John Abbott (john_abbott) wrote in v_nocturne_rpg, @ 2009-08-08 11:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | john abbott, simon alexander |
Three Sheets to the Wind
July 18, 1891
Kingdom's Variety
Simon didn't have many friends.
Okay, so to be specific? Simon had no friends at all. He had a network of course, people who knew him, people he knew, and people who would begrudgingly aide him if he really needed it. He even had one or two connections through his family whom he could still call upon if need be. However, people whom he could actually spend extended periods of time with for seemingly no reason without them leaving in disgust? Were few and far between.
As a general rule, he'd go through a series of social interactions with a potential friend before they rejected him completely. First? Meeting them. Simon would be rude and look for signs that he could get away with being worse. Second? Somehow roping them into another meeting. The third and fourth steps became increasingly complex, and usually by step eight people had found reasons to no longer suffer him. Fortunately, as Simon weaved towards John Abbott at the end of the evening spent at the music hall? He was still only approaching the second step, and so had infinite potential to ruin this budding acquaintance in many colourful ways!
In a weird, slightly drunken approach to propriety, Simon respectfully insisted that John come for another drink with him, and made some vague insistence that they, "See the sights of London," together. He'd loftily named a place and a date, and possibly given John his address, but really after that point he'd sort of given up and let the night descend into drunken oblivion...
August 8, 1891
Somewhere Off George Street
The place named was the Pavilion Theatre. The evening started off rather well. The two gentlemen comported themselves appropriately for the first half of a lively song-and-dance show. Seated down front, as they were, Simon and John were in for a visual treat. Two songs in, a buxom redhead bounced out of her corset. She and her breasts were escorted off-stage and laced back into submission, much to the disappointment of the audience. During intermission, John suggested they bypass the wine and hobnobbing in the lobby for a couple of pints at a tavern down the block. It was meant to be a single round of drinks, but one became two, and two became four, and four became... some other number, for they lost count.
Two hours later -- well past the final curtain at the Pavilion -- they ambled drunkenly down Princess Street, arm-in-arm, singing a bawdy ballad about a basket of oysters. At the corner of George Street, John begged off to piss in an alley. While he aimed at a piece of rubbish, he whistled to himself. Then, remembering the night at the music hall, he called over his shoulder. "Mr. Alexander! The other night at that music hall, did I see you performing magic tricks for a boy?"
"Hmm?" Simon hummed, turning to watch John Abbott piss. Magic tricks? Had he been doing magic tricks? Could he do magic tricks? Simon frowned for a moment, then, remembering his imitation of actual sleight of hand, he started to laugh, "Oh- No, no not magic tricks. Not exactly." Simon took a deep breath to try and calm himself, but the moment he felt slightly composed a second wave of laughter prickled through him, and Simon found himself leaning against the wall, giggling uncontrollably.
"No, no my dear man! I-- No-- I cheated! I just made the coins appear from thin air!" Simon took a few deep breaths, finally able to control his amusement, he propped himself up a little more sturdily against the wall. "Yes... no actual skill involved I'm afraid." He paused, looking across at Abbott once more, "Ah, and I believe I saw you entertaining a lady, did I not? Have much luck with her? Or was she a little overripe for your tastes?"
"Overripe?" John was at a loss. He stared at the upturned piece of garbage he was filling, confusion rumpling his forehead. There wasn't a thing overripe about the younger vampire he met in the music hall. She was lovely in her pale pink dress, if a little odd. Her dialect stood in sharp contrast to her manner of dress, which he hadn't understood until pinning her for a vampire and concluding that she stole it. What was her name, Louisa? No, Lucy it was. Lucy with the trailing fingernail, which looked sharp enough to slit a jugular vein. The stream of his urine trickled off and he jiggled himself.
"Oh, you're remembering that pupil I told you about, Angela." He buttoned up and wandered out into the glow of a gas lamp. "As it turns out, I like fruit that's almost rotten, as well." John could not believe he spoke the thought aloud and began to snicker behind the back of his hand. After a moment, he waved it off. "We were in each other's confidence, for a while, but that was all there was to it. But who cares about that? I want to know how you made a coin appear out of thin air. Was it in your coat sleeve?"
"A true musician never reveals his magic!" Simon declared loftily, before pulling a slightly disgusted face at John's earlier words, "And what does that mean? You like-- almost rotte-- Like... old women?" Simon paused then, looking thoughtful. Older women. He waited for a moment for John to come to him, then slung an arm over the other man's shoulder, "When I was sixteen? There was this woman, in her early forties I believe. Miss Kells. Or Gwynneth. Gwen. I found out later it had only been to distract me from her daughter. John Abbott, women who are older than you are also smarter than you, and not to be trusted."
He gave a slight nod of certainty, before stopping, and swallowing hard. He was okay. Not going to be sick. The moment had passed. Simon started again, "Anyway. You. Your family. What are your family like?" There was really a more polite way of investigating someone's social status, but Simon didn't care for it.
John caught the improper use of the word 'musician', but since he also couldn't think of the right word, he said nothing. It was no use pointing out an error if one didn't have the solution, after all. "Not... old women," he argued as they plodded along. The vampire's hair was a squirrel's nest of tangled curls on his forehead and ears. "Seasoned."
Tucked within his coat pocket, a flask of whiskey waited. He found it and unscrewed the cap. The alcohol swished inside the metal canister as he took a swig and offered it to his companion. "My father is a retired professor," he said. Whatever he drank had temporarily roughened his voice. "Brilliant man, though speaking in terms of personality, he's as dull as dishwater. My mother on the other hand," he shook his head, "She is a charmer. She..." He scowled. "Wait--!"
He broke off, and then it seemed he'd had a belated revelation, because John swung around to Simon and blurted out, "It isn't cheating if you make the coin appear. It's... " But he had misplaced the argument. John glanced behind him, as if the thought might be hovering in the air a few steps back. He couldn't say why, but he remained convinced that Simon Alexander was not the cheater, when it came to producing and disappearing that coin. "Nevermind."
"Seasoned is old. Nothing young is ever called seasoned." Simon pointed out helpfully. Oh, John had a hip flask? Simon eyed it hopefully as they wandered onwards through the streets. Naturally he accepted when it was handed over to him, and took a long drink as he listened to John talk about his mother. He was about to lower the flask and ask the good Mr. Abbott if his mother was "seasoned" when the other man seemed to fix upon the flaw in his earlier explanation. Simon managed not to laugh again for long enough to lower the hip flask. Only then releasing a much needed chuckle as he gave John a wide, somewhat smug grin. John might have to hide the fact that he was a vampire, but Simon was more than happy to brag about being a magician. Most people would just assume he was being facetious anyway.
"Quite correct my friend! I cheated at sleight of hand! Instead of merely achieving the illusion of money from nowhere? I actually summoned money from nowhere! For you see, I have spectacular magic powers!" This said? Simon dissolved back into giggles and turned his attention back to the streets. Where were they going, anyway? Ah well, didn't matter.
"Have you really?" John seemed impressed, not at all dubious. He watched his new acquaintance's profile and decided the man was telling the truth, most certainly. "Huh. Well, I'll be jiggered." He reclaimed the bogarted flask and took another slug of the warm liquor. John felt it scorching a path into his stomach and he was grateful for bringing it along. He squinted at a gas lamp and the fuzzy haze around it.
"I'm trying to recall if I've ever met a real magician before. I don't think I have." John rubbed the side of his nose with a thumb, as if rubbing a genie's lamp and expecting something to come of it. He took a breath, clapped a hand on Simon's shoulder and exclaimed, "Though I might have done and not known about it, I suppose! Hmm."
Because John was loose-tongued when sober, it wasn't out of character to say while drunk, "Have you ever met a vampire?"
"No such thing!" Simon rattled off cheerily, before pausing as he realized that might not be exactly true anymore. He frowned then, thinking about it, "Well, there was-- Okay, I've not met a live vampire. There was this mad young creature who dumped a corpse on my doorstep some time ago and insisted that it was, it was really quite--" He frowned a little more, then shook his head. Probably shouldn't tell John Abbott that he found murder inconvenient. It was an even worse idea to tell him what he'd actually done with that body, so Simon let it slide, turning back to John with a slight smile, "Why do you ask?"
"Well, of course, my friend. No one's met a live vampire," John said. "There is no such creature." A bubble of swallowed air floated up his throat and he pressed a fist against his mouth to burp. Then he carried on, lazily waving his arm and the flask about. "But I would wager that you have met one. Perhaps more than one! They are a good deal more common than you might think." He slapped the flask against his comrade's chest, sharing the contents. "Here, take this, and tell me... Tell me more about this corpse your intrepid friend found. Why did he think it was a vampire?"
"Oh, because you obviously are forever hobnobbing with the vampires of London, are you?" Simon took a quick drink from the hip flask, before letting out a slight laugh and rounding on his companion. Putting the flask into John's hand, he reached up to plant both of his palms on John Abbott's cheeks, his thumbs grazing down the other man's face slightly, "And-- first of all, we are not friends, and second of all, it was because of his teeth." On this cue, Simon pushed both thumbs up, raising John's upper lip and leaning in to stare at the other man's canines. Not because he thought John was a vampire particularly, just because he was really astonishingly rude.
Instead of being affronted, John was merely... perplexed. He held still for the inspection, his eyes cast upwards and darting left to right. "Aaahh...ahh?" For an inexplicable reason, he held his arms out to the sides, too. The descent of a vampire's fangs could be triggered by several catalysts, including the sight of a plump vein, the smell of blood, the mental cue to extend, or simply thinking about one's own fangs too much. Given the circumstances, it wasn't long before the sharp teeth slowly crept beyond the rest of the row.
The backwards tip of John's head disrupted his equilibrium. He stumbled back and rubbed his chin, expecting to have drooled a bit. "Well?" he asked Simon. "Are you going to offer me a carrot?"
Simon took an abrupt step back when John's fangs sank down into his vision. He honestly...had not been expecting that. Of course, the moment the fangs were down and the initial shock wore off? Simon was back forward and making another grab for John's face, chattering away excitedly at the other man. "Oh dear god man you can't be serious! Those teeth, hold still let me see again-- It was exactly like that-- is it a birth defect? Or are you actually a vampire? Were you born a vampire? Do you have to drink blood? Do you like it?" Admittedly it might be a little hard for John Abbott to answer these questions while an overexcited and completely intrigued occultist was trying to pry open his mouth, but still, Simon awaited an answer.
The prospects of biting or drool were apparently not even remotely concerning to Simon at this point.
John frowned, or at least his eyebrows did. "I...auuugg..." The tip of his fang nicked Simon's finger. As soon as the blood touched his tongue, John's eyes reflected like a cat's. He eased the amateur dentist's hand out of his mouth, though the injured knuckle gave him pause and he considered licking the wound. "Careful," he advised and let go. "My table manners leave something to be desired. I've got nothing against gnawing on the bone." John wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
"There are no born vampires, only half-breeds, and those are a miserable lot." He upended the flask and washed down the taste of blood, which was too strong to be borne and still make a good conversationalist. "Vampires are turned. And yes, I drink blood, and yes, I happen to like it. Well..." He looked at a gas lamp and squinted. "I mean, I like the taste of it, though I don't fancy needing it. That's a mite inconvenient."
Simon should have really started backing off by now, but instead the flash of light through John's eyes only made him lean in closer, his attention having shifted upwards from the other man's mouth now to stare into his eyes. He gave a slight, breathless laugh. "Incredible... absolutely incredible! Have you felt any... physiological differences since your change? Aversion to garlic? Crosses? How many of the myths are true?"
It was at this point that he let his voice drop slightly, suddenly thinking of something far better to ask, and with a sudden, fascinated intensity he leaned in close to John, "What was it like to die? Before you came back did you... was there..." He almost trailed off, but managed to force the words out, "...Was there anything?"
Having ample personal space concerned John little, but he finally backed away. Any closer and the fellow would be peering up his nostrils. "Do me a favor, chap," he said, making a half-closed hand gesture at his head. "Allow me an opportunity to answer one question before you prod me with another. I'm a little drunk." At that, he pinched his thumb and forefinger together.
John looked around. No one else stood at the corner of Princess and George. He heard hooves, but the horse headed westward. He scratched the back of his head. "First and foremost, we vampires tend not to admit all our weaknesses. It's poor planning, if you think about it. If everyone knew how to fend off a vampire, where would that get us? Second," at this he reached out and poked Simon's chest, "I don't remember a thing and that is the truth. Otherwise, I might spend a little more time in church and less with the likes of you."
"Well everyone assumes garlic and crosses are your weaknesses anyway, so you might as well just give me a yes or no! I mean, if they are your weakness I already know, and if they're not then no harm done! I can't hurt you with something that doesn't hurt you!" Simon explained in a cheerful hurried logic. The truth was discovering this whole new dimension to the other man, to the universe even? Almost brought him back to the point of sobriety, only to have that point lost in the rush of adrenaline kicked off by the entire concept of a fresh discovery of this magnitude.
He fell silent at John's second comment, letting his thoughts smolder for a moment as he considered the meaning of this. When he finally spoke again, there was almost a hopefulness in his voice. "Perhaps that's because there's nothing to remember. Perhaps there's nothing there and you simply lie in the earth for eternity."
He was still smiling, like what he was describing the universe he'd always wanted and it began and ended with nothing.
"You know." John rested the flask against his temple, enjoying the cool, flat surface of it. "You, my friend, are far more morbid than I am... and I'm already dead." He closed his eyes and snorted a laugh. But he recognized that wild-eyed curiosity and the reason he didn't find it intolerable was because he understood the need to know. John simply needed to know other things: people, fantasies, physical sensations, things of the flesh and imagination. Universal truths interested him far less than human ones.
"I will tell you this," he said. John opened his eyes and touched his friend's shoulder. "Faith wounds us. Just as much as that can heal us." He gestured at the faint light of a moon in the sky. "You could see it as proof of God, or even Gods, if you wanted to. Then again, it could mean that when a man believes in something strong enough, there's no limit to what he can do. I don't know the answer. I just know a cross burns like hell. Hmm." He shrugged and took the last swig from his bottle.
"Now are you or are you not going to tell me what you really do for fun?" John began to walk.
Simon laughed, a little reluctantly following alongside the other man. He didn't want to talk or move anymore, he just wanted to sit John down, make the man hold still and explore him. Work out what made him tick, what made him different. Simon took a deep breath, and thought about self control. He looked up at the moon, staring at it wordlessly for a moment before replying, "For fun. For fun, I obsess. The Magic? The Magic is work. It's a means to an end. The finding out though? All the things we don't know, and all the time left in my life just isn't enough for it."
He tore his eyes down and looked back to John, tilting his head ever so slightly, "I never had much time for faith, or for being wounded. I don't believe in healing or any need for it. You are what you are, and life is what it is. The best thing you can do for yourself, or for anybody, is to know it well when you depart. Or to see something no one has ever seen before."
He paused, giving a slight shrug as he tried for a more conventional answer to the question, "And, well, I have a number of small cats I'm rather fond of."
"Mmm." John nodded. They lumbered along in silence for a couple of paces. Then he said, "For the record, I have no idea what you're on about." He twisted the cap on the little bottle and tucked it away. "No time for being wounded and all that. Except, well, I suppose I do understand part of it. You said before you like mysteries. Puzzles and such. If you understood vampires, I would be as uninteresting to you as..."
He looked around and spotted an animal tied up across the street. "As that horse. You would have me figured out. Until you've done it, you will have a use for talking to me. Oh, don't worry!" He shook his head. "I take no offense. Why waste time on the problem you've already solved? You and I are, in some ways, of very similar mentality. Except for cats. Cats do not like me, nor I them."
"Not at all," Simon replied loftily, "The odds set by my previous socializations suggest that once I've worked you out we shall have two weeks of wide and varied activities and then you, like so many others, will simply become unreliable and grow busy and when you pass me in the street will pretend not to recognize me." That was how his friendships tended to end. Simon let his attention begin to drift across the street though. That was a mighty fine looking horse, now that he thought about it...
"Hm, and why, of all the insane things in the world to dislike, do you not care for cats?" Simon glanced across at the Vampire once again, closing his palms into fists before opening his hands once again, controlling the tense, nervous desire to physically accost John once again. He smiled faintly. "Or would that reveal too much of yourself? Ruin the mystery?"
John scowled. "Don't be ridiculous. It's because they scratch me." He reached across his body and pulled on his shoulder. "Animals don't know what to make of us, and cats are the most suspicious of the lot." They had reached the intersection of streets where they met before the show. The direction northward led to John's building. He stopped and faced Simon. "Please do me the favor of biting your tongue on this, as I will do for you. I don't want to wake up to an angry mob with pitchforks and the like."
"Knew there was a reason why I liked them. Suspicious. Wise creatures," Simon mused, before glancing across to John and smiling, almost warmly at him. "My good friend, Mr. Abbott. Who would I tell? What would I tell them, even? We are in an age of science, my friend! The only people who would believe me are madmen, and those like us. As a general rule I care more for the madmen. Rest assured, your secret is quite safe."
He stopped then, glancing across to the other man, "Hm. So, are we ready to part company for the evening?"
"I believe so," he said. John covered his stomach and rocked on the toes of his shoes. "Even men as morally ambiguous as yourself have a problem with being eaten for dinner. Our acquaintanceship might be better served if we part ways for now." He clapped a hand on Simon's back.
"Well! What can I say? It's been tolerable!" John smiled. "I will see you soon."