07-25-2013, 10:29 PM
Michael had been kicked out of his own house.
Tony had told him not to come back until he 'was rid of that pretty scowl' .
The man's questionable eyesight aside, Michael had to admit that the man was right. He had let the hunters anger him far too much. He needed to be calm, he needed to think.
So it was he found himself wandering the ancient Nikolskaya Street. He knew relatively little about Moscow beyond what they taught him back home, but even he knew about the Place of Enlightenment.
The allure of the past drew him to the famous street. He felt at home among the antique shop-fronts - their signs still in old Russian. It exuded an aura of calming wisdom; a humble tenacity that bespoke endurance.
There were so many places he didn't know where to start, so he chose at random. A modest establishment with a display of dusty looking books inside the aged wood display window.
His entrance was marked by the faint tinkling of a door-chime. The old woman at the counter looked up from whatever she was doing, her head wrapped in the traditional Russian...style. He wasn't exactly sure what it was called.
His bulky indigo coat earned him a slightly raised eyebrow. He was used to it, and he didn't care. It was too cold to bother with social niceties. Besides, he was fond of it; it was the first coat he had bought after arriving in Moscow.
"Can I help you?" The old woman said, her accent heavy.
"Do you sell historical texts?"
It seemed like a silly question, but he wasn't sure how else to ask.
"Second and third aisles,"was the reply.
The store was bigger than Michael had anticipated. Six aisles of bookcases filled to the ceiling ran at least 20 metres deep. There was also an alcove set aside for reading in the far left corner.
Anger dimmed, Michael made his way towards the shelves to immerse himself in the glories of the distant past.
Edited by Michael Vellas, Jul 31 2013, 09:52 AM.
Tony had told him not to come back until he 'was rid of that pretty scowl' .
The man's questionable eyesight aside, Michael had to admit that the man was right. He had let the hunters anger him far too much. He needed to be calm, he needed to think.
So it was he found himself wandering the ancient Nikolskaya Street. He knew relatively little about Moscow beyond what they taught him back home, but even he knew about the Place of Enlightenment.
The allure of the past drew him to the famous street. He felt at home among the antique shop-fronts - their signs still in old Russian. It exuded an aura of calming wisdom; a humble tenacity that bespoke endurance.
There were so many places he didn't know where to start, so he chose at random. A modest establishment with a display of dusty looking books inside the aged wood display window.
His entrance was marked by the faint tinkling of a door-chime. The old woman at the counter looked up from whatever she was doing, her head wrapped in the traditional Russian...style. He wasn't exactly sure what it was called.
His bulky indigo coat earned him a slightly raised eyebrow. He was used to it, and he didn't care. It was too cold to bother with social niceties. Besides, he was fond of it; it was the first coat he had bought after arriving in Moscow.
"Can I help you?" The old woman said, her accent heavy.
"Do you sell historical texts?"
It seemed like a silly question, but he wasn't sure how else to ask.
"Second and third aisles,"was the reply.
The store was bigger than Michael had anticipated. Six aisles of bookcases filled to the ceiling ran at least 20 metres deep. There was also an alcove set aside for reading in the far left corner.
Anger dimmed, Michael made his way towards the shelves to immerse himself in the glories of the distant past.
Edited by Michael Vellas, Jul 31 2013, 09:52 AM.
"She saw a flaring halo around his head, radiant in gold and blue. It shouted of glory and power to come"
"No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it."