The rain had softened by the time evening settled over Turner Gate. What had been a cold, relentless drizzle since morning had dwindled to a faint mist, barely brushing the cobblestones. The gas lamps flickered to life one by one, casting long amber reflections in the puddles that lined the street bringing a serene beauty to the street.
Shadows stretched thin across the bookstore windows, and the scent of damp earth mixed with the faint perfume of old paper and dried flowers that clung to Adrian's coat as he stepped outside. He paused beneath the awning, watching as the last traces of daylight bled into the darkening sky, before he made his way to the bar.
Adrian found The Brass Lily at the corner of South Turner Street, just across from an old watchmaker's shop. The sign creaked on its chain with the wind, the painted brass lily dulled with age. Laughter and shout spilled from within, carrying the warmth of gins and pipe smoke into the damp street. He shivered, pulled his coat tighter, and pushed through the door.
Inside, the noise hit him at once. Laughter,
shouts, the clatter of mugs. Adrian rose on his toes, scanning past the low ceiling beams. The bar stretched out before him, its mahogany surface worn by decades of elbows, crowded with Dockmen, clerks, and a few students hunched over their drinks.
Behind the counter stood Mac or his code name "One-Eye Mac," as everyone called him. The black patch gave him a hawk-like stare, though no one seemed to know whether he'd lost the eye in a fight or been born that way. Adrian wasn't sure which story he believed.
A sharp whistle cut through the noise.
"What's with the long face,got divorced by your easel?" Thomas called from the back booth.
Adrian slid in. As Thomas greeted him. His sharp grey eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, making his whole face lighten up. It had a warm look about it that made one feel instantly comfortable, grinned.
Next to him lounged Matthew, his cousin, coat open, collar loose, the sort of handsomely careless smile that made trouble look like an invitation. His storm-grey eyes drifted toward a barmaid, who glanced back more than once.
"Hey !" Thomas smacked the back of Matthew's head.
"Ouch, what's that for?"
"Well a certain someone doesn't know his friend just arrived because he's too busy staring holes into a woman" said Lucas as he scoffed, already pissed.
Matthew only grinned "Not my fault being born with this devilish charm"
Thomas looked ready to smack him again
while Adrian rubbed a hand down his face, unsurprised. This was always how they were .As he prepared himself to intervene.
"Well, well, well," came a dry voice. Mac approached with three bottles of gin. "If it isn't the self-proclaimed brightest son and handsomest being alive. I bow to thee."
Thomas and Adrian burst into laughter hearing his statement. Matthew, however, didn't rise to the bait which puzzled Mac as he would always label him as a philistine.
Instead, he sighed with exaggerated gravity.
"I always knew my path wouldn't be easy. Great men are always doubted. Do you realize the burden I carry for all the women of Turner City? A statue should stand in my honor, yet I am mocked instead of celebrated"
He spread his arms wide, rising as though delivering a sermon.
He delivered it with such sincerity that Mac doubled over laughing, the sound carrying across the bar. Even Thomas, stunned at first, exhaled in defeat questioning if Matthew was really his cousin.
Adrian stared in amazement. Matthew hadn't cracked a smile; he delivered the whole absurd speech with absolute sincerity.
Mac wiped at his eye, still chuckling. "I haven't laughed that hard in weeks. Boy, if you ever get tired of chasing skirts, come see me, I'll get you on a vaudeville stage."
He waved over a barmaid. "For that performance, drinks are on me tonight."
Thomas groaned. Adrian only shook his head, still smiling despite himself.