WHEN: june 30 2022, thursday morning WHERE: port grave WHO: @leepackett AVAILABILITY: closed
Fable rubbed sand from her ear absentmindedly, staring off into the blue horizon with a vacant expression. She liked this spot, situated between a few palm trees and a good rock for hiding your belongings behind, not least of all because of its proximity to the Blacksmith’s shop. Recently she’d been fucking one of his apprentices. He wasn’t working today, but it made the days go by faster if she imagined he was.
Without a phone she had precious little else to do for entertainment. But an idea came to her. Because it was a very comfortable spot she found herself in, between the ocean and the idea of a handsome man, but she needed a soundtrack. She needed the dusty radio from the Graveyard Inn, and she doubted anyone would miss it. What care did the pirates have for a radio when they made up their own god-awful songs?
She put a few strategic leaves over her shit and then ran off down the beach, in the direction of the Graveyard Inn. The radio was exactly as she’d remembered it, and exactly where she’d remembered it. Cobwebs and all. She was just about to make leave with it when a voice that just sounded big and angry halted her. “Hey, you!” it boomed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Fable didn’t bother to turn around and check on that; she ran. White hot sand against the pads of her bare feet, one yard five yards ten. But a curious thing happened. It wasn’t just her footfalls against the sand she heard, but another pair too and not the bouncer’s. She whipped her head around to see someone else running behind her. “Why are you following me? You don’t work for them,” she shot at him. At least, as far as she knew he didn’t. She liked to think she recognized most of the staff around this side of town, but the port was a carousel of faces by nature.