The occasional breeze fluttered the neat folds of Turkish's robe as the prophet sat in meditaion on the roof in the afternoon sun. His mind was transfixed on itself, searching for clues and answers that would not come. Gulls cried out to one another in the sky. A cheering crowd and a band marching to a loud and happy tune came from the streets below. But those sounds did not come to Turkish's ears. He only heard the enthralling rythm of his own heart beat and breath creating a symphony to his soul.
*SLAM* The door to the roof swung open and crashed against the wall. Dirk Bell hopped on his good leg up the last couple of steps and out onto the roof. His right hand flips open his Zippo and lights it while his left produces a cigar and brings it to his mouth. A few puffs later, the lighter is returned to its pocket and Dirk looks out to the scenery surrounding the MBL building.
"Nice quaint place you've got here," he said to Turkish, who never moves any part of his body so much as an inch. "A little paint, some pictures, a few throw rugs and you'd have yourself one hell of a bacelor pad."
Dirk propped himself up on the side of the ledge on the west side of the building. "So. How exactly is it that you do all that freaky shit you do?" No reply. "Do you do some incantation?" Nothing. "Pray to a god?" Still nothing. "Roll a d20? Click your heals together three times and make a wish?" And still, the prophet doesn't move.
Dirk hobbled his way back to the doorway. "And people say I'm an inconsiderate bastard." He disappeared down the stairs.
Turkish sat in his meditation. His heart beat regulated to a slow and steady rythm. His breath deep and long. The symphony played on as he felt a shadow of a cloud blocking out the sun pass over his face and the wind build and slide across his body. His mind still searching for the truthes that it was hiding from itself. Playing a child's game of hide-n-seek with itself. A clap of thunder rang out in the distance.
[ 08-18-2002, 12:27 PM: Message edited by: thedoctor ]
