It was hard sometimes to remember that Benzo was really gone. He kept expecting the big guy to enter the bar, strike up chats with the other patrons, order the same damn non-alcoholic drink he'd been ordering for the past god-knew-how-many-years... Then laugh off Vander's joking about him still being too much of a lightweight.
Likewise, every time he passed by his dear friend and former second-in-command's old pawn shop, he kept expecting to see Benzo sitting in there, lounging back in his chair, waiting for his next visitor to wander in -- whether it be a customer, Ekko, or Vander.
But the lights were always off, the door always closed and boarded up.
And then the memory of that night, of Benzo's death, would inevitably creep back into his mind's eye, and the barkeeper would hurry away to avoid getting sick right there on the spot.
Today was a rare moment where Vander was paying a direct visit to the pawn shop, even just to stand out in front of it. That heterochromatic gaze remained fixed upon the sign hanging above. Hands were shoved into his pockets, while his posture slouched ever so slightly forward, a deep feeling of sorrow overtaking his entire being.
"Hey there, big guy," he murmured as if Benzo could somehow here him. "Sorry it's been so long."
If there had been more he'd planned to say, the distinct sound of approaching footsteps quickly silenced him. His brow furrowed. He counted the paces, wondering if the owner was planning to continue onward down the street or if they, too, had reason to stop here. When the footsteps grew close enough to overwhelm his hearing, only to then stop a few paces away, Vander's answer was solidified. At first, his head lowered slightly. Then he raised his chin again in order to stare at that same sign.
"Pawn shop's closed down, if that's what you're looking for," he finally spoke up.
@niopham
