12-17-2008, 02:22 AM
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He listened. If there was something Ahren had learned to do in the madness, it was listen. People always talked. People usually lied. But in each syllable, in each breath, there was a revealing truth. The blonde, with that peculiar black streak in his bangs, kept smiling as she explained the situation. Someone he had tried to kill with mismatched eyes. One corner of his mouth twitched, revealing off-white teeth, and his eyes were full of mirthless laughter. “Yeah, I know who you mean,” he said, and then hooked one arm around her shoulder. “She and I had…well, some words, a few I would say, and one thing just led to another.” A shrug and a roll of a wrist and then he was smiling all the while, eyes bright and just slightly mad.
“Come on, I’ll get you a drink.” Without waiting for a response, he half-led her down the street, turning sharply at another intersection and landing them right in the middle of an old Irish-styled pub. Yellowed and crumbling photographs lined the walls, offset by dozens of other odds and ends. Ahren wasted no time shrugging the guitar off and sliding behind the bar and perusing the bottles that had not been broken or opened. “It’s impressive,” he offered absentmindedly. “, that humans went to such lengths to drink poison.”
He listened. If there was something Ahren had learned to do in the madness, it was listen. People always talked. People usually lied. But in each syllable, in each breath, there was a revealing truth. The blonde, with that peculiar black streak in his bangs, kept smiling as she explained the situation. Someone he had tried to kill with mismatched eyes. One corner of his mouth twitched, revealing off-white teeth, and his eyes were full of mirthless laughter. “Yeah, I know who you mean,” he said, and then hooked one arm around her shoulder. “She and I had…well, some words, a few I would say, and one thing just led to another.” A shrug and a roll of a wrist and then he was smiling all the while, eyes bright and just slightly mad.
“Come on, I’ll get you a drink.” Without waiting for a response, he half-led her down the street, turning sharply at another intersection and landing them right in the middle of an old Irish-styled pub. Yellowed and crumbling photographs lined the walls, offset by dozens of other odds and ends. Ahren wasted no time shrugging the guitar off and sliding behind the bar and perusing the bottles that had not been broken or opened. “It’s impressive,” he offered absentmindedly. “, that humans went to such lengths to drink poison.”