In the blinding light of the September afternoon, the river was like a semi-molten mirror. Faust could feel its coolness even before he flicked it with his hand, sending droplets scattering over the surface like rain. Its depth was deceptive, mostly because it was as clear as a mountain spring. Every rounded stone on the bottom, every fish, was rendered in perfect clarity. He didn't have time to wade in today, yet he already stripped off his sandals. The grass on the bank was sun-warmed beneath his feet and even after just one step he was knee deep, the water flowing around his limbs, drinking away the body heat. Faust wanted to stand here all day but he already pushed for time and this was no weather for running or even walking fast. The flowers lie on the table, their once beautiful petals curling at the edges from the summer heat, already their stalks limp and when he pick them up their heads fell with gravity towards the table. He inwardly cursed; he should have put them in the vase the minute he got home. Soon they'd stand in cool water and all he could do is go about his work and hope they would recover. They're his favorites too, miniature sunflowers. He couldn't afford them every week either, sometimes only monthly, but the Coyote refuse to buy the silk or plastic ones. He would rather have their transitory beauty than the imitations sold in the supermarket. Heat poured into their veins as if pumped in through a hypodermic needle. It swirled in their brains inducing them into sleepy stupidity and no matter how much came in, none of it seemed to escape. The air was like breathing liquid fire and no-one dared walk barefoot outside for fear of blistering. No matter how much one drank the thirst gnawed at one until sun down, when the welcome scarlet and tangerine lit up the horizon and ushered in the sweet relief of the night air. Drinking cold water in this heat felt like the greatest luxury on earth. The ice fell against the glass, his fingers sliding on the condensation before his fingers regained their grip. The Coyote could feel the chill run down his esophagus and his head made an involuntary shake. A numbness crept into his brain the way it did when one was a kid drinking too much slurpee too fast. It's the reverse of the winter time, when all the Coyote wanted was to feel the heat of good coffee come through a thick clay mug. When the glass was drained, he would take the ice between his molars and bite hard, feeling it melt into cold pools on his palate.

Ever since he could remember going for ice cream was an adventure. Even after the Coyote and his family had decided where to get it and how to get there, walking into the black and white tile floored parlor gave him goosebumps probably from the ever-present cold but also from the excitement of the idea of peanut Oreo swirl or double mint chocolate ice cream. But even when the idea that ice cream could enter the picture, gave us a joy that most people couldn't understand. After only a few minutes in the sun the ice cream had begun to melt, he would have watched it until there was a golf ball sized lump in the middle and then stirred rapidly with her spoon. Perfect. He never liked to eat it when it was so cold, the flavor just didn't come through right. He grinned down at the ceramic bowl of dessert, and picked up his favorite long handled spoon. He wondered if he'd still be doing this in fifty years. Probably; why change perfection? The sigh that came was a signal, not of his resolve leaving but of the level his tension had reached. He was more like an old fashioned kettle - still full even when some steam forced its way out. The sigh fluttered on the winds like a butterfly decorated with a perfidy amount of colors. A sigh. Desire and disgust. Streamed through the air. A sigh. Disappointment and gladness. Decorated the air leaving a path. A sigh. Of relief and worry. Leaping through the air like a dear. A sigh. Of happiness and sadness. Dancing through the air. A sigh. Of excitement and fear. Strolling through the air like a roller coaster. A sigh meant it all. His breath seemed to stutter in his lungs before he let it go, feeling the tension drain from his body. His breathing returned to normal and he felt as if he could face the problem. He drank like a child who hadn't seen water for a week. But this was no child and it certainly wasn't water he was drinking. With each gulp his Adam's apple bobbed violently and the liquor drizzled from both sides of his thin weathered lips, through his salt and pepper beard and onto the linoleum. Drinks like that are made to be sipped from small glasses.

The job was to tag some buildings with the Martello crest. The Coyote was a lot of things, but an artist wasn't one of them. Nevertheless, he needed the money and he needed it quick. So the Coyote went about and tagged some buildings: a bar, a casino, and a safehouse. They were all tagged using some permanent paint, henceforth it would take a lot of care in order to scrub it off. With all that done, he went back to Remy Martello and accepted his jewels. Time to head off for Hargeon Town.



*Note: Grimoire Heart members have a skill that gives them 10% off on quests.