WHO: Jamie Bellafonte, Sam Winchester, open WHAT: Jamie meets Sam Winchester. WHEN: June 29, 2009; 5 pm WHERE: Just outside the library. RATING/STATUS: tba/incomplete
It was too early for the thin Greek man to be awake. He was hidden from the view of most of the people scurrying by, though he knew he was visible from inside the library. His back felt horribly exposed, and the silent man turned to run his eyes over the doors. He stood stock-still, as if the fate of the universe depended on watching the clear glass doors for some small signal, a harbinger of some horrid destructive force about to come and enslave the entirety of the population. Then, the man tipped his head and turned back to the street. He would sit there for a few hours, watching and waiting until the humans were gone. This city reeked of inhumanity, and he thought it likely that the humans were entirely unaware of the strangers invading the streets. He chuckled, and the sound was disquieting. Had anyone been beside him, they might have caught the muttered words that fell from his mouth. They were slurred, barely understandable in the thick accent. "These humans," the man had said, "so weak and unknowing."
The man stroked the inside of his own forearm, tracing a phantom wound that had left an ugly scar the likes of which he hoped never to receive again. His name was Jamie Bellafonte, and he couldn't have looked more out of place if his skin was blue. His black hair was collar-length with red dye in the ends, a style he found he was getting more and more bored with. Maybe the colour would change, or the way he cut his hair. Maybe he'd even stop dyeing it. That, however, was doubtful. Once settled in a pattern, Jamie rarely felt a need to change it. His eyes, an ice-blue colour, were heavily lined with black make-up, a startling technique that made them seem vaguely raccoonish. Thin lips were firmly set into a smile, though it wasn't at all a pleasant one. His clothing was perhaps even more bizarre, black in colour and covering nearly the entirety of his body despite the heat. It was unusual to find someone so completely covered in June, though he didn't seem uncomfortable in the least. To Jamie, this was normal attire. Like some video game ninja, it was completely usual to cover his body, hide each and every one of his scars. Jamie was under no circumstances a terribly vain man, but it was not wise to advertise the identifying marks of a dead man.
Jamie turned once more to the library. He could go inside, be in the air conditioning and away from the bustle of the city. Even quiet towns, after all, had their lives. He turned his head from the street to the doors and back again, assessing the decision. The pros and cons would be weighed before he made a decision, like always. Inside, it was cool. He could play his mind games there, watch the people all around studying their books and maps and charts. He might even be able to steal someone's food. It was a thief's life Jamie led; each breath he took was a crime and a robbery from the good people of the earth. He smiled even wider, and one gloved hand reached out to pull the library's door open. As he did so, the air from within rushed over him. He shivered slightly, goose-flesh appearing wherever the man-made wind touched him.
One booted foot crossed the threshold of the building, followed by its twin a moment later. The door swung shut behind him, and it was only his arm reaching behind him that stopped it from slamming. It closed quietly and slowly as Jamie patiently waited. Patience was a virtue Jamie had long ago mastered. He needed it. In his line of work, impatience could get you killed or worse. Jamie was a quick learner. He'd had to learn all of this the hard way, and Jamie had the scars to prove it. The scars he had gotten from lessons made him both ashamed and proud. His scars were visual representations of things he had learned, and how long it had taken him to learn them, and he cringed at the very thought that he might have more left. Of course, he knew he hadn't had a chance to learn it all. He never would learn everything. No one ever would. To assume otherwise was foolish. Jamie might have been a number of things, but foolish was not one of them.
His eyes trailed casually over the inhabitants of the library. A blonde girl in the corner stared hard at a book, and Jamie could hear her frustrated mumblings. A redheaded boy with freckles was pouting at the shelves, whining at someone just on the other side. It appeared to be another redhead, this one a female. Perhaps twins. Jamie's eyebrow quirked higher, and he inched farther in. Librarians sat at a desk, and other students and teachers were littered around at tables or in shelves. It was, to Jamie, a playground. A smirk worked its way onto his face and he moved to a shelf to observe the humans from behind a book. As he did, his eye caught a brunette with hair that was shaggier than his own. He paused at the bookshelf, appearing to skim. His hand wavered, and a book was randomly selected. He peeked over its binding at the male he'd picked out just a moment before. Brunette, with a face that looked as careworn as an old grandmother's. The eyes were a strange mixture of colour, the kind that you could never tell if they were blue or green or hazel or what. Jamie could entertain himself for hours trying to guess the true colour of eyes like that. But he was more interested in the brunette in general, because he seemed to stick out like a sore thumb. No, the boy was studying. He seemed the sort that might always be studying. But he seemed to carry upon his shoulders a weight that did not belong to him, and that intrigued Jamie. Had the boy witnessed a crime? Was he the sort that was always solving everyone else's troubles and never his own? Oh, the questions were endless. They flowed quickly through his mind, seamless and unending. In fact, Jamie was so focused on his newly chosen "prey" that he had not noticed that the book in his hands was upside down. Ah, well. Let him look like a fool. He could always claim a bullshit international differences excuse. Or he could try, at any rate.