A kiss, cold as a November rain, kiss of a traitor, cold as a snake-skin

[morsus_et_mors]

Date: Friday, 7 July 2000
Time: Late afternoon
Location: Cobalt Viriconium antique records shoppe, Muggle London
Characters Involved: Montague Morsus and OPEN (Please, ask before joining)
Status: Incomplete
Rating: PG-13 at the very least

Comments

[morsus_et_mors]

And so they stood - a brother holding a brother, alone in the world of maelstroms, safe and secure in their solitude. This would find its way into Montague's memory and etch itself there, making sure that Montague never forget, and return to that place in moments of disquietitude.

But soon (time could fly so fast), Montague felt that familiar feel creep into his very insides. He called it detachment - the poetry of detached connection - neither here nor there. And not really caring, when it came down to that. The most beautiful concept in the world, better than the flashy concept of Ubermensch, than the psychotic surrealism of Dadaism, than the gritty realism of the knife being stabbed into the skin and up through the chin and into the mouth as the fountains of blood sprouted forth - all merely aspects of this one thing.

With a bland smile, he let the boy go and away from him. Taking the record in his hand and adding it to the one of Wagner in his own, Montague nodded slightly, motioning for Terry to follow him.

"These," he dropped the two records on the cashier's desk haughitly. "Wrap them up," he added imperiously, before extracting a few ruffled Muggle banknotes of an obviously valuable standing.

[terry_schtiwl]

Oh- what? The cold hands that had been holding Terry close released him- and the body he'd been pressed against moved aside, forcing the boy to take a heavy step forward to catch himself. He blinked at Montague.

It took a few moments for things to come back- thoughts, memories, emotions. Terry, when he (or his body, anyway) had been leaning against Montague, had been 'somewhere else.' Not that he remembered where that place was now. -And he was feeling more than a little spacey.

With hesitant steps Terry trailed Montague, after he'd gestured, to the cashier's counter. And he stood a good metre away as the employee began ringing up the records, idly tapping his left sneaker on the dirty floorboards. Eyes were kept on a strange burn (that resembled someone Terry couldn't quite put his finger on) on the floor next to the 'R & B' rack.

The boy could hardly collect his thoughts for even a second. --A sure sign that medicines were in order.

[morsus_et_mors]

At the sight of Montague (and Terry quite the distance away), the sales-girl stood up from her seat, abandoning her previous occupation of polishing her nails. Something about the couple seemed slightly off, the tall man in front of her giving off even stranger vibes. She would later on swear that she felt hairs on her back stand on end, the moment she laid her eyes on him.

"Faster," he said, a thin smile on his lips not reaching his cold oceanic eyes at all. The order sent the girl into a momentary stupor, in which she wondered if the man was a maniac - a thought that instantly sent her into an accelerated bout of usefulness and servitude. "Here you are," she said, holding out the records in the plastic bags and the change from the Muggle banknotes.

"Have a ni--" the employee did not finish her sentence with Montague leaving the desk abruptly and walking toward the exit in a decisive stride. "Fuck you too," she muttered quietly, wondering slightly whether he was a Satanist and would all of her words. Not that he cared.

"Think of me when listening to it," Montague said finally, as they were out of the Cobalt Viriconium. "Think of me, because you belong to me." He stood towering above the younger boy, not paying attention to the scared looks thrown their way by the scarce buyers that were entering the record shoppe.