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estdeus_innobis[Late afternoon of Monday, September 7 (day 99)]
[The Apothecary]
After a weekend of rain, Monday's made up out of needles, lights and sharp edges all glittering in the air. Not crowded, exactly--since Bluebeard's decided on being open for market, I think more folk saw to whatever they needed then and after services--but there're folk stopping in after lunch at the Miskatonic. Don't mind having them in talking and disturbing the air. Even seeing them pass by in the street's enough to ease my mind a little. Not enough to turn my gaze from the window to the book, but enough to stay breathing steady.
Come mid-afternoon, though, the thin trickle of folk in the shop's tapered off. There's not much wind, but there's a small chill in the air, and Main's grown near-to-empty. Even when I've moved out from behind the counter the stillness of the shop's growing thorns behind me. I'd swear by looking that there's no weight to anything, not my hands nor the air nor the shelves I move among, and I stand by the back of the shop where the glistering reflections from the window's light aren't enough to needle at my eyes. Afternoon's slipping away and there's not been anyone in in an hour, and the book I was trying to read's lying untouched on the counter, and I'm thinking I may see about closing a touch early.
When I hear the bell over the door ring out in the silence I freeze a moment, but the relative brightness of the day outside and the sound of (shod) footsteps brings back the calm, and I straighten to see who's come in.
[Open to Dorian]
[Warning: Contains emotional trauma, dissociation, violence, intimations of sexualized violence, general unpleasantness--oh, hell, I'm just gonna call it possibly triggery, okay?]
[Closed]
[The Apothecary]
After a weekend of rain, Monday's made up out of needles, lights and sharp edges all glittering in the air. Not crowded, exactly--since Bluebeard's decided on being open for market, I think more folk saw to whatever they needed then and after services--but there're folk stopping in after lunch at the Miskatonic. Don't mind having them in talking and disturbing the air. Even seeing them pass by in the street's enough to ease my mind a little. Not enough to turn my gaze from the window to the book, but enough to stay breathing steady.
Come mid-afternoon, though, the thin trickle of folk in the shop's tapered off. There's not much wind, but there's a small chill in the air, and Main's grown near-to-empty. Even when I've moved out from behind the counter the stillness of the shop's growing thorns behind me. I'd swear by looking that there's no weight to anything, not my hands nor the air nor the shelves I move among, and I stand by the back of the shop where the glistering reflections from the window's light aren't enough to needle at my eyes. Afternoon's slipping away and there's not been anyone in in an hour, and the book I was trying to read's lying untouched on the counter, and I'm thinking I may see about closing a touch early.
When I hear the bell over the door ring out in the silence I freeze a moment, but the relative brightness of the day outside and the sound of (shod) footsteps brings back the calm, and I straighten to see who's come in.
[Warning: Contains emotional trauma, dissociation, violence, intimations of sexualized violence, general unpleasantness--oh, hell, I'm just gonna call it possibly triggery, okay?]
[Closed]
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