#a parallel scene!

[traditional-with-a-twist]

xlvii. Beauty and Her Beast

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Parallel scene: A Traveler from Obiyuki Winter Challenge 2018.

Amber liquid splashed in the glass.

As he poured, the tavern keeper’s eyes flickered between his customer and the crowd gathering behind him.

Obi drained the glass and slammed it on the counter. “Another.”

…

Coming to Tanbarun had been a mistake. He hadn’t meant to – hadn’t planned it this way – just set his feet to the road and his face to the wind.

He had no mission, no destination, no purpose – only the necessity of removing himself.

He should have resurfaced somewhere new, somewhere unknown and unknowable, ready to begin again the endless wrestling match of taking enough from life to stay in the game.

…

Instead he found himself here, in her homeland, and everything reminded him of her.

For the first time, his wandering had led him astray, backtracking until he double-crossed himself.

He had shed his old lives as easily as he changed names, as easily as a snake shed its skin. He could remake himself, forget who he had been, leave everything behind — everything but her.

He heard her in their voices. He saw her in their faces. He felt her in the air.

He could forget himself, but he could not escape her.

…

The tavern keeper opened a new bottle. He glanced past Obi again. The night was cold, the bar room drafty, but the man was sweating. 

Every head had turned when Obi walked in, and now every eye was fastened on his back, tracking the stranger’s progress through drink after drink, bottle after bottle. The regulars had banded into knots, muttering to each other behind the rims of their glasses.

Obi showed the owner a coin to soothe him. “Another.”

If he had stopped to think of it, Obi might have noticed the imposing figure he presented: a tall and dark stranger, too bold for his own good, marked with old wounds and that ineffable sense of danger — or rather, dangerous because he knew no danger to fear.

Obi did not notice. 

He thought of only two things now: the pain, and how to end it.

…

He had wondered once if he could ever leave her. Now he had - but she had not left him.

It hadn't been so bad at first because he'd been busy.

Their uninvited guest had had the sense to take himself off during the night, but Obi hadn't left anything to chance. 

He planted false trails leading away from the cottage, taking care to let himself be seen moving north, deeper into Clarines.

…

Then Obi had melted back into the shadows where he belonged, confusing the tracks he left behind to shake any interested parties off his scent.

If anyone was still interested in what had drawn him to that cottage again and again, if they had been hoping to uncover a stockpile or even a treasure trove hidden away among the woods, they would have every reason to believe it had found a new home.

As for the red-haired woman, she and Obi had parted ways. Observers might, if they cared, conclude that he had abandoned her.

…

His hand tightened on the glass.

They wouldn’t be wrong, whoever thought that. What they would not understand was that he had done it for her.

She was better off this way.

…

He had spared a fleeting thought for the old man as he left, pictured briefly his seething rage at the discovery that Obi had confirmed all his worst predictions yet again. 

Then again, perhaps he might instead feel relief, a release from the one responsibility he had ever begrudged. 

The instructions, the threats, the promises had all amounted to words on a page, lines of ink smudged into meaninglessness with a drop of rain — much like every other binding contract Obi had experienced.

That was why his world sealed their contracts in blood. 

…

He couldn’t help but think of that, as he raised the glass once more and a thin scar showed white on his palm.

For the first time since his master’s death, Obi was glad. He had endured a lifetime of disappointing the man responsible for his birth, but the prince was another matter.

No matter what became of him now, it was some small consolation that Zen would never know.

…

He could drink and drink, and the ghosts might watch, but they couldn’t speak.

Another hour of this, and Obi thought he might not be able to, either.

He no longer knew what the bartender poured him, whether it was alcohol or swill–his mouth was too numb to tell the difference. The edges of his vision blurred; his ears were buzzing.

Still, when he closed his eyes, he could see her face.

She smiled, she laughed, she cried – a thousand faces, a thousand moments he had stolen and hoarded until the inevitable good-bye. Now they played in an endless loop behind his eyelids, taunting him with the evidence of his crime.

Obi gripped the bridge of his nose, slumping forward. He couldn’t forget. He’d been drinking for hours, but he couldn’t forget.

…

You’re right, Obi, her voice whispered in his ear. I shouldn’t keep you here.

He had been a fool to think he could make her happy. Week after week, her bloom had faded, the color leaving her cheeks, her laugh losing its luster, until he had returned that night to find her blighted, like a flower transplanted to an unfriendly soil. She didn’t belong with him.

She never had.

…

His fingers dug into the rough wood of the counter, but the sting didn’t balance out what he felt inside. Obi raised his head, staring around wildly for a distraction.

The tavern keeper held out a drink, but he was looking past Obi. His fingers were trembling.

A hand like a bear paw engulfed the cup. It belonged to one of the regulars. He was taller and broader than Mitsuhide, his face battered with old scars. 

He looked like a brawler to Obi — more bulk than speed, flailing fists rather than precision, not likely to kill…unless you stayed still long enough for him to beat you bloody. 

…

The man sat down too close, his elbow jostling Obi’s.

It was the first rule of the underworld to never draw attention. If you wanted to stay free, never give people a reason to remember you. 

If you wanted to stay alive, never make unnecessary enemies.

…

A fight with a bruiser like him wouldn’t end quickly. It would be a messy, noisy affair with broken glass and smashed chairs. 

Everyone in the room would get involved — the angry ones who caught a stray blow by chance, the riled ones who enjoyed the smell of blood in the air, the greedy ones who cut purses in the chaos, even the fearful ones who ran into the streets calling for help. 

Start a fight like that, and you could never show your face in that town again.

…

Perfect, Obi thought.

The stranger tipped back his head and raised the drink.

Quick as a cat, Obi slapped it out of his hand.

The glass struck the counter and shattered, spraying alcohol and fumes over both of them. The man whirled on him, nostrils flaring. The tavern keeper backed away.

Obi grinned.

[junaip3r]

Good Omens + Parallels

[riickgrimes]

I know who you are. You're Fire and Ice, right? Which one's which?

CHALLENGERS (2024) dir. Luca Guadagnino

[bluegiragi]

aware (part 2)

early access + nsfw on patreon

[posalis]

"You can only be jealous of someone who has something you think you ought to have yourself." Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale

[rosetinted--clouds]

rewatching lotr, as you do, but there's something hitting about Isildur getting killed by three arrows (to the back) while abandoning his men versus Boromir getting killed by three arrows (to the chest) while doing everything to save Merry and Pippin and the influence of the ring over men, idk but my heart did a thing when i noticed it :(

[nicknelosn]

GOOD OMENS (2019-) 2.01 | DOCTOR WHO (2005-) 2.11

[homosexualslug]

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[vriskan8or]

let her go

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St. Hilarion's ghost story

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

This wine tastes like pigs blood!

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:-).

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