Re: The Jaded/The Disaffected
Emil wasn't one of the people who cleared up after other people. Not people, general. People specific and even then it was an odds thing. Heads, he felt like it, tails he didn't. Emil could live with mess. Lived with it, knew where all the things he needed lived. Probably could have been one of those people. Steady job. Bad money, but steady. Everywhere there were people who left their stuff all over the place, anticipating. He didn't carry other people. That was unapologetic. Even if he got paid.
The guy oozed closer. Held out his hand. There was a lot of metal on that hand, the guy was probably a walking security alarm in airports. Emil didn't question that the guy flew, had a passport, had tickets to destinations in his past and in his future. Emil took his hand in his left. His hand was cold but the train had stopped in snow and no one thought the mail-car needed heating, the letters weren't going to get cold. Long, fingers, darkened cuticles. Not nail-polish. Twisted the guy's hand, back and forth until the rubies glinted. "Family has dark taste."
Larceny. Next statute. Emil didn't even know the long list of federal crimes but for a guy who didn't actively participate in criminal activity, the guy had the penal code solid. "Maybe I didn't pay for my ticket," he offered, indifferently. The guy made an assumption, Emil knocked it down. Like kicking sandcastles on the beach. Emil had done that too.
He stood still. Watched the guy, unmoved. Face didn't so much as twitch. Emil didn't put out signals, one way or another, not deliberately. He was some people's type. Not everybody's, but nobody in the world was everybody's type and Emil was fine with being enough people's type that it didn't preoccupy him. He could see the guy thinking, it was written over his face plain as his shirt, tongue pressing bulbous against his lower lip until the fat of it shone. Emil let him think. Folded his arms over his sweater and waited him out, deliberately. He didn't do anything, which Emil half-expected, the guy was a hoverer, even if he'd memorized the capital crimes and the little ones that ended in juvenile detention if you were lucky enough to be underage.
The ghosting smile reappeared. Point proven. "Participate. Come on." He left I to it. Snagged the envelope skidded on the wooden surface, and lounged forward. Toward the door.