Post by Slate Blue on Jul 10, 2020 23:39:43 GMT -6
MARCH 31st, 2017
“Slate Blue.” The name danced off the tongue of the owner of the establishment announced as she made her way over to the table. She was beautiful, dark Asian eyes sparkling in the low light of the tavern, her long jet black hair spilling across her bare shoulders, contrasting with the crimson coloured top. He acknowledged her with a slight tilt of his chin.
“And who do we have here?” Her inquisitive gaze falling on the young woman sitting with him, fixating on the faint smudge of grease on her smooth cheek, plucking a napkin off the table and wiping it off in a motherly fashion. “You missed a spot.”
Coreen already knew her name. There wasn’t a soul living in Omensvale she wasn’t aware of but Slate indulged her, to which she responded with a fake, “Huh.”
Slate had learned that well over a century ago some kind of pact was made to keep the Coven and the Pack separate, unfortunately because no one talked about the damn thing, younger members like, River were left to discover this for themselves.
“So what do you think of it?” The enchantress asked of River, gesturing to the room around them with exaggerated hand gestures.
River smiled, wide eyes taking in the alluring ambience of the place. It was everything that she imagined it would be, and more. “It’s amazing.”
Coreen almost seemed appreciative. Just then, River caught something out of the corner of her eye. It looked like a big dog but when she turned her attention to it there was nothing there. Coreen immediately recognized the sign and acknowledged the girl’s compliment with a warm smile before turning her attention back to Slate. “Got time to look at the air conditioner later?” she asked.
“Sure.” Slate nodded.
River never knew he and the owner of the Cove were so close, but now that she realized he was like her, nothing much surprised anymore.
“It’s funny. I’ve lived here my whole life and I’ve never been here before. I don’t think my Dad has ever set foot in the place.” River noted.
Coreen shrugged, feigning ignorance on the subject while Slate diverted his attention to the lunch menu. Every member of the Pack had to experience the effect for themselves. It was not for the Coven Mistress to decide whether they left, but none ever stayed.
The soft cadence of the door chimes echoed through the room and Cirrus’ tall striking form appeared round the corner, his pale hair sopping wet as if he had been standing out the rain for some time.
“Let me get you a towel.” Doreen frowned, stopping the large man in his tracks with staying hand.
, Jr.