urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:jazzman87 My Small Voice Cries Out Jazzman 2004-11-14T05:40:57Z urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:jazzman87:5860 2004-11-14T05:40:57Z 2004-11-14T05:40:57Z Sorry About the story.. <br /><br />It needs serious re-tuning.<br /><br />Look forward to a completely re edited shot story sometime between "shortly" and the "distant future".<br /><br />Later,<br /><br />Jazzman urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:jazzman87:4068 2004-09-19T22:42:42Z 2004-09-20T01:56:44Z ...“Give it a rest, thug. Some of us are trying to eat in peace.” The man turned towards my bar stool and looked fierce with his reply, “You ain’t enjoying it anyway.”<br /> <br /> “You say it is so, slayer?” I asked, “What name do you hail?” <br /> <br /> “What does an elegant spoken lady find in such a place?”<br /> <br /> “Company.” <br /> <br /> The thief smiled at this. He turned back to find that the barmaid had returned to work. He lost any chance of making it with her and with a new found availability for company looked over at me. He walked up to the bar and sat down on the stool next to mine. <br /> <br /> “Any good food here, Bernie?” The man behind the bar looked up from the mug he was wiping with his towel, “Nope, and the name’s Geoff, mate.”<br /><br /> “Whatever. Lunch special, please.”<br /><br /> “You’ll ain’t enjoy it,” I mocked without talking my eyes off my own plate. The thief laughed. I asked again, “What name do you hail?”<br /><br /> “I have no name to hail from. Call me Red if you wish.” I looked over at him. He wore an old shirt with a slightly tattered vest. His pants were belted with a sash. Tucked in the sash he kept his dagger. His jet black hair was contained in a bandana so that only a few strands escaped. I asked, “Why Red, slayer?”<br /><br /> “Why not? So, what shall I call you, my lady?”<br /><br /> “I am Janya, of the house of Berduma,” I said, “I kill dragons.” Red blinked. “Surprised?” I continued, “First of my kind you have seen, I assume.” <br /><br /> A sly grin crept across Red’s face. He spoke, “So you caught my...”<br /> <br /> “Pathetic attempt to impress a barmaid into your pants.” I provided.<br /><br /> “...embellishment of the tru...”<br /><br /> “Or was it not your intent to merely pocket her earnings and tips?” I got up from my place at the bar and headed towards the door. “Goodbye thief.” <br /><br /> As I extended both arms to hold open the double doors I stopped. Behind me Red commented to the bartender, “Ain’t she the specimen, huh Bernie?”<br /><br /> “That’s Geoff, mate.”<br /><br /> “Whatever. Hey, wait up there Janya,” he called scrambling off the barstool. I stepped out onto the cobble stones of the busy market square and let the heavy wooden doors of Bernard’s Pub slam behind me with a thud. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:jazzman87:3482 2004-09-19T03:54:07Z 2004-09-19T03:54:07Z Sitting here in this dusty bar, the midday sun straggles its way through the stained over glass windows, I think to my self where it all went wrong. Contemplating, I realize in this life those certain things one cannot escape are often also a kin to those things which are out side our boundaries. <br /><br /> I take a sip from my mug to wash down the disagreeable taste of lunch special. I grin as recall my first bite. It is funny how a revolting flavor turns to merely disagreeable over time. Choking on thick blue clouds of pub air fades from inhabiting to comforting. I feel calm among men’s cursing and the occasional crack of a fresh billiards game. <br /><br /> Bernard’s Pub is the scent of Lyndton. It is also, to the best of my reasoning, where things went awry. It was here that I met him. I knew his type, even then. He was a thief. He was also quite handsome. Wasting no time in aquainting himself with a barmaid, he smiled and asked her if she ever met a dragon slayer before.<br /><br />I took another sip of my beer and muttered to myself...