Demon Days (For John)

[call_me_rat]

It's a dark time for the city, and a dangerous time for anyone who has nowhere off the streets to go after dark. Rat's been making the rounds, checking on the people he knows, but so far so good. He spent last night laying low, and had to make the rounds again when there were fresh murders for the headlines. By early afternoon he's on his fifth cup

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[j_murdoch]

John can't find a murderer when he doesn't know who exactly that murderer is. But he can find Rat.

For once, he's not driving the bread truck; he's on foot, a slouching figure in a brown coat. His mop of curly hair hangs over his eyes, but there's something very distinctive in the way John moves; something wary but deliberate, as if he knows where he's going, and is in a hurry to get there, but expects to be interrupted at any moment.

"Hey, Rat," he calls from several feet away. "Got a minute?"

[call_me_rat]

The older man looks up with just a slight delay, surprised but his reaction timing slowed by weariness. "Oh. Oh, hey..." He unfolds himself from the step and ambles over, just slightly stiff and sore. "I've got lots of minutes." He smiles weakly at his own poor joke, but his eyes are shadowed.

[j_murdoch]

"You look how I feel," John is sympathetic. He looks equally exhausted, to be honest, but youth covers a multitude of sins, and he can abuse his body freely without suffering the stiffness and soreness Rat's feeling.

[call_me_rat]

What a difference a decade makes. Rat makes a face good-naturedly. "Thanks. I've been checking up on everybody I know, just in case..." He shakes his head. "All accounted for, anyways." He cuts himself off before the 'for now' comes out.