![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
In 372 BCE the bar had been a patch of farmland with a wiry, ill tempered goat who bleated at Luka loud enough to make his ears bleed. The farm woman didn’t seem to like the animal any more than he did, but she didn’t like people much either. She wouldn’t spare any of her grapes and the noise of the goat pained Luka too much to do anything about the disagreeable woman. He left them, telling the farm woman her grapes would rot on the vine and her goat would be her only husband.
She didn’t seem to hear him, the animal had already shrieked her nearly deaf.
Now, in the age of electric light, the interneted series of tubes and the pudding cup, there was a bar and several miles of city where the little farm had been. Luka noted, with grief, that there was a preserved carving of a heavy hung vine over the door and that the man behind the bar had the old farmer’s bony nose.
Luka ordered a red and grappa to chase it, and comforted himself that he had outlived the old woman not only in years but in experience. Outside in the ancient cobble street there was a night fair, with elaborate fairytale costumes, hot grease dripping fried food, thick smoke and loud LED lights in all colors. The groaning arms of swinging metal carnival rides lurched back and forth in the plaza proper, and in the bar stragglers and people tired of overpriced IPAs looked for something to drink.
Luka bolted his grappa down, spun the little glass back across the bar and took his red with him deeper into the building. Being out of the light and noise of the fair was a much needed reprieve. He had thought to hunt tonight, and still hoped to, but the overstimulation of the fair was almost as grating as the ancient goat’s bleating. If he could have his way he would have liked the fair without its thumping electric music, a little less smoke and more dancing.
He moved into a dark corner where he could watch the rest of the bar for anyone drinking alone.
The old ways were reflected in the modern age, he thought, but he was a man for whom mirrors were as nothing. At least the wine was still good.
She didn’t seem to hear him, the animal had already shrieked her nearly deaf.
Now, in the age of electric light, the interneted series of tubes and the pudding cup, there was a bar and several miles of city where the little farm had been. Luka noted, with grief, that there was a preserved carving of a heavy hung vine over the door and that the man behind the bar had the old farmer’s bony nose.
Luka ordered a red and grappa to chase it, and comforted himself that he had outlived the old woman not only in years but in experience. Outside in the ancient cobble street there was a night fair, with elaborate fairytale costumes, hot grease dripping fried food, thick smoke and loud LED lights in all colors. The groaning arms of swinging metal carnival rides lurched back and forth in the plaza proper, and in the bar stragglers and people tired of overpriced IPAs looked for something to drink.
Luka bolted his grappa down, spun the little glass back across the bar and took his red with him deeper into the building. Being out of the light and noise of the fair was a much needed reprieve. He had thought to hunt tonight, and still hoped to, but the overstimulation of the fair was almost as grating as the ancient goat’s bleating. If he could have his way he would have liked the fair without its thumping electric music, a little less smoke and more dancing.
He moved into a dark corner where he could watch the rest of the bar for anyone drinking alone.
The old ways were reflected in the modern age, he thought, but he was a man for whom mirrors were as nothing. At least the wine was still good.
