@lutelier — for vegas.
Humidity blanketed thick upon Baldur’s Gate. Even those who stood amongst the banks of the coast, feeling the rush of seaside breeze tickle their cheeks and toss their hair, were swift to shy away from the sun’s agonising glare. Shade was a luxury, one that many couldn’t afford. Those who stalked the streets, by burden of coin or lack thereof, would find dew-like sweat beading upon skin. Handkerchiefs, usually tucked away neatly upon breast or pocket, instead primed betwixt damp fingers and curled fist, anticipating the next dribble of sweat to rain down.
As day crawled towards eventide with all the enthusiasm of a caterpillar, groups sought the solace of shadows cast by the vast architectures strewn up and down narrow street flanks. One particular ragtag crowded, flush, against the building wall, fanning themselves in a pitiful attempt to rend the warmth sunder. It did little to relieve the heat.
“… Ah’heard it tastes weird. Does it?”
“Taste? No taste to it really, but yeah, it’s got a weird texture, it does. But: the results are worth every coin. That guy up at Mystique’s sure knows what he’s doing. I mean, reliving memories? With a little vial? Come on.”
“Hey, if you asked me to put two plants together and make magic on a plate, you can bet your ass when you got that plate, it’d just be a mush of green!” A jab of elbow. “What he makes looks like if y’shit the sun itself!”
Laughter, happy and buoyant, floated between them.
“Ah’ought to pay him another visit, then. Miss m’daughter, ah’do. So very, very much.”
“Mystique’s is where you gotta be then, mate. Now, come on, I think I see some Flaming Fists up near that corner, let’s give them a miss before we ‘look at ‘em wrong’ or some shit.”
Another bout of laughter, a slap on the back, and away they went.
It didn’t take much to get directions to one Mystique Offerings—colloquially known as just Mystique’s—if one probed a few people for some directions. Located in the bowels of the seedier parts of the city, it certainly stuck out like a sore thumb. While many other stores kept their exteriors on a downlow, preferring the skulk of the shadows to the vividness of colour, Mystique’s was a vast, three-story building. An extravagant, though dirtied, rug rolled out from the big, polished double-doors much like a tongue, painting red and black down the few steps unto the cobblestone of the street. The sounds of laughter, music, and all manners of happy revelry boomed from within.
rabbit hadn't heard.
if she had , she wasn't saying anything. perhaps the sweat was clogging her ears. perhaps she just didn't care. vegas did. just the thought of reliving something , anything from four years ago was enough to pique his interest. of course , just in case , he waited until the judgemental old thief was preoccupied with preparing their freshly purchased feast to sneak out unnoticed & unsmothered.
------
it wasn't long before he found it , mystique's. with the right set of directions , it's hard to miss. it was a bit of a journey , though. at least the night meant some relief. without the sun looming directly overhead , folks could walk more than a half mile without fully soaking their clothes. good , when a man needs to be comfortable. he should be comfortable for this-- right ? nerve-wracking stuff. his grief nearly has him ready to take a stranger at their word & assume this miracle product works without the slightest idea of how it works or what it does to the user. both things he intends to find out once he finds it. he's a cautious man , always has been. paranoia has kept him alive when he should have died thrice over. still , he has hope. a desperate hope , scraping & clawing at his insides as he passes through those fabled doors , making a beeline for the bar.
he orders an ale-- nothing fancy , just a way to.. blend in. for a good , long moment he just sits & sips , trying not to look conspicuous while contemplating whether or not he's actually going to go through with what he's set out to do. after about an hour's deliberation , yes. he's decided.
yes -- at least to inquire & inquire he does , turning to the nearest patron with his trademark sly smile & simply asking " pardon me , but would you happen to know where i could find... what's it called.... that... that drink that lets you relive your memories ? is it even real ? "
