“Everyone’s got a signature mate, some are just more obvious than others. And some are just better at spotting them I suppose.” zhey chuckled then, though the smile didn’t quite breach into emerald eyes. So, he could sense the supernatural as well? Zhe wondered if even now, zhey gave off a signature of sorts, though it might be altered now given the current situation.
“For the meantime, you can call me Maguire; Brendon Maguire of Belfast at your service.” zhey gave a small bow with the introduction, it’s been a long time since zhey had to use ‘Brendon’ as a cover name. “And I’m sure you’re right sir Elliot, but the numbers don’t always speak for themselves.” zhey sent a wink for clarification.
“I think that is good of you to do so, too many times have the two clashed and behind an ocean of blood in its wake.” eyes darkened with memory, the scars coating the entirety of zheir legs tingling with the phantom ghost flames of the past. “But, I must ask what the source of your magic might be? It’s one I’m not overly familiar with.”
———❝ NAME SURE PACKS A PUNCH? elliot kaufman, berlin native. ❞ he wondered on that, the power of a name. elliot grew up in weimar, a city in the southern portion of germany. only after his mother had passed, had he forsaken the municipality and entered the bustling movement that came with berlin life. strange how some things never changed. cities remained as they were, growing at a rate so relative to their surroundings.
he offered his hand, emerald eyes steady as he shook maguire’s own. there was a small jolt of energy through the leather buffer of his black gloves, something he supposed might happen when two magic users grew in proximity. he’d always been able to sense the arcane, like an amputee swearing his phantom limb would ache when rain was near. instead of a limb, it was the scar tissue on the back of his neck.
❝ i could say demons, but that would be a vast oversimplification, maguire. ❞ a smile dusted over a rather neutral expression. not everyone liked the sound of demonic intervention. certainly, the idea of selling one’s soul only to be fooled out of longevity had been the center of many famous works. faust himself could not attain satisfaction before his end of the deal was up.
❝ something older than demons, i think… a primordial god, of sorts. infernal still, but not of the same selfish intentions. my demon is one who seeks justice. ❞
Defense curls tongue but saying anything is, ironically, thought better of. Instead, he sinks toward the floor once he’s recovered from the shove to creep close to Elliot’s hunched form, crouching beside him and picking up the few pieces of glass that are a glimmer against the flooring. Keen eyes can see see where they’ve landed after projected from frame’s hold by the impact. He may have been ordered to leave, but he can’t find it in himself to obey as he should.
Ears pressed to skull and expression far more easier to read, Jude’s exterior is not as hard as Elliot’s; seldom is it. He talks too fast and too much, lacks tact and pricks nerves, but there is an animal element of raw honesty to him in the presence of should – be threat and contender. So his ongoing apology is scrawled heavy all across his face, in the clench of jaw and the deep drip of pale brows while he wordlessly assists in cleaning up some of the mess he’s caused.
That should be that, but he can’t help but stare at the low – top trashcan and think of the contents tossed inside. Was Elliot going to trash it, just like that? Was it to assuage his ego, to rebuke the sentimentality that had him hold onto such an old photo in the first place? He can’t wrap his head around the why, but cur puts himself at risk of even more violence to dig through glass and retrieve discarded image, slipping it from its velvet backing and thumbing over the tears that now mar the family photo. There are cuts through the center, but beneath one outstretched white rip there are still the sullen, intact eyes of a younger Elliot looking out.
“ Elliot… I don’t want to go. I know you’re pissed, but I don’t want to leave you by yourself to ride it out alone. “ It’s a surprise to himself that voice doesn’t waver, but there is a pleading quality to its acquired softness. There’s a likely chance that the other man won’t ever let him come around again if he leaves him alone now to whatever upset he’s caused: it has to be worse beneath the surface of cool facade. “ And you should keep this… it’s not completely ruined. “ Jude rises to stand, backing up to give Elliot the space to do the same. “ It’s old but you’ve kept it all this time. “ So it obviously means something to you.
———AS OLD AS HE WAS, THINGS FROZEN IN TIME DID NOT MATURE. there were parts unknown to most that he could not bear to show. long sleeves over branded skin and gloves worn to hide marks that never faded, he still looked like he did the day he died. there was weakness in his curse, weakness in everything he was up until now. destroying all traces of his shortcomings had only reminded him they existed.
there was nothing he could do in that moment to prevent himself from shaking. embarrassment mixed with pain, creating the needed ingredients for the perfect storm. was there meaning in this? an ugly emotion that threatened to overflow? mockery had been his initial catalyst, but now it spilled into something closer to pity. pity, he despised more than anything. pity, he would not accept from anyone, most especially jude.
it fell apart like a tower of bricks. hunched over, the man lifted to escape before it all came down on top of him, only to stumble, to grab and steady, to hold jude there with his head hung low. the tremors in his hands hadn’t stopped, and now jude was able to feel them for himself as elliot gripped him by the arms. he lifted his head, face red and dangerously close to tears. mouth open like he intended to speak, the man wet his lips once before the tension broke and the tears began to roll down his face.
❝ fuck. ❞ he said once.
❝ fuck. ❞ he repeated, finally pushing jude aside. it was laughable, really, how much energy he wasted on the other. how his patience had managed a small miracle, not tearing the other apart, but instead swallowing his pride like the bitter pill it was. he let jude get him to the point of tears and he let him have it.
“ and you expect me to just believe you ? “ though she sidled along as well , having an unexpectedly little amount of trouble with balance and almost letting go of him once or twice . she’d been ready to jump from the start , optimal angle or not , and the child in her swung her legs over the gap as she bobbed her head .
“ alright , i’ll jump . “
———IT WASN’T A MATTER OF TRUST THAT HAD KEPT THEM FROM TAKING A WORSE PLUNGE. elliot was perfectly fine being a treacherous liar in the face of persecution, not that he intended to be that kind of person.
pushing off the branch with the strange child in hand, he quickly slowed their descent to a comfortable floating drop. it tended to be hard with another in his grasp, but the girl was not large and he had the experience to do it.
❝ now, will you tell me who and what you are, kid? ❞
“ You’re here to be a little more Glinda than Elphaba for once in your life and save me from myself. “ He’s only even seen the original Wizard or Oz and none of the Wicked stageplay, so don’t even start on him about his analogy—— movements are lethargic, Jude’s typical energy slashed in half by his growing discomforts. Protectively, subconsciously, palm rests low on navel ( where heat pulses and flares ) while following after companion. Eyes slip down Elliot’s form of their own accord, noting the set of his shoulders, slope of his spine, and the shape of his ass with a new, rut – induced appreciation. He doesn’t immediately catch himself, but when thoughts make an abrupt, lewd to just what the warlock may look like without any of his clothes on
— that’s when Jude starts with a flinch, face’s reddened hue deepening.
In retrospect, maybe calling over a ‘friend’ to keep him from mounting total strangers in a public washroom was an even more terrible idea on his part. Judgement and horror directed at him from people he didn’t know is a bit more bearable than having it directed at him by people he does. “ I won’t hang out long. I… have to back in a couple hours to pick up my bike that’s next door. “
———IT WASN’T THAT HE COULDN’T TELL THE MAN WAS LOOKING AT HIM. he could certainly tell. street by street, he tried to ignore the gaze the other seemed to be driving into him from behind, as difficult as that was. this was not the gaze of a hunter and prey, nor the unsavory glare he was used to with others in similar professions. he sensed there was something more to the man’s supposed fever, more than jude would care to admit.
❝ i could come back with your keys and park it in my garage. you don’t seem so good on your feet, i don’t really trust you to drive it properly. ❞ he kept his bike here in germany, not wanting to overcrowd it in busy new york streets where the best form of transportation was the subway. entering the station from the stairway down, he waved the man over to the platform as the train pulled up. trips like these were short and often on time. the flat he’d bought in berlin charted at around thirteen hundred euros a month, a price for the easy access to the train and u-bahn.
his oculars danced in his sockets, observing everything but the other’s hues. eventually, they landed, finding an offering hand outstretched to him. when his eyes are directed down, it placed emphasis on how heavy his eyelids are. FOLLOWING STRANGERS IS DANGEROUS, but tiki never listened to his conscience.
he wasn’t a man of many words, he nodded his consent instead.
where were they? tiki is nescient of that detail. he was never an observant man, and because of how he was raised, he never asks questions. the only thing he knew was that they’re somewhere more private, where no one can condemn them for WHAT THEY ARE.
❝ i’m… tiki, i was… born with… this. ❞
———IT WAS A PLACE THAT ELLIOT HAD CALLED HOME LIKE ALL OTHERS ; a faceless, nameless room at a dingy bed and breakfast. to say he had much of a home would be like saying a migratory bird had one nest. he offered the young man a glass of water and some packaged snacks he’d bought for the road. the man had come only to travel, to see, and he’d done it in the way a hitchhiker had some semblance of an idea where to go.
❝ tiki… my name is elliot. ❞ the name chosen, not given, but certainly a name. he picked through a bag of trail mix, noting that the absence of pain beneath his nail. there was much to talk about.
❝ are you religious, tiki? i suppose we could start there, if you’d like. ❞
‘ You come in here a LOT, you know. I promise the selection doesn’t change that frequently. ‘ It’s not given unkindly – contrary, bright eyes light up when they settle onto the familiar figure. An old spirit with a young face turned regular, turned a pleasant sight, turned to curiosity he wants so dearly to dig deeper into. Though he feels stuck if not behind his own desk then a well standing between him and the man made up of poor circumstance. But, he reminds himself every time when the topic arises, someone coming back so frequently isn’t just looking for BOOKS.
The small handful of novels by the register serve as an excuse to stand and move a bit closer, as though he doesn’t already KNOW where they go. ‘ … If you’re coming in just to say hi, I DO sometimes leave the house once the store is closed. On rare occasion. ‘
———THE CURL OF HIS LIP AS THE OTHER APPROACHED WITH BOOKS IN TOW. he rarely found himself in a situation where another had caught on so fast. perhaps it was the fact he’d been impatient with this, the small town deprived of many things he found interesting. it wasn’t that the place was boring, of course not… he found something he’d much rather occupy himself with. pushing back a lock of hair, the man plucked a familiar title from the collection.
❝ i’ve been eyeing your goethe collection for some time ; rarely do i find it in the original german, unless i’m special ordering it. ❞ flipping to a page in the hefty anthology, he placed a finger down on a random line, reading it to himself:
always a luckless creature , the ‘ angel ’ should know better than to take shortcuts through parts of the city one such of himself has no reason being in . his small frame comes to a swaying halt too late ; his shoe lands in still warm blood … but at least he avoided stepping on a limb . still clueless as to the situation , kaede kneels before the larger body and his hand hovers over the stranger’s throat . the temptation to touch and feel for a pulse tries to overwhelm him . he only doesn’t because he knows his reputation will cause him too many problems . instead his hands shuffle through his pockets in search of his phone .
———IT WAS THE KIND OF SITUATION HE DIDN’T OFTEN FIND HIMSELF IN. he’d made sure to make it quick, the kill taking no more than a second in the quiet alleyway. he’d nearly been done with ridding himself of the evidence, when he sensed an entity closing in. quick as his knife, he bolted for the only hiding place he could manage on short notice; behind the dumpster. it wasn’t much, since he had initially suspected the individual to take one look and flee the scene. it would have given him time, at the very least, before authorities were called. it would have.
❝ drop the phone. ❞ he commanded, gun drawn and face obscured behind the fiberglass of his helmet.
“Aren’t you lucky I’m just feeling so charitable today,” the amusement is in his voice, but the brick house of a man just moves to grab the other’s arm, careful not to grip too hard, and pull him up. khal’kru doesn’t let go until he’s steady on his feet again.
———HE DROPPED TO THE GROUND WITH THE KIND OF FORCE THAT ONLY CAME FROM AN EXHAUSTED BODY. catching his breath, the man heaved himself onto two feet, careful not to stumble as he finally reached the top of the pass.
❝ i’d be luckier if you weren’t so damn hard to find. ❞
“Damn, I’m surprised that worked.” khal doesn’t give praise freely, yet here he is nonetheless. eyes watch with little care, despite the… semi-kind words. ever the enigma, he is.
———❝ A LITTLE HELP WOULD BE NICE. i could beg? i’m very good at begging. ❞ trying to lift himself over the steep edge, the man wiped his sweat-riddle face with his dangling arm. somehow, his initiative to get to the other’s level ended in an overexertion of his telekinetic ability and upper body strength. this was some real bullshit.
at the supposed compliment, tiki gave a hint of a smile. having been starved of any type of flattery, he appreciates all of it, no matter how small it may be. he the laughed dismissively, setting the kit on a table without moving one muscle.
❝ thanks, but… i can’t be any more incredible than you… or am i mistaken?
❞
———LINGERING EYES HAD WITNESSED HIS CARELESS UPHEAVAL. so small, the injury, he hadn’t even thought it could become such a pivotal device. he considered then what a tiny display of power could do in the presence of another. his only saving grace seemed to be the other’s otherness. he offered his hand to the stranger.
❝ i can do a bit more than pull a splinter with my mind. could we talk in private? ❞
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