[Day 1]

Mar. 19th, 2008 03:07 pm
tezcatl_ipoca: (tez face)
It's coming on to evening, and the magician who calls himself Tez is sitting in the shadows in the backlot of the carny, a golden coin flick-flick-flicking between his fingers. Since it's his downtime he's left the prosthetic foot he wears for the show in the truck, and the low late sun catches on his outstretched feet, glinting on one silver-buckled boot and one blackened metal stump.

Take a look at Tez, now. You can't see much of him in the shadows: a worn old canvas jacket, skin red-brown as adobe mud (and is that his own colour, or just the burn of too many long days in the sun?), thick black hair caught back at the nape of his neck. Not a pretty man, with that jut of nose like the edge of an axe-blade, but intriguing; black eyes glint at you out of the dimness.

The coin dancing between his fingers turns and turns again, twisting between sun and shadow. If it stopped moving for a moment you'd see that it was old, older than old, a gold doubloon worn so thin that it must have come over with the conquistadors so very long ago. But it never stops moving, flick-flick-flicking between quick fingers, catching the last of the fading light.


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September 2010

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