10-23-2019, 09:16 PM
The bartender—huge, hulking, genial man—shuffled over from his perch, a mug of hot mead in his hands. “Need warming up?” he asked and Lih nodded a smile to the giant man. The bartender passed the mug to Lih who muttered thanks, then knocked it back.
Lih looked across the busy bar to where Ryker and Mik sat in busy conversation, drinking vodka.
Holy f—, he knew that laugh!
For a moment, bright white light and fuzzy red blackness lurched across his augmented vision. A tiny moment of nausea. He blinked. He knew the signs. He’d known them since Boda died. The visual glitches, the nausea, the disturbing taste of metal in his mouth.
After that, if he was lucky, a hot migraine that would burst inside his skull and leave him helpless from pain. If he was unlucky: part of him would feel grateful, a young, eager but small part deep inside, relished the prospect fo building a new name for the CCDPD’s honor roll. But the rest of him was dull, unmotivated, empty.
He was sat on a bar stool, meticulously wiping the sweat off his copper mug. Lih was his usual edgy self—always looking like he was afraid. His mug was sparkling, yet he still worked a cloth on it. A compulsion, as there were horribly scary people like Ryker that Lih didn’t want to look at.
More than anything he felt he was simply going through the motions. He had felt that way since Boda’s death. Dorian wanted him in the tunnels; the Captain promoted Lih to domovoi, making him one of the few officers privy to the truth of monsters; to carry on the CCD’s glory. Such trust, such faith. But Lih was so tired of losing. It didn’t seem like a reward now.
Lih drank his mead and rubbed a gloved hand around his lean jaw. His breathing was slowing now at last, his pulse dropping, the anxiety attack that had seen him gasping a few minutes ago was passing. Or maybe he was just in the eye of that storm.
As Ryker was leaving the bar, Lih’s pulse leapt for a moment. He forced himself to breathe deeply. Through the mouth, slow, deep breathing of the sort he used to steady himself before taking a shot.
He thought about death. He thought he might as well have begged for it, had he not been so scared of it. He had never figured out, though he was spending his nights wondering it, whether he was more afraid of death itself or the fear of death itself. Worse, there had been so many times when he had expected to find out. So many moments caught in death’s cold gaze, snapped at by death’s incisors. The question had been nearly answered so many times.
Now perhaps, he would find out. Here. Death, or the fear of death.
He dropped his gaze and looked about at Ryker’s companions. Though his head was still angled down, now he was gazing curiously at them, smiling grimly. Wondering how they came to be here, with Ryker. Someone important, maybe, he did not know. Mik was a handsome devil, his clean, sleek features decorated by a big smile. A real lady killer. Lih had a bad feeling there was a dangerous steak under Mik’s charm. “Who are you?” He wanted to ask Mik the question he had been dying to get out since overhearing him talking of Yakuza and the Spider to a laughing Ryker.
Lih licked his lips. He sipped some more of his mead before returning to his obsessive polishing.
Lih looked across the busy bar to where Ryker and Mik sat in busy conversation, drinking vodka.
Holy f—, he knew that laugh!
For a moment, bright white light and fuzzy red blackness lurched across his augmented vision. A tiny moment of nausea. He blinked. He knew the signs. He’d known them since Boda died. The visual glitches, the nausea, the disturbing taste of metal in his mouth.
After that, if he was lucky, a hot migraine that would burst inside his skull and leave him helpless from pain. If he was unlucky: part of him would feel grateful, a young, eager but small part deep inside, relished the prospect fo building a new name for the CCDPD’s honor roll. But the rest of him was dull, unmotivated, empty.
He was sat on a bar stool, meticulously wiping the sweat off his copper mug. Lih was his usual edgy self—always looking like he was afraid. His mug was sparkling, yet he still worked a cloth on it. A compulsion, as there were horribly scary people like Ryker that Lih didn’t want to look at.
More than anything he felt he was simply going through the motions. He had felt that way since Boda’s death. Dorian wanted him in the tunnels; the Captain promoted Lih to domovoi, making him one of the few officers privy to the truth of monsters; to carry on the CCD’s glory. Such trust, such faith. But Lih was so tired of losing. It didn’t seem like a reward now.
Lih drank his mead and rubbed a gloved hand around his lean jaw. His breathing was slowing now at last, his pulse dropping, the anxiety attack that had seen him gasping a few minutes ago was passing. Or maybe he was just in the eye of that storm.
As Ryker was leaving the bar, Lih’s pulse leapt for a moment. He forced himself to breathe deeply. Through the mouth, slow, deep breathing of the sort he used to steady himself before taking a shot.
He thought about death. He thought he might as well have begged for it, had he not been so scared of it. He had never figured out, though he was spending his nights wondering it, whether he was more afraid of death itself or the fear of death itself. Worse, there had been so many times when he had expected to find out. So many moments caught in death’s cold gaze, snapped at by death’s incisors. The question had been nearly answered so many times.
Now perhaps, he would find out. Here. Death, or the fear of death.
He dropped his gaze and looked about at Ryker’s companions. Though his head was still angled down, now he was gazing curiously at them, smiling grimly. Wondering how they came to be here, with Ryker. Someone important, maybe, he did not know. Mik was a handsome devil, his clean, sleek features decorated by a big smile. A real lady killer. Lih had a bad feeling there was a dangerous steak under Mik’s charm. “Who are you?” He wanted to ask Mik the question he had been dying to get out since overhearing him talking of Yakuza and the Spider to a laughing Ryker.
Lih licked his lips. He sipped some more of his mead before returning to his obsessive polishing.