News:

PD.COM:  Mindlessly hitting the refresh button for weeks on end.

Main Menu

A Light Shines in the City - Zurtok's City Stories

Started by Zurtok Khan, July 04, 2005, 11:13:47 AM

Previous topic - Next topic

Zurtok Khan

I suppose it's simply my nature to find the small shining light in the middle of the darkness.  Perhaps that's why when I write about the city, it comes out like this.  There's always Hope, somewhere, no matter how hard They try to crush it.  So...yeah.  Somewhere, a Light Shines in the City.

Black-Rose Molly Rides Again
She stood on the street corner. Ready. Doing on this street corner what you know people do on street corners. She waited. She liked it this way. A bit of excitement and the guilt of hearing her mother's voice in the back of her head telling her what she was. But, the City didn't care. It was just The City, and she was just Shirley, or as most people knew her, Black-Rose Molly.

No one quite knew why she liked to be known as Black-Rose Molly. But, she didn't care. She had her reasons. Everyone has their reasons, she thought, secrets that they keep from everyone else, simply because they can. They liked it that way. She liked it that way.

It was one of those mornings where everyone feels the same feeling about getting up. Wednesday, the worst of them all. A cold dreary day, but it somehow hummed with the electricity of a thousand minds strumming the same long-forgotten tune. Some folks would tell you that all days in the City were cold and dreary. But, Black-Rose Molly knew that that wasn't true. She remembered a man. Not a name, just a face and a feeling. His warm arms embracing her flesh that must've been ice in comparison. Of course, it was more that he melted the ice that was her. Then, like everything anyone loves in the city, he was gone. POOF.

A black car had turned the corner up the street. Expensive. There was only one reason expensive cars drove down this street in the morning. And, what a morning it was. The subconscious vibrations seemed warped around the car. Blue, dark blue, no the car was black. It was the person in the car that was dark blue. His presence so full that being in a room with him was feeling smothered, no matter how big. It was useful for him, even though he never noticed it, he knew people gave in when he walked in, because it was him.

The car stopped in front of Black-Rose Molly. Her dark maroon lipstick complimented her unfathomably deep green eyes. The Client could tell that there was something about this broad that even penetrated him. He'd never seen someone quite like her before.

"Goin' anywhere I'd like?" BRM asked.
"Depends on what you like," said the Client

She thought for a moment about this particular man, whether he was the right kind of client for her. "I suppose I like where ever you're going," she said with the perfect mixture of allure and thoughtfulness brought on by practice.

"Hop in."

They sat considering each other for a short while. Each considering the other. They were opposites, they knew. He was so large (but of a normal stature and weight), and yet she was so...invisible, or perhaps intangible, that his presence couldn't force her to do anything. Neither knew what the other was thinking or feeling, and that unnerved them both, so used to reading people at the drop of a hat.

The client bent forward and whispered something in the drivers ear. She sat and wondered what it was, his face gave nothing away.

A short while later they pulled up to a coffee shop, a bit run down, but the place you knew had a great cup of brew because it had competed with all the Java-at-every-street-corner Inc. fads, and come out no worse for wear, if a little under the gun. This caught her off guard, this was not the neighborhood that this car lived in. The man would be powerful anywhere, but this car would be stripped fast. Really fast.

He felt a bit of triumph, he could see the confusion on her face.

"Coffee?" he asked.
"Of course," she said, regaining her composure, but knowing that she had lost the first match.

They walked in and found a table. The barista looked at them, and grinned a bit in a way that said he wished he could afford a woman like that. No one could afford a woman like that.

They sat and talked, about nothing whatsoever. It was something neither of them had done in a long time. Equals. She got him, and he got her. They lost count neither was winning or losing.

The hive mind of The City was humming with the sound of a thousand voices strumming the same instrument in unison. There was something going on here. Until tomorrow, when Government Inc. shot all the band-mates. Then Black-Rose Molly would be dead, or gone, or at the very least different. And the Client would go back to do what he normally did. Running the city underground, or maybe he was a senator. Who cared? Who knew? Nobody, and The City didn't care.
Resistance is Fertile.

Always acknowledge a fault. This will throw those in authority off their guard and give you an opportunity to commit more.
-Mark Twain

I thoroughly disapprove of duels. If a man should challenge me, I would take him kindly and forgivingly by the hand and lead him to a quiet place and kill him.
-Mark Twain

Zurtok Khan

A Fat Man Resists
A man with a large nose stood in the corner, watching everyone shift silently in the bar.  This was not one of those talking bars.  This was one of those sitting bars.  Everyone "knew" what everyone else was thinking that.  That was enough, that was always enough.  It's tough times in the city for these folks, when they come here.  Everyone knew that.  There was always a chance here, the Government Inc. hadn't found it yet, hadn't stamped it in to oblivion.

A slightly over weight man came into the bar, no one noticed, no one cared.  They all "knew" what he was here for.  He was looking for the chance.  For him, there wasn't one left.  For him, there was no running, and he knew it, just like he knew that by coming here, he could show the Government Inc. and all of it's lackey's and stooges a place where a spark existed that hadn't yet been doused.

The overweight man took his seat, maybe his last, maybe his first.  Who's to say when and where they'll strike, if they do at all?  But, they always do.  That's what they wanted him to think.  They always know where you are, they always know how to get you.  Always.  

The waitress walked up, took his order.  Margarita.  She laughed.  Margarita?  This wasn't one of those bars.  No one orders a margarita here.  Oh, certainly they could make one.  They might even remember how, but who drinks a margarita when they're looking for a chance?

The overweight man was unabashed, while being observed by the entire bar, casually by some, much-more then casually by others.  The man with the large nose understood.  He wanted an margarita too.  He burned for it.  In someways the balls it took to order a drink like that in a place like this were unimaginable.  Depression isn't...(hope!)...it couldn't be, could it?  Perhaps this man (fatty) had found some way to...but no...

The hope that had briefly flared within the bosom of Mr. Nose had died down, reduced to barely alive coals, doused by cold water.  Now, all he was left with was the lingering smell of smoke.

Two more men came into the bar.  Black Coats.  Never a good sign.  Never, ever in a place like this.  Everyone who's minds had been lingering on Mr. Margarita suddenly had other things to do.  When the Black Coats were around you didn't even think something that could  be considered dangerous.  You knew nothing, you were nothing.

It was as though they had known everything that had happened in the bar.  Mr. Margarita seem non-pulsed, barely noticing the two menacing men walking in the door, he was patiently waiting for him margarita.  The Black Coats took seats, there was an inaudible gasp of surprise in the air.  Black Coats didn't know how to sit down.  Their damn knees didn't know how to bend that way.  It did not happen.  It was almost as bad as a margarita.

The waitress squeamishly asked the Black Coats for their orders.  Vodka.  Vodka was easy, nothing simpler.  She couldn't be happier to get it.  After Mr. Margarita, hard liquor seemed a thousand miles away, like reality after watching a daytime talk show.

The margarita was mixed (after a few minute of agonizing thought on the part of the bartender).  The waitress drought it to him.  He sipped at it slowly.  Enjoyed it.  He smiled.  No one seemed to be breathing.

The Black coats drank their Vodka, stood up.  Walked to Mr. Margarita's table.  They had done this a thousand times before.  No one resisted.  Not anymore.  What was the point?  Everyone knew what was going to happen anyway.

Everyone at the bar that night remembered two things, a margarita, and a firm, resolute voice saying, "No."
Resistance is Fertile.

Always acknowledge a fault. This will throw those in authority off their guard and give you an opportunity to commit more.
-Mark Twain

I thoroughly disapprove of duels. If a man should challenge me, I would take him kindly and forgivingly by the hand and lead him to a quiet place and kill him.
-Mark Twain