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Rara Avis chapter 16Snoring on the bed softly, Luca groaned a bit and shifted, his fingers gripping the pillow and pulling it closer before nuzzling into it and sighing contently. Zhenya turned and snorted quietly, slipping over to his bed and picking up the cell phone he'd left charging there then thumbing it open and taking a snapshot of the sleeping Luca. After pocketing it, he dragged the hookah out of the way and left the room with the intent of getting something to eat and another book from the library.
When Luca woke, he found that the room was completely empty, the stench from the hookah only a faint presence. He frowned and pushed himself up off the bed. He scratched his head and then went to the bathroom, stripping down for a shower.
There was a quiet wolf whistle from the doorway of the room, causing the bathroom door to snap shut and the Russian to laugh loudly as he made his way across to his bed with a half sandwich in one hand and a thick paperback in the other.
Snarling and gritting his te
Rara Avis chapter 10Luca sat in the tub with the others for well over a few hours. Pulling out, his leg felt much better and he sighed, getting dressed and running the towel through his hair. He had also splashed some water on his face to get the bruising to go down.
One of the other novices leaned over and muttered into another's ear as they watched Luca rise up from the water, several names slipping through. Voronin. Troy. Solomon. Always coming back to Troy as the discussion grew more heated. Eventually one was silenced by a venomous glare from Nikita as she stepped into the room. She was sporting a few new bruises and a cut across her cheek but her smile was evident as she moved into a smaller area of the pool to soak in privacy, away from the lechers.
Luca looked over at her and blinked before looking at the other novices. He was sure they wouldn't tell him anything...but there was no harm in trying, "What happened with Troy?" he asked, leaning in a bit, but not enough to be intrusive
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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