Fortuitous Timing

The Anbar is not the prettiest District in the City of Ar, but it is honest. You won't find the colored lanterns lit here each evening as Tor-Tu-Gor gives its last breath. The scent of alcohol is far more prevalent than that of pastries. If you catch an alluring whiff of a woman's perfume, be advised that the cloying, lewd scent is not that of a passing free woman. Your nose has been assaulted by Eau d'Ho, the fragrance of a whore, likely one of my own. People gamble here, both with their money and with their lives. There is a drunkard called Artemis that is continually 'sleeping it off,' often in a puddle of his own filth. Last evening, noble Artemis chose my end of the alley to recover from his latest stipend-depleting adventure. I did not gainsay him his claim on the cobblestones. We are all aware of Artemis, those that reside here and those that eke out their livings here. He is as the urt and the frevet and any other mammalian scavenger, noctural or diurnal, horned or otherwise. He is simply a part of the fabric. At the moment, the fabric he wore could use a good scrubbing.

After collecting the day's take and accounting for the coins, I had stepped out of the red doors and onto the front stoop. That was my vision. What I held court over. The back and forth between districts has been tiring, but the numbers do not lie. The women earn more in this domicile, closer to their customers, than they do at Samsara. I will keep them here for a time. There is 'room at the inn' as they say. The second floor is no longer wanting for space as it was a mere hand ago. In time, Elise, too, stepped outside and I allowed her to kneel beside me. She was curious how it was that I seemed relatively safe amongst those of this District. I did not beat her for her curiosity. Women are like that. They would know things. What we choose to tell them, of course, is our perogative. On occasion, it is advisable to loosen one's belt and 'heat the leather' as they say, simply to remind them that all maxims are maxims for a reason. They are not empty threats, mere platitudes. Tonight, however, I was not wearing a belt. I would have let her pose her questions, regardless.

A fellow sits on a stoop for many reasons. There is indolence, of course, but chief amongst reasons is a change of scenery; to gain a place to think. I had come to the stoop to think amidst the clutter and the redolence of this infamous area to clear my head. It is calming, somehow, to watch the shadows shift, to see debris lift in a tenuous vortex as a breeze hurtles through the alley, to hear the carousing of disreputable men and their slaves at a popular tavern a few blocks away, to witness a battle or two between snarling, but mostly harmless, urts over a found, gustatory treasure and to just suffer the general stench of what is distinctly human; sweat and alcohol, piss and blood.

I was strangely unsurprised to see the mysteriously absent Phineahas of Brundisium, the Storyteller who became an Actor, walking down my alley with a cheerful, and rather casual, 'Tal, Szol of Ar.' He had come into a great deal of money after the curtains closed on The Fall of Agamedes. I was not completely taken aback when he went missing. Foreign fellows with deep pockets often become absent, even in civilized places like Glorious Ar. Still, I thought it was more plausible that he had taken that much talked of jaunt to the Sardar. I was unconcerned that, were that the case, he neglected to bid a proper farewell. We are men. It is not necessary for us to syncronize our calendars. We honor our commitments and provide one another with a cup companion from time to time and that is enough. His return, as it turns out, is serendipitous. Fortuitously timed, as it were. There are two parts left to fill for the production of The Good Citizen. He has said that he intends to audition. After the unanticipated level of credibility he attained with his characterization of Julian in The Fall, a marquee of Locutius, Turianus and Phineahas could not help but draw crowds.