Post by Ark on Nov 10, 2008 2:13:38 GMT -5
Problems with Peppermint
The jingle of the bell was hardly enough to drown out the explosions that resounded in the distance, and yet the convenience store was a welcome reprieve from the skeptical glances and tired faces of a nation at war. The port was normally swelteringly hot this time of year, but there was enough ash floating about to remove that concern.
A rather clean and prudish looking man roughly pushed the door open. The shopkeeper didn’t even move his gaze from whatever piece of assuredly fine literature he was reading, even as the stranger approached the counter, his vulpine ears held back in agitation as his tail flicked about restlessly. He briefly paused, his blonde haired head tilting downwards as he brushed some dust from his black linen pants. His brown-furred ears perked up as he finally addressed the clerk “Good evening sir, I’m Ark. I’ve had a really rough day, so I was wondering-“
“I’m covering for a friend. I don’t know where anything is.” The shopkeeper replied, cutting in rudely. His unchanging expression only served to grate on the figure’s nerves. Ark simply remained calm, not one to drop his pose.
“My apologies then,” Ark replied with polite curtness as he moved off through the first of a small number of isles.
This particular convenience store was a shabby mirror of its contemporary western counterpart. The walls were, made of wood that a refugee would choose to build a shanty with, and yet the store was one of the last freestanding structures in the entirety of Port Hennsha.
Ark crouched and began to scan over the lower shelves, hoping to find what he wanted quickly and without much trouble. His day had proceeded so poorly that the earth spirit merely wished to curl up in a dark room with a cup of his favorite peppermint tea, a very potent herbal tea that served as his only stress reliever. Yet, disappointment settled in abruptly as he noted that this isle was devoid of anything but the bare essentials. He ground his teeth in mild anger; today had been anything but ordinary.
His primary grievance for the day was related to his current role as a field medic of sorts. He had the capacity to take life- though it weighed too heavily on his conscience- and so he followed the decidedly more peaceful route; today loomed over that notion with grim satisfaction. He’d lost more patients in one day than he had in the entirety of his time as a formal medic, a gut wrenching five, all of which were probably lying about their age to get in on the glory of war in the first place.
One totally botched raid had left five kids on slabs headed for the morgue. He’d never had to fill out the forms for corpse release before, and it was times like these that he hated his own immortality with every fiber of his being. As he browsed the second isle with vague disinterest, his mind continued to dwell on the day’s events.
He considered that he could very well have failed due to lack of preparation, after all, his night watch had been extended eight hours into his normal shift in the medical unit, leaving him unnecessarily agitated by the time he actually relieved his previous supervisor, and thus committing him to a room of his own to recover from extreme exhaustion. He would have preferred to have a definite cause for whatever had effectively gone wrong, and he was comfortable with blaming the situation on himself for the most part. However, he was incapable of letting it go. Doubt and guilt had infiltrated every aspect of his day.
Ark’s revelry was cut short as he moved a few boxes, finding only peppermint extract instead of his precious tea. He sighed, ran his hands through his hair, past his vulpine ears. This was a little much for him all in one day, and he continued his search while lamenting the events that had befallen him.
His mind immediately drifted back to the five dead boys that had brought such agitation upon him. They couldn’t have been in very many raids into their respective careers, judging by their obvious youth. He still hadn’t tracked down which Denmother- one of nine supervising elders in the resistance, was in charge of their unit- but whoever it was had clearly misinterpreted something at some point, perhaps the guard schedule, perhaps the alarm response time estimates, or something equally important. Regardless, he was sure he’d have a hell of a time getting someone to admit responsibility for five dead teenagers.
He really couldn’t get past that fact; five dead in one raid, and all while he was the chief attendant on call. It was unacceptable under any circumstance. He’d have to meticulously review his procedure later to find his point of error. He refused to accept any explanation besides his own error at this point.
About halfway down the aisle Ark realized that he was not going to find what he needed unless he moved on; in his experience, tea was not packaged with toilet paper.
His gaze scanned the store, and eyed the clerk as he remained rather dedicated to the magazine. It was depressing that the majority of people in Port Hennsha had attitudes very similar to his after such extended warfare. He liked to call the port home, if he had the opportunity, but the fates were aligned against him.
The third isle brought with it the hope of potential salvation; after a small section of the western menace called coffee, he happened upon his proverbial ‘promised land’ for the evening; four glorious shelves of various herbal teas, their pungent but refreshing odors caught his attention immediately, prompting him to dart over to their section, browsing labels with relative relief.
But, in accordance with Murphy’s Law, not a single one of the one hundred odd boxes was properly organized, and by the time he found the area where his beloved peppermint tea should have resided, he was meant with the unsatisfactory odor of chamomile.
He had, after many, many years of existence, still not determined what drove mortals to consume the vile flower in such astounding amounts when they could instead partake in his beloved peppermint.
He hurriedly tossed boxes aside, hoping to find the only thing that could calm him down in any capacity. But after another five minutes of frantic searching; he only came up with a piece of paper placed far in the rear of the shelf. It read ‘Please see clerk for anything not on the shelves.’
Fantastic.
As Ark begrudgingly approached the clerk’s station, his tail flicked about in agitation. He preferred to avoid interaction with anyone, especially individuals with sour dispositions, but this was for his favorite kind of tea. He didn’t mind leaving his comfort zone for some tea.
Instead of opting for open conversation with the gruff man, he simply slapped the sheet of paper on the counter with and uttered “Peppermint, please.”
The clerk glanced at the paper before sighing and closing his magazine in an agitated manner. “It’ll be five pieces,” he barked, leaning down under the counter for a moment before emerging with a small nondescript sack.
Ark was miffed at the obvious price gouging, but quickly slid the gold tender across the counter and retrieved the small bag, eagerly heading towards the door while waving a thank you to the clerk, who responding by opening his magazine and sighing.
Out in the smoky streets, Ark had walked about twenty paces before finally letting out a sigh of relief. At least he’d have his evening tea before his watch resumed. With a smirk, he eagerly opened the bag and took a whiff.
His good mood immediately vanished as he withdrew slowly from the bag, baring his teeth n a bit of a snarl before dropping the bag unceremoniously as a nearby shell of a building crumbled to the ground.
The odor of chamomile had never been so defeating as it was just then.
The jingle of the bell was hardly enough to drown out the explosions that resounded in the distance, and yet the convenience store was a welcome reprieve from the skeptical glances and tired faces of a nation at war. The port was normally swelteringly hot this time of year, but there was enough ash floating about to remove that concern.
A rather clean and prudish looking man roughly pushed the door open. The shopkeeper didn’t even move his gaze from whatever piece of assuredly fine literature he was reading, even as the stranger approached the counter, his vulpine ears held back in agitation as his tail flicked about restlessly. He briefly paused, his blonde haired head tilting downwards as he brushed some dust from his black linen pants. His brown-furred ears perked up as he finally addressed the clerk “Good evening sir, I’m Ark. I’ve had a really rough day, so I was wondering-“
“I’m covering for a friend. I don’t know where anything is.” The shopkeeper replied, cutting in rudely. His unchanging expression only served to grate on the figure’s nerves. Ark simply remained calm, not one to drop his pose.
“My apologies then,” Ark replied with polite curtness as he moved off through the first of a small number of isles.
This particular convenience store was a shabby mirror of its contemporary western counterpart. The walls were, made of wood that a refugee would choose to build a shanty with, and yet the store was one of the last freestanding structures in the entirety of Port Hennsha.
Ark crouched and began to scan over the lower shelves, hoping to find what he wanted quickly and without much trouble. His day had proceeded so poorly that the earth spirit merely wished to curl up in a dark room with a cup of his favorite peppermint tea, a very potent herbal tea that served as his only stress reliever. Yet, disappointment settled in abruptly as he noted that this isle was devoid of anything but the bare essentials. He ground his teeth in mild anger; today had been anything but ordinary.
His primary grievance for the day was related to his current role as a field medic of sorts. He had the capacity to take life- though it weighed too heavily on his conscience- and so he followed the decidedly more peaceful route; today loomed over that notion with grim satisfaction. He’d lost more patients in one day than he had in the entirety of his time as a formal medic, a gut wrenching five, all of which were probably lying about their age to get in on the glory of war in the first place.
One totally botched raid had left five kids on slabs headed for the morgue. He’d never had to fill out the forms for corpse release before, and it was times like these that he hated his own immortality with every fiber of his being. As he browsed the second isle with vague disinterest, his mind continued to dwell on the day’s events.
He considered that he could very well have failed due to lack of preparation, after all, his night watch had been extended eight hours into his normal shift in the medical unit, leaving him unnecessarily agitated by the time he actually relieved his previous supervisor, and thus committing him to a room of his own to recover from extreme exhaustion. He would have preferred to have a definite cause for whatever had effectively gone wrong, and he was comfortable with blaming the situation on himself for the most part. However, he was incapable of letting it go. Doubt and guilt had infiltrated every aspect of his day.
Ark’s revelry was cut short as he moved a few boxes, finding only peppermint extract instead of his precious tea. He sighed, ran his hands through his hair, past his vulpine ears. This was a little much for him all in one day, and he continued his search while lamenting the events that had befallen him.
His mind immediately drifted back to the five dead boys that had brought such agitation upon him. They couldn’t have been in very many raids into their respective careers, judging by their obvious youth. He still hadn’t tracked down which Denmother- one of nine supervising elders in the resistance, was in charge of their unit- but whoever it was had clearly misinterpreted something at some point, perhaps the guard schedule, perhaps the alarm response time estimates, or something equally important. Regardless, he was sure he’d have a hell of a time getting someone to admit responsibility for five dead teenagers.
He really couldn’t get past that fact; five dead in one raid, and all while he was the chief attendant on call. It was unacceptable under any circumstance. He’d have to meticulously review his procedure later to find his point of error. He refused to accept any explanation besides his own error at this point.
About halfway down the aisle Ark realized that he was not going to find what he needed unless he moved on; in his experience, tea was not packaged with toilet paper.
His gaze scanned the store, and eyed the clerk as he remained rather dedicated to the magazine. It was depressing that the majority of people in Port Hennsha had attitudes very similar to his after such extended warfare. He liked to call the port home, if he had the opportunity, but the fates were aligned against him.
The third isle brought with it the hope of potential salvation; after a small section of the western menace called coffee, he happened upon his proverbial ‘promised land’ for the evening; four glorious shelves of various herbal teas, their pungent but refreshing odors caught his attention immediately, prompting him to dart over to their section, browsing labels with relative relief.
But, in accordance with Murphy’s Law, not a single one of the one hundred odd boxes was properly organized, and by the time he found the area where his beloved peppermint tea should have resided, he was meant with the unsatisfactory odor of chamomile.
He had, after many, many years of existence, still not determined what drove mortals to consume the vile flower in such astounding amounts when they could instead partake in his beloved peppermint.
He hurriedly tossed boxes aside, hoping to find the only thing that could calm him down in any capacity. But after another five minutes of frantic searching; he only came up with a piece of paper placed far in the rear of the shelf. It read ‘Please see clerk for anything not on the shelves.’
Fantastic.
As Ark begrudgingly approached the clerk’s station, his tail flicked about in agitation. He preferred to avoid interaction with anyone, especially individuals with sour dispositions, but this was for his favorite kind of tea. He didn’t mind leaving his comfort zone for some tea.
Instead of opting for open conversation with the gruff man, he simply slapped the sheet of paper on the counter with and uttered “Peppermint, please.”
The clerk glanced at the paper before sighing and closing his magazine in an agitated manner. “It’ll be five pieces,” he barked, leaning down under the counter for a moment before emerging with a small nondescript sack.
Ark was miffed at the obvious price gouging, but quickly slid the gold tender across the counter and retrieved the small bag, eagerly heading towards the door while waving a thank you to the clerk, who responding by opening his magazine and sighing.
Out in the smoky streets, Ark had walked about twenty paces before finally letting out a sigh of relief. At least he’d have his evening tea before his watch resumed. With a smirk, he eagerly opened the bag and took a whiff.
His good mood immediately vanished as he withdrew slowly from the bag, baring his teeth n a bit of a snarl before dropping the bag unceremoniously as a nearby shell of a building crumbled to the ground.
The odor of chamomile had never been so defeating as it was just then.
