When Peake stood face to face with the city, he realized how accurate his childhood had been. The imagine had set into his mind long ago, product of his memories of youth, and yet he found it to be almost identical both in mind and reality. It wasn’t smaller than he remembered, nor did it have a different tone to it in his mind; it was an exact reproduction to what he recalled. Because of it, there was no disappointment in finding something other than expected. At the same time, that same lack of disappointment was, paradoxically, a disappointment in itself. It was as if his mind had no changed in all these years, remaining as bitter and angry now as it was in his youth. Regardless, it felt good to know his mental faculties were trustworthy, even if only useful to bring disappointment.
The streets were busy, even if the climate wasn’t exactly favorable. The spirits were high, both figuratively and literally, for many dilated pupils spoke of the drug use some of these specimens had ingested. As the male limped through the wide streets, helping himself with the use of his cane, the former soldier in him severely judged the armed forces of Rharne; they reeked of alcohol. Such conduct he would’ve considered inappropriate for a professional, which was a rather hypocritical judgement coming from a former alcoholic. Well, he though, at least I was entitled to it. Some of the women, those that apparently were not working today, also seemed to be quite drunk, laughing and hugging their friends in corners, tables, and within the dozen taverns encountered in a short walk. Shooting a load here and there wouldn’t be too hard either. It was as if this very city was meant to house Peake’s genetical code for many generations to come.
The severely overweight male – obese being a word Peake would never allow to describe his frame - was the target of many gazes, some of which he returned with a scowl, and others which he simply ignored. Those curious and somewhat surprised eyes inspired him to limb faster, somewhat, for he feared stopping would lead his personal space to be crowded. Painters would come to draw portraits of these drunk citizens posing before him, pointing towards his belly, smiling widely or forming a variety of dumb expressions as the moment was slowly, but surely, captured in paint forever. The same thought, in his mind, to the magnificence of his beard, which surely captured the same amount of attention, if not more, from these hairless and baby-faced crowds.
Peake did not stop anywhere in the street, nor took any turn. Those options weren’t even considered. Instead, he did what his gut told him, or what it would say if it wasn’t currently growling in hunger. He walked forth, tall and proud, being dodged by the crowd the same way a carriage would. He tried not to mind how even carriages dodged him. A gust of wind would kiss his hairy cheeks every once in a while, just as a ray of sunlight blessed the streets through the ripped curtains of grey clouds above. It took an effort to remain on the move, for his leg was tired, and the mere motions of the limb exhausted him with every tediously inefficient stride. He felt no gratification by performing this, however. He didn’t mentally pat his own back – or stroked his own phallus, as he would’ve usually described it – by walking large distances as a gimp. Being partially disabled had not humbled him, nor had instilled him with a sense of satisfaction by doing something he should be struggling with. For him, walking large distances was something he was capable of doing the past Saun, and he’d conform for nothing less than what he was capable of doing when his lower leg was made of flesh rather than fancy metals.
Almost a break must’ve passed the moment Peake found himself leaving the city gates once again. In front of him, to the south, he found the freedom of the plains and farmlands, with its trees and its birds, and every little creature that hid in them. He also found people, obviously, scattered in stables, on roads, on carts, or in their homes. Peake would’ve often considered himself a creature of civilization. Busy streets and loud crowds is where he thrived, where he could think clearly. Nature and emptiness, on the other hand, he detested. They made him feel exposed, alone, and without a purpose. Looking over his shoulder, he found no interest in the crowds. As such, he kept walking.
The Dust Quarter was slightly annoying to traverse, but eventually it too was left behind. Surprisingly, Peake had not been stabbed, robbed, or murder-raped – three qualities he had long ago associated with poor neighborhoods, other than disease and misery. Now, it was only the vastness of nothingness what greeted his eyes. The path forked, and every new direction it took broke off the sense of security found in the previously wide main road. Looking left and right, not much thought was given as he simply picked a direction and advanced. He’d reach someplace, eventually, and maybe then he’d rest.
The streets were busy, even if the climate wasn’t exactly favorable. The spirits were high, both figuratively and literally, for many dilated pupils spoke of the drug use some of these specimens had ingested. As the male limped through the wide streets, helping himself with the use of his cane, the former soldier in him severely judged the armed forces of Rharne; they reeked of alcohol. Such conduct he would’ve considered inappropriate for a professional, which was a rather hypocritical judgement coming from a former alcoholic. Well, he though, at least I was entitled to it. Some of the women, those that apparently were not working today, also seemed to be quite drunk, laughing and hugging their friends in corners, tables, and within the dozen taverns encountered in a short walk. Shooting a load here and there wouldn’t be too hard either. It was as if this very city was meant to house Peake’s genetical code for many generations to come.
The severely overweight male – obese being a word Peake would never allow to describe his frame - was the target of many gazes, some of which he returned with a scowl, and others which he simply ignored. Those curious and somewhat surprised eyes inspired him to limb faster, somewhat, for he feared stopping would lead his personal space to be crowded. Painters would come to draw portraits of these drunk citizens posing before him, pointing towards his belly, smiling widely or forming a variety of dumb expressions as the moment was slowly, but surely, captured in paint forever. The same thought, in his mind, to the magnificence of his beard, which surely captured the same amount of attention, if not more, from these hairless and baby-faced crowds.
Peake did not stop anywhere in the street, nor took any turn. Those options weren’t even considered. Instead, he did what his gut told him, or what it would say if it wasn’t currently growling in hunger. He walked forth, tall and proud, being dodged by the crowd the same way a carriage would. He tried not to mind how even carriages dodged him. A gust of wind would kiss his hairy cheeks every once in a while, just as a ray of sunlight blessed the streets through the ripped curtains of grey clouds above. It took an effort to remain on the move, for his leg was tired, and the mere motions of the limb exhausted him with every tediously inefficient stride. He felt no gratification by performing this, however. He didn’t mentally pat his own back – or stroked his own phallus, as he would’ve usually described it – by walking large distances as a gimp. Being partially disabled had not humbled him, nor had instilled him with a sense of satisfaction by doing something he should be struggling with. For him, walking large distances was something he was capable of doing the past Saun, and he’d conform for nothing less than what he was capable of doing when his lower leg was made of flesh rather than fancy metals.
Almost a break must’ve passed the moment Peake found himself leaving the city gates once again. In front of him, to the south, he found the freedom of the plains and farmlands, with its trees and its birds, and every little creature that hid in them. He also found people, obviously, scattered in stables, on roads, on carts, or in their homes. Peake would’ve often considered himself a creature of civilization. Busy streets and loud crowds is where he thrived, where he could think clearly. Nature and emptiness, on the other hand, he detested. They made him feel exposed, alone, and without a purpose. Looking over his shoulder, he found no interest in the crowds. As such, he kept walking.
The Dust Quarter was slightly annoying to traverse, but eventually it too was left behind. Surprisingly, Peake had not been stabbed, robbed, or murder-raped – three qualities he had long ago associated with poor neighborhoods, other than disease and misery. Now, it was only the vastness of nothingness what greeted his eyes. The path forked, and every new direction it took broke off the sense of security found in the previously wide main road. Looking left and right, not much thought was given as he simply picked a direction and advanced. He’d reach someplace, eventually, and maybe then he’d rest.