--tranquility
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Amir perches on a beam high above the plaza, heart thundering wildly. Guards fan out below him, shouting wildly, swords flashing. They're looking for a young woman, he knows, one about his age, but he cannot be spotted either.
Carefully, Amir turns away from the plaza and drops silently to the opposite street.
Amir tucks his chin into his coat collar and sets off briskly down the pier. This late at night, the waxy light of the moon is hidden behind dark, heavy clouds, and the streetlights flicker dimly. Unless the guards look specifically for him, he's safe. All the same, he hurries down the waterfront, boots clicking rapidly on the cobblestones, towards the safety of the Peech Gulleey.
The black mouth of the Gulleey looms in front of him, and with one last glance down the waterfront, he slips into its back alleyways. It takes only moments for the silence of the world outside to fade away into the hushed, breakable tension of his world. He feels himself grin, almost despite himself.
The Gulleey, he reflects, is not one that most would characterize as safe. Gangs - some that he runs himself - rule the Gulleey, and no one king or authority reigns. Power shifts in the Gulleey as quickly as money can change hands. But for him, and those like him, and all those without a place, the Gulleey is the only place they are welcomed. As long as they can pick a lock or a pocket, run errands for gang lords, or even have a shred of street smarts, they are free.
And then, of course, there are the jaadugari.
The spiral of a minaret rises high above him, melting into the shadow of the night. Amir runs his fingers along the clay wall, boarded up with rickety wood. His hands snag on a rock, and soundlessly, half the wall disappears. He slips through it, and the clay appears again.
He feels like he hasn't been home in weeks.
“Isha?” he calls softly. He pushes through the small apartment, through the colorful hanging drapes Isha hung up to create a sense of multiple rooms and life.
She's right where she always is, leaning out the window, eyes alight and hands glowing with Shakt. Amir laughs, wrapping her arms around her waist. Isha spins around, eyes dimming. “Amir?” she breathes.
He smiles crookedly. “Hey, jaan.”
“Amir, gods!” She laughs breathlessly, running her hands over his face. “You said - you said you weren't going to be back for another few days, I thought?”
He shrugs. “I missed you.”
She quirks an eyebrow, and he laughs. “Okay, the guards were onto me - or who I was - but really.” His eyes rove her face hungrily, drunkenly. “I did miss you,” he whispers.
Carefully, Amir turns away from the plaza and drops silently to the opposite street.
Amir tucks his chin into his coat collar and sets off briskly down the pier. This late at night, the waxy light of the moon is hidden behind dark, heavy clouds, and the streetlights flicker dimly. Unless the guards look specifically for him, he's safe. All the same, he hurries down the waterfront, boots clicking rapidly on the cobblestones, towards the safety of the Peech Gulleey.
The black mouth of the Gulleey looms in front of him, and with one last glance down the waterfront, he slips into its back alleyways. It takes only moments for the silence of the world outside to fade away into the hushed, breakable tension of his world. He feels himself grin, almost despite himself.
The Gulleey, he reflects, is not one that most would characterize as safe. Gangs - some that he runs himself - rule the Gulleey, and no one king or authority reigns. Power shifts in the Gulleey as quickly as money can change hands. But for him, and those like him, and all those without a place, the Gulleey is the only place they are welcomed. As long as they can pick a lock or a pocket, run errands for gang lords, or even have a shred of street smarts, they are free.
And then, of course, there are the jaadugari.
The spiral of a minaret rises high above him, melting into the shadow of the night. Amir runs his fingers along the clay wall, boarded up with rickety wood. His hands snag on a rock, and soundlessly, half the wall disappears. He slips through it, and the clay appears again.
He feels like he hasn't been home in weeks.
“Isha?” he calls softly. He pushes through the small apartment, through the colorful hanging drapes Isha hung up to create a sense of multiple rooms and life.
She's right where she always is, leaning out the window, eyes alight and hands glowing with Shakt. Amir laughs, wrapping her arms around her waist. Isha spins around, eyes dimming. “Amir?” she breathes.
He smiles crookedly. “Hey, jaan.”
“Amir, gods!” She laughs breathlessly, running her hands over his face. “You said - you said you weren't going to be back for another few days, I thought?”
He shrugs. “I missed you.”
She quirks an eyebrow, and he laughs. “Okay, the guards were onto me - or who I was - but really.” His eyes rove her face hungrily, drunkenly. “I did miss you,” he whispers.