He won't make it to three. It's not hard to utilize the Organization's resources. Even with Bambi dead and all her hardcopies went with her, he still has the means to find anyone in this city. He kept track of Rachel and keeping track of Rachel leads him to keep track of Adrian. There might come a day when Adrian's death would be of more use to him, but right now, it would be such a waste to have Rachel unhappy and unable to keep up her lessons. And, really, rescuing her beau will only bring her closer to him. He can use that.
Before Adrian's mental count gets to three, Adam strolls into the area with his hands in his pockets, having been tipped off by members of the Internal Police to his whereabouts. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. Suicide, while evidently painless, is the lowest form of cowardice."
Not the best thing to open with, but if Adam wanted to open with something better, he would have. There's a pigeon in the nearest tree prepared to knock that knife right out of Adrian's hand if he doesn't stop.
He doesn't make it to three, if only because the sound of a stranger's voice upsets the balance he struck between regret and resolve. All the tension, the momentum, leaves in a rush and he's left with a blade resting against his neck and empty, empty feelings. They strike him as distantly as the sound of fireworks launched a mile off. He's so tired.
He's so, so tired.
"You are a coward when you even seem to have backed down from a thing you openly set out to do," he responds. It sound automatic. It feels automatic. He can't think of any words of his own.
"Mark Twain," Adam remarks, taking a step closer. He's not afraid of a suicidal man with a knife. It's hard to find anything that can scare a god.
He shrugs, nonchalantly, like this is completely normal and he's just having an average conversation about the state of the weather and not trying to convince someone not to kill themselves. "Still, I'd put the knife down if I were you."
He's just so confident. It's hard to ignore that level of confidence, really.
Adam almost smirks. Sometimes it's just way too easy.
"Adam Monroe. I believe we have a mutual friend." He takes a moment to let that sink in, seeming to be appreciating the fallen leaves and the general fall atmosphere of this corner of the park.
When he finally turns to look at Adrian, one eyebrow goes up, questioning when there's really no question about it. "Rachel Conway?"
Any impulse to raise the blade, to whip it over the arteries and be done, fades when Adam says that name. Adrian winces, almost cringes. His wings spread defensively. He wants this person to leave him alone. The way Adam says it, Adrian can tell Rachel's not here.
Adam steps closer, clearly signifying that he isn't going away. By the time he's mere inches from Adrian, he kneels down and looks him in the eye.
"I see that got your attention. I'd hate to be the one to tell Rachel that I had to watch her friend kill himself. I doubt there is anything in this city worth killing yourself over."
He extends his hand, quirking an eyebrow. You'll listen, because I'm old and wise and because I want you to. I happen to know what I'm talking about.
Or, at least, he's putting on a wonderful show of pretending he does.
There's some measure of defiance left, a flicker of desire to deny Adam's wordless request--and then he meets the man's eyes. He's so close to believing himself in the wrong anyway, perpetually, waiting for the slap and the correction, that the gentle and confident prompting is all it takes. He hands the knife over and closes his eyes.
Adam doesn't move, but there's a flicker in his eyes. A certain don't you dare. Defiance isn't something Adam tolerates. He doesn't break people into compliance, people just comply. If they don't, they're of no use to him.
"I'm afraid I can't do that," he says, perfectly conversational.
Adam toys with the knife in his hands, rocking back on his heels a bit, still crouching in front of Adrian. He's never had much of a passion for switchblades- they're not exactly classy, but he's rather good with edged weapons of all sorts. He flips it open and closed a few times, contemplating Adrian's question.
"Because in order to properly leave you alone, I have to be certain you're not going to jump off the nearest building. As I said, I rather like Rachel and don't wish to see her hurt. And, in my experience, suicide is never a good course of action."
It simply won't do to leave him here, completely suicidal. Pfft. Mortals. Even the angels and demons who live just as long as he can don't seem to appreciate the sanctity of life.
Before Adrian's mental count gets to three, Adam strolls into the area with his hands in his pockets, having been tipped off by members of the Internal Police to his whereabouts. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. Suicide, while evidently painless, is the lowest form of cowardice."
Not the best thing to open with, but if Adam wanted to open with something better, he would have. There's a pigeon in the nearest tree prepared to knock that knife right out of Adrian's hand if he doesn't stop.
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He's so, so tired.
"You are a coward when you even seem to have backed down from a thing you openly set out to do," he responds. It sound automatic. It feels automatic. He can't think of any words of his own.
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He shrugs, nonchalantly, like this is completely normal and he's just having an average conversation about the state of the weather and not trying to convince someone not to kill themselves. "Still, I'd put the knife down if I were you."
He's just so confident. It's hard to ignore that level of confidence, really.
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He's not sure what to do after that. He didn't think beyond the knife and privacy. Now that the privacy's gone...
"Who are you?"
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"Adam Monroe. I believe we have a mutual friend." He takes a moment to let that sink in, seeming to be appreciating the fallen leaves and the general fall atmosphere of this corner of the park.
When he finally turns to look at Adrian, one eyebrow goes up, questioning when there's really no question about it. "Rachel Conway?"
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He really, really hopes she's not here.
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"I see that got your attention. I'd hate to be the one to tell Rachel that I had to watch her friend kill himself. I doubt there is anything in this city worth killing yourself over."
He extends his hand, quirking an eyebrow. You'll listen, because I'm old and wise and because I want you to. I happen to know what I'm talking about.
Or, at least, he's putting on a wonderful show of pretending he does.
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"Leave me alone," he says. Please.
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"I'm afraid I can't do that," he says, perfectly conversational.
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He doesn't understand why he can't really want that loneliness.
"Why?"
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"Because in order to properly leave you alone, I have to be certain you're not going to jump off the nearest building. As I said, I rather like Rachel and don't wish to see her hurt. And, in my experience, suicide is never a good course of action."
It simply won't do to leave him here, completely suicidal. Pfft. Mortals. Even the angels and demons who live just as long as he can don't seem to appreciate the sanctity of life.
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"Now what?"
That's the question and always has been. He's starting to think that's the only one he'll ever have.
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