Or perhaps, like most people would, Nahesa would start with something simple. Clean his living room at least twice a week and get out of the house a little more. With one caveat-- Get out of the house for excursions that didn’t involve vigilantism and political revolution. Sounded simple enough, but these days Nahesa tended to be an awfully isolated individual. He loved his time to himself, his hours throughout the night and day doing extensive research and thumbing through new and old books alike.
In particular, Nahesa had a noteworthy interest in religious studies, the backbone of culture and the foundation upon which most civilizations were built. More than that, beyond their impact on humanity and the direction in which groups diverged, religion housed the origin of magical beings among humanity. Nahesa knew from a young age he wasn’t like an ordinary, mortal human. Not by any whispers in the wind of a great destiny, not by an ancient deity visiting him in a dream. Simply, from his parents.
Nahesa was born as he sat now in his home, scattered in patches of smooth scales and fur-like feathers. Well- not exactly like he was, he had to grow and develop as any child did, but point being he was a dragon cross from birth. His parents knew what he was, they taught him early in his life to understand not only his own ethereal blood but the forces at play around him. By the age of five, he was gifted a ring supposedly blessed by the Imam himself. This concealed his uncommon attributes, placed him in a shell almost identical to his own body only without any trace of dragon lineage.
His fascination with religion began with the slow, steady comprehension of his own ancestry. His parents told him from a young age and maintained to this day that he was a gift granted to them by a holy dragon, unknown on all fronts except for his black scales. Hence, Nahesa’s coloration in his own feathering, claws, and so forth.
Cults centered in his home region worshipped dragons and claimed to be bestowing unto them the gratitude they truly deserved. Outside of those taboo circles, commonly shunned and hailed as insane, the existence of such creatures had been all but washed away by those who sought to have religions dominated by mankind themselves. Magic, gods, beings beyond this plane of existence- they all posed a direct threat to the choke hold humanity had on the world. No mortal could rule over a God nor a fire-spitting monster. Worship provided deities with their power. Take away their shrines and slaughter those loyal to them and evidently they’re left to rot.
Nahesa found it all so deeply fascinating how modern religious literature made no mention, no vague reference, to old Gods and the direct influence they had on mankind. They bestowed such power on lucky bloodlines and yet those who weren’t blessed spit in their faces. Supposedly, that is. Humanity, being what it is, had outliers such as magical bloodlines abusing their power and ordinary men who bent their knee to their gracious deities.
However, despite all the claims of humanity having power over modern religion, what of the loving, all-powerful Gods they worshipped? Where did they fall on this scale of mortal influence and magical presence?
Well, frankly, that had little relevancy to whether or not Nahesa left his home and took a short walk to the local coffee shop. He’d gotten particularly lost in thought, sitting up on his couch and staring with great intensity at his wall. Pondering things he drowned away time thinking about many times in the past. Ignoring the very human, very healthy act of socialization like he had many times in the past. Now wasn’t the time for an internalized philosophy lecture- if that’s what one could call that.
Nahesa let out a hefty sigh and slouched over, stretching his shoulder blades and arms. He then pushed his dark hair out his face and climbed off the sofa, thereafter taking a moment to stretch his arms over his head, let loose a yawn, and make his way to his closet. Time to get up and force himself to face the day rather than keeping his curtains drawn and door locked.
It didn’t take much time for the young crossbreed to get dressed. He selected his clothes, set them down neatly folded on the edge of the couch, and lunged to his kitchen for only a moment to swipe a ring off the countertop. He’d been wearing it last night on his New Years adventure, took it off the moment he entered the safe confines of his home. Once slipped onto his right ring finger, the inhuman qualities to his body began to recede.
Within a few short minutes, each of his stunning yet woefully inhuman features faded and he was left as nothing more than another human being. He had days on which he sincerely wished he could venture into world as he truly was, finding more confidence and comfort in his crossbreed form. But, ultimately, presenting as the child of a dragon presented much more of a threat than he’d be willing to risk. Rare bloodlines such as his have a special value to them in the eyes of more than one organization. All in all, being anything more than a lithe 20 year old man wasn’t worth the attention it would draw.
Once fully human in appearance and adorned in clothes that practically screamed anti-capitalist punk, he swiped a set of keys off a row of hooks by his front door and proceeded out of his home and into the world. Or, not quite the world just yet-- the long and bare hallway, lined with doors identical to his, ending in a steel door elevator.
Given the time of year, glittering lights and glitter-coated wreaths hung from nearly every door in this corridor. Cute little signs with messages of a merry christmas- or a happy holiday season for those so inclined to avoid religious affiliations- either way, innocent symbols of cheer surrounding the winter season and the approach of a new year. Nahesa acknowledged these decorations as harmless and kindhearted in nature, but chose not to participate nevertheless. He chalked most holidays of this season up to be consumerist fuel and saturated with religious influence.
Not as to say any religious influence put a foul taste in Nahesa’s mouth. Just that the most common of them, those dominated by man and corrupted by selfish deities, were of an ilk he’d rather not associate with.
Again, perhaps now wasn’t the best of times for Nahesa to wander into thought about religion, its influence on humanity, and his opinion on the concept as a collective. Especially now that he stood in front of the elevator.
The ride down to the lobby wasn’t particularly populated today, which Nahesa was grateful for. Elevators stuffed to the brim felt so suffocating to him and, as he’d assume, every other person on the goddamn planet. No one likes a crowded elevator. No one. So, he was particularly pleased to only have to share his ride down with one other person; a middle-aged looking gentleman in a business-casual pink Polo and slacks. Surely on his way to work. Maybe a date or brunch with his folks. Who knows.
Nahesa spared a glance at the man a time or two, out of sheer curiosity he really couldn’t help it. The stranger stood noticeably tall, even more so in comparison to how small Nahesa was, arms crossed over his barrel chest. His arms themselves were also something of note-- broad and vascular, lined with dark hair. His face was unshaven but clearly trimmed, short brown hair simply smoothed back. He wasn’t exactly the type Nahesa would expect to see wearing pink, the rest of his appearance didn’t match the type per se, but he certainly wouldn’t judge. Pink didn’t look bad on his broad frame, that was for sure. Props to him for being outside his stereotype, whether or not he was doing so intentionally. Some part of Nahesa hoped he was doing it intentionally.
By the time they reached the bottom floor, Nahesa had been giving this stranger an up-and-down for much longer than the passable second or two. Frankly, he hadn’t noticed he was doing so- just got lost in thought. Finally, when the elevator dinged, the man glanced in the direction of the disguised crossbreed and immediately away again, allowing their eyes to briefly meet. Probably felt the stare on him and was beginning to get uneasy.
Such a suspicion became further reinforced when he walked past the elevator’s metal threshold the second the doors opened. Not another word nor glance spared.
Well, that’s one way to leave a first impression. He’d probably never actually speak to handsome pink shirt guy with that fleeting interaction in mind.
Either way, Nahesa had to shake it off and leave before the elevator doors closed on him. Which- they almost did if not for him stepping across in time to force them back fully open. Once out, he made his way through the lobby and out into the bustling city. Getting out of his apartment complex and considering that uncomfortable interaction behind him felt like a breath of fresh air. By now, exiting out onto the busy sidewalks clattering with the sound of hurried footsteps of folks on their way to work, pink shirt guy was long gone. Hopefully Nahesa would never have to see him again, much less make shame-ridden eye contact with him again.
Nahesa took a breath. He needed to make his way down to the local coffee shop and get that momentary exchange out of his head. Maybe some time around people cut from a similar cloth as him would improve his social skills, get him doing more talking than staring. Hell- maybe time around people in general would improve his social skills. Despite being a man that spent most of his life fascinated with anthropology and religion, socializing was something he understood mostly in concept.
Granted, Nahesa was a kind and intelligent person, raised in a family that emphasized the importance of etiquette, he’d just fallen out of practice as of late. Found himself busier with other things, like starting fires.
Soon enough, he weaved through enough crowds to come upon the door to his favorite cafe. “Black Tie Coffee,” a humble enough local establishment riddled with hipsters, punks and 20-somethings with anti-capitalist, anarchist button laden jackets. And, of course, the occasional middle aged mom desperate for her morning macchiato.
Most of them were nothing more than those who wanted an edge to their public image, goths and punks doing what they do for sensationalism and aesthetics. Ultimately, Nahesa didn’t mind their type all that much, if at all. While they didn’t particularly help the cause he fought for, they didn’t harm it either. They were often eager and open minded; good people. A bit too fixated on appearances and social stature most of the time, but that was no sin. They were open to the cause behind the aesthetic they strived for, and that was what mattered.
Nahesa was a frequent patron of this coffee shop, as one can guess from its thematic allure to his interests. He also gravitated toward this one in particular for its rather cozy and quiet nature-- it typically didn’t get all too busy and thus wasn’t an overwhelming change from isolation. Friday nights were this cafe’s live music night, and as one may infer that’s when things become the most busy. Nahesa doesn’t come around on those nights.
Upon walking into the store, indie electronic played at a low volume to provide a soothing but topic ambience. The barista up at the counter, a girl with shoulder-length brown hair and notably large gauges in her ears, smiled and nodded her head at Nahesa. Such a greeting didn’t quite imply friendship, only that he was a familiar face. She was being courteous to a return customer, as any good barista ought to be.
The shop wasn’t all that busy this morning. A few sets of people scattered at tables throughout, chattering amongst themselves and sipping their drink of choice. Today seemed to be a good day to pop by, in all honesty. Nahesa made his way to the counter, quietly weaving by a couple discussing what they wanted. He would’ve assumed they were already ahead of him in line if not for the man among the two stating, “You can go ahead, we haven’t decided on anything yet.” He had a bright grin on his face while his assumed girlfriend stared intensely at the menu. Seemed amused by her inability to choose a cup of coffee.
Nahesa smiled and nodded. “Thanks,” he murmured, stepping up to the counter. The barista greeted him warmly, addressing him by name, and asked him what he’d like. Within a matter of minutes, Nahesa was settling into a small table tucked up by a window with a cinnamon-vanilla latte in his hands.
The warm spices paired with the sweetness and pleasantly bitter coffee was something he greatly enjoyed. Drinks such as this one made the colder months in San Francisco more bearable. Speaking of which-- outside the window, clouds gathered and grew darker in shades of gray. Damn. Nahesa wished he’d remembered his umbrella.
Letting out a sigh, now assuming he’d be here for a good chunk of the day, Nahesa drew his phone out of his pocket. He also, come to think of it, really should have packed his laptop and some books. Ah, oh well, smartphones function just as well as a replacement for either. He rested his cheek in one hand while the other pulled up recent articles regarding political conflict and the growing danger of anti-capitalist rioters.
Nahesa remained in that same spot reading for quite some time- to the extent that he finished that first article and moved onto other things. Social media platforms, online books, more exacerbated articles about the quality of life in America, other melodramatic social commentary, etcetera. Not much else caught his attention other than having reached the bottom of his coffee cup. An unpleasant surprise, as it always was. He let it sit empty for quite some time before finally using its lack of substance for an excuse to get up.
He stood up, stretched his arms over his head briefly, and returned to the counter. This time around, he stood in line behind a man a great bit taller than him-- had to be 6’4” at the goddamn least. This man towered to such an extent that Nahesa felt intimidated just standing behind him. He had long, wavy black hair tied into a messy bun and a dense black bomber jacket adorned on his wide shoulders. Small pearls of rain water were stuck to its surface, glittering in the dim lights overhead.
Remembering that horrible experience from this morning, Nahesa tore his eyes from the man in front of him before he even got a chance to see his face. Didn’t wanna risk it. He looked back to the menu, browsing their list of espresso drinks in case he may want to purchase something different this time. He likely wouldn’t.
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