends of beverage to be decanted out to awaiting customers.
Licking his lips, the man approached stroking his beard absently as he found himself curious to the lack of people; staff or otherwise. The only sound was the low hum of relaxing radio music crackling out of speakers placed in the corners of the main room. He slipped onto the most central stool surrounding the bar and eyed the drink selection while admiring the sheen of the gold and silver equipment and decorations that added a classy comfortable ambience. Moments began to pass and he found himself tapping a hand to the music on the bar counter patiently waiting for someone to appear. He'd rise on occasion to see if there was someone behind the bar or hiding behind a doorway he hadn't yet perceived but nothing. The tapping of his palm on the bar began to become louder and more infuriating to him then the absence of life. A noteworthy clang of small metal amidst the slap of firm flesh on the wood suddenly reminded him of the ring on his finger and he looked down at the small trinket as feelings of regret and despair crawled their way into his being.
A crash of thunder from outside hurled him back to reality, he stood panicked as the flicker of the white light came through the windows and the low rumble of it dissipated away. Then came the creak of an old wooden door. At first he believed it to be the entrance nudged open by the wind but neither was it open, nor did the sound originate from there. Again it came. A long painful groan of wood turning on it's hinges. He looked to a spiraling stairway that twisted up to a dark floor above. That was where it was coming from. He moved slowly towards it, his hand resting upon the cool black metal rail that seemed to drain any remaining warmth in him from touch alone. He cast a gaze around once again, as though seeking permission, then shook his coat off of rainwater with a short dry laugh.
"Seek forgiveness, not permission I suppose..."
Before he could even consider it, his hand rose reflexively to his glasses, the middle finger pressing them against the crook of his nose. An old habit she had always laughed at. Another bittersweet memory to taunt him.
YOU ARE READING
Lore Journal
FantasyA work in progress detailing the lore of my character and his interactions with others.
