Post by LCF on Dec 3, 2005 16:48:36 GMT -5
Even through the sunglasses, Virgil thought this new world was altogether too bright. Lousy way to reward a goddamn, bonafide hero, Virgil stewed murderously, God’s supposed to reward sacrifice, all I got was a hangover and a ticket to nowhere. Not for the first time, Virgil wondered if this city, Midgar, was his own personal hell.
Nah, He assured himself, nursing his drink, there sure is a lot of ugly here though. The bar Virgil had chosen for his midmorning drink, The Iron Door, was relatively empty, the sole exception were a pair of grizzled blue collar types sitting at the far end of the bar. Judging from the broken blood vessels in their cheeks, and yellow stains on their fingers, this morning ritual wasn’t exactly a rare occasion. One thing we got right in Dremlin, Virgil mused, we didn’t allow people to let themselves go like that. An unwelcome ghost of a memory began to surface, Virgil beat it back down cruelly. That’s not who I am anymore.
Virgil tried to enjoy the last of the whiskey, but the memory had left a bad taste in his mouth. Virgil hopped over to the other side of the bar, and surprised to find that the deposit box wasn’t even locked. Lucky me Virgil thought wryly. He smiled, it was a good haul, at least five hundred dollars. The money soon disappeared into his backpack. Seeing the bins where the bartender kept his cutlery, Virgil pulled out a steak knife, and tossed it, along with a five dollar bill, onto the stomach of the bound and gagged bartender.
“Thanks for the drink,” Virgil called out, already on his way out, “You might want to cut yourself loose before those two wake up, otherwise they might drink you out of house and home.”
With a crooked smile, Virgil drew himself up, and prepared to step out into the hated sunlight once more.
Nah, He assured himself, nursing his drink, there sure is a lot of ugly here though. The bar Virgil had chosen for his midmorning drink, The Iron Door, was relatively empty, the sole exception were a pair of grizzled blue collar types sitting at the far end of the bar. Judging from the broken blood vessels in their cheeks, and yellow stains on their fingers, this morning ritual wasn’t exactly a rare occasion. One thing we got right in Dremlin, Virgil mused, we didn’t allow people to let themselves go like that. An unwelcome ghost of a memory began to surface, Virgil beat it back down cruelly. That’s not who I am anymore.
Virgil tried to enjoy the last of the whiskey, but the memory had left a bad taste in his mouth. Virgil hopped over to the other side of the bar, and surprised to find that the deposit box wasn’t even locked. Lucky me Virgil thought wryly. He smiled, it was a good haul, at least five hundred dollars. The money soon disappeared into his backpack. Seeing the bins where the bartender kept his cutlery, Virgil pulled out a steak knife, and tossed it, along with a five dollar bill, onto the stomach of the bound and gagged bartender.
“Thanks for the drink,” Virgil called out, already on his way out, “You might want to cut yourself loose before those two wake up, otherwise they might drink you out of house and home.”
With a crooked smile, Virgil drew himself up, and prepared to step out into the hated sunlight once more.
