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Aug. 5th, 2017 10:36 pmSomeone's been leaving him offerings.
At first he'd thought it to be the boy, Gabriel, the one he'd met during his first week and when he'd felt the call of it, when he'd walked the path that pulled him on and on, he'd been surprised to find the flat of an unfamiliar woman at the other end. But the bread had been for him sure enough and he'd taken it, turning it over in his hands with a bit of wonder before leaving once again, trying to work out who the woman is and why she's leaving him anything at all. It's been a great many years since anyone has left him an offering and though she's not asked for anything in particular, though he's without his own luck at the moment and thus can only give little bits here and there, he does what he can to return the offering back to her.
One evening at the market, several women ahead of her come up empty handed when looking for a few perfect apples, but she has no trouble at all finding what she wants in the bin. A few days later there's a bicycle and it's not nearly enough to have hurt her badly, but had she stepped out of the apartment building only a moment earlier, she'd have surely been hit. Though she's pretty enough and she's sure to have plenty of attention, there are a few more kind and genuine compliments from men and women alike that week.
It isn't much, it isn't like the turns of good luck he was able to give Essie, but if he can only get his coin back, he knows he'll be able to do more.
For now, he takes the offering with only a small amount of guilt and he mostly ignores the part of him asking why.
His luck, though, no matter what he manages to give to her, is utter shit. In any other situation, he'd be able to avoid her, to continue to just allow himself to take what she gives and to give something in return. He'd not be discovered, he'd never be seen, but he's heading in the direction of her flat one afternoon, smoking as he walks, and suddenly there she is, right in his path, walking a great, fluffy dog that looks as if it belongs in a sheep pen instead of on the end of a leash.
And the damn thing makes a beeline straight for him.
"Fuck," he breathes, taking another drag from his cigarette. Of course.
At first he'd thought it to be the boy, Gabriel, the one he'd met during his first week and when he'd felt the call of it, when he'd walked the path that pulled him on and on, he'd been surprised to find the flat of an unfamiliar woman at the other end. But the bread had been for him sure enough and he'd taken it, turning it over in his hands with a bit of wonder before leaving once again, trying to work out who the woman is and why she's leaving him anything at all. It's been a great many years since anyone has left him an offering and though she's not asked for anything in particular, though he's without his own luck at the moment and thus can only give little bits here and there, he does what he can to return the offering back to her.
One evening at the market, several women ahead of her come up empty handed when looking for a few perfect apples, but she has no trouble at all finding what she wants in the bin. A few days later there's a bicycle and it's not nearly enough to have hurt her badly, but had she stepped out of the apartment building only a moment earlier, she'd have surely been hit. Though she's pretty enough and she's sure to have plenty of attention, there are a few more kind and genuine compliments from men and women alike that week.
It isn't much, it isn't like the turns of good luck he was able to give Essie, but if he can only get his coin back, he knows he'll be able to do more.
For now, he takes the offering with only a small amount of guilt and he mostly ignores the part of him asking why.
His luck, though, no matter what he manages to give to her, is utter shit. In any other situation, he'd be able to avoid her, to continue to just allow himself to take what she gives and to give something in return. He'd not be discovered, he'd never be seen, but he's heading in the direction of her flat one afternoon, smoking as he walks, and suddenly there she is, right in his path, walking a great, fluffy dog that looks as if it belongs in a sheep pen instead of on the end of a leash.
And the damn thing makes a beeline straight for him.
"Fuck," he breathes, taking another drag from his cigarette. Of course.
