He couldn’t tell half the time what this man was thinking. It was enough to make him wonder every thought that passed the mystery man’s brain. What was so special about him? In a way he was proud of his reaction, he didn’t falter nor did ne shrink back from the open knowledge that he wasn’t 100% human being. At the same time, the exact reaction could be reversed to John. It was apparent that neither were what they looked like. Appearances meant so much in this day and age, and hiding what they were was key to keeping the entire world in balance. Was he speaking too much? Probably. He still wasn’t accustomed to speaking to people that weren’t tied, gagged or bleeding or desperate enough for a better life. This man needed nothing, nor did he pretend that his life was perfect. He simply was, and he had no clue how much that Mason envied it.
‘You’ll never have what he has, angel friends, hunter friends. Look at you. You’ll never be normal, nothing close, nothing fucking an inch to what this man has. You just want to destroy him, don’t you Mason? Make him like me. You break everything, you can’t have anything nice. Isn’t that what your daddy said? You can’t have anything nice Mason!’
Oh yes, Carl was getting stronger. July was approaching. Don’t think about it, don’t let him in. Don’t let him penetrate your mind. He chuckled, a forced habit to kick the Nazi out of his psyche.
“You keep looking at me like that, I’m goin’ to assume you’ve been deprived of conversation and company other than your beloveds.” Not that he had any room to talk, and he knew it, still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to state what seemed obvious to him. This man was poise, very intelligent and other-worldly, but there was something…missing. His place in time. “You don’t belong here,” he said with surety in his tone. “It’s why you look like you belong in paintings long since past. It’s why this Athens owl means so much, why your smile is so…practiced.” He looked down to the ring, reaching out to touch it. Mechanics like this interested him. The ring he had created for Dmitriel had taken weeks, etching at all painstaking hours of the night to get the spell just right in the wheels. This had the same sort of feel. Craftsmanship, something to be proud of, it was something he appreciated even in his human years. “And your lover, of course he knows…” He tilted his head back. Oh, of course, it was all coming together. “You and I are a lot alike, I hope you know. It makes sense now…Amazing.” His voice was passionate and flabbergasted that he hadn’t noticed sooner. He really did have the worst time being social outside of the demented. Dmitriel didn’t like his profession and the way John mentioned time…yes, of course…they were two peas in a pod.
“You know, formalities are wonderful, and they keep society in check, but I feel your curiosity, and sooner or later I will get sauced in this establishment. I would rather be able to speak to you coherently before I lose all of my cognitive faculties.” He topped off his own drink again, filling it halfway this time. He shook his head. “No, Marlowe, no Shakespeare, no H.P. Lovecraft, as much as that would please me. I am…or was, just a man. But, I suppose you can call me a tragedy.” He pointed at him with his glass holding hand. “So are you.” The burning amber liquid was giving the crossroads demon an ego, bigger than it already was.
The looks they exchanged were still loaded and heavy. John knew Mason was trying to read him. There was a hint of frustration about him. He was becoming more and more willing to be accommodating, however. He wanted to offer something before the past reared it’s head. There was a difference between the two men, in their poise. He hoped that wouldn’t be an issue, but it was better to pacify. As long as he could see any threats coming. At the moment, John felt no danger from the man. He was just interested. Intrigued. The bourbon had helped that along.
There was that heat in his head, the slight foggy feeling that he should have known was coming. It always managed to surprise him. It was strange, really. He could practically see it crossing the room, ready to embrace him, but when he drank enough, it was still a disappointing surprise when his perception turned sluggish. A man of his intellect, he never liked the dulling of the sharp blade that was his mind. John always told him he could surpass it in a few more drinks. He could reach that state of lucidity with just a little more consumption…
Well, I’m here.
London 1926 (x)
// Caught up with drafts and replies here — If I have missed you, let me know please!
Work tomorrow, then off, then working like, five days or so in a row. Got to make up for lost time!