Fresh paint, not the kind of crap that cracks under the weather. It was a testament to the resiliency of that tiny shard of Abyss nested into every soul, that some Sleepers could stare into the darkness, laugh in its face and spray a hand of white over it.
The curse of Quiescence they called it, a blessing for those keeping the Veils.


He lazily carried himself inside, his hands stuck in his pockets and his eyes half closed. Driiiin, the bell rang as he stepped past the threshold.
Repeat a lie a thousand times and it becomes the truth. Yes, indeed, and when the Lie is bearable enough, why bother with the Truth?
There it was, the principle at work. Goodbye Edward Hopper; hello, Happy Meal®, the depressing anonymity of the diner had been swapped with something else, the tenacity of hope. Hope, their poison of choice this time around, to bounce back to something better, the cock and bull tale they unwittingly lulled themselves to sleep with. But even if the Truth is a cool world full of cruel things, a lie is a lie.
These people - lying fools - were the enemies of Magic.

-------------

He sat down absorbed by his thoughts at the same table he had occupied months earlier, barely paying any attention to the murmur of children or to the respectable patrons inside, his fingers tapping nonchalantly over the rigid and colorful cover of a menu. Hours could have passed, soon the Sun would set and the multitude of humanity would come crashing like a torrent, vomiting over the streets outside its content of cheerful kids and hyper active moms packing their Whole-foods shopping bags choke full of organic groceries. Lives wasted away inside the walls of some gray corporate cubicle.
He had lived, fought and bled for the American Dream, the shiny city upon a hill made of bones. Now he was fighting for another city, the bones always there.

--------------

He lit a Lucky Strike without as much as a half-thought, brushing against the USB stick still in his pocket, another matter he'd have to settle. Not now. Each draw painting his lungs blacker and his hair whiter.


"Excuse me", a woman, a blonde waitress, addressed him in a severe tone. His neck tensed, broken out of his reverie, his eyes flashed with recognition for the large cross still hanging from her neck "no smoking inside", she rather unceremoniously slapped a plastic ashtray on the table.


"I know", he replied, one last puff of smoke before the cancer stick was ashed away, "this place... you did some work", in a matter of fact tone. "Nice hair too, it suits you", he hastily added.


The pinch of her tone was the only telltale sign of her annoyance, "Do I know you?"

"No, I got a familiar face, that's all", he replied shrugging.

"Then, don't act like you're a regular", the woman replied

"I thought the customer was always right", the Guardian retorted.

"You haven't ordered anything", she deadpanned.

"Touché. Two boiled eggs, a black tea, and the bill", he said flatly.

The woman scrambled something inside her notebook before handing over a receipt. "Hmpf, who orders that? Very well", saying that, she left.

"Turn the other cheek", the Guardian mumbled amused. Eyeing the receipt for a minute, he drew two bills from his wallet, then he stood up and made a beeline for the exit.

On the way out, he fished his pockets for another cigarette, this time however, he found only a tiny rectangle of solid cardstock. The smooth engraved texture of a quality business card. He left it there - after having read its details - on a table by the entrance.
"Queen", his ailment was beyond curing.

One last glance, with enough luck, the waitress would find the two Jacksons he had tucked inside the menu, given enough luck, it'd be the last time she'd ever see or hear of him.


A Guardian always pays his dues.

He stepped into the night.

4 successes
Date Action Roll Result
2018-09-22 14:15:46 Winter rolls 10 to Incognito Presence Rote (Wits + Subterfuge + Mind + HS + O.spec) (10 Again) 8, 2, 10, 4, 6, 1, 5, 7, 4, 10, 5, 10, 2 4 successes