Invitation (Switch/Apoc, alternate fic-verse)
Summary: Apoc has an unexpected meeting with Destiny Switch.
Invitation
It’s raining.
Fat drops slamming into the street, so thick you can't see five feet in front of you.
I’m surprised this basement of a bar hasn’t started to flood.
I watch the regulars trail in, shaking rain water off their coats, their umbrellas, greeting the bar tender in gruff voices.
I feel invisible.
But that’s a comfort as much as a curse these days.
I sip my beer, wanting a cigarette and not having one.
Why do I feel so damn disconnected?
Absorbed in my thoughts - nihilistic? - I don’t notice the chair across from me slide out until it’s too late.
I look up, a growl already on my lips, but the words die in my throat.
“Got a light?” the apparition says - not so much a request as a suggestion.
Short hair, shapeless coat, carefully buttoned shirt… that voice could go either way.
Is this a woman or a boy sitting, suddenly, across from me?
“…Alright.”
I fish out my lighter, spark the flame into life.
Lips to cigarette, cigarette to flame. There is something pointedly unsexy about the way she (he?) lights up.
Interesting.
This has to be chick, I decide. No guy’s gonna make that kind of effort to not sexualize something.
She shakes the pack towards me.
Oh, now, that’s an offer I can’t refuse.
“Thanks.”
What do you want? I wonder, but don’t ask, taking a puff, letting the smoke sit inside me - this stuff’ll kill ya - before breathing it out again.
She holds her cigarette between her thumb and first finger - like it’s a joint, or something.
She takes a long drag - I half expect her eyes to close, she breathes it like a chain-smoker would - but she doesn’t even blink.
What, is this a staring contest now?
“What?” I ask, finally. If there’s a point to all this posturing, I think I’d like to know.
“You’ve been asking a lotta questions lately,” she tells me, leaning closer. “Haven’t you, Apocalypse?”
Suddenly, I’m paying a lot of attention.
How do you know that name?
“What’s the question, Apoc?” she demands, softly, her eyes boring into mine. This feels, suddenly, like some sort of test.
I feel my mouth go dry, lean across the table, ‘til I can feel her breath, humid, against my mouth.
“What is the Matrix?” I barely whisper it, the question whose answer I’ve been chasing for two years.
I feel her breathe out.
“Follow me,” she murmurs. “I’ll take you to the answer.”
With that, she gets up, drops her cigarette into the ash tray, and starts towards the door.
“Wait,” I take hold of her wrist, to stop her.
She glances pointedly at my hand, then at me, her eyebrows lifted, challenging.
Hastily, I let go.
“I don’t even know your name,” I explain.
Her eyes flicker over me. I feel like she’s sizing me up, deciding something else.
“You’ll find out,” she answers, finally, “if you come.”
She turns away again, already turning up her collar against the rain.
Now or never, I decide.
I drop a bill on the table, and follow her out of the bar.
*~*~*~*~*
Story continued in: Unplugged.
Comments, of course, are always appreciated. :-)
Invitation
It’s raining.
Fat drops slamming into the street, so thick you can't see five feet in front of you.
I’m surprised this basement of a bar hasn’t started to flood.
I watch the regulars trail in, shaking rain water off their coats, their umbrellas, greeting the bar tender in gruff voices.
I feel invisible.
But that’s a comfort as much as a curse these days.
I sip my beer, wanting a cigarette and not having one.
Why do I feel so damn disconnected?
Absorbed in my thoughts - nihilistic? - I don’t notice the chair across from me slide out until it’s too late.
I look up, a growl already on my lips, but the words die in my throat.
“Got a light?” the apparition says - not so much a request as a suggestion.
Short hair, shapeless coat, carefully buttoned shirt… that voice could go either way.
Is this a woman or a boy sitting, suddenly, across from me?
“…Alright.”
I fish out my lighter, spark the flame into life.
Lips to cigarette, cigarette to flame. There is something pointedly unsexy about the way she (he?) lights up.
Interesting.
This has to be chick, I decide. No guy’s gonna make that kind of effort to not sexualize something.
She shakes the pack towards me.
Oh, now, that’s an offer I can’t refuse.
“Thanks.”
What do you want? I wonder, but don’t ask, taking a puff, letting the smoke sit inside me - this stuff’ll kill ya - before breathing it out again.
She holds her cigarette between her thumb and first finger - like it’s a joint, or something.
She takes a long drag - I half expect her eyes to close, she breathes it like a chain-smoker would - but she doesn’t even blink.
What, is this a staring contest now?
“What?” I ask, finally. If there’s a point to all this posturing, I think I’d like to know.
“You’ve been asking a lotta questions lately,” she tells me, leaning closer. “Haven’t you, Apocalypse?”
Suddenly, I’m paying a lot of attention.
How do you know that name?
“What’s the question, Apoc?” she demands, softly, her eyes boring into mine. This feels, suddenly, like some sort of test.
I feel my mouth go dry, lean across the table, ‘til I can feel her breath, humid, against my mouth.
“What is the Matrix?” I barely whisper it, the question whose answer I’ve been chasing for two years.
I feel her breathe out.
“Follow me,” she murmurs. “I’ll take you to the answer.”
With that, she gets up, drops her cigarette into the ash tray, and starts towards the door.
“Wait,” I take hold of her wrist, to stop her.
She glances pointedly at my hand, then at me, her eyebrows lifted, challenging.
Hastily, I let go.
“I don’t even know your name,” I explain.
Her eyes flicker over me. I feel like she’s sizing me up, deciding something else.
“You’ll find out,” she answers, finally, “if you come.”
She turns away again, already turning up her collar against the rain.
Now or never, I decide.
I drop a bill on the table, and follow her out of the bar.
*~*~*~*~*
Story continued in: Unplugged.
Comments, of course, are always appreciated. :-)