A Casual Affair
Mendel had been walking around the streets of Brooklyn looking for a story when he first met him.
He'd been standing on a street corner, looking as inconspicuous as you please, with a fedora tipped low over a prominent brown and green eyes sunk so far back in his skull that they looked black in the shadows. A long overcoat hid the nice suit that he wore - dark blue, with faint grey pinstripes, and shiny black shoes that looked as if a shoe shiner had just done them up that evening. A cigarette was held in his gloved hand, and he blew smoke up into the sky as if offering the moon secondhand smoke for her troubles.
Mendel Aschner, of course, recognized him. He made it a point to recognize everyone he saw on the street, in case one day he was called up to write a real story - something important and newsworthy and not some rag shoved into the side column. He didn't know his name, but he was an interesting stranger all the same. Someone who was always speaking with someone - whether it was one of the Morales brothers, or that redhead who secretly ran Nectar under the flower shop, the man was speaking to them.
It was said he was Lady Ellen Sinclair's cousin - or maybe Kieran Sinclair's, her ward. It was never exactly clear, and they never cleared it up. It was said he was a businessman, but it was never said what he sold. He smoked and he watched and he smiled when he caught Mendel looking at him, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette and tilting his head at the wandering journalist.
"Lost?" the man asked, and Mendel, shocked that he had even bothered noticing him, shook his head quickly. The man waved him over, then, tipping back the brim of his fedora to look at the journalist properly. "Vhat is your name?"
"...what's yours?" Mendel asked, smiling at him cheekily. He walked over, all the same, hands shoved into his pockets and hazel-blue eyes warily watching him. It was also said that he was dangerous, or at least that was what people assumed. They always assumed the unknown ones were dangerous, otherwise they wouldn't be so unknown. Not in this day and age.
The man smirked, taking a drag of his cigarette and saying nothing for a moment. He then blew out the smoke, clouding his features and the night around them, and pulled out his packet of cigarettes, offering them to Mendel. Mendel took them and tapped one out, searching for his own lighter.
"You can call me Fanden, if you like," he said, tilting his head. "May I know your name, now, mine friend?"
"...Mendel Aschner," Mendel said, finally finding his lighter. He paused, though, holding out his hand to shake Fanden's in proper greeting. Quirking his brow, Fanden took his hand and gave it a slow, firm squeeze, looking at Mendel with a quiet, curious intensity that made the journalist feel like Fanden was looking straight through him and into something every person kept hidden. He then smiled, letting go of his hand and tucking his own back into his long overcoat. "S'a bit late t'be out, isn't it?"
"And yet, ve are both out and about," Fanden smiled, watching as Mendel fumbled with his lighter. He took it from Mendel, then, lighting it in on go and holding it out for Mendel to light his fag. Mendel blinked, taking in a drag and accepting the lighter when it was handed back to him. "Vhy is a good boy like you out, hm?"
"A 'good boy'?" Mendel echoed, brows raising, before he grinned and shook his head. "Makin' me feel like a dog, there, Mr Fanden - that's not so nice of ya."
"Ah - but is it not a compliment? Dogs are loyal, and friendly creatures. Much loved." Fanden grinned, dropping the butt of his cigarette and smothering it with the heel of his shoe. "Zhat is not such a bad comparison... mine valp. Ja?"
Mendel blinked, brow furrowing at the new, foreign word, before shaking his head and taking a drag of his cigarette. "I guess when you look at it that was, s'not so bad..." He looked up, then, smiling a little. "I'm out lookin' for a story - I'm a journalist."
"Ja, I know," Fanden smiled, leaning back against the lamppost just beside him and crossing his arms now that he had nothing to busy his hands with. "I read your article sometimes. It is very amusing - makes me laugh."
Mendel made a face, like a mixture between a grimace and a smile, and nodded in what he hoped was a thankful way. By the way Fanden's smile widened, he sincerely doubted he succeeded.
"Not a fan of your work, mine valp?"
"...I'd like ta do some serious stories one day," Mendel said, shrugging and flicking ash from his cigarette. Fanden nodded, pretending to be interested. Mendel was thankful for that, at least. "Anyway, what is it you do, then?"
"Oh, I am sure you have your theories, ja?" Fanden smiled again, taking out another cigarette and lighting it with a fluidity that reminded Mendel of water, in a way. Fanden himself reminded Mendel or water. Like a river, or a river spirit or something. Just something other and fluid and unknown to him.
He thought maybe he wanted to learn more about him, and then wondered if he would even be allowed to.
"...I honestly don't know," Mendel said, shrugging and rubbing the back of his neck. his trilbey tilted back far on his head; suit a little rumpled from a long day at the office. He fidgeted with a sleeve, contemplated pulling out the overcoat tomorrow as it got colder and colder out, and then shook his head. "There's all sorts'a rumours about you, Mr Fanden -"
"Just Fanden, if you vould, mine valp. It is, after all, a 'first' name - and only mine clients call me 'mister'."
Mendel blinked, shifting a little on his feet and looking down to see that his shoes desperately needed a shine, before smiling a little - feeling oddly proud that he got to call the mystery-man by his 'first' name - and nodding.
"...then you can call me Mendel."
Fanden smiled, taking in a long drag of his fresh cigarette, and blowing the smoke out in a cloud as he began the move away.
"I zhink I vill stick to 'mine valp', mine valp. ...goodnight."
Confused, Mendel Aschner watched Fanden walk away, cigarette burning away in his fingers.
"...Goodnight."
He'd been standing on a street corner, looking as inconspicuous as you please, with a fedora tipped low over a prominent brown and green eyes sunk so far back in his skull that they looked black in the shadows. A long overcoat hid the nice suit that he wore - dark blue, with faint grey pinstripes, and shiny black shoes that looked as if a shoe shiner had just done them up that evening. A cigarette was held in his gloved hand, and he blew smoke up into the sky as if offering the moon secondhand smoke for her troubles.
Mendel Aschner, of course, recognized him. He made it a point to recognize everyone he saw on the street, in case one day he was called up to write a real story - something important and newsworthy and not some rag shoved into the side column. He didn't know his name, but he was an interesting stranger all the same. Someone who was always speaking with someone - whether it was one of the Morales brothers, or that redhead who secretly ran Nectar under the flower shop, the man was speaking to them.
It was said he was Lady Ellen Sinclair's cousin - or maybe Kieran Sinclair's, her ward. It was never exactly clear, and they never cleared it up. It was said he was a businessman, but it was never said what he sold. He smoked and he watched and he smiled when he caught Mendel looking at him, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette and tilting his head at the wandering journalist.
"Lost?" the man asked, and Mendel, shocked that he had even bothered noticing him, shook his head quickly. The man waved him over, then, tipping back the brim of his fedora to look at the journalist properly. "Vhat is your name?"
"...what's yours?" Mendel asked, smiling at him cheekily. He walked over, all the same, hands shoved into his pockets and hazel-blue eyes warily watching him. It was also said that he was dangerous, or at least that was what people assumed. They always assumed the unknown ones were dangerous, otherwise they wouldn't be so unknown. Not in this day and age.
The man smirked, taking a drag of his cigarette and saying nothing for a moment. He then blew out the smoke, clouding his features and the night around them, and pulled out his packet of cigarettes, offering them to Mendel. Mendel took them and tapped one out, searching for his own lighter.
"You can call me Fanden, if you like," he said, tilting his head. "May I know your name, now, mine friend?"
"...Mendel Aschner," Mendel said, finally finding his lighter. He paused, though, holding out his hand to shake Fanden's in proper greeting. Quirking his brow, Fanden took his hand and gave it a slow, firm squeeze, looking at Mendel with a quiet, curious intensity that made the journalist feel like Fanden was looking straight through him and into something every person kept hidden. He then smiled, letting go of his hand and tucking his own back into his long overcoat. "S'a bit late t'be out, isn't it?"
"And yet, ve are both out and about," Fanden smiled, watching as Mendel fumbled with his lighter. He took it from Mendel, then, lighting it in on go and holding it out for Mendel to light his fag. Mendel blinked, taking in a drag and accepting the lighter when it was handed back to him. "Vhy is a good boy like you out, hm?"
"A 'good boy'?" Mendel echoed, brows raising, before he grinned and shook his head. "Makin' me feel like a dog, there, Mr Fanden - that's not so nice of ya."
"Ah - but is it not a compliment? Dogs are loyal, and friendly creatures. Much loved." Fanden grinned, dropping the butt of his cigarette and smothering it with the heel of his shoe. "Zhat is not such a bad comparison... mine valp. Ja?"
Mendel blinked, brow furrowing at the new, foreign word, before shaking his head and taking a drag of his cigarette. "I guess when you look at it that was, s'not so bad..." He looked up, then, smiling a little. "I'm out lookin' for a story - I'm a journalist."
"Ja, I know," Fanden smiled, leaning back against the lamppost just beside him and crossing his arms now that he had nothing to busy his hands with. "I read your article sometimes. It is very amusing - makes me laugh."
Mendel made a face, like a mixture between a grimace and a smile, and nodded in what he hoped was a thankful way. By the way Fanden's smile widened, he sincerely doubted he succeeded.
"Not a fan of your work, mine valp?"
"...I'd like ta do some serious stories one day," Mendel said, shrugging and flicking ash from his cigarette. Fanden nodded, pretending to be interested. Mendel was thankful for that, at least. "Anyway, what is it you do, then?"
"Oh, I am sure you have your theories, ja?" Fanden smiled again, taking out another cigarette and lighting it with a fluidity that reminded Mendel of water, in a way. Fanden himself reminded Mendel or water. Like a river, or a river spirit or something. Just something other and fluid and unknown to him.
He thought maybe he wanted to learn more about him, and then wondered if he would even be allowed to.
"...I honestly don't know," Mendel said, shrugging and rubbing the back of his neck. his trilbey tilted back far on his head; suit a little rumpled from a long day at the office. He fidgeted with a sleeve, contemplated pulling out the overcoat tomorrow as it got colder and colder out, and then shook his head. "There's all sorts'a rumours about you, Mr Fanden -"
"Just Fanden, if you vould, mine valp. It is, after all, a 'first' name - and only mine clients call me 'mister'."
Mendel blinked, shifting a little on his feet and looking down to see that his shoes desperately needed a shine, before smiling a little - feeling oddly proud that he got to call the mystery-man by his 'first' name - and nodding.
"...then you can call me Mendel."
Fanden smiled, taking in a long drag of his fresh cigarette, and blowing the smoke out in a cloud as he began the move away.
"I zhink I vill stick to 'mine valp', mine valp. ...goodnight."
Confused, Mendel Aschner watched Fanden walk away, cigarette burning away in his fingers.
"...Goodnight."