Jan. 16th, 2017

courtofmurk: (Knave of Rooks)
[personal profile] courtofmurk
The winter weather has taken its toll on the residents of the Nexus, even more than the visitors. Snow blankets the ground and hardens the water; sheltering leaves have long withered and blown away; no berries remain on the bushes, no free samples outside bakeries. Even the stalls selling food around the plaza have dwindled to a few hardy and determined vendors, bundled beneath layers of cloth as they field queues of the cold and ravenous. They have little kindness for hard-working scroungers.

Of course nobody feels the hardship more than the noble creatures who dwell out of doors. Regular visitors might have noticed the crows who always seem to lurk about the plaza. They steal claim food and shiny objects now and again, but mostly they watch and huddle and caw meaningfully to one another. There seem to be fewer of them about lately: they must be feeling the frost, too.

Perhaps that’s why, today, anyone who displays visible cash, anyone whose pockets ring with the jingle of coin, anyone at all who might be suspected of having wealth- whoever they may be, they’ll hear a harsh little “Psst! Psst!” from someone nearby. Someone lurking under a table or behind the back of their armchair. Perhaps he’s behind that desiccated Christmas tree - either that or the forlorn angel on top is begging for a lozenge. “Your aid is required, mortal! Aid in a matter of great delicacy and importance! Do you bear coins?”

Have a heart, Nexus-goers. Do you know how hard it is to say ‘Psst’ with a beak? Do you know how hard it is for him to whisper?

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