So Drop Your Gun - Prologue - Part 3
So Drop Your Gun
Prologue
Part 3: 1 week prior to the story's beginning
Their eyes first met crossing nothing.
The shark hated walking across the bridge. Neither side of the divided structure, really two bridges together, had a path one might walk upon, so he had to skirt the shoulder. Fifty-five-miles-an-hour traffic on one side, steel beams and no retaining wall on the other. A straight drop to the river below.
He tried to look at the cars, and walked on the inner edge, so as to be near the other bridge, for all the good it might do. Worn sneakers scuffed the pavement, shedding flecks of dirt, fibers fraying from holes in the sides. Long, faded jeans hung loosely on him, the sleeve on his tailbase running until it reached his secondary fins, one upper and one lower. His dark T-shirt hung lankly from his slim shoulders in the summer humidity, back slashed uncleanly to permit his dorsal fin to jut out.
The orange glow of halogen lamps lit him up from time to time, as he passed under them on his way to the other side of the river. The sky was past dark, save for the lights of downtown ahead of him, the glow of midtown behind him. Even without the light pollution, there would have been no stars to see tonight: Ominous clouds had gathered, blotting out even the moon, and distant rumbles promised rain, as did the scent of wet growing in the air.
Beyond the roar of cars as they passed him, it was very quiet, and beyond the rush of wind they produced, it was quite still. The water of the river flickered but slightly, the ocean it emptied into seemed as smooth as glass. He felt as though he might reach out and touch it, only to have his fingers slip off, as though they, too, were so smooth. If only he might.
He might have forgotten where he was going, and why.
He couldn't see the figure for a long period; the lighting on either bridge was too dim to make anything out unless you expected it. Few people crossed the bridges on foot, it was too dangerous. What caught his eye was difference. A glow. An odd, halftoned shine he would have not expected from harsh halogen lamps. Pacing over the bridge, he did not give the other side many looks. That was the wrong way to look. He couldn't look that way. But when the shine caught his eye, he looked. At first, he saw an angel.
The sheen of light ran over a shoulder, down an arm and up a collar, as though the light came from behind him, and the side of his head flared orange, tufts of fur catching the light even at this distance and standing out in contrast and shadow. The sharp angle of an ear rose up high, lines of hair streaking towards the apex, glittering as the being moved forward, out of the light. As he did, it caught the very edge of what must have been a leather jacket and set it afire, made him appear for a moment to be glowing, radiating, enough to contrast almost blindingly with the shadow he was cast in and the darkness of the night.
Then the light shifted again, and there was nothing like that in him. Andrew could see him in the reflection from the light he now approached, a young wolf, thin and a little tall, making his way across the other bridge, in the opposite direction.
Tristan saw him in the same moment, caught the rough, diffuse glow the halogen light cast off the shark's skin, and the two stared at each other as they moved nearer, eyes glittering dark in the ill light, mere glints in the blackest shadows of their faces. Either might have dismissed the other. But together, looking at each other, and seeing each other look, they could not.
The two strangers slowed as they drew closer, stopped finally in the same position, on opposite bridges, separated by ten feet of empty space, facing opposite directions. The wolf stood for a moment, wondering if the shark would stop and look at him. He turned quickly. First his head, to catch sight of the shark standing stock-still, as near as he could be. Then, slowly, he twisted his body, faced the shark, looked at him.
The shark spent much longer staring ahead unseeingly, not knowing whether the wolf had stopped or gone on, wondering if he might stop but for a moment, and then move on unseen. Wondering if he would wait. Wondering why it mattered. The city offered no answers, only whispers of smog and hints of quiet purpose.
When he did turn, it was not from curiosity, nor expecting anyone to be there but himself. It was to confirm something he had long believed.
Tristan looked back at him, and felt a soft rush of relief as the shark faced him, met his eyes once more. Something in that look... he needed to see.
The two locked eyes over ten feet of empty space. Separate. And yet they had acknowledged each other far more than either had expected. And they felt together, for just a moment.
Andrew caught the wolf's slight smile as the two turned in unison and walked on. He had not smiled, knew he didn't need to. It wasn't his place.
Tristan kept smiling as he walked back toward midtown. Today he could come home knowing he had done something good. Something he needed, or would need, or had needed once. Something he wouldn't need to forget. Dark eyes glinting in orange light at him, shaded by heavy brows and just barely visible. Rough skin scattering light like some amorphous being, shifting light to shadow and shadow to blackness. The pose of something afraid standing its ground, something angry backing down, and eyes, icy eyes which thought.