I'm the hero of this story
I don't need to be saved
I don't need to be saved
It was the cusp of autumn, which had always been his favorite time in Denocte. It felt distinctly Night Court, the way the days were still hot enough to simmer and swim and the nights were cool enough to light the bonfires and gather in close. August had lost track of how long he’d been home; the leaves were still green on the trees, but the first were starting to shift; his bruises were faded, his limp gone, but he was not back to himself.
He was also - by the end of the week, depending on how successfully he could sweet-talk his landlord - soon to be homeless. That was ostensibly why he was in this part of town, looking for a place to let; otherwise he’d be playing it feral for a while, and no matter what he pretended he really was a city boy at heart. But it was not apartments that drew him down this street.
They were nothing like the Scarab, this street of bars and gambling halls; they lacked the sophistication, the air of exoticism, the careless, careful elegance that toed the line with the promise of total debauchery. That’s what August thought, anyway, and the tattoo on his shoulder seemed to prickle with indignation as he turned guiltily into one green-painted, ivy-crawling doorway. He hardly spared a glance for the twisting crimson dragon on the sign; if he had palms they’d be itching.
He did not trust himself to look around before heading straight to the bar, but the smells and scents were immediately nostalgic. Rich incense, a newly-tapped barrel of wine, the laughter and swearing and background roll of conversation, the flutter of cards and clicking of dice. It might have well have been the rocking of his cradle, the way he relaxed in the smoky air. He had not realized just how much this part of his life had meant home, even if this was a poor (and potentially painful) substitute.
If he’d been ready for a drink before, now he was parched. August ordered dandelion wine from the bartender and at last let his gaze slide across the room - and at once spied something that made his mouth curve in a half-grin. It was the bay mare from the marketplace the night he’d left Denocte, and the sight of her made the same heat bloom in him he’d felt throughout their brief encounter. He’d never even gotten her name, but he is unsurprised when her gaze lifted to his. August lifted a brow to her, and then his glass when it came a moment later, and didn’t look away as he tipped it to his lips and drank.
@Al'Zahra
