Post by Sayvahn on Nov 30, 2017 22:54:04 GMT
Open to Edelweiss Fjäril
The air was still. April brought warmth, vacant from the colder months but that cold still lingered. An address was scribbled on the piece of paper he held, of which Bartholomew glanced between as he inspected building in front of him. This was the place the note suggested, and so it would be the place he investigated next.
Walking in, Bartholomew noted the empty cots, taking interest in those that were filled. He scanned the patients’ faces, looking for a familiar one. None were familiar, and none were the man— or woman— he was looking for. Yet, he only could see so far. Faces became blurry after the fourth cot. Like his receding hair line, he had little eyesight left. The downside of working in a dimly lit bar for so many years, it seemed.
He would have to go further into the room to see the other faces, of whom one hopefully belonged to his friend. Turning, he looked for an attendant to help him. When he spotted one, he approached the lass, speaking low as if he rarely used his voice.
"Excuse me, Miss. I'm looking for someone named either Aida or Sayvahn. Have you seen them? I was told they might be here." To the attendant Bartholomew would seem rather standoffish. Although dressed rather casually, his appearance made it difficult to discern whether he was middle or lower class. His eyes spoke of the ordeal of the slums, but his attire stated otherwise.
The air was still. April brought warmth, vacant from the colder months but that cold still lingered. An address was scribbled on the piece of paper he held, of which Bartholomew glanced between as he inspected building in front of him. This was the place the note suggested, and so it would be the place he investigated next.
Walking in, Bartholomew noted the empty cots, taking interest in those that were filled. He scanned the patients’ faces, looking for a familiar one. None were familiar, and none were the man— or woman— he was looking for. Yet, he only could see so far. Faces became blurry after the fourth cot. Like his receding hair line, he had little eyesight left. The downside of working in a dimly lit bar for so many years, it seemed.
He would have to go further into the room to see the other faces, of whom one hopefully belonged to his friend. Turning, he looked for an attendant to help him. When he spotted one, he approached the lass, speaking low as if he rarely used his voice.
"Excuse me, Miss. I'm looking for someone named either Aida or Sayvahn. Have you seen them? I was told they might be here." To the attendant Bartholomew would seem rather standoffish. Although dressed rather casually, his appearance made it difficult to discern whether he was middle or lower class. His eyes spoke of the ordeal of the slums, but his attire stated otherwise.