Si Waylen (lovelikeblood) wrote in birthrightrpg, @ 2020-10-18 21:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | john abbott, ~roman skye |
Some Sort of 'Experience'
Who: John and Roman
What: Walking and Talking
When: Night, Present
Where: Fremont Street, Downtown Las Vegas
Ratings: Low
John Abbott had lived two human lifetimes’ worth of years, a span that stretched across time and geographic boundaries. From the gas lamps of Victorian London to the chaos of the Blitz in Belfast, revolution in Berlin to the last truly gritty days of New York City in the late 90s, then a hop across the country to experience Los Angeles, with its ocre-colored air that tasted of exhaust and fire, John had seen, heard, and done plenty. He stayed only as long as a city stimulated his mind. When he’d slaked his curiosity, he moved onto somewhere new. Las Vegas was an unremarkable location; he found the architecture of the city distasteful and the climate miserable. It was the turnstile of people that intrigued him. Life had a different flavor in the city of vice. Here, pulses raced from happiness or fear, and the hormones… God, the hormones! They released the most marvelous array of olfactory stimulation. Machines jangled, women danced, dirty money (both germ-ridden and of questionable legality) flowed from hand to hand. It was a strange, beautiful, fraudulent place in the center of nothing at all.
He was a familiar face in many of the city's bars and cafes: always well-dressed, often drunk, a slouching, chatty figure with a mess of curly hair and a two-hundred-dollar shirt. When John wasn’t indoors, he walked the streets, hands in pockets, in search of someone to fancy for a while. He preferred Fremont Street to the strip. An open-air mall with an LED canopy and a slew of talented performers, it had the best foot traffic. John paused to watch a girl zipline overhead. The loose, white sleeves and legs of her outfit flared, lending her the look of an angel in flight. Granted, one who wailed like a banshee.
Viva Vista erupted overhead; the scatter of illumination coloring the arched, pristine white canopy danced. Those from the ground would experience it untouched except for those brave souls eager to zip line - only then would the sight be blocked for those few seconds it took for a human to slip past, above the crowds.
Roman knew that Fremont Street was supposed to be some sort of experience, and in a way it was.
Many things lined the streets: kiosks, vendors, casinos, hotels. Plenty of trouble would be had if you simply knew where to look. Though the foot traffic wasn’t as bad here as the Strip boasted.
There was always something to look at, indulge in.
As the young woman overhead zipped by on the line, Roman leaned toward a man standing next to him though his eyes were on the girl above. “Brave, or foolish?” He didn’t find such things tasteful but then he also felt more cultured than many people he interacted with.
“Neither brave nor foolish. Bored,” John mused in his accented English, watching the soles of the woman’s shoes disappear from view. “Ah. Here’s another.” He shook his hand free from his trouser pocket to point at a tourist sliding in the opposing direction, this one a young man, a collegian perhaps, in a t-shirt with an embroidered pocket and a pair of khaki shorts. There was nothing quite so fantastical about him. “And, I suspect, exhibitionist. It’s an aerial runway. And look at us!” He turned to the man with an expression of delight. “Obliging them.”
The answer returned was not one that he’d been expecting which warranted Roman’s attention to wane from the young woman. He turned to look at the man he’d spoken to, registering the accent and the look of delight, which he felt instantly amused by with no true reason as to why. “Isn’t that most of Vegas, though?” Roman chuckled, lifting a hand in a casual gesture to mean these people. “Exhibitionists, I mean.”
“That’s what we do - when you flash a light at someone they’re apt to look even if they don’t know why they’re looking.”
To the tourists above and below Roman could cast another glance, but his gaze didn’t linger. And then he looked at the strange man again, “They do find a thrill in showing off, though. I’ll give them that much.”
“I’ve never been one to turn up my nose at a good show, and there are so many of those here,” John agreed, the breathiness of his voice a clear indication that he was enamored with the culture, or what passed for it in the Nevada desert, in a city that forged its charm with neon tubing. He indicated their surroundings. “But what you find on the streets is better than any stage. Don’t you agree?” The vampire looked to the man with the immaculate facial hair for his opinion.
A show didn’t necessarily mean zip lining, but Roman considered the idea. To each their own. “Agreed. From the street acts to the full on stage performances that don’t necessarily include a musical artist type.” Vegas was full of acrobatics, magicians, aerialists, to name a few things.
“I’ll take an unpolished flash of inspiration over a choreographed performance any night. Last week,” John pointed at an empty street corner by a coffee shop, “I saw a man busking, just over there, with a didgeridoo, which wasn’t the remarkable bit. As he stood there, blowing away, this breathtaking girl approached. Without any provocation, she took off her heels and started dancing, barefoot on the sidewalk. Suddenly it was art.”
As the stranger motioned, Roman turned to peer in the direction noted as the story was told. “That does sound lovely. Where I am from, in California, we have similar occurrences. Of course they tend to happen closer to the beach,” Roman remarked, turning back to the other man. “But they’re just as lovely.” The people there were similar, too, but yet so different.
“Oh? I relocated from California, not long ago,” John said. He stroked his cheek before returning his hand to his pocket, hazel eyes sparking with a bit more interest. The tips of his shoes pointed more definitively in Roman’s direction. “Los Angeles. Incredible city, that one. Diverse in its people, wonderfully mundane in its weather. You?”
As he spoke, a woman walked by them in a backless dress. Vested as he was in Roman’s response to his question, it was challenging not to look. There was a bit of that ‘flashlight’ quality about her that Roman had alluded to earlier. John suspected -- even as he narrowed his eyes in deep study of Roman’s face in an attempt to maintain his focus -- that the distraction was less to do with her dress and more the gingery fog of perfume that tickled his nose.
How fortunate they experienced the same place. Was it sheer coincidence or just undeniable fate? Perhaps the latter if he believed in such a thing. That was a term Roman used loosely as the label slapped on chance and probability didn’t quite make sense to him at times.
“Los Angeles is where I am from, actually, and I quite agree with you. It has its perks, and also its challenges.” He was glad to be freed from the chains of that life, though. Freedom here tasted sweet even if he had started from what he might notate as a bottom level.
As the woman passed, Roman did look. He beheld her for a moment, the way her skin peeked out from beyond the dip cut into the dress. There wasn’t any helping it, he was a people person through and through.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, offering the man his attention once again. “I don’t think I caught your name, friend.”
A small chuckle escaped the vampire as his acquaintance followed the woman’s retreating figure. “She is easy on the eye,” he admitted, “Especially her neck.” He admired the upsweep of her hair into pins, which lent the two men a nearly uninterrupted view of skin, from scalp down to the curve of her lower back. “I’m John.” He offered a hand, which would be a few degrees cooler to the touch, though not by much in this ambient temperature.
“Roman,” he replied, accepting the hand. He shook many hands and each of them were unique as the people they were attached to. He also didn’t mind the bit of difference in temperature. After a moment he let go, “are you a tourist, John, or a resident?” He didn’t look like a tourist, this man, but then tourism came in many degrees.
“Hm? Oh. My apologies. I should’ve been more clear. When I said I relocated, I meant here.” John indicated the area around them. “I prefer a walking city, but they seem to be few and far in between. I’m not much for cars, traffic, all that,” he said. “I have never understood the intimate relationship between Americans and your automobiles.” John gave Roman a closed-mouth smile, perhaps wondering what sort of car the other man preferred. He pivoted on the heel of one shoe, momentum carrying him in the direction they’d both been heading before they stopped to gape at the younger crowd playing at Tarzan. “Would you care to walk?” The thumb and forefinger of one hand unbuttoned a cuff and he began to neatly roll his sleeve above a wristwatch.
Roman nodded.
While he also lived in Vegas via relocation, sometimes he still felt like a tourist. But that was neither here nor there in the context of things. Most of the time he was working, too busy to actually see the sights or get a good look at the people.
“Ah, but the Bugatti purrs so well,” the lawyer quipped in reply to the comment about Americans and automobiles. His smile held amusement, and a touch of that narcissism he was known for. He didn’t drive anything too extreme here, but back home at the family estate they had several vehicles in showroom condition, as well as some that remained tarp covered, that would’ve made Jay Leno blush.
And then he nodded, willing to oblige John. “I would like that, thank you.” Falling into step was easy enough, and they seemed to part the crowd without too much hassle.
“The Bugatti!” John exclaimed. “Now who’s the exhibitionist?” He smiled, finished rolling his cuffs and looked ahead at the city block that awaited them, two finely appointed men in a sea of shorts, polo shirts, and baseball caps. “My god, the looks you must get. Can I ask, what do you do for a living?” The light at the pedestrian crosswalk changed, signaling a flood of people in either direction. John stepped into the painted lines, enjoying the press of people, their mingling scents and sounds, the brush of an elbow. This was the reason for his love of a city with this kind of movement; no isolation in a steel, aluminum, and fiberglass prison on a highway, with nothing but one’s thoughts to occupy them. He lived for the cacophony, the saturation of his senses.
Roman issued a chuckle. The Bugatti had been a gift from Cecilia on her son’s first win in a high profile case. It sat under a tarp in the back of their garage, neglected. He doubted his father was driving it, that wasn’t his style. It seemed a memory at this point. Maybe he’d take a trip back home to take the ostentatious vehicle out for old times sake.
“Lawyer,” came the casual reply. “And not a terrible one.” There were, of course, terrible ones. He always fought for his clients no matter their background and it was rare he lost. He did lose, of course. Everyone did. But those times were few and far between.
He didn’t mind the nudging of the crowd as he walked alongside John. That was to be expected. “And what of you, my friend? What catches your interest?” They were different questions but also the same question in the same context.
“That is, without a doubt, the most mundane advertisement for legal services I’ve ever heard,” John said, his tone light. “And I have heard a few.” He lifted his foot onto the curb. “As for me, I am a poet first, a novelist second, and a professor third. Never stayed in one place long enough to go for tenure, though I should. They’d get much more than they bargained for, if I did.”
“Oh!” Roman laughed, “was I interviewing?” Amusement creased the corners of his eyes. “I happen to be one of the best defense lawyers in the State of California. I am a pianist, not many know that about me so keep that one to yourself,” he mused, trying to think of more qualifying attributes.
“I came here to practice law on my own, and I specialize in the more unique type of clientele.”
When John mentioned being a professor, Roman would nod. “What particular subject did you instruct?”
The vampire laughed. John closed his eyes for a beat, head tipping towards the black-orange haze of the sky. So the man had an ego to match his suit and car; he hadn’t been able to let the comment about his advertisement slip without correcting any misguided assumptions regarding his talents. “Your secret is safe with me,” he promised. “We wouldn’t want anyone discovering you’re an artist at heart. I teach literature and creative writing… Put differently, how to dissect and categorically dismiss the work of other writers whilst publishing absolute drivel.”
John stepped around a piece of melted chewing gum on the concrete. “I doubt my clientele are as unique as yours.”
“My reputation would be shattered,” he replied, amused. Part of him loathed the tidbit of artistic talent as it had been perfected and utilized solely for entertainment of guests at beckon call. He’d been conditioned to perform on command like a hound, those weren’t his proudest moments.
The statement didn’t surprise Roman at all in the context of the occupation. “Ah, I see. You seem articulate enough to navigate through prose or paragraph quite easily. I’ll leave the dissection to someone with your talents.”
He didn’t try to speak on subjects he wasn’t an expert on as it only served to waste time and get those true experts in the wrong mindset. Boundaries could be good.
At that, John touched the sides of his nose. “Roman, you flatterer. There is nothing a PhD loves more than to be described as ‘articulate enough.’” A door swung open to their right and an explosion of feminine laughter preceded a gaggle of women, all heady with alcohol and the promise of what was next on their evening’s agenda. John caught the sticky-sweet fragrance of pina colada on a woman's breath.
“Where were you headed?” John wondered.
“Really just browsing and passing a bit of time,” Roman replied. There hadn’t necessarily been a destination in mind but being outside seemed suddenly better than being cooped up. He’d considered bringing his dog but thankfully had decided against it.
He hadn’t missed the group of women but after a glance at one or two of them his attention waned and went back to John.
“Browsing for what?” John thought it an interesting turn of phrase. For clothes, entertainment, people, his next unique client? “Or perhaps you were having a bit of a brood, but admitting that a man like yourself could fall prey to such a mood would also ruin your reputation.” The last bit was spoken in jest. The vampire knew next to nothing about his companion but he had not gotten the impression that Roman was the sort to wander about, contemplating the meaning of life and the finer points of human emotion. Those could be his own misconceptions making an appearance. God knew he was prone to emotional walkabouts.
“Anything. Everything. This place is awash with intrigue.” Or perhaps he’d just been bored and needed some air. Stepping out meant trodding over something worth looking at for a second. Thankfully he never got caught gawking though that was a rare feat. Roman chuckled at the quip, shrugging. “Am I the brooding type? I think not. But it could be interesting to change things up once in a while.” Rarely did anyone get a peek into the real Roman Skye. Most of what he did was a show, taking on whatever mood or tone was needed to gain ground or build foundation.
“Hmm.” John watched the other man’s profile, not quite convinced that Roman was as taken by their surroundings as he claimed, unless he had a world champion poker face. Of course, if he did, this would be the city for it. “If it’s awash with intrigue, as you say,” John began, “Show me. Of all the things you see before you, what’s one that moves you?”
Sharp eyes would sweep the crowd, searching for something unique and personal that would describe what he felt. All around them people moved, the sidewalks were lined with this and that to attract and delight. “Look over there,” Roman breathed, motioning to where a young girl of about ten was standing on the sidewalk. A small crowd was posed in a semi-circle while the child attempted to do a magic trick.
The two adults standing nearby so as to keep watch of her while also allowing her to have freedom were obviously her parents, but the looks on their faces - the way their expression seemed swollen with love and pride - were what he’d longed to see in his own parents’ faces. “She may be young and this place is full of wonderful things, yet she is making her own mark on it at an early stage. And she isn’t too bad for being a child.”
“I see.” John watched the ingenue. “My sister adored a crowd, even at that age. She’d do anything as long as it brought her attention. Which is different from her,” he said, meaning the human girl performing under the watchful eye of a mother and father. “She’s creating wonder. Giving, not taking.
“Not bad,” he told Roman.
Roman nodded. “I, myself, was no exception to that. At a young age, before I understood, I enjoyed crowds as well. In that context, anyway. But I couldn’t quite understand the appeal for parlor tricks like magic.” Though he played the piano instead.
“I suppose it’s watching people try to work through it… Knowing you’ve gotten one over on them. I always preferred to be behind the scenes,” John said. “I used to write little plays for my sister. I loved to watch her bring them to life. She was terrible, of course, but half of performance is commitment and she had plenty of that.” He smiled at the memory.
John watched a while longer, finding himself compelled to clap along with the crowd. Then he looked around them at the buildings, reminding himself of what was close. “I think I’m going to retire to a corner in some venue or another. What about you? You’re welcome to join, but I won’t be offended if you want to enjoy the night. Just enough of a crowd to keep it interesting.”
The idea that John composed plays for his sister was not a surprise. Though Roman was curious to learn more about the other man; John was interesting and willing to engage in simple conversation without much judgement. He appreciated that.
“Ah, that sounds lovely. I would be honored to join you.” With that, he seemed to find the purpose of the evening stroll after all and looked forward to the company.