OUROBOROS —
WHERE: CARIAKI TAVERN FOR: @ynaftali
or, the snake that eats its own tail. or, the taste of how everything starts.
it is a testament to the state of her mind what eléna brings with her when she is alone: a book is the least offensive, a minor distraction from whatever thought is holding up her mental freedom, simply something to pick up and peruse at leisure. the worst of them all is a device and headphones, because it takes music to drown out whatever she can’t swallow. today, for the second night in the tavern, she’s brought with her a notepad and pen - things that land somewhere in the middle of the other two. since landing on ialis, the thoughts inside her skull have curled into themselves, turning into perfect silver balls that roll and gather in the corner of her mind as it wanders and tilts. so she plans to notate while she sits at the bar alone, read over prior assessments and sketches of soon-to-be work while doodling in the margins.
what a fantastic little fucking maze she is.
it’s only after the arrival of her wine that the barkeep -- who eléna now understood to be the attached hotel’s owner -- grunts in her direction to get her to look up. he’s a broad-shouldered, plump man with a deep tan and the dark hair characteristic of many of the people on the island. as he looks at her he wipes down a stein with a cloth.
“new.” he says in english. then he cants his head to the right, to another patron. it’s a gesture of introduction with the implication of something else entirely. “new.”










