A chance at survival (Azreath)
Posted: 05 Dec 2014, 12:23
*Cling cling*
The sound of the bell above the door announced the entrance of the new customer, a young man with short, curled dark brown hair and soft steel blue eyes that nervously scanned the interior. It was a small shop, littered with old and worn looking objects; everything from daggers and crosses to dried herbs. A couple of skulls were placed in glass monters by the counter, their empty sockets and yellowed grins sending shivers down the youths spine.
There were four people in the building. Two strangely dressed youths in the back, holding an old looking book and talking ecitedly in hushed voices. A very well dressed gentleman in his early twenties, inspecting a pouch of red powder that seemed to be a part of a set. The last person was what appeared to be the owner of the shop, a thin, harsh looking man in his late thirties with sunken in eyes, leaning against the coutertop next to a cash register.
The young man stepped gingerly up to the owner, hesitating a moment before speaking. "Uhm, e-excuse me?" His voice was low and cautious as he spoke, his hands nervously twisting the edges of his worn out black sweater. The Keeper gave him a disapproving look, and then shook his head. "We don't sell drugs here." He said in disgust, as if the youth was a cockroach he'd found under a stone.
His cheeks turned a deep shade of red, standing out against his pale skin. "Oh, n-no, I don't... I mean, I'm not... I'd heard..." He glanced around, and then lowered his voice to a nervous hush. "I'd heard you bought... blood."
The silence that followed weighed on the youth like a ton of water was trying to crush him from every side. The man's appraising look forced him to swallow thickly, shrinking beneath the cold, calculating gaze. Had he been wrong? He'd finally dared go in and now...
"20 dollars a pint." The man spoke suddenly, jolting the youth out of his thoughts. "O-only twenty?" He felt his chest tighten again, the words nearly choking him on the way out. "Bbut... but that's..."
"20 dollars. Take it or leave it."
He stared at the man for several moments, uncertain what to do. His heart was pounding hard against the inside of his chest, so hard he could hear the thump thump thump pulsating in his ears. Had he been braver, or stronger, or better at conversations, he would have stood up for himself, told the man to go suck it, but he was not brave, or strong, or particularly good at talking with anyone. So with a dejected look he gave a tiny nod, shifting to look down at the floor and his dirty sneakers instead. "...Yeah, sure..." He responded, drawing in a deep shuddering breath to try and still his heart and force away the fear.
The sound of the bell above the door announced the entrance of the new customer, a young man with short, curled dark brown hair and soft steel blue eyes that nervously scanned the interior. It was a small shop, littered with old and worn looking objects; everything from daggers and crosses to dried herbs. A couple of skulls were placed in glass monters by the counter, their empty sockets and yellowed grins sending shivers down the youths spine.
There were four people in the building. Two strangely dressed youths in the back, holding an old looking book and talking ecitedly in hushed voices. A very well dressed gentleman in his early twenties, inspecting a pouch of red powder that seemed to be a part of a set. The last person was what appeared to be the owner of the shop, a thin, harsh looking man in his late thirties with sunken in eyes, leaning against the coutertop next to a cash register.
The young man stepped gingerly up to the owner, hesitating a moment before speaking. "Uhm, e-excuse me?" His voice was low and cautious as he spoke, his hands nervously twisting the edges of his worn out black sweater. The Keeper gave him a disapproving look, and then shook his head. "We don't sell drugs here." He said in disgust, as if the youth was a cockroach he'd found under a stone.
His cheeks turned a deep shade of red, standing out against his pale skin. "Oh, n-no, I don't... I mean, I'm not... I'd heard..." He glanced around, and then lowered his voice to a nervous hush. "I'd heard you bought... blood."
The silence that followed weighed on the youth like a ton of water was trying to crush him from every side. The man's appraising look forced him to swallow thickly, shrinking beneath the cold, calculating gaze. Had he been wrong? He'd finally dared go in and now...
"20 dollars a pint." The man spoke suddenly, jolting the youth out of his thoughts. "O-only twenty?" He felt his chest tighten again, the words nearly choking him on the way out. "Bbut... but that's..."
"20 dollars. Take it or leave it."
He stared at the man for several moments, uncertain what to do. His heart was pounding hard against the inside of his chest, so hard he could hear the thump thump thump pulsating in his ears. Had he been braver, or stronger, or better at conversations, he would have stood up for himself, told the man to go suck it, but he was not brave, or strong, or particularly good at talking with anyone. So with a dejected look he gave a tiny nod, shifting to look down at the floor and his dirty sneakers instead. "...Yeah, sure..." He responded, drawing in a deep shuddering breath to try and still his heart and force away the fear.