Bitter cold ice crystals floated down to the darkened sidewalks. They met the pavement and immediately joined in the slick sheet of ice that stretched across the walkway. Pale streetlights cast weak light onto the dreary scene. A single figure was out to brave the bitter cold of night in the city of Amnesia. Dan Dastun once more found his feet leading him through the city in the depths of the night.
Hulking stone buildings towered over him. They were foreboding against the backdrop of the eternally overcast night sky. He wasn't used to walking around outside at night. He was used to the comfort and security of the domes. He felt extremely vulnerable walking under the open sky. Quickening his step, he continued onward both anticipating and dreading his destination.
Catching sight of the massive building that was his objective he slowed his steps once more. Why had he come here again? What was the purpose of his visits? He wasn't sure. He didn't really like the man. He was cool and cocky. His arrogance grated on the nerves and yet he was drawn for some inexplicable reason that was just beyond his grasp. Snorting, he steeled himself once more and walked up to the door of the looming building.
He knocked on the door and after a few minutes of shivering in the grasp of the night the old one-eyed butler answered the door. He was ushered into the house and left in a waiting room with the promise of "Master Roger" being informed of his presence. As usual, he took his time studying his surroundings. Despite the multiple brass lamps around the room and the warm fire in the fireplace, it seemed dark, as all things in this town did. It was as if the loss of memories was more than that. With the memories went the light, or enlightenment, to be more exact. But even in a dull drab city, Roger Smith's home was even drearier.
Dark curtains covered the large glass windows. Old paintings of people, long forgotten, lined the walls. Hourglasses perched on all available spaces giving a strange impression of timelessness. As if contradicting the hourglasses, a small mantle clock ticked away the seconds over the fireplace. The light that spilled onto the floor from the fire rippled and crackled. It formed a hypnotizing pattern that made him believe that the window of light held answers to the questions that were locked inside.
A soft clearing of a throat roused him from his deep musings. He turned to see the negotiator standing behind him in his dark dressing gown with both hands behind his back. Roger Smith, the city of Amnesia's finest negotiator. He despised him. And yet he was here of his own free will. Why? He had no answer. It was as if someone had reached into his head and stolen one of the precious memories that could provide him with the answer he sought. Instead of replying to the man's raised eyebrow, Dastun just studied him.
Roger Smith was a very handsome man. He had those dashing good looks that were so overly glorified in the romance novels people read to escape their tedious lives. Tall dark and handsome fit him to a 'T' with his piercing black eyes and his smooth ebony hair. But underneath the exterior, something else laid in wait. Something mysterious and alluring. A sharp intelligent man peered out from those flashing eyes. That was as it should be. How else could this man be the city's negotiator without being exceptionally resourceful and ingenious?
"Is this going to be a regular occurrence?" Roger asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room.
His smooth voice eased its way into the space between them, drowning out the distant ticking of the clock and crackling of the fire. Dastun cocked his head to one side and seemed to consider the question.
"I go where my feet take me, who am I to know where they lead?" he finally answered, avoiding a straight answer.
Roger raised an eyebrow but let the strange statement slide by. Instead of commenting, he walked forward towards the fireplace. Settling in front of it he placed two glasses and a bottle of bourbon beside him and then looked back at Dastun expectantly. Shrugging to himself, he walked over and sat beside Roger taking the offered glass of bourbon. They sat in silence and slowly sipped the alcohol while watching the crackling fire. Ever so slowly, Dastun inched closer to Roger as if he wasn't even aware of doing so. Soon their shoulders were touching. Roger lay his head on Dastun's shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Dastun turned his head and met deep enigmatic eyes. Then, as though drawn together by an invisible force, their lips met. Roger's lips were soft and eager. He almost instantly parted them to allow Dastun's tongue into his warm alcohol flavored mouth. Time was lost as the ticking of the clock faded to nothingness and all that existed was each other. Endless moments were spent exploring, tasting and learning. As they indulged in each other memories were created. Memories that for them, would be more important then anything the past could provide them. In a city with no past, the future is what matters.
No words were exchanged and none were needed. It was comfort plain and simple. Or at least that's what they could try and tell themselves. They separated, slowly . They couldn't bring themselves to look at the other, at least not yet. Dastun stood up. He placed a hand on Roger's shoulder and squeezed lightly before showing himself out of the building.
Pale streetlights reached out to touch the solitary figure that walked within their grasp. Crystalline snowflakes drifted past a large window where a dark shadow watched. In a sudden flurry of snowflakes Dastun disappeared around a corner. Roger Smith reached up and touched his lips. In a city with no memories, he knew that this was one he'd hold tightly to.