Nathrin
03-01-2008, 01:12
“It's a good day, right?” The portly man tipped his wine glass forward, leveling the empty vessel like a gun at his companion. “Tell me I'm right.” He'd had far to much to drink, his cheeks rosy and his gaze blurry.
The other man, seated across the table, was rail thin, his features gone from merely “skinny” to truly gaunt over the last decade, smiled slightly, glancing down at his untouched glass and barely eaten meal, pealing the crust from the last intact slice of bread.
“Tell me I'm, right, Dave.”
David Chambers, chewing on the crust, merely glanced up, to the half broken stone wall their table sat against. A “table” made from an abandoned cable spool, chairs scavenged from nearby patios, all set between the blasted wall of the old Parliament house and a crater, left from some long expended artillery round.
The dust still clung to the area, light gray and fine, puffing up when disturbed, leaving everything covered in that coating of pale soot. But they didn't mind, not today. The pristine sun cut through clear blue skies, and even the plumes of old smoke and dust appeared nothing more than low lying clouds, yearning for the heavens.
A small bird nested atop the abandoned machine gun post, it's occupants long gun, leaving nothing but broken sandbags and expended casing behind, the holes in the walls already overgrowing as nature reclaimed the position. David watched that bird, as it pecked along the broken wall, not five feet from him, and he smiled, glancing over to the House, the old Royal Armory next door, the soldiers clearing out the rubble.
He leaned back, taking the first drink in a long time. “Let us hope.”
The other man, seated across the table, was rail thin, his features gone from merely “skinny” to truly gaunt over the last decade, smiled slightly, glancing down at his untouched glass and barely eaten meal, pealing the crust from the last intact slice of bread.
“Tell me I'm, right, Dave.”
David Chambers, chewing on the crust, merely glanced up, to the half broken stone wall their table sat against. A “table” made from an abandoned cable spool, chairs scavenged from nearby patios, all set between the blasted wall of the old Parliament house and a crater, left from some long expended artillery round.
The dust still clung to the area, light gray and fine, puffing up when disturbed, leaving everything covered in that coating of pale soot. But they didn't mind, not today. The pristine sun cut through clear blue skies, and even the plumes of old smoke and dust appeared nothing more than low lying clouds, yearning for the heavens.
A small bird nested atop the abandoned machine gun post, it's occupants long gun, leaving nothing but broken sandbags and expended casing behind, the holes in the walls already overgrowing as nature reclaimed the position. David watched that bird, as it pecked along the broken wall, not five feet from him, and he smiled, glancing over to the House, the old Royal Armory next door, the soldiers clearing out the rubble.
He leaned back, taking the first drink in a long time. “Let us hope.”