Who: Arkin and Open What: Getting used to the free life When: April 28; morning Where: Coffee shop in Haven Rating: PG-13 Status: Ongoing
Just because Arkin had the power to see damn near infinitely into the future by following the chaotic crisscross paths of cause and effect until every situation could be pulled apart and bent to his will didn’t mean that he always made the right choice. Far from it. Hell, the only thing his extra sight really did was take all accounts of plausible deniability out of the equation and really that only mattered if someone knew who he was or what he was truly capable of. Considering all the bodies he’d buried in his name as the Collector, both for profit and as tools that had lost their use, there was no one left alive that could rightly make that claim. Or at least do so in more than the hushed whispers of his faithful, the people he’d hand picked and saved and sharpened for days to come ahead, that knew enough to fear him but fear the ending of all time more.
But now, in the indecent light of a new day, Arkin could barely even stand to hear the rustling of leaves let alone the hushed conversation of an unfortunate couple three steps away from breaking up two tables down. The tall man slouching even further into his metal chair as he stared gravely at the world through tinted lenses. Sunglasses hiding the bruises under his eyes from a late night of locking himself in the little shithole of an apartment he could barely afford on his probationary stipend, but gave him enough left over for minimal expenses. Bottles of vodka finding a temporary home on his counter before he'd double bolted his doors, lined up his shots, and told his brain to promptly go fuck itself for the night. While it had seemed worth it at the time Arkin couldn’t hide a wince as the female of the couple arguing abruptly stood from her table. The image in the corner of his eye fracturing at odd angles, hinting more toward instability than future probabilities and sending a sharp stab inward from his left temple until Arkin determinedly pulled his awareness inward. Cursing harshly under his breath as he continued to nurse his warm cup of coffee, but one indulgent night couldn’t keep him from his standing appointment.
Arkin now as regular a patron as he could be considering the handful of days he’d been allowed to call himself a free man. Nothing particularly special or suspicious about it accept for the fact that he’d been here years before. Sitting at this exact table after killing his mother, waiting for the authorities to finally catch up with him after a four year absence into anonymity. To anyone else it might have been bad luck, but even before Arkin had come into his power he’d never really believed in such flimsy things. Luck and karma in the end all boiled down to strings of choices and their results; no more, no less. And those who could pull the strings became kings and rest victims of things they could hardly comprehend. Everyone too focused on immediate needs and gratification to realize that the means to their ending had been written out years ago. Arkin taking the small pleasure of adding a few strokes in himself, one of which would be coming up soon as the days ticked steadily by. But for now Arkin would play civilized in the last place he remember feeling something other than righteous certainty or self-serving pleasure. All of Haven slowly waking up around him as he took another carefully controlled sip.