Scéal Grá
Mar 11, 2020 15:45:44 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Mar 11, 2020 15:45:44 GMT
Small town, indeed, for that meeting at the cafe turned out not to be the last time Fell came across Arlan, and Fell was glad that this had turned out to be the case. It was nice to see a friendly face, even if these interludes were brief, and usually consisted of a greeting, Fell’s attempt at broken Irish, and Arlan’s helpful correction. Even better, he was sure that his growing camaraderie with the man had influenced the towns-people’s attitude towards him somewhat, with people now meeting his eye with a smile, that standoffish attitude slowly melting away. He still felt an outsider, but it was clear now that people were beginning to think of him with curiosity rather than just wariness. Still, he was ignorant to the extent of the turbulent rumours and speculation that surrounded him. A lot of the mystery centred upon what he did, or must have done, for a living. Since moving here, he had not sought out a job, and so wild speculation had attempted to fill in the blanks, some even suggesting that he was a rich runaway, or the less creative gossipers suggesting that perhaps his stay there was merely temporary, and he would move on soon enough. The former seemed to generate the most interest, with free women finding their interest, which had already been piqued by the mystery surrounding the stranger as well as his handsome looks, only strengthening. Fell remained oblivious to the stir he had caused, simply going about his life, and using his time to try and commit the streets to memory so that he would not soon find himself lost again.
A week on, and his relationship with his new home had not much improved. Still plagued by sleepless nights, Fell had tossed and turned for hours before he had finally given up. Kicking away the covers, he planted his bare feet on the cold, wooden floor, balanced his elbows on his thighs and clutched his head in his hands. He stayed that way for a few minutes, trying to chase away the intrusive thoughts that refused to be kept at bay at moments like this, when all was still and quiet and there was nothing to distract him. Again, he found himself wondering if moving here had been a mistake. He had come here in search of a home, feeling little connection anymore to the place he had been living. Instead he had found an empty house he had yet to feel any kinship to, and a town of hostilities. He felt at a loss.
Rubbing his face, he exhaled gently, attempting to rid the tension from his body. He was restless, he needed out. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but it didn’t matter, he had to get outside, he needed room to breathe.
It turned out that it was late. The streets were empty, and Fell was glad not to be the centre of ill-hidden stares, as he so often was during the daytime. The street-lamps were few and far between, allowing great expanses of darkness, he supposed to try and reduce the disturbance to sleeping residents of flanking homes. The lack of light pollution meant that he could see the sky quite clearly, and though the stars shone down on him like billions of staring eyes, he felt not their coldness, but instead, a sense of peace. He let his feet take him where they would, more concerned with the act of walking than he was of any destination, but he was not surprised to find that he was walking the familiar route towards the beach. Of an evening, he had grown a liking to coming down there at quiet times, and more than once to watch the sun go down. Something about the gentle sound of the lapping waves and the taste of salt on the air was comforting, and it never failed to calm him.
The vast majority of the sea was still… disturbed at the shore by the excited thrashing of what looked to be a wild horse. Fell had paused upon the sight, looking at first concerned, a look soon replaced by a grin as he saw that the animal was not struggling, but in fact clearly enjoying itself. After a few moments of watching, he suddenly realised that he was not alone, a quick scan of the beach revealing a figure sitting not too far away. He knew immediately who it was, that red hair was unmistakeable. Fell hesitated, unsure whether to initiate conversation, or move on. In the end he chose the former, every time he had come across Arlan so far, there had always seemed to be an audience of prying eyes. For once this was not the case, and Fell was craving company, especially from someone he was actually able to converse properly with. “Arlan.” The call was accompanied with a friendly wave as the other turned to look. He hadn’t needed to raise his voice much, the air was still and void of wind, and apart from the distant splashing of the feral-like horse, all was quiet.
A week on, and his relationship with his new home had not much improved. Still plagued by sleepless nights, Fell had tossed and turned for hours before he had finally given up. Kicking away the covers, he planted his bare feet on the cold, wooden floor, balanced his elbows on his thighs and clutched his head in his hands. He stayed that way for a few minutes, trying to chase away the intrusive thoughts that refused to be kept at bay at moments like this, when all was still and quiet and there was nothing to distract him. Again, he found himself wondering if moving here had been a mistake. He had come here in search of a home, feeling little connection anymore to the place he had been living. Instead he had found an empty house he had yet to feel any kinship to, and a town of hostilities. He felt at a loss.
Rubbing his face, he exhaled gently, attempting to rid the tension from his body. He was restless, he needed out. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but it didn’t matter, he had to get outside, he needed room to breathe.
It turned out that it was late. The streets were empty, and Fell was glad not to be the centre of ill-hidden stares, as he so often was during the daytime. The street-lamps were few and far between, allowing great expanses of darkness, he supposed to try and reduce the disturbance to sleeping residents of flanking homes. The lack of light pollution meant that he could see the sky quite clearly, and though the stars shone down on him like billions of staring eyes, he felt not their coldness, but instead, a sense of peace. He let his feet take him where they would, more concerned with the act of walking than he was of any destination, but he was not surprised to find that he was walking the familiar route towards the beach. Of an evening, he had grown a liking to coming down there at quiet times, and more than once to watch the sun go down. Something about the gentle sound of the lapping waves and the taste of salt on the air was comforting, and it never failed to calm him.
The vast majority of the sea was still… disturbed at the shore by the excited thrashing of what looked to be a wild horse. Fell had paused upon the sight, looking at first concerned, a look soon replaced by a grin as he saw that the animal was not struggling, but in fact clearly enjoying itself. After a few moments of watching, he suddenly realised that he was not alone, a quick scan of the beach revealing a figure sitting not too far away. He knew immediately who it was, that red hair was unmistakeable. Fell hesitated, unsure whether to initiate conversation, or move on. In the end he chose the former, every time he had come across Arlan so far, there had always seemed to be an audience of prying eyes. For once this was not the case, and Fell was craving company, especially from someone he was actually able to converse properly with. “Arlan.” The call was accompanied with a friendly wave as the other turned to look. He hadn’t needed to raise his voice much, the air was still and void of wind, and apart from the distant splashing of the feral-like horse, all was quiet.