Winter wrote:
> The door blew open again from the wind. As I passed the tapestry to shut
> the door it wavered between the Knight of Pentacles and Death, never
> settling
> on either.
>
> The latch needed replacing, perhaps at trip to the village locksmith would
> be in order.
> I made sure it was shut as tight as could be and made my way over to the new
> guest.
>
> "Welcome to 88 Arcadia Street. What would ye like?"
>
>
>
"Arcadia Street. Odd. I had not expected to be here for sometime. Needs
must when the devils' drive, I suppose. I would have to commend you on
your timely arrival. I had presumed you to be already upon the
premises." The words darted out gracefully, distractedly. It was the
manner of one who was far to used too his own company, and speaks only
to hear another voice.

With a resigned manner, he reaches into the multitude of pockets
covering his ragged finery, and produces a score and four glimmering
coins. They shift from chartreuse to royal purple, the embossed smirking
faces and seals worn with age. Each is laid upon the counter with care,
forming a intricate pattern.

"I will be keeping a tab, I should think. When these have been drunk," a
long gesture encompassed the assembled currency, "my business here will
be concluded. Shame really."

"Now, good sir, I could do with an elixir of Autumn, as I have only
recently seen Summer’s harsh blister. Stirred, not shaken that is, for
only complete barbarians take it in such a scandalous manner."

---
To the bartender, Winter.

To the rest of the room: Who is here?

With Grace and Villiany,

-S
Written to: Oneiroid Psychosis - /Nightgaunts/