Everest
The rustling one room over seems to have about as much effect on the man seated at his kitchen table as it does the cup of coffee left forgotten on the counter. This isn't quite so however; Ever's fingers smoothly change his breakfast order from QUANTITY: 1 to QUANTITY 2 without hesitation, before submitting the order.
Neatly placed on the table around him are intricate sketches of body parts—hearts, clavicles, femurs, vocal cords—rendered with anatomical precision and a strangely gothic and slightly off-putting artistic flare. The ornate pen Ever uses to sketch with hovers above the page as Mateo comes wombling out of his room looking like he was about to enter a toga contest (and win). Reaching into his back pocket Ever pulls out a small moleskin notebook and flips to the last entry. It has yesterday's date at the top, followed by a number of notations that include timestamps, addresses, and chemical symbols and approximate measurements. "You started at the Palliser and when asked by the bartender if you'd take her out after her shift, you replied in the affirmative." Ever replies, his tone emotionless as if he were detailing Mateo's evening to a hospital, or as testimony in court. "However you were distracted by the band who had just finished their set, and when they said they were going to cap their night off at the Unicorn, you demanded they come with you to the Vin Room instead." Pausing, the man at the table glances up to see how much of this is registering.
Tapping his finger against his notepad, it's at this point in the evening that the measurements and substances stop being of alcohol, and instead become complex letters and numbers, like C20H25N3O, and (3-(2-dimethylaminoethyl)-1H-indol-4-yl) dihydrogen phosphate
Neatly placed on the table around him are intricate sketches of body parts—hearts, clavicles, femurs, vocal cords—rendered with anatomical precision and a strangely gothic and slightly off-putting artistic flare. The ornate pen Ever uses to sketch with hovers above the page as Mateo comes wombling out of his room looking like he was about to enter a toga contest (and win). Reaching into his back pocket Ever pulls out a small moleskin notebook and flips to the last entry. It has yesterday's date at the top, followed by a number of notations that include timestamps, addresses, and chemical symbols and approximate measurements. "You started at the Palliser and when asked by the bartender if you'd take her out after her shift, you replied in the affirmative." Ever replies, his tone emotionless as if he were detailing Mateo's evening to a hospital, or as testimony in court. "However you were distracted by the band who had just finished their set, and when they said they were going to cap their night off at the Unicorn, you demanded they come with you to the Vin Room instead." Pausing, the man at the table glances up to see how much of this is registering.
Tapping his finger against his notepad, it's at this point in the evening that the measurements and substances stop being of alcohol, and instead become complex letters and numbers, like C20H25N3O, and (3-(2-dimethylaminoethyl)-1H-indol-4-yl) dihydrogen phosphate
I was a dead man walking,
with bloodshot eyes—right place, wrong time.
with bloodshot eyes—right place, wrong time.
