It Don't Mean A Thing

New places. New faces. Yeah, this was the wrong street to take home but in the long run it didn’t matter to Roland. Strolls were by all means pleasant as long as the weather wasn’t as hot as it was two day ago. However, with the sun setting overhead he suddenly realized that maybe figuring out were home was from here was on the more urgent side of his rather lackadaisical agenda. God forbid he skipped out on cleaning again.

“Hey, hey excuse me.” He chimed, fingers instinctively reaching out to the nearest person’s arm, but withdrew at the last second. Best not risk pissing them off. Everyone was sort of high strung in this city.

“Good Afternoon.” She greeted, leaning against the counter. “You just missed her, she went on a supply run.”

Hana pushed off the counter and grabbed A cup and a fresh pot, “You planning on waiting for her…?” If he did she might be able to get some good gossip. With skill and precision the coffee was already in the cup before it was in front of him.

“As long as she’s back within the hour I’ve got the time.”

He took up the cup with a muttered ‘thanks’ and sipped at it. It was nice being off his feet anyways and it wasn’t  as if he minded chatting with a stranger. It was better than awkward silence at the very least.

{ 🌿 } … Can’t a man walk home in peace? He should have known he’d run into a err… panhandler, especially at this time of night; a mental note not to do this again. The man didn’t appear to be homeless, he’s quite well dressed. Though his hair is a flaw, what sort of style is… that. Oh god, maybe he’s being mugged. Paranoia. No! Keep a straight face, you’re fine.

{ 🌿 } “Approaching strangers on the street at this time isn’t the greatest method of making company, you know.“

Dammit the guy seemed to have his wits about him. But that raised even more of a question. He had nerve for taking alleyways at night and he was damn lucky that he hasn’t run into a thug yet. This guy was asking for a walloping, completely conspicuous and clearly somewhat wealthy. Roland grinned sheepishly

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, but you know if you keep on this street you’re going to run into people who’ll approach looking for something other than company, yeah?”

Visiting Norah at the Rainbird whenever he happened to be passing by was a habit of Roland’s. He pushed open the door with his shoulder and fixed his hat with his left hand, flashing a smile at the waitress at the counter. What was her name again? Oh god he forgot. 

“Good afternoon.” 

“Now, who the hell are you?”

Oh lord, this guy. Rolls stared the other down with a startled look. Oh man, he thought Cyril was some sort of myth. Like a telltale parents would tell their kids so they’d eat healthy or sleep well except Cyril was something to scare adults into place. On top of that, apparently, he was real. Roland laughed uneasily.

It was a Sunday, and Roland found himself collapsed on the couch staring at the ceiling and silently praying for something to happen,,,some miracle to bring light to an otherwise absolutely boring day. He was just about to give up hope too, up until he heard the stairs creak followed by rhythmic thudding of someone coming down the stairs. The steps were to hard to be Marcus, man was as silent as a mouse. “Dylan!”