Lucian Dalca (bottledguilt) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2010-06-30 00:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2009-07-18 |
The Art of Camouflage
Who: Aziveh and Lucian
Where: the courtyard of St. Francis' Catherdral
When: mid-morning
Sitting on a shaded bench in the midsts of his courtyard garden, Lucian was proudly displaying one of his few secret talents--the art of camouflage.
That said, he didn't have to try too hard. Looking properly disheveled from a heavy night of drinking--and then some; he had the bruises and mysterious pains in places he didn't know existed to back him up, that fucking vampire--he was wearing pedestrian clothing (i.e. yesterday's, judging by all the wrinkles) in his usual blindly-pulling-things-out-of-the-closet fashion. His eyes were shaded with sunglasses; the lenses were dark, almost a solid pitch black, reflecting the hints of sun peeking between the clouds away from his bloodshot and weary eyes. Hey, humans thought they had hangovers bad? They ought to try one with his eyes, his nose, his ears. He didn't know how others of his kin managed without something like these things. Lord knew there were many a'-bleary morning saved by them.
Plus, they looked killer on him.
For the time being, Lucian was simply wasting time, waiting for his headache to let up and trying desperately not to vomit the cup of coffee he'd just downed onto his shoes. Sure, he could've just continued to lie in the stuffy backseat of his car with nothing more to keep him company but that puddle of drool he'd woken up in this morning... but here, with glasses and coffee and fresh air, he could at least relax. A bit. As much as one could when feeling as if he'd been shot in the back of the head. Whether he liked it or not, he knew he was going to have to go back in and deliver the liturgy eventually--in the bright, blinding light of the stained glass windows. Without his awesome shades. Didn't stop him from briefly imagining the contrary and grinning faintly at the idea, though.
No, no. That'd ruin it. These glasses were his best disguise, his pièce de résistance to his camouflage. Enough to fool anyone--even his deacons, one of which had completely blown past him five minutes ago with that 'where the hell did that motherfucker go' look on his face without so much as a glance in his direction. He was just that good. The only real giveaway on him was the oversized cross pendant nestled sleepily against his chest, rising and falling with the deep drags off the smoldering cigarette hanging lazily from his lips. A mug was balanced on one knee, the smell of coffee and something that didn't quite smell like coffee wafting around the courtyard.
... whaaat? Don't look at him like that. Come on. Everyone has their vices. He, well... okay, maybe just a little moreso than others. Lucian had never claimed to be a complete paragon of virtue, after all. Needless to say, the priest was looking less like an upstanding role model for all that was meritorious and more like one of those guys on the corner that worried mothers carefully steered clear of with their young children.
But then no one bothered with him, so he could afford a few moments alone in Eden. Hidden in plain sight.
Scratching his bristled cheek, overgrown with a couple days worth of scratchy beard, Lucian fumbled momentarily for the watch he had hidden up one salmon-pinstriped sleeve--nine-fifty, eh? Excellent. Plenty of time for a nap. Head knocking softly against the marble behind him, the priest incognito breathed out a sight, posture melting. Cigarette burning away idly beneath his nose, he let his eyes slide shut while he waited for the aching to subside and the aspirin to kick in.