For Whom the Bell Tolls
Please spork this. It deserves it. Humongously. But it wouldn't leave me alone! Ack! It's...uh, unedited, technically, and I think I want to leave it that way just so that it has that disconnected, rough feel.
Think over it, don't read just what's on the page. That's how I wanted it to be written, in any case, but I think I've failed. It's going up because I want to see what people think. Le sigh.
1-18-2009 Fixed the retarded formatting.
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They must have been part of a cult, or something, with those outfits. I never saw a one wear anything else so it must have been a uniform.
Hell of a weird uniform, I thought.
I only ever found out a few of their names; Xaldin and Demyx, and a man called Luxord would come in every now and then and fleece customers. Several more faces were without names, but the one named Xaldin was the most oft visitor, and he didn't come that often.
I never got the impression that he (or any of them, really) liked me or cared much for his surroundings at all, just so that he had a quiet place to read and drink something. And my place was quiet. It was tucked off into a back street, just a little way off of the Second District's main square, very dark and generally lit with a fire and candles. Yay for fire hazards.
There wasn't enough money for electricity, see.
I don't remember the first time I noticed any of them; they came in alone every now and then, very rarely together, but on one appearance a hood had been removed. He had bright eyes, wild blond hair and a slender, expressive face. I later learned his name was Demyx.
I kept a wall of books for customers. I had to make a living in Traverse Town, and I'd carved mine out of a hole in the wall; transformed the bottom floor into a coffee shop sort of gig and the upper floor into my home. I still wasn't sure how I'd gotten my hands on that place, but it was mine.
The cult-people tended to stay later than most, especially if it were Xaldin, who sat far in the back, always in the same chair, reading whatever he'd picked up that evening.
Xaldin brought books, once. Old ones, like they were bound a long time ago. Real leather on the covers, too, and old-time print though the paper wasn't very old.
Though he left them here, I got the odd impression that they were less a gift to me than for his own usage when he came in. I didn't mind, not in the least, because I read them.
Xaldin liked lemon squares, Demyx liked cookies. I never had much of either to sell but the latter charmed them out of me even though I had a 2-per-person limit. There was a scarcity of flour and sugar, and eggs, and a dearth in my cooking skills so I hated selling out before the end of the night because I couldn't make any more.
Luxord liked coffee, and he liked all different kinds of flavoring in it. The loud one with one eye and a big mouth ate cake. The girl was a bitch, and nothing I ever said could end well, but she liked iced sweet tea. Two lemons and a straw, and don't you fuck it up.
There were a couple more, but they were far more intermittent and I've forgotten by now.
I was only open in the evening. I only saw them late at night.
I'm not sure how, but I'd built up a clientèle. It couldn't have been me, I wasn't always affable and the service wasn't always stellar. I tended to get sharp with impatient customers. It was why I had to hire two workers to help out, but on the whole I was awful at delegation and still did most of the work myself.
I think it was the novelty. The clientèle issue, I mean...There weren't many places in Traverse Town that existed for the sole purpose of...just sitting there, really, thinking and chatting. Calm places. There were a lot of bars and taverns, and a giant base of a fantastic array of things from different worlds, but...I didn't want that. I didn't like that. I functioned better in peace and quiet.
Then...Xaldin stopped coming. I couldn't help worrying—Traverse Town was a dangerous place and there were too many dark alleys to disappear into—but I couldn't really do anything about it, either.
Demyx hadn't been around for a while, and I missed the cheerful bugger.
Eventually Luxord showed up, but when I asked he wouldn't say.
Later that same night, the man with one eye arrived and asked for something hard. I'd never felt comfortable around him, but since I associated him with Xaldin, who was rather scary to begin with, I couldn't say I was afraid.
Alcohol wasn't on the main menu, but...my hair stood straight up on the back of my neck and I didn't ask him where Xaldin or Demyx were.
I went and got something from upstairs—I don't remember what—he ended up pretty drunk. I didn't even mind it; I shut the doors early and sat on the bar, playing cards with Luxord and losing my shirt.
That was the last time I saw any of them, helping Luxord drag that man outside after he passed out over a table.
For a while I waited for them to come back, glancing a little too hopefully at the door. They never did, and Xaldin didn't come and get his books back.
I guess...I hope nothing happened to them. They weren't bad people. I hope they're alright.
