3,000 Years

Daisies

A/N: This entry was inspired by a play I had to read for my GCSE course: An Inspector Calls. If you know what it is, then you probably know what's in store for this entry. If not, I am so sorry because it's gonna be a rollercoaster ride.

Warning, this is one of the longer entries. (27,000+ words this time).

......

Everything was all the same. Nothing ever changes.

Meliodas grimaced as he made his way toward the Palace Bar, easily bypassing the more popular racket of the Palace Theater's nightly entertainments. Shadows danced across his face as he descended the steps that led into the bar, obscuring his grimace into an ominous glower. 

Today had felt too long for him, too taxing. The last thing he needed right now was to be in the middle of a vast crowd, people shouting in his ears and yelling at the stage. What Meliodas needed was quiet - time to think. What he needed was a well-deserved drink.

Releasing a hefty sigh, the young man relaxed as he heard the raucous racket from the theater above die into a low undertone. Now this, the quiet, was something he would always appreciate. After a long day at the company, watching workers scurry across the factory floors, listening to his father barking orders, barking out his own orders, Meliodas could appreciate the quiet. Miss the quiet. Maybe that was why he always came back to this place, full of its quietness and gloom; it did have a certain charm.

Dark, shadowy, the Palace Bar was the perfect location for late-night jaunts. Whether you were a young person looking for a thrill, or an older person looking for a quiet evening out, the bar was perfect for anyone. Plus, with the perks of the Theater located above the place, the rabble was kept far away from the actual bar. Most of the chaos came from the sex workers who often rotated about the place, looking for an easy score.

Meliodas knew them well - others a little too well. Every time he came here, someone came to bug him. Hard-eyed, dough-faced women who had lost their innocence long ago. Women who had become engulfed in the ugly world of their trade, losing all the youth and life and vigour that had once swam in their eyes.

Although he had been given plenty of opportunities to take advantage of these women, Meliodas never really had. He couldn't stand them. Couldn't stand to look at them. They didn't have much to offer other than a flimsy night of fun - but even then that came with a price tag. 

Plus - he found himself often thinking - he was meant to be engaged to that Birling girl, Zaneri. He doubted she would like to hear about his late-night adventures with the night workers of Brumley. If anything, she'd drop dead from just the slightest hint about it.

Nevertheless, Meliodas couldn't help the slight temptation that came whenever he saw a girl who was different from the usual type. Bright-eyed, young-faced, still fresh with life and hope despite working in a trade in which you sold your very soul. They were juxtapositions to the very idea of being a whore; yes, those girls were very tempting. But they were always decent, modest, and never asked anything of him. Knowing who he was, they avoided him.

Perhaps that was why he often felt a great pull towards those types; he was too used to women flinging themselves right at him.

Easily, Meliodas finds a seat toward the back of the bar, giving an available waiter his usual order. Normally, Ban would come with him to the bar to keep him company - or so he says as an excuse. Really, Meliodas knows it is just because Ban is desperate to shake him out of his weird funk. He hasn't really been himself since his father pushed more of the company onto his already weighted shoulders.