"So fuck the rest of us, right?" In front of his old haunt, James was getting animated. Large hands churned the air to assist his storytelling. "This absolute unit acts like he didn't just crop dust the whole damned bus and WADDLES, I mean swinging pot belly..." Stationary, he demonstrated, breaking his characteristic surliness for a friend. Metal pieces in the rucksack draping a broad shoulder clinked. Max propped himself against the mirror door to steady his laughter, red-eyed and smelling of ageless dark things, but still one he remembered and had missed. Fresh from a Greyhound Bus tour of middle America, James meant to seek Cress and Gray as soon as he'd passed through the light tunnel. There wasn't a lot of time for moments like these, however. Something something stop and huff the roses. "...From the bathroom in the back, to the front, gnoshing on this Tupperware of fucking homemade chili. It smells like it was cooked in an old boot."
Pausing to check that Max was still with him for the punch, humor rolled low in the Wendigo's chest. An inhuman noise spawned, deep and distant as a developing thunderhead. The blithe slip of his control changed his face. No light from the Labyrinth reached his eyes. The planes of his angular face resembled a skull with two bottomless hollows for sockets. Hemlock poisoned or shuttling ink, the veins at his temples and above the neckline of his shirt turned dark."Picture a 'Seen In Wal*Mart' gag. He stares at his seat like Rodin's Thinker, then gives up the act and rips. RIPS. On purpose. Looks up at the rest of the bus like he's going to apologize. The woman sitting next to me starts gagging. He says 'oopsy daisy,' shrugs, sits down and keeps shoveling the chili. Gave no fucks." He bared a triangle of teeth in a lopsided smirk, aggressive even in his amusement. "Humans. The real apex predators." The cold smile widened.
Pinned beside an incisor, a string of crimson sinew stood out on stark white. It still tasted of homemade chili.
Rendezvous covered and a laugh exchanged, the approach of another hooked his attention before he could excuse himself to continue on. He'd recognize the gait anywhere. Cotton candy, cooked chestnuts and the smell of gingerbread scented the air. Before the Winter Mantle had sharpened his senses to a razors' edge, he'd have been able to pick out the scent of her skin and the black jasmine perfume of her hair from the mess. "Good seeing you," he said to Max, expecting the other man would understand the sudden end to the conversation.
James turned his head before he allowed his body to follow, turning in stages like he feared he'd spook the inky wisp standing behind him. Static built inside his chest, a horde of screeching kiddies in socks running roughshod on new carpet. He'd worked this scenario in his head countless times on that rancid bus, and come up with a dozen smooth things to say. He couldn't recall a one. There she stood, proud as Lot's wife, beautiful as Jezebel, and afraid to trust her Sight. She'd expected him to be here, now. The bond they'd made still held. His tongue felt like sandpaper at the back of his teeth. "Hey." He winced. "So, after a short intermission…"
Caution exhausted him. It was hard work with underwhelming returns. The Oracle should have been approached with care, but care wasn't in his skill set. His rucksack clanked against the earth. He rushed her, trapping her in the lash of his arms. Lifting Cricket off her feet, he held her tight round her back and the narrow tuck of her waist. The odd effect of seeing something so cute it makes you clench your teeth to purge the instinct to squeeze it till it hurts overwhelmed. So glad to hold her it defied description, he could have wrenched the life from her. His teeth ground like he'd been beset with Lockjaw, James socketed the side of his face against her neck, removing negative space.