sadfreezingbrit_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sadfreezingbrit_archive) wrote2011-07-17 09:16 pm
sadfreezingbrit_archive) wrote2011-07-17 09:16 pm
Entry tags:
one old bookshop [20/??? artefacts collected]
As the dust settled on a stack of yellowed magazines I remembered why I had learned to love the silence. Silence was all I had left now. Silence and books that were never bought, a telephone that never rang.
Every day I would pour myself a cup of coffee, sit behind the counter and read the paper. Later I would do inventory and I would stop near the grimy mirror in the corner and look for a familiar face that never showed.
I would dutifully wait for a customer or two and at the end of the day I would grab the old broom and sweep the floor. Every day I would wipe the counter and every time I would wash my hands before closing and wonder if I would ever stop smelling the blood.
Then, after every burning sunset, I would lock the store and for my own benefit I would pause for a moment and fake disappointment and surprise at yet another day without sales gone by.
In a city that was bustling with life at every corner my little shop was only a relict; dead and long forgotten. We had that much in common at least.
Outside the noise of the morning traffic slowly died down like a drizzle of summer rain. I grabbed my cup and the paper and sat down behind the counter. Today, I thought, would be just like any other day.
[ OOC: Information on noir!Philip is here. All threads take place before his encounter with Dean, unless somebody wants to play medic. ]
Every day I would pour myself a cup of coffee, sit behind the counter and read the paper. Later I would do inventory and I would stop near the grimy mirror in the corner and look for a familiar face that never showed.
I would dutifully wait for a customer or two and at the end of the day I would grab the old broom and sweep the floor. Every day I would wipe the counter and every time I would wash my hands before closing and wonder if I would ever stop smelling the blood.
Then, after every burning sunset, I would lock the store and for my own benefit I would pause for a moment and fake disappointment and surprise at yet another day without sales gone by.
In a city that was bustling with life at every corner my little shop was only a relict; dead and long forgotten. We had that much in common at least.
Outside the noise of the morning traffic slowly died down like a drizzle of summer rain. I grabbed my cup and the paper and sat down behind the counter. Today, I thought, would be just like any other day.
[ OOC: Information on noir!Philip is here. All threads take place before his encounter with Dean, unless somebody wants to play medic. ]
no subject
Over the hills and far away, if Dean knew what was good for him.
He didn't and that gave me just the edge I needed, put back a little spirit into me that wasn't whole-grain.
If I got out of this alive then he was looking at round three of the whole song and dance. We were square on the eyes now, but he owed me an arm and a gun. And I really loved that gun.
For now it was one step at a time and every step was an additional stumble. The floor was slick with blood like a fat cat's hair shining with grease. Even one good arm and two reluctant feet would only get me so far.
"Give me a hand?"
no subject
This was more than a hunch. I felt like something was telling me suspicion was the street to take, like the answer'd be down in black and white if I looked the right way. Sixth sense of a private investigator, maybe. But this cat was a pal, or so I thought, and leaving any guy on the floor wasn't a habit I wanted to get into.
I offered the guy a hand. Pulled him up so he could at least pretend that he was standing. A man with more hooch in his stomach than blood in his veins wasn't gonna drop me even if he decided to.
"You know who it was? 'Cause I got some words for him, maybe some lead too."
no subject
Sorry, Kralie. But that leaden talk was between me and my friend.
Being on my feet wasn't all it was cracked up to be and I swayed worse than a fiery Latina on salsa night.
"...He got the drop on me. Saw the gun, then the ceiling."
no subject
But that was the story of this town. Hop-heads and greasers running around taking what they wanted, leaving holes in anyone with the bad luck to be in the way. It was a world I knew inside and out. But that was a time in my life I was still trying to leave behind. If only I'd known it, LaFresque and I could've had a lot to talk about.
"He must've left a trail. But it'll have to stay hot while we get you alive again. Stiffs make pretty poor conversation."
I started moving him towards the door, one busted footstep at a time.
no subject
Wasn't that unusual for a bookkeeper to know things. And in a town like this even the smallest shop would get a little wind blowing in the dirt from the street. But the fine art of making a fella sing without asking him for the last dance was just a nod outside the know-how I'd given Philip on the way.
Right now I realised I couldn't trust my thoughts not to gush right out along with all the blood, so I followed along silently. If Kralie was gonna pick up a trail after this then I wanted to make damn sure that it was gonna lead away from me. Either of me.