The Empty Halls of Olympus
Title: The Hungry Glare of Vultures
Word Count: 842
Crossposted: HERE at runaway-tales
"Hey, Mister?"
Reese blinked, tearing his eyes from the pair of vultures that sat on the top of the three-storey brick office building across the street, and looked down at the boy standing next to him. He couldn't have been more than six years old, but a quick glance around the coffee shop didn't turn up anybody who looked like a parent.
"Mister?" the boy repeated, with the bratty tone of annoyance that only children and slighted women can muster. "Are you blind?"
"Am I what?" Reese asked, his eyes narrowing, and the boy simply pointed to the enormous black dog that lounged at Reese's feet, snoring lightly.
"Me and my mom were at the mall yesterday and there was a man with a dog with a handle on it, and my mom said that the dog had to see for the man because he was blind, so I was wondering -"
"No, I'm not blind," Reese told him, the interruption giving the child a chance to take a much-needed breath.
"Oh. Can I pet him?"
"Sure," Reese said absently, and slid one foot off the rung of his stool to prod the dog in the head with his boot. "Achilles," he said, "say hi to the kid." He returned his gaze to the window, finding at least two dozen vultures where there'd only been two before, the horde of them staring eagerly back at him from the rooftop. Beneath him, Achilles let out a loud noise that was half-groan, half-yawn, and lumbered to his feet, long legs unfolding until he towered over the boy. They stood there, staring at each other, the dog looking increasingly bored.
"Wow..." he breathed, and reached up to gingerly stroke the side of Achilles' head. The hound seemed happy for the attention - Reese, on the other hand, felt a pit of dread form in his stomach, suddenly aware of every word of quiet conversation in the small cafe, the too-loud tick of the clock mounted on the wall above him, the hiss of the machines as they brewed coffee. It was so normal, and at the same time, it didn't feel right at all.
"Danny, what did I tell you about touching strange dogs?" a woman asked, her distraught reflection appearing in the glass over Reese's shoulder before she grabbed the boy by the wrist. "Imagine if he bit -"
"If he was going to bite anybody," Reese interrupted quietly, "I wouldn't bring him into a coffee shop."
"Excuse me?" she asked.
"You heard me." He met her eyes in the window, refusing to turn around and look at her. "You think I would just let your kid touch an animal that could tear his arm off?" There were so many vultures now, they were shoving for space along the top of the building and spreading to the neighboring lots, perching on awnings and crowding narrow ledges, all of them staring directly at him.
"I wasn't -" the woman started, but was cut off as Reese slid off his stool and pushed past her, heading for the main counter at the back of the shop, Achilles weaving around tables and chairs beside him. Though he tried his best not to look as distressed as he felt, Reese could feel the eyes of the few patrons boring into him, save for a man in a navy blue suit that sat near the washrooms with a tablet held up to his face. That one, he realized. He'd been sitting there all along.
"Hey, Jonesy!" Reese called, drawing the attention of the bald man at the panini press. "Raincheck on lunch, alright?" The man turned to look over his shoulder, staring first at Reese, then out the window.
"What you see, kid?" he asked quietly.
"Birds," Reese told him, and tossed a handful of bills on the counter. "I'll see you later, alright?" He turned and jogged out of the shop before Jones could say goodbye, muttering a curse under his breath as he felt, rather than saw, the man in the blue suit slip the tablet into the bag beside him and rise out of his chair. When he hit the sidewalk he turned right, heading parallel to the waterfront, and considered his options as he scanned the rooftops. The vultures were moving with him, swooping from rooftop to rooftop, swinging low over sidewalks threaded with tourists and lunch-break businessmen who were blissfully unaware of the beasts. Achilles stayed tight to his heels, needing no leash to guide him, occasionally turning his ice-blue eyes upward to watch Reese with an almost troubled expression.
A woman left a small boutique ahead of him, her hands full of shopping bags. When she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked up at Reese, her expression was blank, hollow. He slowed, slightly, then abruptly veered left, into the street, moving at a quick walk until he heard the first snap of a gunshot, felt the first bullet zing inches from his nose.
Then he was running.
Word Count: 842
Crossposted: HERE at runaway-tales
"Hey, Mister?"
Reese blinked, tearing his eyes from the pair of vultures that sat on the top of the three-storey brick office building across the street, and looked down at the boy standing next to him. He couldn't have been more than six years old, but a quick glance around the coffee shop didn't turn up anybody who looked like a parent.
"Mister?" the boy repeated, with the bratty tone of annoyance that only children and slighted women can muster. "Are you blind?"
"Am I what?" Reese asked, his eyes narrowing, and the boy simply pointed to the enormous black dog that lounged at Reese's feet, snoring lightly.
"Me and my mom were at the mall yesterday and there was a man with a dog with a handle on it, and my mom said that the dog had to see for the man because he was blind, so I was wondering -"
"No, I'm not blind," Reese told him, the interruption giving the child a chance to take a much-needed breath.
"Oh. Can I pet him?"
"Sure," Reese said absently, and slid one foot off the rung of his stool to prod the dog in the head with his boot. "Achilles," he said, "say hi to the kid." He returned his gaze to the window, finding at least two dozen vultures where there'd only been two before, the horde of them staring eagerly back at him from the rooftop. Beneath him, Achilles let out a loud noise that was half-groan, half-yawn, and lumbered to his feet, long legs unfolding until he towered over the boy. They stood there, staring at each other, the dog looking increasingly bored.
"Wow..." he breathed, and reached up to gingerly stroke the side of Achilles' head. The hound seemed happy for the attention - Reese, on the other hand, felt a pit of dread form in his stomach, suddenly aware of every word of quiet conversation in the small cafe, the too-loud tick of the clock mounted on the wall above him, the hiss of the machines as they brewed coffee. It was so normal, and at the same time, it didn't feel right at all.
"Danny, what did I tell you about touching strange dogs?" a woman asked, her distraught reflection appearing in the glass over Reese's shoulder before she grabbed the boy by the wrist. "Imagine if he bit -"
"If he was going to bite anybody," Reese interrupted quietly, "I wouldn't bring him into a coffee shop."
"Excuse me?" she asked.
"You heard me." He met her eyes in the window, refusing to turn around and look at her. "You think I would just let your kid touch an animal that could tear his arm off?" There were so many vultures now, they were shoving for space along the top of the building and spreading to the neighboring lots, perching on awnings and crowding narrow ledges, all of them staring directly at him.
"I wasn't -" the woman started, but was cut off as Reese slid off his stool and pushed past her, heading for the main counter at the back of the shop, Achilles weaving around tables and chairs beside him. Though he tried his best not to look as distressed as he felt, Reese could feel the eyes of the few patrons boring into him, save for a man in a navy blue suit that sat near the washrooms with a tablet held up to his face. That one, he realized. He'd been sitting there all along.
"Hey, Jonesy!" Reese called, drawing the attention of the bald man at the panini press. "Raincheck on lunch, alright?" The man turned to look over his shoulder, staring first at Reese, then out the window.
"What you see, kid?" he asked quietly.
"Birds," Reese told him, and tossed a handful of bills on the counter. "I'll see you later, alright?" He turned and jogged out of the shop before Jones could say goodbye, muttering a curse under his breath as he felt, rather than saw, the man in the blue suit slip the tablet into the bag beside him and rise out of his chair. When he hit the sidewalk he turned right, heading parallel to the waterfront, and considered his options as he scanned the rooftops. The vultures were moving with him, swooping from rooftop to rooftop, swinging low over sidewalks threaded with tourists and lunch-break businessmen who were blissfully unaware of the beasts. Achilles stayed tight to his heels, needing no leash to guide him, occasionally turning his ice-blue eyes upward to watch Reese with an almost troubled expression.
A woman left a small boutique ahead of him, her hands full of shopping bags. When she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked up at Reese, her expression was blank, hollow. He slowed, slightly, then abruptly veered left, into the street, moving at a quick walk until he heard the first snap of a gunshot, felt the first bullet zing inches from his nose.
Then he was running.