Hannah knows (darknesshasme) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-04-12 01:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | dorian gray, violet harmon |
Who: Hannah and Nathan
What: Meeting!
Where: A church
When: Recentish
Warnings/Rating: Nathan is a creeper. :)
Snake metaphors had always appealed to Nathan. He read somewhere that humans naturally cringed away from things that slithered, and he read somewhere else that snakes are better predators than tigers because they find prey that doesn’t even realize it’s prey until far, far too late. Nathan liked that kind of thing. He liked the slow snake-slither that was too slow to look like a slither, the act of mining information and stalking small shivering white rabbits until death was practically afterthought. Murder was never an afterthought for Nathan, but it was work, and he wanted it to be art. He liked the idea of it being natural and flippant, though it wasn’t, not unless you wanted to get caught. Nathan wanted to be a natural at what he did, the new top of the food chain, the thing that ate better than tigers--and he wanted it so badly he was willing to be patient. Very, very patient.
Nathan found that most people weren’t patient. That’s why they put money into the slot machines or onto the green felt, why they looked for euphoria in plastic bags and on mirrored tables rather than in each other. Nathan thought he broke the mold, just one more reason he was camouflaged at the top, and everyone else was too stupid to notice.
This new rabbit was even smaller and whiter than the ones before, and he hoped it would be just as fluffy. Maybe it would even try to run fast at the end, which would be fun, but he mustn’t get ahead of himself. He needed to look like a rabbit, too. He chose pink, a deceptively harmless color that was exactly that of fresh broken bone, and he employed a natural neatness to keep it on a shirt and buttoned at just the right fit. He should have worn deceptive shoes, too, ones with pointlessly thick soles or ugly snaps, but he couldn’t bear to be uncomfortable on his feet, so he sacrificed slithering to get where he was going without being too inconvenienced or too ugly; the shoes were designer, made over to look like tennis shoes and worn enough to pretend poverty. He showed up early to the church, moved around it to understand how the buildings were laid out and matching them to what he had seen on google maps, and taking the trouble to introduce himself as a lost potential parishioner when someone in an official-looking collar gave him an odd look. By that time a crowd was gathering, and he might as well have been no one at all.
Hannah showed up at the church with some guilt riding on her shoulder that had nothing to do with Jesus. This wasn’t her normal church, see, but she didn’t want her normal priest eying her there with a boy, then getting on the phone with her stepmomma soon as the homily was done with. She was walking a fine line at the apartment as it was, and she needed to stay there until she made enough to pay for something else. She was worried through and through, and it showed in the way she leaned against the low, stone fence that surrounded the church.
Her dark hair was in two braids, and the setting desert sun tried to blow them around with no luck. Her head was bowed, and she was fussing with her fingers, thinking over the mess in the lobby of Passages and how it all pertained to her. It still troubled her something fierce that she couldn’t remember what had happened after the party. She woke up safe in her bed, but she knew she should be dead, and she just couldn’t remember nothing between that thing in the water, the thing with the teeth, and the next morning. And now it was out there, taunting, and she didn’t have Loren’s certainty that it wouldn’t get ahold of her one day, no matter how much she pretended otherwise.
Her thick, gray dress billowed around her ankles, but the breeze was next to nothing as far as cooling things down went, and she wasn’t thinking about it anyway. She’d heard tell the boy in the basement had died, and she’d do near anything to keep from dying on account of a demon that might, or might not be a demon. She sighed, and she looked up, trying to find a pink shirt in the thick of people that were starting to file in for the service. She saw the shirt before she saw his face, and she just smiled shyly, hoping he’d like her well enough.
Nathan knew very well what his little rabbit looked like. She had given him enough information that, coupled with her first name, he was able to look at the possible churches in the Las Vegas area and narrow things down to the point where he could watch two or three, and he hired a couple idiots and told them to look for a female scribbling in a book of some kind on the grounds, and within the week he found her. Part of what made Nathan good at what he was, however, was the camouflage. He kept his hands in his pockets and he cast his eye over the crowd, looking, and he made sure to go past her and then return again once she saw that she’d identified him. He enjoyed a little flush that marked the beginning of the chase, and, as was becoming habit, he cast a thought back to see if Dorian was watching.
Nathan had no good opinion of Dorian. He had read his book and thought the silly little boy in the book deserved everything that came to him, and he couldn’t understand why he had been so stupid in the end as to throw his unique gift away--or, in this specific case, tear it up and murder himself. Dorian had used Nathan’s experimental trips through the door to sulk and find disgusting company of his own ilk, and had not Nathan been worried about pursuit after his games at the Masquerade, he would not have returned to the door at all. Be that as it may, however, Nathan craved an audience, and everyone around was so stupid (and he so brilliant) that he could not safely share his work with anyone, until now. Dorian was separate enough, distant enough, that he was a mostly silent watcher in the back of Nathan’s mind, and Nathan was sure he could not reveal Nathan’s secrets because if he was locked up, Dorian would never see his precious collection or his deadly dull London ever again. Nathan couldn’t read Dorian’s thoughts and he was sure Dorian couldn’t read his, but he could tell when the man was paying attention, and he was satisfied with that.
He found himself at the edge of the crowd now, joining Hannah near the fence and admiring the gray dress as something she used to ineffectually shield herself without realizing it simply set her farther apart from those around her. “Hi. I’m Nathan.” He gave her his most relaxed smile, a tenth of the size it really could be, and did not attempt to reach out to touch her or get any closer than a couple feet. He immediately looked away, over the crowd, and then back to her, as if lost in these alien surroundings.
The dress’ long skirt billowed around her ankles, giving the illusion of movement, of swaying, even when she was standing real still, and she ducked her head some and smiled as she looked up at him through dark lashes and inexperience. “Thanks for coming,” she said, as if she was the welcome wagon for the entire diocese of Las Vegas.
There were folks milling all around, pushing and shoving to get inside and out of the Las Vegas heat, but she seemed perfectly comfortable standing still, as if there wasn’t even a bit of rush to get inside and hear whatever the Lord had in store for them. It was telling, maybe, but so much was these days, and she was still real terrible at hiding things like she should. It had bought her a world of trouble with her stepmomma back in the day, when she’d play sick to avoid morning service. But her stepmomma wasn’t here, and this wasn’t even her real church. She smiled at him, a slow thing of a smile, and then she tucked her chin against her shoulder.
“We should go on in,” she said. Then, as if remembering that she’d forgotten the greeting altogether, she smiled brighter at him, all kinds of trust in her gaze. “I’m Hannah. It’s real good to meet you finally.”
Nathan turned back and smiled at her, keeping his limbs loose around the pockets of his pants. “Yeah, you too.” He glanced from her to the door and some of his trepidation showed on his face. His father’s family was Jewish enough to make a point of it, and there was no words for how much he would disapprove of this (did disapprove, as no doubt he would hear of it from the men Nathan hired), but that wasn’t what troubled Nathan. Nathan’s job was not to make too much of a spectacle of himself while he was with Hannah. He should be seen with her, be friendly, but not notably so. He knew there were all kinds of things in a Catholic ceremony he hadn’t bothered to learn. Returning his gaze to her, he said, “You’re going to show me the ropes so I don’t look stupid, right?” He gave her a hopeful little smile.
Hannah nodded easily, though her expression turned just a little worried. “This ain’t my regular church,” she said, all south and apology. “I might not know just how they do things here, but it’ll be close, and if anything’s off, well, it’ll be wrong for both of us,” she said, hoping that would make it alright. Most churches were the same, with the exception of a hymn here and there, but she didn’t expect him to be singing. She couldn’t tell he was Jewish either, because she’d never talked to a Jew in the whole of her life, and she didn’t know a lick about being Jewish. She just tugged on the crucifix around her neck, and she nodded toward the inside of the cool church.
Inside, the pews were rich wood and the walls were old stone, and the entire eastern part of the church cast stain-glass light over the believers, casting them in rich rubies and stunning garnets. The stations of the cross were depicted in the glass. Suffering, to death, to redemption in pretty colors and expensive work. Hannah didn’t pay attention to it, because she’d never been brought up to look at pretty things, and she didn’t have a whole lot of her own interests. It was just light through glass, something taken for granted as she slid into the pew and knelt on the kneeler, looking over at him so he knew he could do the same, if he wanted.
Nathan liked the accent, and smiled a smile that appeared to have no source. She sounded vulnerable and naive with that thick tongue, an approach thanks to an education in the west and a deep conviction that everywhere from Nevada to just short of where the pilgrims landed was peopled only by ignorant hicks with no shoes. It was too early and probably too visible to take her hand, but Nathan was convinced they'd work up to it. He went through the motions as she did, contemplating the windows and the existence of a deity who must be as impressed with his secret doings as he, Nathan, was himself. They always pleaded to God in the end, God and mommy or daddy, a phenomenon he liked to explain with Freud and Nietzsche but really didn't understand at all. He thought about this as he looked around at the church, and the sheep, and his rabbit. Even so the ceremony seemed long.
Hannah knew the devil existed, demons too, seeing as the whole world thought she had one lingering in her soul. But she hadn’t paid real good attention to the part where folks had told her that the devil could be a quiet boy with curls wearing a pink shirt. She smiled over at him as she sat back in the pew, a tip of chin to her shoulder, a hint of pink in her cheeks, and she thought he was real sweet, trying like he was.
Despite everything - her stepmomma, the nuns and priests, the boys dying during exorcisms - Hannah did still believe in Jesus, and there was something so pretty about mass that she sat at careful attention, hands folded in her lap. Well, for everything but the homily. She didn’t like the priest lecturing, and she glanced over at Nathan and gave him a smile as the man in the black robe went on about the sins of the flesh and how they were all heading to Hell quicker than the sun could set.
It was the singing she really liked, because it was like being part of something, and the voices rising all around her made her want to be a better person. She liked that feeling, that optimism that came with mass, and by the time communion came around she was happy again, the homily forgotten and her gaze shy as she glanced over at him again.
Whenever he caught motion out of the edge of his eye, he glanced at her, and he smiled the weak smile that seemed earnest enough. He thought of it as his snake smile, and his eyes were small when he used it, hidden in the curves of his brows and the angelic curls of his hair. He practiced it back when he was in college, and he looked good and harmless behind it. Sort of like the hypocrite hanging up on that cross there. He leaned over after the homily and nudged at her with his shoulder, just a little nudge, aimed to make her little pink cheeks pinker. He didn’t sing any of the songs, he just hummed a soft hum from the bottom of his chest in harmony with whatever was going on, and noted her approval for the music. Under his breath, he said, “I’m a terrible singer.”
She’d been listening to him hum, and there wasn’t much point in pretending she hadn’t been. She was pretty sure getting lost in a boy’s humming during church was a sin of some kind, though she couldn’t figure out which one, because it wasn’t any of the real bad ones; she was sure about that. Anyway, she’d been caught listening, and her cheeks did go redder. “You hum nice,” she told him, which earned them both a shush from the little old lady in front of them, the one with the white-violet hair. She smelled like lemons, the old woman, and Hannah almost giggled, but she managed not to. That would earn her a whole lot of Hail Marys in confession, laughing.
Around them, the congregation was standing to watch the priest filter down the aisle, like some procession with a side of Jesus, but Hannah didn’t watch. She looked over at him, her expression asking if he’d liked it, the service. “I can show you the confessionals and baptismal chamber after,” she offered in a whisper, even though there was no way her voice was gonna carry over the song. It wasn’t her church, but she’d manage, and maybe he’d like a tour.
Nathan was distracted by the priest. The robes, the crown, even. It was incredible, like watching people worship rabbits skipping down a long row and everyone else worshipping their progress. Nathan didn’t understand how these people could participate in this, not just often but weekly, and not see the utter futility of it. They were talking, but nothing was answering, and they couldn’t see it. Nathan slowly shook his head, not realizing that she’d asked him something, and after a split second, the awareness hit him. He turned around to face her, and the smile reappeared, replacing something quite different, a mere flash. He lowered his voice. “I don’t think I’m allowed. We could go somewhere instead, get breakfast.” He wrinkled his nose at the smell of the parade.
She didn’t understand what he meant about not being allowed, because the baptismal was always this big old thing, open and with more things that glittered than a jewelry box. The confessionals, too, were always lined up wide for folks to see and light candles outside of, little red ones that cost money, and that Hannah always had an itch to light all at once, every last one, until they all flickered in unison. But she didn’t clarify any of that, and she just nodded instead. “There’s a place across the way,” she said of where she’d gone with Clare that one time, where the coffees had exotic names and the straws were shiny black. With that, she edged out of the pew, behind the folks that were filing out after the procession, a small smile over his shoulder as she moved.