something strange near the entranceway. There appeared to be some dark mass slumped over one of the sofas. Trip paused in his work, delicately placing down the stack of chairs he’d been collecting, and cautiously making his way over to check.
It was a person.
A sylvari, more precisely.
He didn’t look too good: a scrappy looking thing covered in dirt and cuts and dressed in torn, ragged clothing. The tiny plant looked like he’d been dragged through the mud, and he’d been in more than a few fights. He was sleeping with his limbs sprawled awkwardly over the sofa, his breathe coming in and out in shaky wisps.
“I wouldn’t worry about that one!” Mr. Sraff called from the back wall. “He’s here every night. He’s harmless.”
Trip hastily walked away from the plant boy to talk with Mr. Sraff properly.
“Every night?” He said in a far more volume-appropriate whisper.
“Yeah. For a few weeks now. You don’t work nights usually, right?” Mr. Sraff was not taking the hint and continued to speak normally. Trip found himself casting nervous glances at the sylvari.
“I do work days, usually, yes…”
“Probably why you didn’t notice.”
“…Is he homeless?”
“Probably? Or maybe just another drunkard, I don’t know. Look it’s fine. He’s just here for the couch. Don’t worry about it.”
With that, Mr. Sraff went back to his sweeping, making it clear there was nothing left to say on the matter. Trip hesitantly gave the plant kid one more look before resuming his work as well.
That would have been the end of it, but as they finished closing duties and said their goodbyes, Trip found himself stopping at the entrance. Mr. Sraff said to leave him. And he was going to! He was going to, but…
There was something about the way the young plant was spread over the sofa, his limbs at odd angles, like he’d never figured out how to sleep correctly.
Like his brother.
Discussion ¬