Charlie the Tramp
Autumn leaves whipped through the gutters and around the quiet street corners, before being thrown up into the air by the chilly, early-morning currents; he’d never cared much for autumn however, it meant winter was on its way, and the cold was terrible when you lived on the streets.
Charlie sat slumped against the polished, black bricks, his grubby bowler hat, which lay nestled atop his dirty, speckled hair, was pulled low over his sleeping eyes. The soft crinkles in his skin were folded into the same thoughtful, little smile that had graced every Varrock passerby who cared to look his way, for years now.
The sun began to rise over the shingled roofs, and people rushed by while sipping on their energy potions and polishing their identical steel platebodies. One man dropped a coin into an empty bowl at Charlie’s feet, but walked away again without a moment’s pause.
‘Lucky beggar,’ he joked to himself, ‘wish I could sleep in all day.’
Many hours passed, and the brief respite of day was ending, the growing cold had begun to sink back into the cobbled streets, as the last fiery rays of sunlight filtered through the smoke-filled rifts between the buildings. Charlie was still against the wall, his ragged trench-coat casting shadows far along the path. The oil lamps were being lit as a Varrock guard brought his pampered mount to a stop across from where Charlie sat.
"Hey there buddy, time you moved on, eh?", the deep voice of the officer pointed out. When no answer came, he dismounted his steed, and started to walk towards the old tramp, his chain mail glinting in the low light. "C’mon, you know you can’t stay here at night."
He reached the decrepit bundle of coats, and lifted the bowler hat from the old, wrinkled face. He soon lowered the hat back over the pallid skin and sighed, before clambering onto his horse and heading off to the castle at a trot. The cheeky smile on Charlie's lips seemed to dance under the candle light – he wouldn’t have to face another winter after all.
Daemon Garde
:)
