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10: On My Way Home The sun filtered down through the trees that edged the streets, outlining Fang's rather dirty hair. Well, it was now, anyway. To tell you the truth, my own personal hygiene was a bit iffy after three days in the woods. We approached a moderately sized building, hung with an elaborate sign that read, "The Slaughtered Lamb". "Charming name," I murmured, following Fang inside. The air was smoky and thick, full of voices and laughter, even music. Glasses clinked, husky men arm-wrestled in the back, and a group of burly cat women chugged their beer and laughed at us as we entered. Fang took my hand gently, leading me like a small child to a counter at the back. We both slid in to stools; I was still gazing about, recognizing the human traits that lay within the strange pub. A dark-eyed teenage boy approached us, laying both hands out on the counter. He looked at Fang in a strange way and said, "So, what'll it be, kids?" Fang glanced at me, then replied (white fangs bared in a pleasant smile), "I'll have some rum. What'll it be for you, Luv?" I was already so used to being called such things that I hardly noticed. I settled down and said, "Do you have any Pepsi?" Fang and the boy exchanged glances, then burst out laughing. I blushed deeply, pushing back some stray hair irritably. "What's Pepsi?" Fang asked, through a couple of outbursts. The boy drummed his slick fingers impatiently. "It's a human drink- never mind. I'll have a margarita." I said. The boy leaned closer, making straight eye contact with Fang. "You folks from around here?" "I'm from England," I informed him, glancing at Fang, who appeared to be a social butterfly in places like this. "And I grew up there, as a kid and all." The boy nodded, still focused on Fang. "So, what's your name?" He asked, eyes gleaming. "Cody...What's yours?" The boy straightened up, wiping his hands with a towel which had been draped over his shoulder. "The name's Damadarr," he replied, smiling with half a lip curled. Fang took immediate interest, leaning forward across the counter. "Hey, aren't you that Shadow Lord I heard about?" Damadarr nodded; I knew it was best not to ask. I had already been ridiculed twice that day; I wasn't planning on doing it again. Damadarr laughed, then turned to me. His black eyes were fiery, almost frightening. "How old are you?" I raised an eyebrow. "Twenty," I lied slightly. I didn't even know how old I was at this point; I could be centuries old and not yet know it. Damadarr sneered again, Fang joining in the clamor. Again, the crimson invaded my facial features. "You're a bit young to be round these parts, aren't you?" Damadarr, asked, sobering up. I didn't answer. "I'm 1022," Fang told him. Damadarr straightened up, turning back to the shelves of ancient bottles. "And I'm 1036," Damadarr informed us, preparing our drinks. I glanced behind me, glimpsing a group of cat beings, pointing and chuckling at us. I buried my head, only to have it lifted again by the feeling of glass being settled down in front of my elbows. I looked up at the drink; more colourful than anything else I had seen in a while, save for Fang's personality. I had never really had anything alcoholic until then; I had always been a firm believer in the embracing of one's brain cells. However, I was still unable to figure any of this out anyway, so I chugged the margarita. My head was a bit woozy, but aside from that, I was stable. I had expected more of a heavy feeling of drunkenness. I sat there for a moment, watching Fang slowly tip up his glass, savoring it as a vampire would with rich blood. When he had finished, I left my stool and pulled him aside gently, trying not to draw more attention than we already had. "Listen, Fang, I think we should go back to the Mortal realm," I said, longing for my own apartment. I'll admit that it wasn't much, but it was home. Fang grinned, wiping his mouth. "Why not?" I suppose that I should have expected him to go along with it, but I had somehow been contemplating how to plead my case to him. For emergencies, perhaps. In any case, Fang tipped off Damadarr with some silver coins, and we bade the "Slaughtered Lamb" farewell. As we headed out across the street (for a conveniently placed tent shop, which sold tents similar to the one that had brought me here), Fang seemed rather happy; he was much less quiet than he had been previously. The most logical explanation would have been that the alcohol in his blood had affected him, but he had only had one shot of rum. I simply shrugged and strode in to the quaint little shop with him. Whilst inside, we browsed carefully, until we found a moderately priced realm-traveling tent. It was dependable-looking, and built sturdily, so Fang pulled out some gold coins and purchased it. The man behind the counter was old and goaty- I'm sure that if he had stepped round from the counter, he would have been a faun or something- and he swerved his head curiously at us. We swiftly exited the shop, a broken down tent compactly encased in plastic- I was surprised that they had plastic in the Immortal realm- and I slung it over my shoulder. Fang insisted on carrying it himself, but I was sick of being behind him all the time, and never doing things for myself. Although it was rather nice for me, I was positive that Fang was only being polite. The streets grew blustery as we plodded down, leaving Brian behind, in spite of Fang's promise to go and see him later. Perhaps he had meant years, or something. The wind as fresh and clean, the beauty of a place unlike Earth surrounding us. I smiled toward Fang, who grabbed hold of one side of the tent, eyes glinting as he gazed toward me. His eyes were deep and green, reminding me of an ancient life, one that I couldn't remember. I smiled back, not wanting to ever part with him. Our friendship was something that I never would have guessed of, but it was too strong now to be broken; not now, when after a life of being solitary, I had found someone like Fang. I turned my eyes to the horizon, upon which the sun was brimming, golden and rusty, its rays sinking in to the hillsides, bleeding crimson light on to the meadows and forests below. "We'd better find a place to put this thing before the sun sets completely," Fang said, breaking the silence. We continued out of town, turning in to a patch of light woods, covered with crisp leaves. Surely enough, I could make out a clearing, blanketed in patches of golden light, and drifting particles floated to the wooded floor. We set up camp, glancing about the outskirts of Sharn for one last time. Fang lifted up the tent flap, bowing dramatically. I laughed, clambering in. He followed, his tall figure a bit crowded, so I made as much room for him as possible. Fang turned and closed the tent flap, turning and grinning. "Well, guess it's time for you to be the tour guide, Chiquita." I nodded, sitting down cross-legged. "Well, I'll do my best...." I began to murmur a teleportation spell, which came to me as effortlessly as had the first spell I had learned. The atmosphere grew dark; I can't say, even to this day, exactly how it worked, but we somehow lifted off from the ground, the whiff of air pocketing and then supporting us as we moved through an unseen space; perhaps a sky, ever progressing towards and through a new dimension.
