BOOK 3 of the ORPHIC Series
CHURLISH
/ˈCHərliSH/
marked by a lack of civility.
~~~~~
Lucille 'Lucy' Opal Baker finds herself in the 21 century sporting the title of Aunt while lugging along h...
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"Uncertainty is stepping into darkness. It is nothing."
Cairo, Egypt April, 2016
CHATTERS FILLED THE AIR, VOICES of all kinds permeating the bar and it's walls. It was the type of bar that sold cheap to the locals and expensive to the foreigners. There was a couple on vacation, so obviously there to admire the atmosphere and take pictures of the scenery. Boisterous laughter escaped the residents at the table near the entrance, some standing, some sitting. They grinned with sharp eyes, taking a sip of the beer in their hands.
At the bar there were fancy glasses hanging upside down, their bulbous surface illuminating the light of the moon and the flickering light above. It was hot–the air condition thrummed in the background, but it was too far to reach the bar itself. The bartender had a calculative gaze; it was the only way he got away with this business anyway.
His eyes moved from the glass in his hand to the hooded girl in front of him. She was dressed in a dark brown coat, her form-fitting pants catching the attention of locals–she dressed like a foreigner.
He poured vodka into the foundation of a mojito, mint leaves pressing against the side of the glass. He could feel her eyes watching him, and it made him wonder how long he's been observing the others. She was leaning her arms against the long wooden bar, blue eyes flickering back and forth. Every so often she checked the face of a splintered watch, like she was waiting for someone. The bartender slid the glass to her and she lifted her head. Her expression resembled that of a weary traveler, and his suspicions of her faded into pity.
"Thank you." She murmured as she grasped the glass.
But his pity didn't extend to the bill he'd be charging her.
She tipped the glass to her lips, taking a long sip. A relieved sigh escaped her as a towering man slid into the barstool beside her. She paused, slowly placing the glass back down on the table. The bartender exhaled as he started on the next drink–he despised it when fights broke out. It was such a hassle, cleaning all the shattered glasses. Of course, there was nothing he could do about it.
"You're a foreigner, right?" The man questioned, his eyes gleaming.
She let her fingers clink against the glass. She hummed thoughtfully under her breath as she waited for his patience to fade. His impatience won as he leaned forwards, cocking his head to the side with a smirk.
"My friends are going to drive–do you want to come?" He asked.
The bartender released a disgruntled sigh. It was always the poor travelers that got picked on–the poor women, mostly. They were easier targets. But it was none of his business as he placed a drink in front of another person.
