Casper Jameson Knight (feedhimtowolves) wrote in thegrand_ic, @ 2012-04-03 13:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | belial/laine beringer, casper jameson knight |
Who: Belial and Casper
Type: Scene.
Where: Upscale Restaurant.
When: Evening of March 30th.
What: Belial meets one of his wolves.
Warning: TBA.
Status: Still going.
Casper
Casper had shown up to work that evening not knowing what to expect or if the restaurant would even be opened after everything that had happened, the entire city seemed to be in a state of shock and destruction and the scent of death, rot and something else he couldn’t quite describe unless he called it evil, pure evil cluttered up his nose to the point that it was driving him almost insane. He’d barely slept the last few nights as he’d spent them guarding Chester’s house unnoticed and killing any of the walking dead, what did they call them...zombies that came too close and for a werewolf so close to the night of the full moon, being surrounded by so much death and violence was not a good thing.
He had a strange relationship with his inner wolf, he’d always been there since the day he was born, they shared each other’s strengths, senses and weaknesses but they were far from similar and the closer the full moon came the more the personality of Casper’s wolf began to shine through until it was almost a constant struggle for the young man to keep himself from snarling at people walking by.
The restaurant had opened its doors the same time as usual but business was unusually slow, not that anyone there expected any differently, not after everything that happened but as the boss said ‘life goes on and besides, people always have to eat.’ The job he’d gotten there easily enough when he’d first moved to Boston, it was the kind of job where people turned their heads the other way when they realized their employee didn’t have a home address or a cell phone number; they just needed someone to do their dirty work, the messy, badly paid jobs that no one else wanted and it was perfect for him, it was cash in hand, he stayed out the back where no one saw or spoke to him and for someone who was homeless the amount of food that people left upon their plates either unfinished or some of it completely untouched was truly amazing. It was safe to say that since working there he hadn’t gone home hungry a single night, not that he didn’t buy his own food, he had the appetite of a wolf after all, he could eat more than any mortal his own size could possibly imagine, he didn’t though and it was probably why he’d stopped growing and stopped aging when he hit seventeen, most of the money he earned was saved up until he had enough to leave one city and make his way to another, he never stayed in one place for too long because the amount of death and destruction a relatively small arctic wolf could leave behind after a full moon was overwhelming, not to mention wouldn’t go unnoticed for too long.
That night was different though, one of the usual waitress hadn’t shown up and no one could seem to be able to get in contact with her while the other seemed to keep bursting into random fits of hysterics, so begrudgingly Casper had been forced into the role of both waiting tables and washing dishes that night, at least he had the balance for it even if his slender arms looked as though they’d struggle to carry so much as one full plate. He’d never particularly liked any of the people that frequented the restaurant which was okay because usually he could have nothing to do with them aside from cleaning up their plates once they were done, they were all rich and they were all obnoxious so the few times he’d had to make his way out onto the dining floor that night he did his best to keep his head down and block out every conversation even though his ears could hear it all, from the softest whispered word to the tiny cockroach that was scurrying around beneath the oven in the kitchens. The only waitress had left early so when the order was up for the last table inside Casper was given the duty of carrying out the food, balancing the plates easily enough on both arms as though he had been doing it for years he made his way over to the table, head down so that his wolf wouldn’t accidentally look anyone in the eye, just past shoulder length blonde hair tied up with an elastic to keep it out of the way even though some strands had fallen loose and hung forward over his azure blue eyes. His tiny frame was dressed in his standard black on black work ensemble and the only thing looking as though it didn’t belong in the upscale restaurant was that of the slightly worn out, bright pink sneakers he wore on his feet.
Belial
Not everyone grieved over the state of the city. Some, like this last table that sat in the restaurant even though closing time rapidly approached, even looked like they were celebrating. They sat around the table with a littering of empty wine glasses and upturned forks, lingering and ordering drinks and desserts long after others had paid their bills and left. They were mostly 35 or older, greying or bald or so severe it wouldn't matter, a collection of long noses and sharp grins and wheezing laughter. Lawyers, maybe, or politicos. Atheists all.
The man at the head of the table stood out in sharp relief to them. Where they wore grey suits he wore lush ivory fur around a sweet oval face; he was young and soft-skinned and had a radiant crown of blond hair. He pinched a flute of champagne between his fingers and lifted it in the air. His tablemates gave them their attention and he said, "A toast!" They all rose their glasses as well. He lowered his eyes briefly before going on, a coy smile tripping the edges of his lips. "My dear Anne, you thoroughly destroyed those zealots in that debate. Who could possibly argue that such things weren't the act of terrorists? We need to be searching for criminals, not chasing our own shadows in superstitious stupors!"
"Here, here!" a man said. A few other flutes shook.
The man, the demon, smiled fully. "To reason!"
"To reason!" All the glasses clinked together and several were emptied, brought back to the table to await more.
It wasn't an easy celebration, like some sort of morbid birthday in the middle of such a disaster. It did have a hint of nervousness to it. Concern for what was billed as a crime, a biological threat that made people so sick they walked around as if in a daze and the stupider of the world called them zombies. That just happened to coincide with a crazy tidal wave. That just happened to coincide with a noxious "bomb" going off in the middle of the wreckage and vaporizing a bunch of volunteers. That just happened to coincide with an odd shadow on the film footage. But never mind. The tendrils of disbelief could wind in deep. All of that had perfectly logical explanations and there was nothing to worry about. Soon the government, which was marvelously separate from the church in America, would erase the problem with the frequent goading of the Atheists' Association of Boston and someone would walk death row for this, making all that had transpired alright again. Oh, who would the lucky soul be? Belial had half a mind to frame someone fabulously important as a conspirator. Yes, absolutely...
His glass was one of those that had been emptied, but instead of setting it down and waiting like everyone else, Belial shook it between his fingertips for the boy who was approaching without truly looking at him just yet.
"Garçon, more champagne."
Belial would in fact hold the flute out there like that until champagne was poured into it. As the seconds past, he finally looked over and raised an eyebrow at the figure before him, hiding behind his hair, but with obvious pink feet. Oh, tacky.
Casper
Casper put the plates of desserts in front of the right people, or at least he hoped he put them in front of the right people, he’d been out the back when they’d ordered from the waitress who’d just left but his hearing was well enough to be able to distinguish voices with ease, luckily he managed to figure it out without asking just by the murmur of conversation that had been happening among the toast as he made his way over to the table.
With the plates down he turned to leave again until realizing that when one at the table asked for more Champaign they were in fact speaking to him and it was only when the stranger looked up did Casper catch his scent, the slightest turn of the stranger’s head enough to stir his scent in the air and toward Casper’s direction and every single fine white blonde hair at the nape of the young werewolf’s neck stood up to attention as he froze in place, finally lifting his head, hair still hanging forward slightly over one eye as his azure gaze found the man behind the scent. He wasn’t human in no way shape or form and he never had been, that much alone was obvious to Casper’s nose and yet the young werewolf had never before come across a creature that smelled the way this man did. He was staring at him without even realizing he was doing so, a frown fixed upon his brow as he tried to figure out what he was, what he could be, there was something about this stranger that both seemed to aggravate his inner wolf to the forefront of Casper’s mind and calm it all at once and for the first time in his life, the boy’s animal instincts were conflicting with one another.
He probably would have stayed there, frozen to the spot unable to move if it hadn’t been for the head chef crossing the room toward him and thrusting a bottle of their most expensive Champaign into his hands, it was enough to snap Casper out of whatever he’d fallen into, hand gripping the Champaign bottle that was handed to him. “You forgot this, sorry about that, he’s new here and foreign. I trust you know how to open it?” The chef spoke to the table and then addressed his question toward Casper, not waiting for a response before returning to the kitchen. It was a lie of course, sure he was new at waiting tables and yes, he was foreign but even so, he’d grown up speaking both the language of home and English so he could understand everything perfectly.
As it turned out Casper did know how to open a bottle of Champagne, the only problem being that the last and only one he’d ever opened before had been on accident, someone had handed it to him to hold and he’d been so worried about accidentally dropping it that he’d gripped it only slightly too hard and the entire thing had shattered in his hands, twenty-odd years and he was still trying to master his own strength.
Busying himself with the bottle Casper’s eyes darted around the table quickly to make sure that no one was watching him directly before he popped the cork easily with the thumb of the hand that gripped the neck of the bottle, flinching a little at the sound it made but that didn’t stop his left hand from coming up and catching the cork before it could fly upward toward the ceiling or in the face of one of the diners. Sometimes quick reflexes were a blessing.
Belial
The obscene length of time in which his glass went empty finally began to irritate Belial, and he turned his attention more fully to the waiter. Lounging in his chair, he brushed his hair back and stared up at him, only a little surprised to find that the boy was staring right back. Certainly that happened, what with Belial being fully convinced of his own beauty, but usually a restaurant of such high quality trained their employees on the finer arts of being much less obtrusive around rich people. How silly.
That wasn't the only thing Belial noticed, however. For a brief second he couldn't say much either, since he didn't expect that the boy too would be quite lovely for mortal blood – that explained his unaccustomed employment, perhaps? – and that he would obviously bear Belial's own mark. Of course, no one else present would know about such a thing, but Belial could just feel it bleeding off of him that the boy had his curse. It was like a familiar scent, or a faint aura around him, something that drifted into the air and sparked tendrils of delight to ignite the interest of the old demon. He could not help but smile for the boy, barely revealing the edges of sharp little teeth.
Then the chef arrived at the table and Belial felt that his boredom quotient immediately rose again. People like him were tiresome, interrupting the way they did. He resisted the urge to yawn, his chin dipping at the "new and foreign" comment.
"My, I wouldn't have imagined..." Belial punctuated his murmured stab with a glance down at the tablecloth, eyes hidden behind their lashes. "To be new and foreign, of all things. And here I thought the worst of it was that he was rude and slow. Come on, boy. I haven't got all night."
With more insistence the glass rose again, but not too far. Belial wanted the boy to come much closer. There was something about his face... it was too perfectly wrought... that snowy skin, the hair like honey, and of course those eyes... No, Belial would remember a face like that, and if he didn't already own it he would have it before the night was through.
Casper
Slipping the cork into his pocket Casper did his best not to interrupt anyone at the table, mostly he was very talented at slipping by people unnoticed, people rarely spared him so much as a second glance and he was grateful for it, it was exactly the way he liked it and also the reason why he felt so uncomfortable being out there on the floor instead of behind the tub of soapy water out the back where he felt far much more at home. He heard the stranger’s words, no matter how much of a murmur they were he heard them loud and clear, that little confused frown making its way back onto his brow as he glanced in the man’s direction once more, noticing his empty glass being held out, waiting to be filled. Of course Casper chose to first fill the empty glasses that were sitting patiently upon the table top, moving between the diners virtually unnoticed before finally he had no choice but to approach the blonde at the head of the table, trying not to wrinkle his nose up when the scent of the fur he was wearing reached his nostrils, he didn’t know why it unnerved him so much seeing the other wearing it but it did, perhaps it was the colour itself that bothered him, so close to that of his own wolf.
Walking toward him, his old pink sneakers not making a single sound against the highly polished floors as he moved, Casper poured the remainder of the Champagne into the other’s glass, holding his breath as he did so out of fear that being so close to this man’s scent would bring his wolf growling to the surface. It was a silly fear and of course Casper knew that, his wolf wouldn’t show his face until the full moon but there was just something about this man that had every single sense within him along with his inner wolf on high alert, maybe it was his scent, maybe it was the fur he wore, perhaps even his face either way, Casper couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Sorry for the wait.” He murmured out politely just because he could feel his bosses eyes burning into his back as he stood there every word laced heavily with an accent, his eyes not once rising to meet the other’s, he’d learned long ago not to meet the gaze of other during the week before the moon, his wolf had a tendency of showing his face behind those sky blue eyes during that time and he took every met gaze as a dominance challenge.
Belial
With every passing moment that the boy made him wait, Belial's blood pressure rose. It started with an icy narrowing of his eyes, a stern flattening of his lips, delicate fingertips gripping the flute so hard that if he exerted any supernatural power at all it would shatter in his palm. It was as if the boy was going out of his way to spite him, filling every single glass at the table before ever coming near him. If there was one thing that a demon was known for, it would surely be his pride, and woe betide the boy now, as he was wounding Belial's with his impropriety. People just didn't do that.
Still, he managed to be utterly still, even at being poured the dregs of the bottle, even at the quiet apology. Belial sat up in his chair and rose his chin, drawing the glass near to give it a bland sniff, and then hung it over the arm of his chair again. He turned up his nose and dropped the glass.
Crash! It shattered satisfyingly, bringing back Belial's strange glacial smile. The people at the table were suddenly silent, their eyes down but sometimes sneaking glances from the corners. No one would bring it up or say a word to him. In fact, they all seemed to be growing in discomfort, as if something bad was approaching.
"What a waste," the king of the table announced. He lounged back again, folding one knee over the other. "Would you hurry and clean that up?"
Casper
Though he hadn’t been expecting the other to drop the glass the moment he saw it leave the stranger’s hand and fall toward the floor, he lurched forward slightly, prepared to catch it before it shattered on the wooden floorboards but he help himself back and stopped short, just watching the flute shatter, flinching when shards of glass went sliding across the floor, he could have caught it, he knew that but it wouldn’t have helped anyone if he’d exposed himself like that. It didn’t however stop the growl that rumbled in his chest automatically, sneaking up through his throat, the sound belonged to an animal, not the seemingly human teenager it was coming from and as soon as Casper realized what he was doing his hand flew up to cover his mouth and silence the sound, breathing just a little heavy, nostrils flared as he tried to get his wolf back under control.
Not saying a word but thinking that he now knew why the restaurant seemed to go through so many waitress’, Casper made his way out the back, grabbing a two clothes, a bucket of soapy water and a small dustpan, ignoring the sounds of the boss as he yelled in his sensitive ears about dropping glasses, not bothering to correct him as he made his way back out onto the floor, almost ninety percent sure that if he did try and speak at that moment, he might just end up either snarling or trying to eat someone and as much as the knowledge made him cringe and revolted him, he had to admit that at such a moment, both options seemed rather appealing.
Crouching down on the floor beside the blonde’s chair, his hand coming up to brush a loose strand of blonde hair behind his own ear, Casper started to pick up the remains of the Champagne flute, placing the pieces of glass in the dustpan he’d placed beside him, mopping up most of the Champaign with a cloth before dipping it into the soapy bucket of water to get rid of any remnants that may possibly become sticky later on.
Belial
Belial smirked when the boy twitched forward, almost as if he might instinctively catch the dropped glass. That was even somewhat impressive, and a trait he liked in a servant. If he threw something valuable, as he was occasionally wont to do in a fit, it would be nice to see that it was silently caught without a hitch and put back where it had started before it had become a target. Maybe so he could throw it again, maybe not. His fits weren't so desperately common.
The growl just confirmed what he already knew, anyway, but he also liked the confirmation that his curse had such a grip on the boy. The slap of his hand over his mouth was not missed, and if Belial had been less of a cool persona he might have laughed out loud. As it would be, he was still pretending it was an accident, shuffling his chair to the side so that the boy could get all the broken bits. Just for fun, he "accidentally" put his toe over a larger piece and pressed down. The hard heel of his dress boot crushed the glass into an even finer powder against the floor.
"You missed a spot, garçon," he said, lifting his heel from the crushed glass. That was all he said until the boy had finished his work, and then with a cool lift of his brow he added, "Bring another bottle and another pair of flutes. Take one of them for yourself." Vocally, he offered no explanation, but his eyes did focus on the very loud chef for a moment. He too had been a little irritated that the blustery man had said such out of place things to the boy. Belial himself bossing around one of his Weres was one matter, but for a human man to step out of rank and do such a thing offended him. Were-creatures were meant to be feared, and if not respected, then at least reviled. Belial did not make such things to be weak and shrinking.
Casper
If it hadn’t been for the scent of the man that seemed to swirl around him and grip his chest like a vice the cleaning might have calmed Casper down somewhat, offered him something to concentrate on and out his wolf back in its place, as it was though the only thing cleaning up the other’s mess proved to do was set Casper to an entirely new height of alertness. He hadn’t missed a spot, that much he knew, his vision was far too good for that, when he saw the other move his foot though he had to grit his teeth in response and remind himself for what felt like the thousandth time that he was only irritated because the moon night was soon, if it had been a week after the full moon rather than the week before he might have been only mildly annoyed but nothing about the situation would have made him growl like he previously had. Silently he was thankful that none of the other’s companions had been sitting any closer, the scent and sight of human blood was the last thing he needed at that moment, especially since the streets outside seemed thick with it. No, if one of the strange man’s human companions had accidentally cut themselves on the broken glass, Casper might have been leaping up upon the table like a rabid animal and trying to chew someone’s arm off. He tried very, very hard not to think too much about it, the very thought had his mouth watering.
It was once he was done and picking up everything he’d brought out with him when he heard the man’s proposal, a confused little look on his face as his eyes found the beautiful blonde’s once more, wanting so badly to ask him what he was but too afraid to do so, he’d learned just recently that people didn’t like to be called out on what his nose told him. “I’m sorry, I don’t drink.” He replied politely, leaving out the fact that if he sat down and had a glass of champagne with the other he’d probably be fired on the spot and he needed this job, however horrible it might be at times. “I’ll be right out with your glass and another bottle though.” He told him, his accent just a little thicker now than it had been previously, something that seemed to happen when he became nervous and as he made his way back into the kitchen, nervous he indeed was. What this man wanted with him he had no idea and though he was insanely curious he thought that maybe, just maybe it would be best if he never found out.
Returning with a new bottle, cork already popped and another champagne flute, Casper poured the glass and set it down in front of the other, having to lean slightly over him to do so, holding his breath to try and keep from catching his scent and being thrown by it all over again.