28th of Glade
Vivian needed to get out of Veir Socorro’s house for a little while. If the Veir wasn’t there, it was painfully obvious how little Vivian fit in. He was looked at oddly by the staff, they giggled when he tried to sound out his words learning to read, and he didn’t feel comfortable enough practicing magic without the Veir. He needed to walk the streets again, but this time he was clean. His long coat with its fur hood was threadbare but clean. He smelled of lavender, he’d managed to get his pants repaired, and he felt good.
He sighed and walked down the slightly cleaner streets of midtown Amoren, feeling content for the first time in his life. There was no pressure to survive. He didn’t have the gnawing in his gut. He had money in his pocket. Bara was safe and sound staked out in the sunlight and warmth of a Veir’s garden. No doubt he was having the time of his life.
For the first time, Vivian could see the city. Truly see it, not just skulk around the edges of it. Maybe he would go in a shop instead of skulking around the bins in the back. Maybe he could eat at a restaurant, or go to a bar and order a drink. The possibilities were endless when one was clean and had money.
Vivian strode into an upscale bar. He looked good. He had his eyes ringed in kohl and a little silver dust he’d saved for the occasion. He’d dyed his lips a bit with beeswax and rose oil, and he’d stolen Veir Socorro’s comb to make his hair lay properly on his head. He perched at the bar, not wearing a shirt but his coat thrown open carelessly. His pants were low on his hips, and he ordered a mixed drink.
He smiled at it. A mixture of lemon juice and vodka, with a little bit of sugared orange peel. He took a sip, letting the alcohol roll off his tongue. It was heavenly; sour with a little pinch of sweet at the end. He moaned and closed his eyes slowly, bringing the glass to his lips again. He didn’t even need to get drunk. This was a work of art he intended to savor.
