Good Luck In Your Future Endeavors Who: Roman/Noah What: A Fancy Lunch Where: Restaurant, Las Vegas When: June 2021 Content Warnings: Some mention of violence
He had gotten to pick the venue. Well, Noah had insisted. The pyrokinetic sat in a vinyl-covered booth, the kind that you could wipe virtually any stain off of with a damp rag and a prayer. The formica table hosted a plastic woven basket lined in checkered, wavy paper, which cradled a greasy offering of french fries. Next to it, a plastic cup sweated out its melted ice cubes and flat, dark soda.
This was all punctuated by the screams and unique jarring vocalizations that can only come from children playing in a giant rainbow-hued hamster’s maze. He sat, waiting and patient. He hadn’t told Roman the name of the restaurant or anything about it, only giving him directions for where Noah could be found.
This place was hideous. It was straight out of a reality television show and immediately he hated it. But Roman smiled anyway and made his way over to where the familiar, warm body of his friend had settled. “How charming,” Roman remarked. The booth let a bit of air out of the vinyl and fluff, a spring collapsed. Roman glanced down, cleared his throat, and then gazed at Noah. “Lots of character.”
On the open side of the booth seats a child flew past screaming and waving their arms. Roman only continued to smile at Noah. “Where did you find this place?”
“In the Zagat guide,” Noah answered, shoving a sticky, laminated menu toward Roman, intentionally letting the corner of it touch the sleeve of his immaculate suit jacket. “I didn’t order for you, wasn’t sure what you wanted. They don’t have Old Fashioneds.” The pyrokinetic shrugged and picked up his discarded straw wrapper.
“So, you’re leaving town, huh?” Someone walked by with a dripping cone of soft serve, barely missing Roman’s artfully coiffed hair. “Watch out, you nearly got ice cream in your personality trait.” Noah gestured to the passerby.
Roman could only roll his eyes at Noah. “It’s so wonderful to see you too, my friend.” The laminated menu glistened, he could nearly see his own, perfect reflection.
Then those shoulders would shrug casually, Roman flipped the menu open though his interest waned with his appetite. “I am,” he confirmed, finally. “Going back to California to claim my birthright.” Cecilia was getting up there in age, and in spite of the caveat drawn into her will, Roman had a few ideas to help expedite her progression to see the Almighty.
He tipped his head slightly and offered Noah a winning smile, “You aren’t going to miss me too much, I hope.”
Noah nodded, leaning down to sip from the straw, his eyes locked on to Roman’s face. “California. That’s cool. You can take the boy out of the trust fund, but you can’t take the trust fund out of the boy? That kind of deal?” He looked up past the lawyer just as a plastic sphere from the ball pit went sailing by.
“Well, I figured since you’re moving on, loose ends should be tied up. Like that guy I killed for you.” The pyrokinetic straightened and pushed the cup away. It scraped against the tabletop. “And your confession that I have on tape. I don’t plan to use it as long as you don’t get chatty.”
Roman smirked. “Oh I haven’t forgotten. Trust me, your secret is safe with me, Noah. We are in this together, remember?” Whatever the man sitting before him was after would be considered. After all, Noah could be quite the fly in the ointment when he wanted to be.
Whatever blip this city was on his radar would be put firmly in the past. Noah, Tal, any of the other lives he’d strutted into and made a mess of. None of them mattered to him.
He sat back and watched Roman flick through the menu with obvious distaste splashed across his features. They were falling into old patterns. Noah wanted out. “There wasn’t ever a ‘we’ to speak of, really,” he replied. “Just what we wanted from each other.” The pyrokinetic leaned forward, resting his crossed arms on the table.
“I know that I was convenient for you, and that you think you were getting away with something like you are with Tal,” Noah continued. His tone wasn’t reproachful, quite the opposite. He wanted to see something real from Roman. “But I knew. I was getting what I wanted from you, too. I think now I know the difference between us, though.”
“Would you like to know that you were always my favorite?” Roman replied. He looked amused, flipping the plastic menu closed with distaste. He would rather eat the backside of a warthog than dine in this place. But then humoring Noah had become a pastime of his. “Are you upset, Noah? Hm? I don’t do commitment, you know that. So why the burn of those ‘loose ties’? Need closure? Most people can’t just let things go and here I had the idea that you knew how to roll with the punches.” He was getting bored with this already.
Using people came with the territory. When they became used up or when he got what he wanted from them he vanished or discarded them. It was a trait he’d learned from his mother.
An eyebrow shot up. “Yes,” Noah answered slowly, nodding. “I’m very upset. You can obviously tell by my complete lack of reaction.” He looked out the window. It was the middle of the day. Roman’s shiny, expensive tank of a vehicle was surrounded by modest, reliable sedans. The shiny Lincoln was like an exotic animal overtaken by a pack of hungry wolves. He turned back to the lawyer.
“If you think I’m bothered by lack of commitment, I would work on your observation skills. Kind of an important thing for a, you know, attorney?” Noah grabbed a french fry. “Anyway, I was going to say that the main difference between us is that while we both grew up with nothing real, you’ve completely killed your own ability to find something that is.”
He popped the fry in his mouth and chewed while he watched Roman’s face.
Roman shrugged nonchalantly. He knew how to press buttons, how to tell people what they wanted to hear. “Oh part of me knows that you are, Noah, even if you don’t realize it. It’s why you’re here.” Relationships, partnerships, even a dabble into trouble. As long as their secret was shared between them they were ultimately committed to each other in the sake of keeping it. He then smiled a bit.
“I don’t need anything ‘real,’” he explained, shaking his head. “It gets in the way of my business ventures, but I’m so very happy that you’ve found something else to latch onto.” Even if Noah hadn’t, and all of this was smoke, he simply didn’t care.
“Now, if you’re going to extort me, send me a bill. Make it reasonable, at least. I have a plane to catch.”
“Flying commercial? That’s not very on brand of you.” Noah knew that no matter what he said, or did, Roman could always convince himself he was the smartest, most astute person in the room no matter what. He needed it. The pyrokinetic reached down onto the seat next to him and produced a sheath of papers; buttery, expensive stock. It was wrapped in a jet black ribbon.
Noah let it drop onto the table in front of the lawyer. “It’s piano sheet music for Oedipus Rex, the opera. I figured you could play it for Cecilia.”
The smack of the stock paper hitting the table caused Roman’s eyes to drop. He knew the piece, it was practically burned into the tips of his fingers and the front of his mind. Roman could’ve played it in his sleep. Narrowing his eyes, the lawyer glared at the black orifices of notes struck against the clean paper. Then he lifted his head.
“She’s going to love it.” Had he the ability to kill a person with mental powers he would’ve put Noah down. As it was, Roman did the best he could to mind his heart rate which had picked up with the sudden appearance. A single hair had fallen out of place.
“I’ll let her know you thought so highly,” he added through gritted teeth. It was then Roman pressed his tie against the white of his shirt and got up.