Aftermath

[lawrencegillies.livejournal.com]

 

Andrew Ares sat on a pile of rubble. Smoke still rose from the charred beams behind him, and a small flame still clung to life in the far corner of what had once been his shop.

He had examined the wreckage, and had been slightly mollified to find that his basement storeroom still seemed to be intact, meaning that the most treasured of his possessions that he had stored here remained intact. The Chantry should be intact, so those items should be safe, but he had not yet been able to check his lockup out in Richmond. Frankly, he didn’t like its chances.

He needed to talk to a number of people. He needed to try and work out a way to stop his city dying. The blow that it had received had been severe, but he had to see if he could prevent it from being mortal.

He looked across the street at the rubble of the pub, its sign charred and half covered by rubble. He had liked that pub. Being Soho and near the theatres you got some minor celebrities in there along with the tourists and smut seekers. The pub. That was an idea. Biers should have made it through this. He should certainly be able to pick up some news there.

A squad of Riot Police were moving up the street trying to keep the looting to a minimum now that the worse of the violence had died down.

“Oi, sunshine! You not got somewhere to be?”

“Fuck off,” Andrew said as the squad leader approached him. He saw the policeman’s hand twitch to readiness on his weapon as Andrew reached into his jacket pocket. “I’m Job.” he continued as he flashed his ID at the man.

“Sorry mate.” said the cop, waving his men on.

Andrew watched them go, and then fished one of the two remaining cigarettes from the crumpled and battered cigarette pack that had been his ID. He hadn’t smoked a cigarette since he’d left boarding school, and these cigarettes were somewhat special, but he felt that the occasion deserved it. He screwed the cigarette into his lips and fumbled at his pockets briefly. He fished out a little tea light and clicked his fingers. The small candle burst into life, and he lit his cigarette.

He stared at the tiny flame intently for a moment. He blew the candle out as a thought struck him.

"Right you fuckers." He said to no one in particular. "Vorsprung Durch Teknik it may just have to be."