Joseph Tropiano (luckandchance) wrote in low_tide, @ 2010-03-02 19:58:00 |
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Current mood: | surprised |
Eyes Wide Open
In the heat of a fight there was very little to grasp onto, especially if you were running on instinct alone. Even as Joseph was slammed into the nearby wall, he found the clarity to pick up a nearby bottle, smashing it over his would-be attacker’s head. It worked like a charm, causing enough confusion for Joseph to land a punch that left the bigger man stumbling backwards.
The cause of the fight had been lost, round about the same time the man had decided that the best way to settle the issue was by putting Joseph’s head into the bar and would have been through it, had he enough upper body strength. Thankfully he hadn’t, just enough to leave a bruise on Joseph’s right temple behind, breaking the skin open around his eyebrow.
Joseph was determined to end this fight, wrapping the other man’s collar with both hands and using that grip to throw him through the nearest table. The table buckled under the weight and as it gave, the other man hit the ground, knocking him for six. Easy enough for Joseph to press the weight of his foot over the man’s throat, pushing down just hard enough to restrict breathing, narrowing air passages. Just a little longer, he knew exactly how much longer the other man had until complete and utter unconsciousness claimed him and then…
*Click*
A bloody eyebrow lifted at the sound, head turning ever so slightly to rest eyes on a newly armed bartender. A six shooter if Joseph wasn’t mistaken, he never usually was.
“Step away,” the bartender stressed as his finger remained placed on the trigger.
Joseph all but dared the other man to pull the trigger as he shifted the way his boot was placed, a slither of leather around one shoulder hinting at the telltale pistols he never went anywhere without. “Or what, you’ll shoot me? Is that it?”
“Yeah,” the bartender muttered. “I’ll shoot you, right in the head.”
Joseph held the bartender’s gaze, gauging the other man, deciding to withdraw his foot, but only so he could turn the full weight of his stare on the bartender himself. “Do it,” he challenged as he approached the bar. “I dare you.”
The hesitation in the bartender’s eyes was clear and that, that was enough to make Joseph’s hand come out and catch the bartender’s wrist, twisting it to the point that the bartender gave a small cry of pain and lost all grip he previously had on the gun.
“See,” Joseph muttered low as he leaned in to share a few choice words with the bartender. “This is why you never point a gun at somebody if you’ve got no intention of pulling the trigger.” He knocked his tongue against the back of his teeth and then yanked the gun from the tender’s hand.
Joseph turned the six shooter over in his hand and just tilted his head. “Think I’m going to keep this.” And with that he stepped over the man he’d put through a table, trailing that much further into the club, leaving the trouble at the bar far behind him.
It was as he joined the mass of bodies that he found himself stripping the six shooter of bullets, the crowds themselves totally and utterly oblivious.
Well, not all of them.
She hadn't known he was in the club. Rhiannon had gone to the ladies' room, pried an mascara-stiffened lash out of her eye, and rejoined the crush and noise. She needed a beer, maybe something harder. A couple of shots to take the edge off, round the world and its people into fuzzy, amorphous shapes. She didn't get it. The bartender was a little busy pointing his gun at Joseph.
Quietly, she knelt at the unconscious guy's feet while Joseph and the bartender squared off, just checking to see if he had a pulse. He did. Good enough for her. Then she eased back into the woodwork and watched things play out, still trying to get a grip on who Joseph was. He walked right by her, too busy checking the chamber to notice a brunette in the corner.
Afterwards, she did get herself a drink. The dark red corner of her mouth kept twitching as she watched the man pour the glass of vodka. His hands shook. She wasn't going to laugh in his face about it or say something needlessly snaky . His night sucked enough without Rhiannon rubbing his nose in it.
She picked the glass and the napkin up by her fingertips and weaved into the club, squeezing past people.
With chamber emptied and all six bullets now present in the palm of his hand, Joseph stripped the gun and paused long enough to tuck shells into pockets of his leather jacket. He reached behind, tucking the safely disarmed six shooter into the back of his jeans, lifting the back of his right hand to catch the blood dripping from his eyebrow.
“What a night,” he muttered to himself.
He turned his head, watching a gaggle of young women as they stumbled onto the dance floor, all tipsy and a couple couldn’t even balance on their heels correctly. Not the prettiest of sights. Joseph being Joseph caught one of the young ladies as she stumbled, exchanging a few words with her as she mumbled her thanks and put hands on him as she righted herself. Once she was up and able to move again, Joseph let go and so did she, but not before she mumbled something about him calling her. He didn’t point out that it would be difficult to do with no number to call.
She probably wouldn’t even remember this night let alone who he was.
"Kind of a ladies' man, aren't you?" Rhiannon sipped the clear drink. It was strong enough to curl paint. She had come up on his side and faced the same direction as him: the dance floor. She touched her own eyebrow. "I mean, even with the whole bleeding thing. Wow."
She dangled the cocktail napkin at Joseph, in case he wanted it, and watched the women totter around on their spiky-heeled shoes. It was something Rhiannon never understood. Why did women go dancing in painful footwear?
Joseph took the offered cocktail napkin, callused fingertips skirting over fairer skin. “If it isn’t my very own ‘the supernatural exists in the form of vampires’ guru.” His lips twitched into a warmer smile than any she might have seen from him in the past.
He pressed the napkin to the bleeding, trying to stem the flow. The asshole back at the bar had really tried to use his head to break the bar, thankfully he hadn’t managed it.
A whiff of her drink told him two things: 1) she was trying to blur the edges of reality and 2) she must have one hell of a high tolerance for alcohol if she could drink something that smelt that potent.
“You having a good night?”
"Oh, fantastic."
Rhiannon's feet rocked onto the outsides of her black shoes, a pair of stylish boots. They gave her an extra two inches, but she was still shorter than him. "Well, I'm lying. It was pretty dull until I saw that whole thing back there." She gestured over her shoulder and gave him a sidelong look and a smile. "Thank god your head's like concrete."
Yeah, that was a guess on her part, but really, how different could he be?
"So. Either I've got a knack for running into you on your absolute worst behavior... Or you don't have any good behavior." Rhiannon looked at his torso, the bulky places where his gun holster hung.
Joseph gave a low deep throated chuckle and just turned the napkin over, using the other side to catch whatever else was left of the blood. "Yeah," he echoed as he stole a look at her from out of the corner of his eye. “Thank God.” It was only after this that Joseph considered her choice of words and just lifted his good eyebrow. "Guess you can't dislike me that much if you're worried about my head not being made of concrete."
He ran his tongue along his lower lip, seeking out the taste of copper, locating it in the very corner of his mouth. Shit, another split.
The mention of behaviour brought Joseph around to face Rhiannon, head tipping as his shoulders lifted, giving a rather cavalier smile. “I was never very good at behaving myself. Didn’t really fit me too well, doing what I was supposed to.”
She pointedly ignored the comment about disliking him.
"Yeah?" Rhiannon faced him, too. The low lighting in the club made it hard to see him well, but she could tell he was giving her that arrogant look. The one that used to mean he caught her staring, or beat her at a game of pool, or whatever the hell he was effortlessly commanding at the time. Sometimes, it made her want to stick out a foot and trip him, just to see how Joseph recovered.
"Me neither. But I'm a recovering miscreant. I'm pretty sure you're the kind of person I should be avoiding, lest you be a bad influence." Rhiannon drank some more of her vodka, doing it with the kind of panache that belied a girl in her early twenties. What would Joseph do if she let some critical detail about his life slip? Turn on her in suspicion? Lift his eyebrow in intrigue? She liked to entertain the question, but since he was armed to the teeth, maybe she should skip mind games for the present.
“Recovering miscreant?” Joseph inquired, curious as ever. “Now, that sounds interesting.” He stepped that much closer until the only real thing visible about him were those high cheekbones of his. “And what pray tell were your favourite vices or sins? I’m kind of fond of several, but that’s just me.”
He finished mopping up the blood and shoved the napkin into a pocket, preferring not to leave something with DNA in a public place.
The way she drank was strange, ill fitted to the youthful woman who stood before him, unless of course she’d been drinking for a long time. It was possible, Joseph had started pretty young himself.
She didn't shrink from him, even though he had purposefully put himself in her bubble. Rhiannon lifted her glass and gave it a sheepish look. "I like the drink. And the smokes. I used to like the pills, too, but that's ancient history." The funny thing was, half the 'evils' of Rhiannon's life were wiped from the slate now. They hadn't happened here, not to this girl, who landed safely in tropical paradise instead of a shit-hole called Searchlight. Her record was squeaky clean.
"I also hit pretty hard. I haven't always hit the right people, and not for the right reasons." She didn't brag; for all intents and purposes, Rhiannon looked neutral about it. She felt neutral about it. Flogging herself for things she couldn't change was a waste of time and she'd done all she could to make up for it.
"I think there's one vice I'm forgetting..." Rhiannon pursed her lips and looked at the ceiling.
Joseph’s eyes drifted to the glass and without really thinking about it he stole the glass from her, taking an experimental sip. Yep, definitely as strong as it smelt. Holy shit. Joseph passed the glass back and cleared his throat, trying to shift the residual burn.
The crowd continued to move around them, finding rhythms in the song choices and harmony with their partners of choice, some of long years and others of only tonight.
“I can think of one vice you haven’t mentioned,” Joseph commented. “But I might be completely off base.” He tucked both hands into the back pockets of jeans as his lips curved into an all knowing smirk, an unspoken exchange of words.
"Shit, are you kidding me?" Rhiannon reflected his smirk and finished her drink, minus one gulp. "I was brought up Catholic. We just don't do that... do we?" She wrinkled her nose at him and moved off a couple of steps to set it on a tabletop, which contained the remnants of somebody else's night out. Balled up napkins, empty beer bottles, some kind of food in a paper tray.
She wandered back over and crossed her arms.
"Did you honestly come here to have a good time, or were you planning on kicking that guy's ass since go?"
Joseph’s lips twitched in the corner, teeth snagging on his lower lip as he rubbed a hand through the long lengths of dark hair now left loose as the scuffle had ripped it free. “I think we’re the worst offenders given that it’s all forbidden and wrong before marriage.”
“Bit of both,” he answered honestly. “I needed a drink and he just so happens to drink here plus this place has a decent dance floor so why not kill two birds with one stone?”
Besides, Joseph needed to unwind, needed to shake off Victor’s death as it wasn’t like he could do anything about it right now. He needed more information first and then he could take the people responsible apart piece by piece.
"You dance, huh?" Rhiannon looked suitably impressed.
She wanted to ask him about the unconscious guy. What had he done to deserve that beat-down? Was he like the man Joseph was trying to kill in the alley, a 'bad person' who had it coming? She had seen his face in the papers later. He went missing. Rhiannon had a feeling what happened to him, but she couldn't ask for clarification without looking like Nancy Drew. What was it to her, he'd ask.
There was a high-top table nearby. She lifted herself onto a chair and gestured at the floor, which was full of people. Her boots wound into the rungs underneath her seat. "Don't let me stand in your way, Casanova." More of a Don Juan, really. "But if you take off, first let me do you a favor and hold your cigarettes for you. I promise not to smoke one."
“And you’re just going to sit there, with my cigarettes, until I get back from dancing?” Joseph questioned, lifting an eyebrow. “Does this mean that the supernatural-guru doesn’t dance?” His mouth slid into a challenging smile, one that was clearly reflected in the depths of his eyes.
He reached into his pockets and produced his cigarettes, holding them out to Rhiannon, wondering if she’d dance or opt out, meaning she became caretaker to his cigarettes. “And if the fancy takes you, you can totally smoke one.”
What? Nobody said all vices needed to remain dead and buried.
Rhiannon snatched the pack. "Oh, I dance." She leaned back in the chair and let the cigarettes rotate between her fingers and palm like a deck of cards. "Just not near you. Something tells me you've got wandering hands." She smiled, wondering if he'd take it as the light-hearted joke she intended. Her thumb itched to push open the little box. Fuuuuck, why had she even quit the things? It was a lost cause.
With a light shake of her head, she took a cigarette out and settled it between her lips. She patted her pants, then realized her conundrum. "I have no lighter," she deadpanned.
He did, with a laugh and a smile that could have easily light up an entire city block. Joseph turned and headed towards the dance floor, pausing only briefly when Rhiannon realised she had no lighter to speak of.
Joseph turned on his heel, smooth and elegant, and just smirked. “And I do, imagine that?” He pulled out a slim silver zippo and held it up so it was visible to Rhiannon. “I expect this back as well.” His voice might have been lost in the volume of the music had he not lifted it to be heard over it, tossing the lighter to Rhiannon.
And just like that he blended in with the dancing crowd easily enough, finding a rhythm that suited him, meaning he moved perfectly in time and lost himself in the music, sensuous movements beginning from the point of hips to the rest of his body. It wasn’t long until Joseph dominated his space and owned what he was doing, a complete natural.
Nothing (with the exception of sex) helped him unwind as much as dancing did.
"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, raising her eyebrows. Walk off with his lighter? Nah. But it was a nice one, she noted, giving it a thorough inspection before letting the fire ignite the paper and tobacco. She exhaled in a plume towards the ceiling and set the zippo down alongside the pack, just so she wouldn't put it in her pocket on accident.
Occasionally, she caught glimpses of Joseph between the other people. Rhiannon put her elbows on the table and thought about the weirdness of the circumstances. Yet it wasn't odd being in his presence. It was like the man she knew had partial amnesia, their past deleted. He didn't know her at all. The style of his dancing put a smile on her face. "You've gotta be kidding me," she murmured.
Rhiannon looked at her fingers, then the cigarette. After it burned down, she put Joseph's belongings in her pockets after all, not to run off with, though. She got down from the chair and moved to find her own place on the dancefloor, about ten yards off. Like always, it took her a minute to find the beat she wanted to follow. She closed her eyes and tipped her chin to the floor. After a bit, she started to move. Rhiannon had learned to dance in tiny clubs in Detroit where people listened to sluggish, electronic music with reedy vocals and danced on their own, and that was how she still moved, like she was in her own world and didn't care what anybody else was doing.
Unlike Rhiannon, Joseph enjoyed dancing with other people, women in particular. He’d already found himself a blonde and a red-head, both of which were in ridiculous heels and next to nothing, flirtatious smiles being passed between them. It wasn't serious, Joseph had never done serious.
He relaxed back into the beat and turned into the music, slow sensual movements, all confidence and swagger. That was just the way Joseph was.
The floor was packed, bodies crushed together, all moving together and individually to the club’s choice of music. Some exchanged heat, others pressed skin to skin and some were lost in an amorous embrace, a world that narrowed to just them, nothing else.
Joseph paused mid-flow as apparently his supernatural-guru had decided that she did want to dance after all, lifting an eyebrow as he approached through the crowd, stopping behind her. “You enjoying yourself there?” He asked, bent over ever so slightly so he could talk into her ear and be heard over the music.
"What does it look like?" she asked. She knew he was back there, had guessed he might wander over, just because the man she remembered had been been more drawn to people with question marks above their heads than those who spelled out their intentions or threw themselves at him. He was used to it and besides, the Joseph of before had liked to dig.
Rhiannon made sure he couldn't see her face before she rolled her eyes at herself. What are you doing? she chided herself. Having a psychology experiment? Seeing whether or not lightning strikes twice? Testing just how different he is? For what, because you hate the unexpected or because you miss knowing him?
On a whim, she turned around but kept her hands to herself. "What's your expertise? I know demons, you know... what?" The music was loud, the bass in particular, but she could make herself heard. "You're not a vigilante, you're something else. Does somebody have you by the strings?" She pinched at the material of his sleeve and lifted his arm up briefly.
"My expertise?" Joseph repeated, lifting an eyebrow. "Some might say I'm persuasive." Cue the grin, but that was certainly one way of putting what he did on a regular basis. He ducked his head down again and held Rhiannon's eye contact as he shook his head. "No strings on me. Man of my own devices and I like it that way."
Joseph lifted his shoulders. "I know people, what makes them tick, what buttons to press, how to make them sing and do exactly what I want. I'm the guy sent in when a big job needs to be done and it needs to be done neatly."
He straightened his back just as the song reached its pinnacle note and the lights dimmed for an all of thirty seconds before the strobing began.
Rhiannon waited for the silence to go away before she piped up again.
"Yeah, you're a hit man, you're a thief, you're a what... drug runner? Arms dealer?" She tipped her head, her mouth quirking on the left side. "I don't think that's the word I'm looking for. I mean, maybe sometimes, when the situation calls for it. Wait... not the situation. What do they call those guys?"
Stop pushing his buttons.
Rhiannon had to wonder if she was trying to piss him off on purpose. Why bother talking to him in the first place if she was going to take cheap shots?
Because you don't know how to be his friend, and that leaves two other things, one of which is a bit out of the question, isn't it?
"A capo. Which makes you soldato. Or maybe I've got it wrong and you're better than that this time." Rhiannon wanted to kick herself. It was just the one drink, so good luck blaming that. Feeling disgusted with herself, she couldn't do anything but stand there awaiting a response, or walk off in a hurry, at which point he'd have to chase her down because she had his fucking lighter in her pocket. She reached into her jeans and pulled the zippo out, offering it to him.
"Here."
Joseph's eyes narrowed ever so slightly and he wondered what this brunette's issue with him was exactly. It wasn't like he'd killed anybody she knew, insulted her or even slept with her. "What is your problem, exactly?" He questioned. "I mean, what did I do to piss you off? You're the one who spoke to me first and now you're questioning who I am and what I do? You don't know shit, lady."
Only she apparently she did know something given her ease of slang around the names for positions within the Italian Mafia and how she let the 'this time' slip, which made Joseph look at her very closely. Did he know her? Had he known her? It sounded like she knew him, sounded like she was all too well versed with his lifestyle and didn't much like it.
"What do you mean by 'this time'? I don't know you, but you seem to think you know me. Guess the women in this city are just as crazy as people have been saying." He reached out and curled his hand around hers holding his lighter and held eye contact for the longest time. "Whatever your issue is, take it elsewhere, alright? I've got more than enough problems to deal with without yours, especially as I don't have the fucking first idea what I did to deserve it so I guess I'll see you around and you have yourself a fun night because clearly your life is everything it's cracked up to be." His gaze slid down to the glass of vodka and his eyebrow lifted a second later.
Joseph pulled his lighter out of her hand and murmured something under his breath, unmistakeably Italian, before he brushed past her.
Well, that worked, didn't it, Rhiannon? How do you feel now? Triumphant? Ah, no. Her eyes darkened as he went by, speaking words that were beyond her limited grasp of Italian. Being with him for six years had taught her a lot, but those particular words weren't the kind he used to say to her.
The glass felt heavy in her hand. What kind of implication was that? Yeah, right, like he went home at night and poured himself glasses of cold milk.
"Hypocrite," she said, lifting her voice so he heard it. So what if his back was turned? Joseph's ears still worked. "And a coward. Walking off just because somebody's got your number." Apparently the self-proclaimed expert of pushing buttons didn't like it when his got punched.
Rhiannon lifted a hand to her eyes and touched the closed lids. I am completely out of my mind. When she opened them again, she put the glass on the nearest surface and walked off the dance floor, too, heading in a different direction. What was this way, the emergency door? The bathroom? The bar with its broken bits of furniture? Whatever worked.
Joseph froze in his tracks the moment the brunette let loose with that particular string of insults and he felt something in his jaw twitch. Where in the hell did she get off?
He turned, but only in time to watch Rhiannon disappearing into the crowds. Fuck that. Joseph rarely backed down, rarely surrendered and he certainly didn't let words like that go unchallenged. Especially when she had no right, she didn't know him.
Joseph moved through the crowds, grabbing a hold of Rhiannon's elbow, dragging the brunette into the nearby bathroom, only letting go once he'd effectively slammed her into the nearby wall. "Who the fuck do you think you are, huh? There are only a couple people in this world that could get away with calling me what you did and you, sweetheart, are not one of them."
Everything about him in this moment was dark, from the look in his eyes to the way he's stood; the man was pissed. "Something tells me we're never going to be friends so why not leave it at you apparently disliking who I am and me thinking you're a complete and utter bitch? Why say those words? Do you get off on pissing people off or something, is that it?"
Joseph was between Rhiannon and the door, not that he would know that she could just as easily move him whenever she wanted.
The urge was there. Her fists balled into dangerous knots at her sides.
The crash into the hard wall should've knocked the air out of her lungs, but she just stood there staring at him. "What do the rest of them call you?" she asked. "Sir? Mister Tropiano? Il mio cuore?" God, don't answer that. She eased her shoulder blades away from the cold tiles on the wall.
"First, you should know this. I could be out that door before you realized your jaw was broken, so don't push me again." And he could shoot her in the back, so it was a good thing she didn't want to hit him.
Rhiannon needed something to do with her hands. She folded her arms. Her fingertips squeezed the soft fabric of her tank top. She took two steps closer. "Second, you're either angry because I figured out what you do for a living, or you're mad because it's true," Rhiannon said. "And to answer your question, I don't dislike who you are. Why would I be standing here if I did? I dislike what you do. It's wrong in about a thousand ways and it only ends one way, which doesn't include social security checks. If you don't have a problem with dying, fine, but it ought to be for something more than money and power and territory."
What number was she on? Out of dozens of accusations she wanted to hurl Joseph's way?
"Fourth, pissing people off isn't what gets me off," Rhiannon said. "Usually."
Joseph didn't move, even as she balled her hands into fists and then finally stepped closer, all arms folded. "The rest of them?" Why did it sound like she was accusing him of something? Almost as if she was hinting that he was in someway unfaithful.
"What I do is my own private business," Joseph pointed out. "Not any of yours. And you already seem to have made your mind up about what it is I do, so that begs the question of how you know so much, as I sure as hell haven't shared anything with you." He narrowed his eyes at her. "And why do you give a fuck about me? What do you care if I feel the need to die for money, power or territory?"
Joseph planted a hand on the wall beside her, effectively walling off that side. "And who are you to be judging what I do? You think just because you hunt demons that somehow makes what you do better?" He leaned in a little closer, voice dropping. "I'm not the one drinking a hundred proof vodka, trying to put a blur on the world around me."
He lifted an eyebrow at her, challenging. "I'm happy with my life, can you say the same?" Joseph couldn't put his finger on this woman, couldn't understand why she felt the urge to talk about his job and how she knew as much as she did. It made no sense. He'd never seen her before that evening in the alley.
The stare would have been intense had the door not opened at that precise moment, meaning Joseph broke eye contact to level his dark glare on the poor unsuspecting young man who had chosen to go for a piss at that particular time. "Can't you see we're having a conversation here? Fuck off," Joseph muttered, accent so much thicker now than it had been earlier that evening.
The guy just blinked and immediately retreated, door clicking shut after him.
Rhiannon ignored the interruption and looked at Joseph's outstretched arm. She wanted to knock it loose, twist it behind his back and tug until he had some idea of why blocking her in was a dangerous idea. But she had a feeling she could tie him into pretzels and he wouldn't give an inch, so what then? Break his bones? Not in a hundred years.
As for his questions, she didn't know which point to answer first. So she started with what came easiest.
Rhiannon set her jaw and lifted it. She shifted until their boots almost touched. "As a matter of fact, I do think hunting demons is better than shooting people in back alleys. I save lives. People like me have saved your ass while you were tucked under the covers, safe and sound. People like you kill without asking questions. Everything is self-motivated."
Up close, she smelled him. Cigarettes, booze, leather, and his skin. The same on a physical level if nothing else. What difference did it make if Rhiannon told him the truth? He already couldn't stand her. Why not add nutcase to the list of adjectives? There was probably a really great word for that in Italian.
She flexed her fists and her fingernails carved into her palms. "As for happy? I'm like anybody else who lives for others, instead of wasting my time on hedonism. Forgive the occasional drink. I have good days and I have bad days. I have a lot of days when it feels like God or fate or the cosmos have a fantastic time jerking me around. Sometimes I can square up with it. Around you, it's harder."
She swallowed. Stepped onto the edge of the cliff. "As for how I know so much about you, you don't have to believe in the supernatural. You just have to believe in physics. More than one world, more than one you. More than one me and you."
"Forgive me if I don't break into song and dance," Joseph muttered in response to her comment about saving lives and not being self motivated. "I'm pretty sure you get a kick out of being able to say that, being able to look somebody in the eye and tell them that the only reason they're alive is because you saved their life somewhere along the line because you happened to kill a demon. Like you don't get a thrill from saving a life."
He lifted an eyebrow at her comment about living for others and just let loose with a chuckle and a shake of his head. "Must be tough, being you and being so fucking selfless all the time." Slight pause. "But, I guess it does make it easier to tell everybody else just how shallow and how very petty their lives are."
His eyes narrowed a moment later when there was a visible shift, a hard swallow, one he could have felt had he been standing any closer to her. "More than one me and you?" He repeated, confusion furrowing his brow. "How is that possible?" Joseph was silent for a moment, considering what else he'd been told recently and found himself wondering if it was really unbelievable? He'd heard and seen a whole lot stranger as of late.
Joseph's body language whilst still tense had softened around the edges, only really visible to people who knew him well.
Rhiannon would have seen it, had she not closed her eyes. The space between them was inches, and she was so angry at him -- knotted up and straining with it -- that she had to shut him out. Angy that he thought she was a power addict who killed demons just to collect IOUs fom the helpless, who nine times out of ten weren't even around. That wasn't her. That wasn't slaying.
Did she think his choices were shallow? Yes. But only because she knew the kind of man Joseph could be, and the idea of him not fighting his way out of organized crime, not seeing the value of going straight, was a knife to the gut in a very personal way.
"No more insults, Joseph."
She leaned her shoulder against the wall he held. Then she rolled onto her shoulder blades, arching her lower back away from the tiles. "There are multiples versions of everything and everyone we know. They're on different planes. It's like..." Rhiannon wet her lips. "Life forks into two directions, based on the choices we make. Sometimes, people and even things get scrambled up between those planes. I didn't start out on this one. And where I was before, I knew you."
She looked at his face, his throat.
Joseph inhaled and finally pushed away, allowing Rhiannon room to breathe and room to move if that's what she wanted. He wound up leaning back against a bathroom stall, one hand straying into a pocket to find a loose cigarette.
"Alright," he muttered in agreement.
Joseph eased his cigarette between his lips and flipped open the Zippo, flame catching paper a second later. He shifted the way he was stood, leather crinkling as he did so, taking a drag from the cigarette.
"So you're not from..." He trailed off and simply moved his hand as he attempted to make sense out of what she was telling him. "Here, wherever the fuck here is." Joseph offered the cigarette, wondering if she was still on the horse or if she'd come off it somewhere along the line. "And you knew me? Guessing by your previous comments he was a whole lot nicer."
Joseph was grateful for the fact he was never going to tell his bosses about any of this, they'd think he was crazy and send somebody else in to finish what he started and they wouldn't be as nice about it.
Rhiannon stared at him. Blinked at the offer of his cigarette and then took it. Just like that, he believed her? She wasn't sure whether or not to trust it. She put the filter between her lips and breathed in the burning nicotine and tobacco. At least he hadn't laughed in her face.
"Sometimes," she said, cautiously. A faint haze of white settled in the air around them. Rhiannon adjusted her shoes, lining them up side by side within the square tiles. "He left it. He wanted to be his own man. And mine." Saying it scared her.
After another inhale, she gave the cigarette back. The brunette's arms hung loose at her sides. The insides turned outward, pale and veined, dotted with a few freckles from the Florida sun. The black tattoos of a constellation and a lotus flower stood out on her flesh. "I didn't ask him to, if that's what you're thinking. We didn't treat each other that way."
Joseph took the cigarette back and took a slow inhale, tasting the smoke before simply pushing it back out again. "So you and him were an item?" This was all... surreal, weird and completely out of the box. This was the sort of thing that got you locked up and highly medicated, just like Luis when he couldn't handle what was happening in New York and he just lost his mind. "That would certainly explain why you know as much as you do about... things."
He flicked ash aside, watching as it scattered onto the pale tiles beneath his boots, tilting his head to watch as it finally settled and outlined a few faint stains. "Like you said," Joseph muttered. "Different life choices make very different people."
Joseph pushed away from the stall and turned on his heel, resting the width of his shoulders against the wall, meaning his arm was touching hers. "So, one day you just turn up here, is that right?" He wet his lower lip and drew it into his mouth a second later, tilting his head to regard the brunette. "And I thought I had it bad, coming from New York to here." Joseph's lips twitched, but only briefly.
"So your Joseph was a bad guy turned good? And I'm nothing of the sort." If anything he revelled in what he did.
Rhiannon found herself laughing. She gave him a pair of air quotes. "I don't think 'item' quite covers it." She lowered her arms and let the contact between them continue. It felt strange. Two sets of molecules lining up that way for the first time, when they'd done it thousands of times in another place.
"I split," she said. "It's hard to explain. A copy of my memories came here, got dumped into this body. Rhiannon Lee, only different. Back home, I'm five years older and by now, married. To you, believe it or not. And here we are, about to knock each others' lights out." Rhiannon tipped her head back and closed her eyes again. Between the thickness of her lashes, she saw the ceiling and its fluorescent bulb.
"We met in Las Vegas. Then we lived in Chicago. And yeah, you turned good, but I don't think you were ever really bad. Just... trapped. But don't get the wrong idea. He could take care of things when he needed to. He had more lives than a cat." She breathed out. Rhiannon could feel her throat tightening. She pressed her lips together.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken to you. I just--" Rhiannon shrugged. "I had to."
Joseph's eyes widened ever so slightly and there might have been a moment where he choked on the smoke in the back of his throat at the sudden revelation that he was married and to the woman stood beside him. "Married," he repeated after having cleared his throat. "That's- I've never even had a serious relationship my whole life, never really believed in them."
He wasn't entirely sure what to make out of all of this.
Joseph turned so he was now facing Rhiannon instead of staring into a bathroom stall, much better view. "Now I have some understanding of why you've been ragging on me so much. I suppose I should be flattered, it's not often somebody worries about my health." He chuckled and took a drag from the cigarette, tipping his head back when he needed to exhale.
"So, this new life, how's it working out so far? Any of the choices this Rhiannon made that you wished you had in that other place?"
Rhiannon rolled her eyes. God, such a man. "Yes, you, married." She leaned forward and knuckled his shoulder. "Don't knock it to my face. I'll have to take offense." The sole of her boot lifted off the floor to push back against the cold wall. Her knee swayed left to right. Some of the tension had melted away and the knot in her throat was easing, so it was easier to talk. She ran a thumb under her eyelid to check for streaks.
"Here is different. It fits well in some ways. Some, I'm still figuring out. I went to school here. Gainfully employed instead of a starving artist serving drinks." Rhiannon tucked a lock of long hair behind her ear. "But that's..."
Funny. Nobody ever asked whether they liked it better here, in Key West. It was always a question of how bad it was to lose the past. "No." She shook her head. "I wouldn't change what I did at home. Nothing. I loved it."
Joseph nodded his head as she spoke and then took a final drag, crushing what was left of the cigarette beneath the tread of his boot. "Can't ask for a lot more than that, now can you?"
He smoothed a hand through his hair and straightened up from where he was against the wall. "Well, least I have good taste in another life. I'd be worried if that much had changed about me."
Joseph reached up with his thumb and brushed the pad of it across the cut in his eyebrow.
Rhiannon's mouth bowed into a smile.
She looked at the raised knee of her jeans and picked at the inseam. "I don't know what to do now."
The admission was difficult to make, but she didn't know how to proceed. "Do I cross the street when I see you coming? Or... I dunno, stick a leg out to trip the guy who's running away from your gun?" The last thing she ought to do was wilfully block Joseph's forays into crime. Demons were enough to worry about; she didn't need to dodge mafia bullets, too.
"I mean," she flattened her palms against the wall on either side of her. Her rings clacked on the glossy surface. She curled her fingers in as if looking for a handhold that wasn't there. "Is this my shot to say goodbye to you?"
Joseph tapped the tips of his fingers against a denim clad thigh, lifting a shoulder. "Honestly? I have no idea. See, I'm the lucky one because I don't have all that emotionally charged stuff to deal with because I only remember this life, nothing else."
He tongued the cut on the inside of his mouth and then tipped his head. "I'm not him and I doubt I'll ever be him so I guess it all depends on whether or not you wanna be dealing with that and whether or not you can handle what I do. If not? Now's probably a good time to say goodbye.
"I'm a criminal," he said bluntly. "And I'm a damn good one at that. I don't shy away from any of it, even if it means hurting or killing people. This is what I do."
He inhaled and reached out to open the door for her, if she wanted to take her leave and not look back. "I'm a lot of things, Rhiannon, but cruel and unusual isn't one of those things, unless of course you piss me off."
For the moment, Rhiannon stayed put. She needed time to think. But what would time do, except let her memories run in circles? Mix it all up? It had to be now, a decision made on her gut, like always.
"Both. I want both." Rhiannon got away from the wall she'd been using as a crutch. "Goodbye to him and hello to you. Exactly as you are." She walked over and took his hand off the door, so that it closed on a slow sigh. The bathroom seemed quieter than before. The light buzzed in its casing. "Do me a favor? Hold still."
Rhiannon waited to see if he'd agree.
Joseph lifted an eyebrow at that request, wondering what he was going to be holding still for exactly, but he figured it seemed safe enough as they appeared to be past their I-want-to-ram-your-face-into-the-nearest-w
"Alright," he muttered after a long pause.
Maybe it was a bad idea. Wrong. But it felt like an exorcism. It could be closure, or a stark reminder that this wasn't the same man.
Hesitant, but afraid of losing her nerve, Rhiannon inched closer. At first, she only closed her eyes and breathed, taking him in from close range. She could feel him looking at her, but he was true to his word and nothing moved. Her hands lifted. She held them near his face, letting the body heat radiating off him warm her palms. She was no expert, but his energy was different. Itchier. Like his skin had a hard time holding Joseph in.
She laid her hands against his jaw and put her thumbs on his cheekbones. Then, raising onto her toes, Rhiannon put her forehead against his. There, in such close proximity, it was almost like being at home. The sharp edge of her tooth bit into her lip. She said nothing out loud, but her thoughts were on him, anyway. She opened her eyes. If Joseph looked, he'd see how much she missed him. How sorry she was for making what felt like transgressions. And then, when her thoughts shifted in a better direction, happiness.
Rhiannon's nose bumped his. "Thank you."
The only time he showed any sign of movement was when there were hands on his face and he lifted an eyebrow as she went one step further, resting her forehead against his. He picked up on the smell of fresh soap and then a slight hint of jasmine, radiating from the curve of her neck if he wasn’t mistaken.
It was hard not to look, especially as she was so close and he could feel her breath on his face. For a moment it was overwhelming and Joseph found himself thinking that this other him must be all she was making him out to be if this was the sort of effect he had on somebody. That and they must have had one hell of an intense relationship given the rapid shift in emotion present in the depths of Rhiannon’s eyes.
The nose nudge was the thing that surprised him the most and his expression probably reflected that. It was an intimate thing to do and even as close as Joseph got to women he was never really intimate with them, keeping a certain amount of emotional distance between him and them. It had always worked out better that way, no ties.
He cleared his throat and wet his lower lip. “You’re welcome.”
Rhiannon nodded.
It was hard to let go, mostly because doing so meant that was it. Goodbyes said. But it was the right thing to do and the only way to move forward. This man deserved to be known and judged on his own merit. So she removed herself from his personal space and lowered herself onto her heels.
“I’m—" She put the back of a hand to her mouth, then shook it away. “I’m sorry I literally hit you over the head with my baggage.” Rhiannon smiled and stuck her thumbs in her pockets. “I know I can be a severe bitch when I’m upset, but that’s not really what I’m about. I don’t want other people pay for my shit. From this point on, I swear I’ll either like you or hate you based on the here and now.”
“Really?” Joseph asked with a smirk. “I hadn’t noticed.”
He rubbed a hand through his hair and gave a short nod of his head. “Alright, that’s fine with me. I’ll try not to hold all of this against you.” He was teasing and hopefully this was pretty evident from the way his smirk turned into a smile.
“Lemme buy you a drink, see if we can’t get to know each other without all of this hanging over us.”
She tilted her head and thought about the offer. Kind-of a nice one, considering. "Yeah. Let's do that." Rhiannon reached behind her for the door knob. "Just don't put me on suicide watch if I order another vodka. Life's not bad, I'm just an expensive drunk."
Opening the door brought all the sights and sounds of the club back to brilliant life. The man Joseph shooed away earlier still lurked outside, looking uncomfortable for having waited that long. Rhiannon squeezed past and headed towards the bar across the room, ready to put that conversation -- and everything that didn't belong on Joseph's shoulders -- behind them.