The Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Anastasia and Rose got up off the couch and made their way to the door, "Alright, gotta go see ya!" They said, leaving the room.

"So you leave me with that?" Sly remarked indignantly. "Trying on dresses, pfft." He muttered beneath his breath.

"I heard that!" Rose cried from just beyond the door.

Sly cringed, wrestling hismelf off the couch and back on to his crutches. He looked around the pub, it was a mess. The floor  was still ripped to peices, music flowing from the passage beyond the gaping hole. Their were people manipulating the world around them right and left, the walls oozed like running paint on one side and were aflame on the other. "Jeez, these people really know how to wreck a place." He looked over to the bar, which suddenly sported every single bartender that had tended during the last sixty or so chapters, from the first western bearded man, to the german lass, to Sly's duplicate, and so on. He rolled his eyes. "I need a break." he said, turning and shuffling toward the door, past Nick, who was now thoughtfully being used as a coat-rack. "Thanks." He said to Nick as he removed his jacket from Nicks statuesque frame.

"Urgh. Arrgh Ugh!" Nick replied.

Sly shrugged, "Hey don't get mad at me, I tried to revive you multiple times, somehow the zombie thing just stuck, and you haven't really been around to defend yourself."

"Ugh, Ah."

"No, I'll be back, I'm just going down the street." He said, slipping on a worn fedora as he traded the crutches for an ebony cane; a silver gargoyle fitted at its head. He walked out the doors, still struggling with a black long jacket. "See you soon." he said, waving at Nick from beyond the door.


The night was cold and damp as he pulled a pipe from his coat pocket. He lit the tobacco with a carefully guarded flame from a long matchstick. Although the air was cool, he welcomed its freshness as he made his way up the slick street, it's surface reflecting every streetlamp. It was a quiet night, only a few lonely vehicles splashed by periodically, tired drivers on their way home. He looked up to the sky and the clouds moved with unnatural speed in the dim moonlight. The sound of thunder rushed past. "Eerie." He thought to himself as he continued.

Soon he came up to a door on his left. It was made of solid Oak, treated with a rich red varnish. The designs carved into it pulled at his interest; the crest of a lion and dragon just below a small pane of green stained glass. He gravitated toward the doors long steel handle. His hand clasped the rough black metal and he thumbed the latch. As he pushed the heavy door, a slight plume of smoke rose up from within. "I like this place already" he said, shuffling in on his cane.

The pub was dimly lit and quiet, it smelled like a humidor, rich flavors of tobacco entertained his nostrils. He took a few steps forward before removing his hat and jacket, placing them on a coat rack near the door. His pipe balanced in his mouth, the bit clenched between his front teeth as he hung the long jacket. He straightened out his vest and pushed a holstered Colt.45 further against his rib cage as he took up the cane and made his way toward the bar. "What kind of whiskey do you have." He asked, the words slightly muffled as they bent around the obstacle in his mouth.

The young woman eyed him up as she stood before a shadowed figure who sat at the bar. "All sorts, do you like a particular brand?" she asked.

Sly pulled up beside the silhouette, resting his cane against the bar. "Actually, I'll have a scotch, straight, no ice. Glenfiddich if you've got it."

"We do." she said matter-of-factly, pulling a bottle from behind her and pouring it into a glass.

He pulled out another long matchstick and peered into the bowl of his pipe, eyeing a corner of tobacco that hadn't lit when he was outside. He struck it to life and drove the flaming end into the bowl. the sizzling of burning leaves was heard as he drew deeply, smoke blowing from his nostrils as he tugged a second time. The embers lit up in the pipe and were luminescent enough to tinge Sly's face a flickering red for only a brief moment. "Better." he said to himself, shaking the match until the flame died and handing it to the barmaid who quickly disposed of it. "So? Busy night?" he asked, sarcastically.

"It's always like this here." She replied, pulling another glass from the sink. "We don't get a lot of trouble."

He felt the pistol stir at his side. "I'm not trouble." he said, sensing that perhaps she was referring to him. "So, all regulars then?"

"All except you two." She replied, giving them both an eye.

"Ah, so what's your name?" Sly asked, extending his hand to the man at his side.

"C." He said lowly, the only words having come from him yet.

"Sea? Like as in the ocean?" Sly asked, the mans handshake was firm.

"No, like the letter." He said, returning to a shot glass that looked like it held vodka, or maybe water.

"I see." Sly said, turning to the bar.

"No, I am."

Sly shot an awkward glance at him. "What?"

The End

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