It's a dismal, run-of-the-mill and somewhat unwelcoming inn located at the edge of a narrow lane that's far from the city proper. She can't help but curl her lip in distaste. The whole area smells of urine and tequila, an odor she rarely found appealing. Still, it's the only place with a room to spare, and it should suffice for a night.
She enters, and the inside is everything she imagined it to be: foul smells; a cacophony of wails, drunken brawls, and moans that were aroused for unknown reasons. Her lip curls up once again. Bad habit, she muses, is that why I leave such a bad first impression?
The potbellied innkeeper stares at her in surprise, eyeing her odd garments and massive scythe. She can't help but smirk as she sees him squirm. He clears his throat, 'Ye be boardin' with us?' Apparently the company was equally as uncivilized as the atmosphere. Rather than replying, she gives a curt nod. 'That'll be fifty potch from yer side…' Coins clatter onto the table, the sound strangely appearing to reflect the distaste their former mistress was experiencing. The innkeeper eyes the coins suspiciously, and, seemingly satisfied, greedily pockets his newly acquired fortune. Lorelai's lip curls. Again.
He bows stiffly, almost mockingly, 'Enjoy your stay.' She nods briefly, and takes a vacant seat on the counter in front of the bartender. She is well aware of the eyes that stare at her dark, exquisite beauty with an expression of both awe and discomfort. Who was this foreign lady who had boarded herself at their familiar haven? Her presence seemed to disrupt the security these alcoholics were experiencing in the bar. She clutches the glass tightly with her fingertips, willing everyone to resume their original activities. The noise levels seem to have dropped. She clears her throat, and, jolted back into reality, the occupants of the noisy bar hurriedly return their attention to the task they were previously engrossed in. But the curious thoughts still remain.
She notices the hooded figure sit down next to her. Her body stiffens, and her lip curls. 'What are you doing here.' It is an order, and not a question. She doesn't like the fact that he's here. Yet at the same time it's…oddly…relieving.
The gunman snickers to himself, too preoccupied with the amber liquid that rolls around in the glass his calloused hand is gripped around. Her pride is injured. She doesn't like being ignored.
'Answer me. I don't appreciate being ignored.' She bluntly voices her thoughts.
'Feisty, as usual. You'd think something might have happened to you in a year, but, then again, you wouldn't.' She can detect the familiar cynicism his Harmonian accent holds, and feels oddly comforted. Change is good…but change is never what we expect. It was comforting to know she wasn't the only one who hadn't changed.
'Stop joking around. How did you know I was here?'
He shrugs. 'Hmm…chance encounter, I suppose, nothing more.' He pauses. 'Or you could say I happened to see you enter this city, and decided to catch up on a familiar acquaintance.'
'You followed me.'
'Yes, and no. Then again, it could also be maybe…'
'For someone who doesn't talk much, you sure like riddles.'
He smirks, and she feels the infuriation seeping off her in suppressed quivers. An awkward silence follows. Finally, she asks, 'How far have you managed to go?'
He looks up from his seemingly fascinating liquor with mild interest. 'Hmm?'
'Don't play dumb with me. Have you found her?'
He returns his interest to the drink in his hands, observing the ice cubes clink against glass. '…She's dead.'
Another pause. 'I'm sorry.'
'You haven't done anything wrong.'
'…If you don't mind…'
'I do.'
'…why did you…?'
'It's a long story.'
'I'm in no hurry.'
He sets the glass down. 'It's not time yet…besides, I'm sure you'll find out eventually.' The bartender refills their drinks. 'What about you? Any closer to your treasure?'
She shakes her head. 'No.'
'Great. Misery has a companion.'
She observes his absentminded gaze keenly. His gray eyes are glazed; hollow, even, with a distant look of remorse and sadness she can't place. His mind wanders, even as they sit and talk. Natural curiosity prods her impatiently from the inside. She yearns to find out why he would kill his childhood friend and lover. Was there a story behind it? There had to be. No one kills someone close to them for no reason.
She awkwardly pats his hand, a feeble attempt to console. 'Um…it'll be alright,' she finishes lamely. He smiles, a rare, genuine smile that betrays the innocence hidden inside his hardened exterior.
'Thank you.' He intertwines his hands with hers and squeezes it gently.
Abruptly, he stands up, ready to leave. 'Where are you going?' she questions.
'Leaving.'
'Why?'
'This is…the last crossroad of our stories. I doubt we'll ever meet again.' He stoops down, and gives her a gentle peck on her cheek. 'I'm glad…I got to meet you.' He turns, as if ready to leave. 'Caleria. I heard some interesting rumors regarding the Sindar…it might be worth your while to pay a visit.'
With that, he was gone. She stares after him for sometime, before finally returning her gaze to her drink.
Caleria…'Goodbye.'
Is it the walker who chooses the path, or the path the walker…?Owari
A/N: OK, a bit weird, I know, but some strange part of me really likes this pairing…hence the dumb fic. The present tense thing? Another product of my overly active mind. Anyways, this is my first fic…so a little kindness while dishing out critique:oP Arigatou for reading!