He shuffle stepped up to the main entrance of the hospital. One could not really call it a gait, his knees don't work right anymore. Glad though he was that the doors slide open for him, he still gave it a look of wonder. A time, long, long ago, a sliding door would have given him pause. His hand went deep into the front pocket of his sports coat -- what's left of the coat; the pocket being the only intact feature left. The original fabric having been a tweed of some sort, the jacket was now just a patchwork of odd bits of mismatched fabric stitched by an inexpert seamstress to cover 50 years worth of holes and tears.Around him a young woman barely an adult guided a boy to the hospital cafeteria to feed him vegetable stew. Another woman, one of the medics, asked her if she's seen Garth, her husband. There's been little sign of him since he went off to find Meralynn Harperr. Shad Grey's sister Mara comes in... but the old man is busy and doesn't notice or know her. To him it's unimportant that this young woman is looking for her brother and concerned or that the days of this world are full of life and barter, banter and business, drudgery and death. He didn't care nor notice that Mara called herself an observer, a woman raised outside the city by the Fellowship of Magic. She and Terra Lowinn talked while
An odd clacking sound came from the old man's pocket and gnarled fingers barely able to grip into a fist, sifted through a hundred buttons. He stood beneath the blowers, nearly falling over as the dust was whisked from his shoulders, his thread-bare head. A laugh gurgled from his throat - gleeful and rheumy at the same time. Then the doors slid shut. Clackity clack, clackity clack, the sound of plastic buttons drifted through the quiet lobby. Slippered moccasins skidded across the tile floor, adding a whisk to the clicks. *Whisk, clickity, whisk.* His trousers were just as bare as his jacket. Exposed leathery skin darkened by the years of exposure to the harsh outside world shown through the gaps which the patches couldn't cover.
Adeline Frostt sat with Terra then and they talked of her missing past - all that she couldn't recall and Terra tried to assure her to give it time. They talked of Quentari, the mad man who often seemed a child.
The old man he smiled again, at the girl at the lobby desk - his face cracking and splitting The girl returned the smile and softly called him "Grampy" - he had been visiting this hospital since she was a little girl The man delighted her once more - pulling free a turquoise button swirled with snowy white lines. The button bounced in his trembling hand and threatened escape more than once on it's journey from pocket to counter top. A voice thin and wavering, to the girl - he still saw her as that. "Fine weather we're having today," he said and he shuffled off without waiting for a reply. Whisk, clickity clack, whisk, shuffle.
The route was familiar, polished perhaps by his shoes. He took it everyday more or less on time - in his youth he always had things he had to do; until things became less and less, his schedule became clockwork. And so he had, until today ... today ... today ... something wondrous had happened. Today - he saw heaven. He put his shoulder to the door, mustering all the power he could from his thin frame to muscle the swinging door open. He stood a bit taller, straightening the lapels of his jacket - patch-worked in paisley and tartan patterns.
Outside, Zac was making his way to the hospital for grub and deliverance of a burn plate when Josi Putter "exacted her revenge" on him for leaving her in the middle of nowhere a few nights previous. Zac didn't know who had winged the pebble at him and caught him on the side of the face; but instinct had him squeeze off twin rounds in her general direction. Inside, Bliss' young charge Keahgann jumped at the sound of gunshots. Putter was already out of range and around into the hospital by a different route, snug and safe at a cafeteria table, while Zac looked into the waning light for signs of his attacker.
The old man continued on his way, unable to hear the gunfire. He only smacked his gums, his sense of smell worked perfectly. The food here, well, he thought it was peachy. One final caress of the buttons he made before arthritic hands gathered up a tray. He spooned a bit of the vegetable gruel into a bowl - another smack of his lips at the stew he couldn't possibly have chewed. He lingered by the pot, just to experience the aroma. Oh it brought back memories. A phlegmatic laugh bubbled up. He saw himself a young boy, swiping bits of his grandmother's stew - mouth watering morsels of meat, so tender that the juice dribbled down his chin - much like the drool of today
Zac entered and eyed the dottering oldster that seemed to be daydreaming near the stew then made his way towards him. The old one was oblivious to the growing crowd around him, his hand once again in his pocket where the buttons within caused a muffled clamor. With quiet cool Zac reached past him for a bowl, filled it and kept his eye on the old man's scant motions.
Clickity click, clackity clack ... Then a startled jump and an exhaled, "Hoo boy!" as he noticed the one-eyed man finally. "Damn good stew, my boy."
With a blink, Zac arched a brow at the old man who's voice was too loud and who then gathered his tray and slouched away his pace making the turtle seem like a hare. Zac forced a smile and nodded, his voice a low rasp of metal to wood. "I've had some." He too took his bowl and turned for his table with a blown breath. He plopped to his table, one hand still rubbing at his face where he'd been hit by the rock, seemingly oblivious to the flickering light above him.
Well the trip to a table was uneventful, though he really didn't pay attention to where he was going. The old one's yellowed eyes fixed on Bliss and the sight of her brought back the memory of his first date. The drool dribbled from the corner of his mouth - but he was far away in the back of his father's automobile. He was oblivious to the soft tuning of Azrael's musical instrument -- as was nearly everyone else. Ah, wasn't Madeline Bass a catch? He never realized he set his tray down as a yip yiping sound escaped from his throat. He wheezed, remembering that night. Clickity clack went his buttons while every bone seemed to pop as he lowered himself to the chair. The sound in fact was not unlike the pocket full of buttons he carried. There must have been an earthquake because his spoon was shaking badly and allowed most of the gruel to escape back into the bowl, onto the tray, his lapels and the table too. But a loud slurp indicated he was getting at least some sustenance. After all, it mattered to keep his routine - if only for one more day.
==
The girl had left. She'd eaten her stew and fled from him the first chance she'd gotten. He was pretty sure she was the one who had thrown a rock at him outside the Hospital, the figure he had shot at. The One-eyed man rubbed his head gently where the stone had connected as he watched the cafeteria door swing shut behind the bundle of rags that concealed the girl, muttering under his breath.
"She's got good aim." He glanced across the cafeteria to an old man who sat staring into the bowl of stew which sat, untouched on the table before him. The old coot had said something to him about how good the stew was when he had come in, smiling at him with crooked, yellow teeth, before coughing and drooling all over himself.
The One-eyed man crossed the cafeteria to where the older man sat. His single eye swept over the man quickly, taking in as much as he could. The man wasn't dead, he could tell that much from the rise and fall of his chest, but other than that the man remained motionless, a strange old smile plastered across his face, as if his mind were somewhere else.
"Hey, Pops?" Zac rasped kicking the chair across from the man out and sliding carefully into it, waiting for a reply. As he watched, the old man's hand had come to a standstill and Zac, the one-eyed, thought the old geezer had died right on the spot. Then the slow, barely perceptible rise and fall of the old mans back told a different story so Zac let him be, shifting to get more comfortable in his chair.