I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a puddle of what I can only hope was collected rainwater as I rounded the corner that leads to an alley down which, after short walk, leads to the Boarding House in the Anbar District. I thought of Kal-da. Spicy. Pungent. A little bitter and always too hot to swallow soon after it's ladled into one's cup. I thought it would be pleasant to have a cup, my pretentiousness with the fine wines of the Fulvian Foothills due a break. I entered the neighborhood shop on the corner of Sixth Street. One is constantly surprised by the way the Anbar operates. One would not, for example, expect a man of high caste, once an Administrator, to be sitting in such a place. Nor would one expect a woman, of any type other than kettle & mat girl or whore to be in such a place. For the record, there was a whore in that place, one of mine. The dark-skinned, multi-plaited Portia. I do not own all of the whores in Ar. I do not even own all of the whores in the Anbar. I do, however, own the best in the District and the city. One may contest that, but it is an argument one would lose. Check the grafitti in alleyways of the Metellan, The Street of Brands, The Street of Coins or any other District you like. The names of my women will be featured prominently.
Tangents. I seem to wander off on them more than usual of late. The Kal-da Shop. Who was there.
Yes. Other than Portia, the General and the improprietous girl-spawn of Kreeandra were present. Fortunately, as I wandered in with the taste of Kal-da on my mind, the two of them were speaking about a female I met not long ago. Kyron was advised not to drink the Kal-da, or anything else for that matter. Elise was with me. She traded glances and silent conversation with Portia as I spoke of trivialities with the General. Perhaps I had interrupted something. There had been talk of the recent fires, the murders even, linking it to the General. Some linked it to Savana. I do not know if it was either or if it was both, but one cannot help but notice seemingly animated, direct conversations falling off to pleasantry and accomodation when I enter a room.
"How are you, Poet? It has been a long time."
"Would you like some cheese?"
"How is the play coming along. Do you have your fourth?"
Sometimes it is just better not to know, despite my natural inclination to be aware of what occurs around me. Knowledge is power, yes. It can also be a cold knife. The owner of the Kal-da Shop, for example, was dragged into the street and beaten this afternoon. Broken and bruised, it is said he died in the clinic as Physicians tended his wounds. I am not the Magistrate of this District, but I assume this is a grave enough event to get the fellow's attention. 'Who profits?' is the question I would ask first, were it my investigation.
On a less dramatic note, Kreeandra's daughter send an apologetic basket of muffins earlier in the hand. It was a gift after speaking to me in a less than deferential manner. Perhaps I will purchase something for her as well. I have good taste. Women are often thrilled with the gifts I bestow upon them.
I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a puddle of what I can only hope was collected rainwater as I rounded the corner that leads to an alley down which, after short walk, leads to the Boarding House in the Anbar District. I thought of Kal-da. Spicy. Pungent. A little bitter and always too hot to swallow soon after it's ladled into one's cup. I thought it would be pleasant to have a cup, my pretentiousness with the fine wines of the Fulvian Foothills due a break. I entered the neighborhood shop on the corner of Sixth Street. One is constantly surprised by the way the Anbar operates. One would not, for example, expect a man of high caste, once an Administrator, to be sitting in such a place. Nor would one expect a woman, of any type other than kettle & mat girl or whore to be in such a place. For the record, there was a whore in that place, one of mine. The dark-skinned, multi-plaited Portia. I do not own all of the whores in Ar. I do not even own all of the whores in the Anbar. I do, however, own the best in the District and the city. One may contest that, but it is an argument one would lose. Check the grafitti in alleyways of the Metellan, The Street of Brands, The Street of Coins or any other District you like. The names of my women will be featured prominently.
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