tampered | Log: Complete

Log: Complete

When; Oct. 22 (night)
Rating; PG13?
Characters; Cain Hargreaves

bitingnightmare
Summary; Accusing the younger man of sequestering himself in his sanctuary results in a face to face meeting at the Coliseum.
Log;

The nightmare was there first, being quite familiar with the old fashioned pub setting. He waited at a corner table near the window, snow white in hair contrasting the pitch black leather of his jacket. His sunglasses shielded the ivory lining his eyelids but in this city teetheyes weren't so extraordinary compared to blue skin or triple angel wings or cybernetic gun arms.

It was for this reason that he didn't bother to keep the smoke from escaping through all three of his mouths. His Mild Seven was halfway burnt.

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The last time he'd done something like this, it had ended worse than badly. Not this time, he promised himself, tucking the minute pistol he ought to carry more often into his inner pocket. Sneaking out from under Riff's watchful eyes again pained him--he knew Riff would worry once he noticed him gone, especially after the last week--but to go out, unafraid, was an act of rebellion, a way of reestablishing his own life.

Yes, that was it. Curiosity be damned, he would do as he pleased. He had the pistol and the communicator and he would do as he pleased.

The 'Coliseum' was the grandiose name of the place. He'd never been there before, but the name conjured up images of soaring marble arches and gladiators when it was really nothing more than an ordinary public house. Pleasantly familiar in that regard.

He pushed through the door and paused, searching in the din and dim light--there, the man with white hair and smoke coming out of his eyes. Strange that such a sight should surprise him less and less each day here. Still, he stepped up to the man's table.

"Evening," said the nightmare, raising his cigarette in a wave of greeting to Cain. He pushed a chair out for the other man, the boy in his opinion, though one could argue that Cori was technically a few years Cain's junior. His guest didn't need to know that. The Corinthian sucked down the remainder of his cigarette then rubbed it out in the ash tray. "Wine right," he offered a grin.

"Good evening," Cain replied, taking the offered seat. This was the same man whom he's pestered some weeks ago as to whether the 'rumours' surrounding him were true. And they were. And it would be best not to mention that now.

In fact, he thought, most every time they'd crossed paths, there was something peculiar about the situation.

And tonight too?

"Yes, wine," he replied, finding his smile.

"Have you ever had a Burgundy Bishop," asked the nightmare with a tilt of his head. "Red wine, some juice, and rum."

Not that it was his intention to get Cain drunk. The amount of wine and rum in it wasn't enough to knock out a man of his own stature. There were other drinks he could suggest however...

'Burgundy Bishop'. That sounded like that damn annoying 'Bishop of Norwich' saying.

"No, I've not. I didn't tend to drink rum where I came from."

Gin, brandy, and rum: drink of sailors and workmen. Not that it mattered here, it just seemed to stick in his mind.

"It sounds sweet. Is it any good?"

"A little sweet, all good in my opinion," he nodded, signaling a waiter over to order one for Cain. At least it wasn't a Caliblanco, however the thought of introducing the Victorian to a drink that mixed white wine with lemon-lime soda amused the Corinthian. He ordered an Acapulco Zombie for himself, to celebrate the season perhaps.

Cori had noticed Cain's eyes. Those rumors were one hundred percent true, or had been true at a time passed. Nowadays he accepted those delicacies only as gifts, or took them from the dead and those who more than likely deserved to die in the opinions of others. The latter was mere convenience.

"Too blue collar for you," asked the nightmare, upnodding to Cain. It was a casual question.

Cain eyed the reddish drink quizzically a moment, pushed aside the fruit floating on top, and took a sip.

"Blue collar? Hmm. A bit--the rum and all."

He paused.

"It tastes," he swallowed again, "artificial."

He licked his lips. It was sticky and sweet and clung to his mouth.

"No, I'm sorry, but I don't especially care for it."

He could hear himself sounding like the snob he was, that voice of jaded youth he liked to affect. Honestly, it seemed a bit silly to have to burrow through a fruit salad to get to one's drink, and it seemed more like something one endured en route to getting drunk rather than drinking for the taste of itself.

"I'm sure each part would be fine on its own. It's together that I don't like them."

Cori leaned back in his seat, watching Cain sip at the sweet mix of wine and juice. Their liquors were on the opposite sides of the spectrum. One could smell the alcohol off the surface of his drink. After the brunette showed his jaded distaste for the Bishop, the nightmare slid his own glass in his direction.

"Try that," he suggested with a tip of his sunglasses.

He looked first at the drink and then through his eyelashes at the man across the table. He hadn't been paying enough attention to what was going on at that other end of the table, and the smell of the alcohol could cover the scent of just about anything else that might be malingering in the drink.

Laughing quietly, he pushed the glass back towards the center of the table.

"I dislike drinking out of another's glass. It's coarse. You keep your drink and I'll keep mine."

"It isn't mine yet, I haven't tried it, but let me humor you, Cain."

He spoke coolly, his tone casual despite the obvious skepticism in his eyes. Unlike Cain's, Cori's teeth could barely emote unless he was expressing strong emotions. Nevertheless he grabbed an accompanying shot glass and carefully poured some of the amber cocktail into it. With a quick toast to Cain the Corinthian tossed the shot back.

"Not bad," he nodded, "a little heavy on the vodka."

A 'pledge of good faith', and it seemed in good faith. But would one with teeth for eyes--eyeteeth; the pun amused--be as susceptible as he himself? Three mouths, three places for one too many drops of aconite. If he could smoke through his eyes, could he speak too? Vomit? He let the thought pass.

"Vodka. Another thing I've never had."

But he'd watched as the other took it at a shot, like the Irish take their whiskey: so a mouthful not tasted but swallowed. Another thing to endure en route, and he had no interest in finding himself drunk.

He eyed the glass and it seemed to eye him back. Appalling. It would be strong. Some kind of cruel joke this was.

He took half a mouthful and swallowed, untasting, unthinking, as it nearly, but not quite, but very nearly, made him choke.

Several questions other denizens had already asked him before. He brushed them too, if Cain was wondering, but since the curiosity hadn't been expressed aloud the nightmare said nothing about it. He simply watched the brunette watching his glass, considering it. He'd accused Cain of holing up in that opera house, a shell that could be interpreted literally and figuratively. It was that analogy, he assumed, that willed Cain to try the strong drink. And no, beyond alcohol poisoning there were no other toxins mixed in.

That reaction truly evoked a snicker, but the Corinthian managed to contain his laughter in a brief curve at the corner of his lips.

"Good boy. You know if I wanted your eyes you and I would be out in some alley. Relax," Cori said as he plucked a piece of fruit from the Bishop and tossed it into his mouth with a grin.

"That doesn't concern me."

His eyes were watering. His eyes, those eyes, threatened before, but not by this one. He hadn't the right to try for them. And if he did, he'd be dead within hours: he hadn't right. The rueful irony of his own situation amused Cain.

"What are you playing at, getting me to drink that?"

He could still taste it, faintly, burning and sour at the back of his tongue.

"Broadening your horizons," the nightmare shrugged once, as casual and nonchalant as ever.

But every movement he made exuded the sleek calculated precision of a predator. Even when he wasn't stalking mortals, in their sleep or otherwise, his inherent nature of being a black mirror, a phantom and dream rot, oozed from his damned corporeal pores. Maybe it was the teeth eyes, maybe it was how his Lord and Master created him. The Corinthian had never been human despite being fabricated to deal with humans directly. He leaned forward as he lowered his voice, to keep their conversation strictly between themselves.

"All right I'll cut the bullshit. I find you attractive and would like nothing more than to remedy the foul taste in your mouth with a sample of my own."

Cain sighed with weary cynicism and rested his chin in his hand. Was there no one in this city who was interested in something other than death? Something other than either killing or la petite mort?

Not that he hadn't had his suspicions throughout their conversation on the Network. It had followed the same pattern as the others before: Greed, Asher. He ought to know better by now, really.

He ought not to like the attention so much.

"So that's the game."

He toyed idly with the glass still in front of him.

"I thank you for your honesty, late-comer though it is."

"Your coy gesture is actually becoming," the Corinthian praised Cain.

Normally he didn't appreciate such naivete, but in Hargreaves case he could smell the temptation, that secret guilty pleasure he got from being wanted. That was the nightmare's duty; to detect such dark desires and reflect them. Fortunately this wasn't a business meeting, this was all for pleasure. He pinched a piece of fruit from the Bishop and offered it to Cain in all its alcohol soaked sweetness.

The wine and the juice had seeped into the fruit, bleeding backwards, lending it the look of faint veins in the flesh. A droplet clung to one edge.

He paused for only half a second, considering. To take it would probably be a tacit agreement of sorts, of all the ridiculous things, a bit of wine-soaked fruit as a contract. This wasn't what he wanted. Still--

In one motion, he took it, ate it, and licked his fingertips. No call for manners here.

Still sweet, still excessive and cheap, still biting with alcohol, but it muted the lingering burn on the back of his tongue.

"I'm glad you found it so appealing," he replied, cold, almost sneering.

"I'm glad you welcome my attention," the Corinthian replied, not quite cold, not quite warm, but honest. To Cori, accepting that fruit wasn't a contract, only a subtle gesture. He could play that game too.

After considering their drinks for a moment, he took another gulp of that tequila cocktail then pushed both Zombie and Bishop in front of Cain. Cori gestured to the glasses.

"Sweet on one end, burning bitter on the other," from red to amber, "I'm on to you, boy." The Corinthian purred low in his throat, giving Cain another tip of the sunglasses. He plucked a small slice of fruit and dipped it into the tequila, using the wedge to stir it before he put the soft soaked flesh into his mouth. Then he stood from his chair and adjusted his leather jacket, only to turn and quickly tip the Victorian's chin for a kiss.

He pushed the fruit between Cain's lips with his tongue.

He was caught, not unawares, but by surprise as the other man whirled back to him again, to kiss him. One hand pressed against the table; the other, the leather jacket and the chest of the man wearing it. A tipped chin and a stranger's lips on his; that invasive tongue and the liquor-drenched fruit finding their way into his mouth. And he had little choice but to take it.

He pulled away from the kiss, shutting tightly his eyes and his hands.

The burning alcohol back in his mouth made him take some time before he could find his favorite distant, half-smiling mask again.

"Regrettably, I am enamoured already of another and am, as some might say, unavailable for such dalliances. Good evening."

He stood up, dabbing at his mouth with his handkerchief--the burning was back in his throat again--and more than ready to leave this teasing annoyance behind.

He put up no fight when Cain pulled away, revealing the smiles on the nightmare's face. "And you know very much that telling me so only serves to heighten the temptation, much approved."

Cori gave Cain a quick wink and a rakish grin as he stood up straight, much taller than the brunette. He upnodded once more, "of course. Hard to get, and the thrill gone when not in pursuit." He rubbed his forehead melodramatically before taking the Zombie for another gulp.

"My treat," he repeated his words from the network, but their meaning this time was ambiguous.

Pursuit he could endure, pursuit he could even enjoy. He could perhaps maintain the distance between them, so long as bits of fruit and strange cocktails weren't being forced down his throat, but the distance most likely wouldn't easily be kept. Especially not after more than a few weak points had been found in the matter of one meeting.

"Of course," he said, smiling, "I know perfectly well."

That condescending toss of his head that he had--Cain fussed with his shirt cuff, detached. Frustrating. Peculiar. And how could he drink that stuff--gulp that stuff--like that?

"Your treat," he laughed darkly, wondering if he had truly understood all the nuance hidden in that small phrase. Distance, distance: he wouldn't want to be let close already. Distance was a treat itself.

So long as the game was played right and well, even Cain, especially Cain, could be amused by it.

He tossed his money on the table, covering the wine and tequila drinks, even unfinished as they were. Cori took a lean against the table, his rear pressed to the edge as he folded his arms loosely across his chest. He smirked at Cain, waiting to see if the boy could even will himself to walk out alone. "I have your number," said the nightmare, and it was true.

All the Victorian would have to do was sleep, and the dark mirror of moonlight white hair could be there.

A brief anxiety sparked across his mind and the cellular device was heavy in his pocket, but no, that was impossible. So, metaphorically speaking. He let amusement play on his face, oblivious to the real meaning.

"I said it once before, but I'll say it again. Good evening."

Collected, hands in his pockets, he turned away from the table and found his way back out of the smoky pub and into the the dark streets.

"Sweet dreams," the Corinthian said in parting to Cain, equally amused. Were they both under the reign of the Queen herself he would have tipped his hat to the boy.

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