"Why are you dragging your boots by this place again?" asked his friend and second.
"I can't really explain it yet. Some nights it's a sweet smell like lavender and sugar cookies. Some nights it's a tug on my senses. Some nights it's nothing at all." he replied.
"I need to figure this out. Why don't you go on ahead and I'll meet you at the tavern. If all goes well maybe I'll just meet you back home," he added with a mischievous wink and a chuckle, as he didn't really see that as a possibility.
"Sure sure but you do know you have a cell phone. You could text me so I won't concern myself with your well being," replied his trusted second.
"I could but what'd be the fun in that?" he chuckled once more and slapped his friend on the back. Then he turned and went inside the quaint and seemingly unassuming 'tea' lounge.
It was dim and smokey from the smokers who fancied themselves gentry with their shit-for-taste 'low' quality and smelly cigars. Mix that with the candles making small puddles of light on the minuscule round tables scattered about made for a somewhat foggy ambiance with their little plumes of smoke.
His eyes quickly adjusted using his true sight. The most prominent person in the room sat on a stool on a small raised platform which somehow passed for a stage. They looked completely ordinary.
Unlike the fellow in the far corner sitting in the near dark with a hood low over his upper face. Now that was a suspicious one. But yeah, no, he didn't have that scent.
'Whew, actually thank the spirits,' he sighed in relief, comically memeing a wipe of his forehead with the back of his hand.
The room was eerily quite as the person on the stage opened a notebook and began to read a poem written in story form.
Using his stealth he moved slowly around the room. He had no idea what he was looking for but this was the third time this week he'd come in to look.
He mostly caught a faint receding whiff of the scent he was searching for. Or like the last time the smell was no where to be found. As if the one who owned it took it with them or hadn't come in that night.
Tonight everything was different. So strong the odor led him directly to the place where they'd been just minutes ago. The little booth on the side wall still had a stack of books, a notebook, pens and pencils just waiting for that someone's return.
Is it possible they sensed him coming? Did they up and flee the moment he came through the door. He called over the server for a pint while he sat and waited. For whomever, whatever, wherever they were from or went, tonight was the night they would meet.
He sat listening to the longest poem, he thought, in the history of man, probably back to the dark ages considering what he was hearing. He started to chuckle over his pint when it shot back over his tongue gagging and spewing beer everywhere.
The others at the nearby tables turned to scold but one look at the imposing man before them and they turned back trying, hoping, possibly praying not to be noticed.
They needn't have worried. He dropped the glass hard on the table and remembered at the last moment to close his mouth. For making their way across the dim smoky gauntlet of tables and patrons was obviously the subject who owned the books in front of him.
She made one misstep and spun around before dropping into a patron's lap. Hopping up quickly she squared her shoulders and preceded to cross the crowded room.
The look on their face was aggravated and territorial. They stepped lightly but assuredly headed straight for him while minding decorum and quiet out of respect for the speaker.
Not missing a note they slid into the seat with their books and things. Elbows on the table and one finger about to point out his mistake of sitting at this table. They paid good money to reserve it when they came in.
Before a word was spoken, the speaker finished his reading and stood. This required a rousing splatter of applause from the audience. A short reprieve from the drumming he expected.
It had been a really messed up day and she had wanted to escape into the fantasy. Sitting at the teahouse listening to storytellers and poetry. Refreshing her muse. Working out her problems.
Her roommate had been offered a job in another town. Bigger with greater prospects. She would never have asked her friend to give that up. Even if it meant she now had to come up with the other half of the rent and utilities.
Today her friend left and it all became too real. Things have always worked out eventually so she would go with that and spend the evening relaxing away some of the stress.
After a big fat delicious tuna sandwich on brioche, the server picked up her linen and wooden plate to return to the kitchen. Before she settled in with her books she decided to clean up. She's never had a problem leaving her table. The bar keeper kept an eye on her table for her always.
She slipped off to the washroom. The entire tavern was a work of art in reproduction. Taking her time she pumped water into wooden bowl shaped basin. Bars of lye soap lay around with lard tins full of skin softeners.
She made use of both. Cleaning her face and fingers of tuna. Using a clean rag folded by the basin she dried off completely and left it on the counter. From experience she knew they would sweep through here and tidy up after every customer. With a dab of lotion from the pots, she rubbed the silky cream all over her hands and smoothed a little on her cheeks and face.
So perfectly soft like a baby's butt. She swore she'd find out what it was later.
She looked critically at herself in the warped mirror over the basin. Even with the old timey effects she could recognize dark circles brought on by worry the past two weeks as her friend prepared to move out.
She had the weekend to sleep away the worried look and apply herself to the problem. With a much better attitude she let herself out of the tending room back into the little lounge and headed for her table.
Where she nearly took a spill from surprise at what she was seeing. 'Who was that person sitting at her table? Her reserved table.' She took a step too fast, getting her shoe caught in the hem of her dress she spun around and like in slow motion falling onto a patron's lap.
She could almost feel a low growl emanating from the man in her booth. 'Really?! Well we'll see about that. Certainly he wouldn't be daring me to take back my table.'
As she regained her grace and poise, he wasn't sure if the rosey red cheeks were embarrassment or god help him directed straight at him. Damn she was exquisite when her anger was flaming hot.
As she reached the booth and slid in across from him it hit him. It hit hard and fast. Lavender and sugar cookies. Finally, and what did it mean?
His heart pounded and the heat rose inside him while his mind made the connection.
'MATE!' this is your Mate you bloody fool. Years, years he'd searched and waited. He'd heard the tales. The moon goddess and her new husband bring your soulmate at a time of their choosing. They alone know when the time is right. But like every lovelorn male pup, he despaired right up to this very day.
