Nemaisare
TokyoPewPew
Ginger Tee
Mjolnir
Scrawl Banditta
k4tsukibakug0
Bork
Zman
Mao Mao
teenangstlife
The night was for the enterprising individual.
While the cold shine of day gently nudged bodies into motion with warmth and bright realities, the enshrouded ebony sky of darkness chased away the sunlight and brought about an age of quiet zealous. It was during these blackened hours that the difference between go-getting and hustling was made apparent. Only the minds of the most dutiful were active in the night. As the rest of the world slept, they alone drew on the energy of the risen moon to conduct their sordid business. That, or insomnia wrenched away their sleep and forced their awakened state to prolong. Either way, the sleeping night was the time to be alive. That’s what Dravian Forscythe thought as the motor on his Harley Davidson Dyna growled along, the black pitch chassis of the sleek machine chewing up the road in front of it at eighty miles an hour.
Dravian had forgone sleep ever since the Solomon Group. Back then, he was trained to rest when necessary and to hoard excessive amounts of energy in the moments when he physically appeared to be doing nothing. You can sleep when you’re dead was the famous phrase beaten into his head. After so many years of covert operations, the hue of ebon darkness became his active hour. He’d always gotten the most work done in the middle of the night and when he did sleep, it would only be because his body forced itself to shut down during the daylight. Nothing could topple him over at night. He’d thought moving to Pine Ridge for a new, quieter life would have changed that fact, but it hadn’t. When he bought the hardware store from old man Stan Danvers, he’d negotiated the terms over the phone at night, his mind restless and robbing the old man of his restoration. Sleep had always been a non-issue for Dravian and as he sped down the highway and passed the welcome sign for Pierre, South Dakota, he knew this night would be no different.
Dravian pulled off the highway at the third exit ramp and slowed down to a reasonable cruising speed within city limits. Even though Pierre was the capital of South Dakota, it was also the third least populous capital in the country with a measly fourteen thousand or so bodies roaming around at any given time. Of course, most of those bodies were in rest and for what Dravian needed to do, that was the ideal situation. He rode down empty roads sometimes marveling at the height of the buildings compared to Pine Ridge. He’d only been in the mountain town for six months, but he felt like he missed some of an inner city’s aesthetic with crunched in roads and forced parallel parking. He took a few turns where the roads became even narrower and he spotted a few idle pedestrians strolling or standing around minding their business. Considering it was near two in the morning though, the fleeting thought that they were up to no good crossed Dravian’s mind. He chuckled under his helmet. The irony.
The Dyna crawled to a stop across the street from a darkened museum, parallel parked in front of a closed tattoo shop. Unlike most places downtown, it had its own small parking lot near the entrance. Dravian flipped up his visor and surveyed the area. A scant few vehicles passed him by going both directions, but no one was on the sidewalks on either side. It made perfect sense. He pulled a backpack from his shoulders and around to his front, unzipping the biggest compartment and fetching a thrice folded piece of paper from within. He carefully unfolded and let his eyes absorb the information. It was a blueprint of the museum he’d paid good money for and, so far, the exterior matched what was in the print. He grinned under the helmet, crow’s feet around his eyes scrunching into one another. He carefully refolded the blueprints and stored them back in the backpack. Swung a leg around and off the bike and put the backpack where he once sat. He knew no one would be around to take it at this time of night and he no longer needed the blueprints considering he’d already spent a painstaking amount of time memorizing them.
A hand dipped into his back jeans pocket and produced a black slate. Dravian tapped the screen, then swiped and tapped a few more times before putting the slate to his ear. He removed the helmet and hung it on a handlebar on the bike as ringing filled his ear. ”Yeah… It’s just like you said. Looks like it opens in a few days. Yeah… Yeah. Don’t ask and don’t worry. Contact you when I’ve got your merchandise.” The phone slid back into his back pocket as Dravian took a breath. This was his opportunity. A brand new museum of art still a few days out from opening because work crews were installing the final component—security systems. With security a work-in-progress, all Dravian had to do was follow the plan he’d meticulously crafted. He flexed his hands as he crossed the empty street and made his way towards the museum.
As soon as he hit the sidewalk, Dravian turned left and walked seemingly away from the building. He kept his eyes on the large white square the entire time he strode. It really was a grand design. Huge, towering columns near the entrance, a massive white body that fanned out in the shape of a rectangle with a dome situated right in the center on top, and design flourishes scattered across the exterior of the building in a specific pattern. The place was going to be packed when it opened, Dravian thought. He rounded a corner and continued walking. More cars passed him by and he wordlessly slid by a few bystanders as he kept his pace. He was on a timetable, but not necessarily a time clock. He just wanted to be in and out already. That was the anxiety he had before any job. Finally, he stopped after he rounded another corner and met the entrance to an alleyway. He smiled and turned into it, walking straight into the mouth of darkness. Shadows caressed both brick walks beside him and played shapes from fire escapes attached to the brick. It was only another two minutes of brisk walking before Dravian made it to the back of the museum. A service door loomed in front of him just up a set of stairs and no one was posted by it. Something Dravian knew was bound to occur at this time of night. This wasn’t DC after all; who the hell cared about a new museum in South Dakota?
Clarks chukka-style boots patiently crept up the stairs to the service door where a keypad had been installed. Dravian chuckled and shook his head. Most people thought in this newer age that networking things was the safest option. That couldn’t have been further from the truth. Dravian retrieved his phone again and started tapping and swiping on the screen. He placed it near the keypad when he found what he was looking for and watched the display on the keypad scramble a bunch of characters before inputting the correct sequence. The service door popped ajar with a click. ”Thank you Mont,” he said quietly. Dravian pocketed the device once more and opened the door slowly. His mind briefly wished for a weapon, but these kinds of jobs didn’t require it. He had grown a distaste for firearms as the years went by anyway. They always complicated otherwise simple matters.
Dravian pulled the emergency bar behind him until the service door closed softly. He found himself in a tight corridor that led into a kitchen area. There were large sinks and cooktops, metal shelving with dishes and containers stored on them and what looked to be refrigerators and a large freezer door built into a wall. Halogen tubes emitted the faintest glow of light from the ceiling, obviously having been set to a lower temperature due to the time of night. Dravian stepped carefully on tiled flooring as he made his way through the kitchen and navigated around the various appliances and open islands. He had one objective and based on the schematics it wasn’t far from the kitchen and the service door entrance. He emerged into a cafe after he exited the kitchen. It was completely dark, the security bulbs overhead not registering his presence. A work-in-progress, Dravian thought.
He strode around circular tables and metal chairs and low couches. He went to open the glass door to exit and found it locked. Dravian sighed. Inconvenient, but easy enough to remedy. He dug into his front pocket and pulled out a small case. He opened the case to reveal a lockpick set and pulled one from its fastened loop. He crouched down and got to work on the rim lock. He inserted the tension wrench and then the pin beneath that. He played around a bit until he heard and felt an audible click. He quickly replaced the tools in the case and pocketed the case before pulling open the glass door. Once again, no alarms sounded and no monitors were set off. This was his opportunity. Dravian immediately turned left and quietly jogged up a set of flaring stairs to a second level. The second level consisted of bridges and skywalks that he guessed somehow would make the visitors feel like they were inside the pinnacle of modernity.
He jogged past statues and rooms off the beaten path that housed glasses full of what he assumed was tangible, physical art items like jewelry, and he even jogged past crew members working on security systems at different parts of the museum. After doing his research, he’d found that a security company had been hired to do the work, but they held dubious licenses and employed illegal immigrants to do the work since they could pay them under the table and not what they were worth. Because of that, they showed up in whatever casual outfits they were wearing and not a company standard uniform. Perfect for Dravian as he was dressed in basic, utilitarian clothing as well—a black t-shirt pressed over dark washed jeans and Clarks boots. For all intents and purposes, he blended right in. He finally stopped his jog when he reached the end of a skywalk and approached a room to his right. Two suited security guards were posted in the room, but had their backs to the entrance as they marveled over a certain painting. It was small, much smaller than the grand designs one was used to seeing in an art museum like the Louvre in Paris. It seemed like it could be rolled up and pocketed at its smaller size. It sat behind glass. Dravian stopped just inside the room.
”Can you believe this is a genuine Claude Monet?” One of the guards marveled. The other shrugged.
”A what?”
”A Claude Monet! Fuckin’ uncultured…”
”Listen, wha’ do I give a shit about art? I’m here ‘cause it’s easy money.”
”You know how much this is worth? Look at it! Don’t it draw you in at all?
The guard moved closer to the painting. ”Looks like a pretty landscape, but who gives a shit?”
The other guard sighed and went to turn around. Just as he held up his head to the entrance, he felt a strike to his throat causing it to constrict and choked and wheezed before another shot agonized his groin, doubling him over just as an elbow pierced the back of his head from above. He crumpled to the linoleum unconscious.
”The hell—“ was all the second guard managed as Dravian closed in on him. The heel of his palm lashed out at the guard’s nose bridge forcing him to stumble backwards and tightly shut his eyes. Dravian followed up by kicking out the guard’s inner knee forcing him down on the other knee before sending a straight front kick to his temple. He sprawled to the ground unconscious as well. Cold efficiency. That’s what the Solomon Group had taught all their operatives. Nothing needed to be flashy when it could all be efficient and quicker than a flash. The whole ordeal had only taken thirteen seconds. Dravian sighed and shook his head. Mont would have put him in the hole for that kind of lackluster performance. He turned his attention to the painting on the wall and regained a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Here was his target in pristine condition.
With no security system up and running, Dravian popped open the glass and retrieved the frame off the wall carefully. He placed it on a nearby glass display and got to work slowly removing the ornate golden frame. He only needed the picture itself, after all. It depicted a detailed impressionist painting of a bridge over a creek with grassy banks on either side. It was done very nicely, but Dravian truly didn’t know anything about art. He simply knew what it worth and what he needed to do to get to it. He carefully rolled it into a tight tube and slid it into his back pocket. Then made his way out of the room, back down the skywalks, down the stairs, through the cafe ensuring to re-lock the door on his way in, through the kitchen, and back out the service entrance.
As Dravian crossed the street and approached his Dyna, he went over it in his head. The whole encounter had taken about twelve minutes. Two minutes slower than his usual with this kind of job. He wondered if age played a role or if not having a handler and a boss to answer to had softened his edge. He wondered as he shouldered his backpack, placing the painting inside, and swung his leg over the bike and mounted it. He wondered as the beast roared to life and he turned and went back the way he came, heading to the nearest highway exit ramp and getting on going southbound. He wondered as he sped down the road again towards Pine Ridge. It would be a two hour drive so he had plenty of time to contemplate as he weaved through the limited number of vehicles on the road with him.
Dravian silenced his phone alarm as it interrupted the silence of the hardware store. It was nine fifty-five am. He’d changed his outfit after returning, showering, and getting a limited amount of sleep for his troubles. He’d gotten back up around seven in the morning, showered again, eaten in his upstairs apartment, then came down to handle business. The new owner of the Claude Monet painting had only left thirty minutes prior. He had been a talker, gushing over the art and how profound it was and exactly what it was meant to interpret. Dravian hadn’t cared, but he’d listened. He was nothing if not a gracious dealer. His clients got as much of his time as they needed, though he’d helped him to the door in the end. The hardware store would be closed today to get ready for the festival.
Dravian absentmindedly hung bright orange and black decorations all around the ceiling of the store. He’d had a pumpkin brought in from Weston ranch and had it placed just outside the door, on it’s left, welcoming customers with an on-brand jack—o-latntern smile he’d carved into the pumpkin himself. He came down off the ladder he was on and went to the door, staring out of the top pane of glass. Main Street was absolutely packed. Cars had been parallel parked on either side of the road though thankfully he’d gotten back in to claim the spot right in front of the store for his bike. Dravian inhaled in and out. He saw families and passersby crowding the sidewalks and a procession of animals slowly making their way down the road. Considering there were wooden cages on the wagons filled with different types of animals, Dravian was betting on a petting zoo somewhere on the strip. He’d have to go down and see about that later. He’d had the pumpkin brought in from Weston ranch, but he hadn’t ever had the chance to meet the owner himself. He wondered what he was like.
But for now, he had someone else he wanted to see. Dravian navigated through the aisles and came out in front of his register. He hopped over the desk instead of simply walking around and opened the locked door that led to the back room. He sat down at a lone table under a lone halogen bulb and opened a ledger. He marked off the painting as a completed sale and took the fat manila envelope stuffed with payment from the table and added the cash to a safe off to the side of the room next to exposed brick on the floor. It was an older safe that only needed a combination to open. He input the combination and opened up the black and gold structure, placing the money on top of a pile he was currently building a tower out of it. It itself sat next to four other towers that were already filled to the top. Dravian shook his head before closing the door and spinning the combination dial. He’d need a new safe soon. With that done, he exited the back room, locked the door back, pocketed the keys and then headed out of the hardware store. He locked the front door with the same set of keys, pocketed them again, then turned to head down the street to the right. The hardware store was situated on one end of Main Street and where he needed to get to was more the middle of the strip.
There was someone he needed to see at Black Lantern Apothecary. The festival was just around the corner, but he knew he could catch her before all the festivities began. She was probably his best client and Dravian always made time for his best clients. Well, her and two others around town. But she would be the easiest to find at this time of day. Dravian pocketed his hands against the cold as it nipped at him through the clothing. He made sure to walk slowly and purposefully, taking it all in. Here was his new life, right in front of him and the town itself was coming to life on the eve of its Halloween festival. Dravian nodded. He knew he’d made the right choice. He could settle down here for sure. He could build a life here for sure.
He would never be found here, for sure. The memories of what he did flashed in his mind, jumbled and erratic. He knew he couldn’t outrun it forever, but he had to try. Pine Ridge represented a fresh start and in the six months he’d been there, he’d learn to love the town and it’s people who all knew each other somehow and who were mostly just good people. He hated that what he’d done could bring the wrath of reality down on them, but as long as he lived a normal life and did his jobs hours outside of Pine Ridge, no one would be the wiser. That was the rule. A job could never be done in Pine Ridge lest the news of said job could possibly reach the retribution waiting to bring the hammer down on Dravian. He shook his head against the cold and breathed out mist.
He wouldn’t be found here. He’d make sure of that.
While the cold shine of day gently nudged bodies into motion with warmth and bright realities, the enshrouded ebony sky of darkness chased away the sunlight and brought about an age of quiet zealous. It was during these blackened hours that the difference between go-getting and hustling was made apparent. Only the minds of the most dutiful were active in the night. As the rest of the world slept, they alone drew on the energy of the risen moon to conduct their sordid business. That, or insomnia wrenched away their sleep and forced their awakened state to prolong. Either way, the sleeping night was the time to be alive. That’s what Dravian Forscythe thought as the motor on his Harley Davidson Dyna growled along, the black pitch chassis of the sleek machine chewing up the road in front of it at eighty miles an hour.
Dravian had forgone sleep ever since the Solomon Group. Back then, he was trained to rest when necessary and to hoard excessive amounts of energy in the moments when he physically appeared to be doing nothing. You can sleep when you’re dead was the famous phrase beaten into his head. After so many years of covert operations, the hue of ebon darkness became his active hour. He’d always gotten the most work done in the middle of the night and when he did sleep, it would only be because his body forced itself to shut down during the daylight. Nothing could topple him over at night. He’d thought moving to Pine Ridge for a new, quieter life would have changed that fact, but it hadn’t. When he bought the hardware store from old man Stan Danvers, he’d negotiated the terms over the phone at night, his mind restless and robbing the old man of his restoration. Sleep had always been a non-issue for Dravian and as he sped down the highway and passed the welcome sign for Pierre, South Dakota, he knew this night would be no different.
Dravian pulled off the highway at the third exit ramp and slowed down to a reasonable cruising speed within city limits. Even though Pierre was the capital of South Dakota, it was also the third least populous capital in the country with a measly fourteen thousand or so bodies roaming around at any given time. Of course, most of those bodies were in rest and for what Dravian needed to do, that was the ideal situation. He rode down empty roads sometimes marveling at the height of the buildings compared to Pine Ridge. He’d only been in the mountain town for six months, but he felt like he missed some of an inner city’s aesthetic with crunched in roads and forced parallel parking. He took a few turns where the roads became even narrower and he spotted a few idle pedestrians strolling or standing around minding their business. Considering it was near two in the morning though, the fleeting thought that they were up to no good crossed Dravian’s mind. He chuckled under his helmet. The irony.
The Dyna crawled to a stop across the street from a darkened museum, parallel parked in front of a closed tattoo shop. Unlike most places downtown, it had its own small parking lot near the entrance. Dravian flipped up his visor and surveyed the area. A scant few vehicles passed him by going both directions, but no one was on the sidewalks on either side. It made perfect sense. He pulled a backpack from his shoulders and around to his front, unzipping the biggest compartment and fetching a thrice folded piece of paper from within. He carefully unfolded and let his eyes absorb the information. It was a blueprint of the museum he’d paid good money for and, so far, the exterior matched what was in the print. He grinned under the helmet, crow’s feet around his eyes scrunching into one another. He carefully refolded the blueprints and stored them back in the backpack. Swung a leg around and off the bike and put the backpack where he once sat. He knew no one would be around to take it at this time of night and he no longer needed the blueprints considering he’d already spent a painstaking amount of time memorizing them.
A hand dipped into his back jeans pocket and produced a black slate. Dravian tapped the screen, then swiped and tapped a few more times before putting the slate to his ear. He removed the helmet and hung it on a handlebar on the bike as ringing filled his ear. ”Yeah… It’s just like you said. Looks like it opens in a few days. Yeah… Yeah. Don’t ask and don’t worry. Contact you when I’ve got your merchandise.” The phone slid back into his back pocket as Dravian took a breath. This was his opportunity. A brand new museum of art still a few days out from opening because work crews were installing the final component—security systems. With security a work-in-progress, all Dravian had to do was follow the plan he’d meticulously crafted. He flexed his hands as he crossed the empty street and made his way towards the museum.
As soon as he hit the sidewalk, Dravian turned left and walked seemingly away from the building. He kept his eyes on the large white square the entire time he strode. It really was a grand design. Huge, towering columns near the entrance, a massive white body that fanned out in the shape of a rectangle with a dome situated right in the center on top, and design flourishes scattered across the exterior of the building in a specific pattern. The place was going to be packed when it opened, Dravian thought. He rounded a corner and continued walking. More cars passed him by and he wordlessly slid by a few bystanders as he kept his pace. He was on a timetable, but not necessarily a time clock. He just wanted to be in and out already. That was the anxiety he had before any job. Finally, he stopped after he rounded another corner and met the entrance to an alleyway. He smiled and turned into it, walking straight into the mouth of darkness. Shadows caressed both brick walks beside him and played shapes from fire escapes attached to the brick. It was only another two minutes of brisk walking before Dravian made it to the back of the museum. A service door loomed in front of him just up a set of stairs and no one was posted by it. Something Dravian knew was bound to occur at this time of night. This wasn’t DC after all; who the hell cared about a new museum in South Dakota?
Clarks chukka-style boots patiently crept up the stairs to the service door where a keypad had been installed. Dravian chuckled and shook his head. Most people thought in this newer age that networking things was the safest option. That couldn’t have been further from the truth. Dravian retrieved his phone again and started tapping and swiping on the screen. He placed it near the keypad when he found what he was looking for and watched the display on the keypad scramble a bunch of characters before inputting the correct sequence. The service door popped ajar with a click. ”Thank you Mont,” he said quietly. Dravian pocketed the device once more and opened the door slowly. His mind briefly wished for a weapon, but these kinds of jobs didn’t require it. He had grown a distaste for firearms as the years went by anyway. They always complicated otherwise simple matters.
Dravian pulled the emergency bar behind him until the service door closed softly. He found himself in a tight corridor that led into a kitchen area. There were large sinks and cooktops, metal shelving with dishes and containers stored on them and what looked to be refrigerators and a large freezer door built into a wall. Halogen tubes emitted the faintest glow of light from the ceiling, obviously having been set to a lower temperature due to the time of night. Dravian stepped carefully on tiled flooring as he made his way through the kitchen and navigated around the various appliances and open islands. He had one objective and based on the schematics it wasn’t far from the kitchen and the service door entrance. He emerged into a cafe after he exited the kitchen. It was completely dark, the security bulbs overhead not registering his presence. A work-in-progress, Dravian thought.
He strode around circular tables and metal chairs and low couches. He went to open the glass door to exit and found it locked. Dravian sighed. Inconvenient, but easy enough to remedy. He dug into his front pocket and pulled out a small case. He opened the case to reveal a lockpick set and pulled one from its fastened loop. He crouched down and got to work on the rim lock. He inserted the tension wrench and then the pin beneath that. He played around a bit until he heard and felt an audible click. He quickly replaced the tools in the case and pocketed the case before pulling open the glass door. Once again, no alarms sounded and no monitors were set off. This was his opportunity. Dravian immediately turned left and quietly jogged up a set of flaring stairs to a second level. The second level consisted of bridges and skywalks that he guessed somehow would make the visitors feel like they were inside the pinnacle of modernity.
He jogged past statues and rooms off the beaten path that housed glasses full of what he assumed was tangible, physical art items like jewelry, and he even jogged past crew members working on security systems at different parts of the museum. After doing his research, he’d found that a security company had been hired to do the work, but they held dubious licenses and employed illegal immigrants to do the work since they could pay them under the table and not what they were worth. Because of that, they showed up in whatever casual outfits they were wearing and not a company standard uniform. Perfect for Dravian as he was dressed in basic, utilitarian clothing as well—a black t-shirt pressed over dark washed jeans and Clarks boots. For all intents and purposes, he blended right in. He finally stopped his jog when he reached the end of a skywalk and approached a room to his right. Two suited security guards were posted in the room, but had their backs to the entrance as they marveled over a certain painting. It was small, much smaller than the grand designs one was used to seeing in an art museum like the Louvre in Paris. It seemed like it could be rolled up and pocketed at its smaller size. It sat behind glass. Dravian stopped just inside the room.
”Can you believe this is a genuine Claude Monet?” One of the guards marveled. The other shrugged.
”A what?”
”A Claude Monet! Fuckin’ uncultured…”
”Listen, wha’ do I give a shit about art? I’m here ‘cause it’s easy money.”
”You know how much this is worth? Look at it! Don’t it draw you in at all?
The guard moved closer to the painting. ”Looks like a pretty landscape, but who gives a shit?”
The other guard sighed and went to turn around. Just as he held up his head to the entrance, he felt a strike to his throat causing it to constrict and choked and wheezed before another shot agonized his groin, doubling him over just as an elbow pierced the back of his head from above. He crumpled to the linoleum unconscious.
”The hell—“ was all the second guard managed as Dravian closed in on him. The heel of his palm lashed out at the guard’s nose bridge forcing him to stumble backwards and tightly shut his eyes. Dravian followed up by kicking out the guard’s inner knee forcing him down on the other knee before sending a straight front kick to his temple. He sprawled to the ground unconscious as well. Cold efficiency. That’s what the Solomon Group had taught all their operatives. Nothing needed to be flashy when it could all be efficient and quicker than a flash. The whole ordeal had only taken thirteen seconds. Dravian sighed and shook his head. Mont would have put him in the hole for that kind of lackluster performance. He turned his attention to the painting on the wall and regained a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Here was his target in pristine condition.
With no security system up and running, Dravian popped open the glass and retrieved the frame off the wall carefully. He placed it on a nearby glass display and got to work slowly removing the ornate golden frame. He only needed the picture itself, after all. It depicted a detailed impressionist painting of a bridge over a creek with grassy banks on either side. It was done very nicely, but Dravian truly didn’t know anything about art. He simply knew what it worth and what he needed to do to get to it. He carefully rolled it into a tight tube and slid it into his back pocket. Then made his way out of the room, back down the skywalks, down the stairs, through the cafe ensuring to re-lock the door on his way in, through the kitchen, and back out the service entrance.
As Dravian crossed the street and approached his Dyna, he went over it in his head. The whole encounter had taken about twelve minutes. Two minutes slower than his usual with this kind of job. He wondered if age played a role or if not having a handler and a boss to answer to had softened his edge. He wondered as he shouldered his backpack, placing the painting inside, and swung his leg over the bike and mounted it. He wondered as the beast roared to life and he turned and went back the way he came, heading to the nearest highway exit ramp and getting on going southbound. He wondered as he sped down the road again towards Pine Ridge. It would be a two hour drive so he had plenty of time to contemplate as he weaved through the limited number of vehicles on the road with him.
{}{}{}
Dravian silenced his phone alarm as it interrupted the silence of the hardware store. It was nine fifty-five am. He’d changed his outfit after returning, showering, and getting a limited amount of sleep for his troubles. He’d gotten back up around seven in the morning, showered again, eaten in his upstairs apartment, then came down to handle business. The new owner of the Claude Monet painting had only left thirty minutes prior. He had been a talker, gushing over the art and how profound it was and exactly what it was meant to interpret. Dravian hadn’t cared, but he’d listened. He was nothing if not a gracious dealer. His clients got as much of his time as they needed, though he’d helped him to the door in the end. The hardware store would be closed today to get ready for the festival.
Dravian absentmindedly hung bright orange and black decorations all around the ceiling of the store. He’d had a pumpkin brought in from Weston ranch and had it placed just outside the door, on it’s left, welcoming customers with an on-brand jack—o-latntern smile he’d carved into the pumpkin himself. He came down off the ladder he was on and went to the door, staring out of the top pane of glass. Main Street was absolutely packed. Cars had been parallel parked on either side of the road though thankfully he’d gotten back in to claim the spot right in front of the store for his bike. Dravian inhaled in and out. He saw families and passersby crowding the sidewalks and a procession of animals slowly making their way down the road. Considering there were wooden cages on the wagons filled with different types of animals, Dravian was betting on a petting zoo somewhere on the strip. He’d have to go down and see about that later. He’d had the pumpkin brought in from Weston ranch, but he hadn’t ever had the chance to meet the owner himself. He wondered what he was like.
But for now, he had someone else he wanted to see. Dravian navigated through the aisles and came out in front of his register. He hopped over the desk instead of simply walking around and opened the locked door that led to the back room. He sat down at a lone table under a lone halogen bulb and opened a ledger. He marked off the painting as a completed sale and took the fat manila envelope stuffed with payment from the table and added the cash to a safe off to the side of the room next to exposed brick on the floor. It was an older safe that only needed a combination to open. He input the combination and opened up the black and gold structure, placing the money on top of a pile he was currently building a tower out of it. It itself sat next to four other towers that were already filled to the top. Dravian shook his head before closing the door and spinning the combination dial. He’d need a new safe soon. With that done, he exited the back room, locked the door back, pocketed the keys and then headed out of the hardware store. He locked the front door with the same set of keys, pocketed them again, then turned to head down the street to the right. The hardware store was situated on one end of Main Street and where he needed to get to was more the middle of the strip.
There was someone he needed to see at Black Lantern Apothecary. The festival was just around the corner, but he knew he could catch her before all the festivities began. She was probably his best client and Dravian always made time for his best clients. Well, her and two others around town. But she would be the easiest to find at this time of day. Dravian pocketed his hands against the cold as it nipped at him through the clothing. He made sure to walk slowly and purposefully, taking it all in. Here was his new life, right in front of him and the town itself was coming to life on the eve of its Halloween festival. Dravian nodded. He knew he’d made the right choice. He could settle down here for sure. He could build a life here for sure.
He would never be found here, for sure. The memories of what he did flashed in his mind, jumbled and erratic. He knew he couldn’t outrun it forever, but he had to try. Pine Ridge represented a fresh start and in the six months he’d been there, he’d learn to love the town and it’s people who all knew each other somehow and who were mostly just good people. He hated that what he’d done could bring the wrath of reality down on them, but as long as he lived a normal life and did his jobs hours outside of Pine Ridge, no one would be the wiser. That was the rule. A job could never be done in Pine Ridge lest the news of said job could possibly reach the retribution waiting to bring the hammer down on Dravian. He shook his head against the cold and breathed out mist.
He wouldn’t be found here. He’d make sure of that.
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