The grocery store was some 3 miles from his house. When he lived here during school he’d drop in and pick up what he wanted after a long run. But today, Dart was hung over and didn’t feel much like running. He felt more like a hearty puke would do him some good. The sun was bright, so he picked out his darkest pair of glasses to shield him from the sharp colors outside. It was a beautiful summer day and Dart hated it. A nice dreary rain would suit his mood better and go easier on his eyes, but instead, a soft breeze kicked up and tousled his hair. He ran a hand through the blond, stopping at his temples to massage them. His hair was getting long. He kept it within regs for a few months because it felt right. But he’d gotten lazy. He hadn’t exercised in months. Instead, he slept late, ate breakfast, and floated in the pool where he usually fell asleep with the help of a few tall and strong drinks.
But now he had a problem. A serious problem.
Dart was firmly out of booze, and he’d need some and a few Dr. Primbelty’s fizzy tabs if he was going to kick this bottle flu. Even his emergency supply was gone, or else he wouldn’t be attempting the painful trip to the store. When he awoke this morning, he’d gone straight to take the hair off the dogs back when he realized he’s squandered the last of his rations during a particularly rough night of self-pity. So, instead of floating in the pool and gently nursing his raging hangover, he walked the distance to the store for a new bottle. He’d have to buy a bottle of White Teldon. Even though it was only the middle of the month, the meager allowance Aunty had directed Lesh to give him was almost gone. He didn’t have enough to buy the more expensive, barrel aged heeder he preferred.
He hadn’t bothered to check Uncle Len’s libation cabinet before he left the house. Last time he’d looked, a new lock had been installed and no one deigned to relay a key to him. He got the message. He stayed out of it, though he’d closely examined the lock and felt he could pick it with enough time.
So instead, he walked under the trees lining the avenue. Well dressed women walked past, some pushing strollers or holding the hands of toddlers, few men were out at this time. Dart tried to move as quickly as his throbbing head would allow, but he frequently found himself stuck behind groups of mothers out for a fashionable walk down the street. They wore ridiculous hats and absurd shoes that compensated for how expensive they were by being especially impractical.
The strollers they pushed were in vogue as well, with each bigger and more ornate than the last. Young women with newborns walked about the parks and down the avenue pushing land boats with tassels, frills, and lace being vomited over the sides. Nestled down, safe in the depths of silk lined interiors, were the heirs to empires.
They were a cacophony to Dart’s liquor sick ears. The women competing to talk over one another, the children screaming from inside gaudy carriages, or playing with other noise makers. Dart got beyond the parks and started to cross the Langhelm Bridge over the Stornshie River. Underneath, boats transported goods into harbors along the shore. Bells rang and horns blared while deck hands shouted to each other far below. Dart spat over the side and watched it drift with the breeze until he felt dizzy and tried to follow the bitter spit with vomit. But there wasn’t anything left. Instead, he just dry-heaved for a few minutes until an elderly nanny walked by, pulling her young charge along by one hand. She looked at him concerned at first, but when she came near, her nose wrinkled at the smell of stale sweat and alcohol wafting from his pours. She scowled at him in a way that suggested Dart offended her.
Dart showed her his bottom teeth and she scurried past, pulling the little girl with her. But now the pair was ahead of him on his journey across the bridge and there was still some distance to go. He had to walk along behind them with the Nanny throwing worried glances over her shoulder at him, pulling the girl to go faster. Dart rolled his eyes, he couldn’t very well walk past, the old woman might have an attack. Instead, he slowed his pace down to a shuffle across the cobbles to let them get some distance.
Finally, Dart lowered his head and stopped watching where he was going. He let himself drift along with the crowd crossing the bridge. In the street was a mass of buggies, some being pulled by horses, but most others pulled themselves along, slowly, and the drivers communicated their impatience with their horns. They blasted merry tunes to show how much they’d like to be across the bridge instead of inching across slower even than the pedestrians at the sides. Which was why Dart hadn’t bothered with Uncle Len’s car. It would have added an extra hour to his trip, and he was eager to be home nursing his hangover and drifting in the pool. Still, the secluded cabin would have sheltered him from the noise some.
He lost himself in heavy self-pity before he realized he was walking past the store. He turned around in the crowd and walked back the way he came, earning some displeased looks from those who had to step around him. He met some of those looks with open hostility, waiting to see if someone said anything.
But no one did.
He walked in through the front door and past the big security guard with a heavy wood thumper hanging from a leather strap on his belt, then made his way down the aisles to the back where they kept the alcohol. He stood for a while, looking at the selection then wandered past the good whiskey, barrel aged to a dark brown color. He checked the prices again, but it was just as expensive as he remembered. He kept walking to the smaller selection of the gut rot. The white whiskey, which went from the still directly to the bottle, was far and away less expensive and it was all he could afford.
Not after the taste anyway. He was after the effects, he told himself.
He grabbed a long bottle off the bottom shelf and headed for the register. He was next in line before he thought to put a hand in his pocket for his money. First, he tried his right pocket where he usually kept it, but when he found nothing, he tried his left. Nothing. He turned them both inside out just to be sure, but he already knew he’d forgotten it.
The clerk was asking him something.
“What?” Dart said looking up.
“I said, is that all you need sir?” she said. She was young and plain, with a white and yellow flower tucked behind a strap of her apron. And she was inexcusably perky.
“Uh, yes,” Dart said. “Listen, I seem to have forgotten my money, I wonder if I couldn’t put this on my uncles tab.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem sir.” She bangled enthusiastically and pulled out a thick book from under the counter. She opened the heavy cover carefully and looked back up at him.
“What’s your uncles name?”
“Len, Len D’Artes.”
She flipped to the appropriate section, and he watched her finger as it trailed down the page.
“Here we are.” The clerk said brightly. “And your name?”
“Miko D’Artes”
She frowned down at the list when she reached the bottom, then ran her finger from the top again.
Dart was beginning to get fidgety while he waited. The people who had been in line behind him began to mutter at how long it seemed to be taking to purchase one bottle of cheap white.
Finally, the clerk looked up.
“I’m sorry sir, your name doesn’t appear to be included in the list of those authorized to use Len D’Artes credit line.
“Check again.”
“Sir-” she began.
“Check. Again.” Dart snarled
The clerk made a show of running her eyes over the list again, but raised her hands to him,
“Sir, you’re not-”
“Everything alright here, Karal?” The guard had made his way over and was standing protectively behind the girl. He eyed Dart in a way Dart found… disrespectful. The man moved with an easy step that showed it wasn’t just his size and that big walloper on his belt that made him dangerous.
Dart had been about to just leave it. Been about to start the long walk home. But the guard sticking his nose into his business suddenly piqued his rage.
Something dark and hateful inside Dart grinned wildly as he looked the guard up and down. He kept his face dead, and lifted his glasses to the top of his head. He only came up to just under the man’s chin, but hangover or no, Dart felt his odds were good. No, not really. He knew his odds were shit. Terrible actually. It was just that he didn’t care. Everything that had happened and now this? Uncle Len cut him off the account? Months of hate built up and was about to spill over on this guard who conveniently presented himself for destruction. Dart’s knuckles itched. He’d sure like to scratch them on the guard’s stubble.
The guard watched those thoughts pass in Dart’s bloodshot eyes and his frown deepened. His hands drifted to rest on his belt, the right hand right close to the hilt of the club. He was clearly a professional. His uniform clean and properly fit around a thick neck. Probably worked this job on the side, running security to nab shoplifters during the day, and bouncing at the local clubs after dark. He earned his living throwing young rich idiots like Dart out on their heads every night.
Dart squared himself and bunched every muscle. One corner of his mouth twisting up into a snarl.
“You were in India Company 3/12?” said the guard slowly, almost too quietly.
Dart raised an eyebrow, then dropped it again.
“Huh?” the question caught him so unexpectedly his mind ground to a screeching halt.
“The Hanged Men. They’re a part of India Company 3/12 right?”
“Yes?” Dart said. His hungover brain sparked and spit at itself while he tried to work out the words.
“Your tattoo,” the guard said, pointing at Dart’s forearm where the India Company Hanged Men symbol of his old infantry unit was inked in black and red. “I was in Dekk Company 1/4,” the guard put forth his own forearm and displayed a tattoo of a fanged skull done in black and a dark blue lightning bolt behind. He offered the hand in a shake. “Corporal Dens Florental.”
“Private D’Artes.” Dart said, taking the hand cautiously.
This time it was Dens’ turn to raise an eyebrow.
“They allowed a private to get marked?”
“I was only recently made a private again. Before that, I was a sergeant.” Dart picked his chest up a little as he said it and looked the taller man in the eye. Like a Sergeant should.
“Ah.” Dens said as if everything was suddenly clear.
“Uh, Dens?” the clerk said with a little bob of her shoulders.
Dart looked around suddenly and realized everyone in line had been watching the interaction intently. They all shuffled and looked carefully away.
“It’s okay Karal. Put the bottle on my book. I’ll take care of it,” turning to Dart he said, “Hang in there, you’ll find your way again. But, if you allow me to say so, Sergeant, the booze doesn’t help. You think it does. But it doesn’t.”
Dart was home by the time he realized he’d forgotten the fizzy tabs. He didn’t remember the walk back, his mind still on the guard and what he said, and suddenly, Dart found himself standing at the door to the house. He changed automatically into shorts and was headed to the pool with his bottle when he made a detour and sat under a tree instead. He put the bottle on the ground in front of him and watched the sun cast light through it until the world was only shadow. He sat there for long hours. His eyes on the bottle, but his mind far away. Sometime close to dawn, he went to bed, leaving the bottle unopened where he’d placed it under the tree.
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