Shared - Two Cups of Tea

Rain;
Laughing at the window.
Thought I saw your face.
Only cloudy images,
On my window pane,
And all I hear is rain;
And things I tried, to say.

- Concrete Blonde

Storm clouds brewed over head. Oman watched them churn and threaten. In some ways they mocked her as they turned their blooming shade of charcoal gray. They reminded her of great loss, utter sorrow, and life changing heartbreak. The rain that came soon washed away any doubt that somehow we live on after death. It wasn't the first time she'd had the inclination to imagine such things, for if there was a City of Dust, then they were all surely there, their ghosts, raining down on her now. Taking whatever melancholy broke free of the prison-like box she compartmentalized it in.

Fog began to roll in as the sun settled in the horizon. Just as she rounded a street corner a chalk drawing melted into the street. She paused then, proudly, to watch the slow rush of water into the grate, swirling in color defiantly around the iron bars. Once, she had known an Artist. Just like the one who painted this temporary reminder, he was living and breathing. No more, though. Now he is but a bloodstain on the wooden floor of a row-house in Port Kar. Like this chalk, his blood had drained through the cracks into the canals. The sin of his death; of his murder, washed away. The Accountants had seen fit to remind her that she is always of the Black. That this is the life you sign on for, and these are the prices you pay. Steep, as they may be.

The Rabid Sleen's sign creaked in protest. Behind its door there was the raucous laughter of men doing what men do. Inside, on a top tier above some dancing sands, her Sister Savana sat. Oman scanned the crowd to find her. The thoughts proceeding her arrival might seem melodramatic to some. Others still, might see them as a means to an end. Somewhere in those constant reveries she found the sense to procure what she needed in a way that was diplomatic rather than demanding. The two Women met and adjourned to a sidebar, an office, where they could speak without the worry of appearances and expectations. Over their second cup of tea their conversation came understanding and to a degree, trust between them.





" I have come with a request for Names, " The Sea had said.

" I can provide you with Names, " The Crossroads had replied.



Some sin, never washes away. Some sin, stains. But for the Two there can be no regret.