<i>One dimly recalls a time where one's body did not see fit to perform an orchestral piece of protest every time one sits down at a table. Yet time waits for no man. Not even I.<br/>
</i><br/>Al-Akhir's thoughts were laden with amusement as he settled his gloriously aching bones down at the small table in the tea shoppe. His usual place, by the window. The old man found he needed the sun more, these days. It warmed his weathered skin, and soothed his various aches and twinges.<br/><br/>His eyes were still sharp, despite his many years. They sought out a familiar figure, and found her immediately. "Ah," he murmured quietly; a sound of amusement. "At it again, is she?"<br/><br/>His brow furrowed.<i>Now, when did my voice become so weak and raspy? So fragile with age..? Wait...where was I...? <br/>
</i><br/>Colleen. Now he remembered. She hadn't been working in Byzantium long, but Al-Akhir found himself fond of her. There weren't many in the shoppe this early, but Colleen--for all of her extracurricular pursuits--was punctual. "Good morning," he replied amicably, smiling behind his gray-white beard. "I found I merely missed the pleasure of your company, Colleen. The bloom of youth is a balm to an old soul after all. Your Arabic is improving, these last few months. I am pleased with your progress." In truth, her Arabic was abysmal, and her Turkish not much better. It<i>was </i>an improvement, nonetheless.<br/><br/>Reaching out a large, long-fingered hand, Al-Akhir poured a measure of tea into the fluted glass and silver that was his teacup. "Thank you. You are as competent as ever. Were I a younger man, and still in the business of gallivanting around this world, I would bring you into my service." His eyes darted up, and sparkled with concern around the wrinkles that framed them. "Your time in the fighting pit is getting more hazardous to your health," he stated in a neutral tone, devoid of praise or disappointment. "When a person fights as hard as you do, they are usually looking for something. I hope you find it..."<br/><br/>The old man laid a gentle hand on her arm as she slipped him the spice cake. "...before your opponents get carried away with you. Or your lovers." For a moment, a measure of age fell away before a surprisingly bright and rakish smile. "No, no...do not feel shame. I do not come here to sit in judgment of your soul, Colleen. It does not take a Great Detective to see that you sometimes arrive here with more marks than when you leave. Marks that cannot be explained by violence of a more conventional sort."<br/><br/>Adjusting his grip slightly, Al-Akhir wrapped two fingers beneath her wrist.<i>The child's pulse runs faster than a fox runs from death. The drugs again...some sort of amphetamine, stimulating the mesolimbic dopamine system.<br/>
</i><br/>Tucking away the spice cake, he raised her hand to his lips and brushed them slightly against her skin. "You have my thanks, little one. Being spoiled by you is the highlight of my morning." With absent precision, Al-Akhir made note of her slight twitches, and jitters. The barely imprecise way Colleen handled dishes, and shifted her balance with unconscious impatience. "You have another fight today, I assume? Perhaps this one will give you the knowledge you so passionately pursue."<br/><br/><br/>