Experience Tumblr Like Never Before
This was really fun to write, and was also my first time doing something like this, so for my first ever thing like this, I'm pretty happy with it. I hope my person likes this a lot :)
@writeblrcafe hosted the event
This is my gift for @kittrrrr - hope you enjoy!
Word count: 979
At first his name had been Kestrel. He’d liked it; for what reason, he couldn’t quite say, but when he first heard the word he knew he loved it. Later on, he found out that a Kestrel was a bird, but he didn’t mind it too much. They were lovely birds.
Over time that name had to change. It was only natural. As humans developed, so did their languages and the names they went by. His name would be seen as unusual or strange, and thus it had to change to something else. In his heart, though, he was always Kestrel. No matter what name he took, he was always just Kestrel.
Humans had nice literature, Kestrel decided.
They were amazing; artfully woven words into strings of sentences. Each word was carefully selected to have an intended effect. They could make him laugh or - on rare, memorable occasions - make him cry.
Some of his favourites belonged to the Greeks.
Kestrel walked through the town, his eyes wandering across the shops and men walking around him. The sun was high in the sky, its golden rays beating down on him pleasantly, if a little too hard at some points in the day. There were no clouds that would drift by. The fact made him frown a little, but he recovered soon afterwards when his attention was captured by a man arguing with a vendor.
The man was not dressed like the other men and women roving around. He wore a white button-up shirt underneath a leather waistcoat, accompanied by pinstripe grey slacks and shiny shoes. His hair was a ruddy red and his eyes bright green, like moss in a forest. The man was trying to bring down the price of an urn, to which the vendor was trying to maintain his composure whilst explaining to the man that “This urn is incredibly valuable, it cannot be sold for such a price.”
Smiling, he approached the two men slowly. His arrival caught the attention of the vendor.
“I can pay for it,” he said. Kestrel took out some drachma and handed them to the vendor, taking a glance at the strangely-dressed man beside him. “Is it enough?”
The vendor’s eyes bugged out of his head. “This is too much.”
“Consider it a bonus, for putting up with my friend’s antics.” Kestrel turned to the man with a smile, hoping he would play along. “Come, let’s go back home.”
He placed his hand against the man’s back, but not before taking the urn and handing it to him. Kestrel escorted the man away from the shops and people and down a more private road.
He stopped when they were far enough from other people that no one would overhear.
The man looked at him curiously, his gloved hands shaking a little as he held the urn. He rotated it, tilted it, looked at it from every angle imaginable, then began to smile brightly. “Thank you,” he said, “I do not think I would have made it out of that unscathed.”
Kestrel laughed. “I’m sure you would’ve managed it.”
“I’m Thomas,” the man - Thomas - held out his hand. “And who are you, good sir?”
“Kestrel.” he answered, shaking Thomas’s hand with vigour.
---
His love for Greek literature was threatened by the appearance of Shakespeare. He couldn’t help but adore the man’s craft; his way with writing and creating likeable and repulsive characters; his amazing skill for both comedy and tragedy; the way he had risen to fame and even earned the favour of the queen herself.
He had arranged tickets to see one of his favourite plays and took his seat. It was a more private area, since he found that sitting with other people was quite tedious, at times, and that plays were far more enjoyable with less clamour.
A man walked in. “My apologies, sir, but there aren’t many more seats available. Would you mind sharing with another?”
Kestrel nodded. “I see nothing wrong with that. Tell the fellow that he is welcome here with me.”
Bowing his head in response, the man scurried away, then returned with—
Oh.
The man disappeared, and Kestrel was suddenly alone with Thomas. He hadn’t aged a day; no wrinkles, no crow’s feet around his eyes, nothing. He was just as youthful as the day Kestrel first met him.
Which couldn’t be possible, since it had been several centuries since their last encounter. Unless Thomas was also…?
“I recognise you,” Thomas said, breathlessly. “You— you’re that man. From Ancient Greece.”
“How are you still alive?” he blurted out.
Thomas’s brows furrowed in thought. His eyes took in Kestrel’s clothing, his hair - which he had to cut short, sadly - and his face, lingering a bit too long on certain features.
Kestrel felt his cheeks colour, and looked down at his lap. He nervously fidgeted with his hands. “Why don’t we enjoy the play?” he suggested. “Then we can talk afterwards. Perhaps go for a nightcap.”
Hesitant, Thomas sat down beside him. Their shoulders brushed against each other for a brief moment.
“I think I would enjoy that very much, indeed.”
He wanted to never see Thomas go. He wanted to learn everything he could about the man who had disappeared for centuries and then came back.
He wasn’t alone anymore.
It took a short while for that to sink in. He wasn’t alone anymore. Kestrel didn’t know what to do. He could sing, he could cry, he could dance for hours on end and never stop!
“Are you alright?” Thomas asked, a nervous smile on his face.
Kestrel beamed back at him with an expression akin to a child on Christmas day. “Yes. More than alright, in fact.”
Their attention was snatched by the commencing play as the actors rushed onto the stage.
He was not alone anymore. Maybe things would be different this time.