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Fleshlings part OneSor prowled the street, looking for the familiar green arm-band that she had come to recognize as the mark of the "good" messengers in this city. A late night pouring over an illicit tome of magic had revealed her next big project, and she needed...supplies.
"Ah! Hello, you. Do you deliver things?" She crouched next to the street urchin, leaning in the shade of a building on the darker side of Ripton. He gave her the once over, then nodded.
"I work Prescott, yeah. What do you need?"
Sor didn't bother trying to figure out what the hell Prescott was, beyond one of the more rundown streets in the area. She gave the boy a quick set of instructions, pleased by his nonchalance. They worked out a price, and she gave him a folded piece of paper with the address of the shop.
She was almost cackling with glee by the time she made it back to the shop. There sitting on the stoop were two small cardboard packages, bound with green cloth. Two down, only twenty-four to go.
"Sor?" Gabriel entered
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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