(no subject)
Time: 7:38 P.M. Dec. 9th, 1997
Location: Anonymous Alley, Manhattan
The slightly damp thud of a body hitting pavement normally provoked little response in this time, in this place. After all, the only people out this late are drunk, poor, stupid, or all three. Maybe someone would take interest, but only on the off chance that the poor sod’s wallet wasn’t empty. Perhaps it was surprising, then, that a figure peeled itself from the shadowed alley to investigate the body so recently slumped on the ground. But then, the figure knew something unusual about this particular body: its thump had been preceded by no footfalls, by no breathing, by no sound whatsoever. If the figure didn’t know better, he’d think the body had appeared from nowhere.
A casual observer would note the figure as tall, skinny, wearing a tattered jacket and beat-up fedora. With enough light, said observer would see the graying of age in both coat and hat, but in the poor light of a few far-off streetlamps, they appeared dark as the shadows he slunk from. He walked carefully casual, a tiger acting friendly to lure in the prey. Reaching the body, the tall man carefully turned it over, feeling for a pulse rather than the pockets. It was dressed in a black suit that looked like it had been through a sewer, a forest, and hell, not necessarily in that order. The body itself was of an older man in need of a shave, one eye covered in a black patch and black hair poking from under a similarly styled hat. There was no sound of breath, no rising of the chest, no beating of the heart. That is, until the standing man tried to lift the eye patch, and the former corpse’s hand shot out, grabbing the wrist of the searcher.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The older man nearly growled the question, fingers digging into his assailant’s arm.
The figure didn’t seem to notice. “Oh, seeing if you were alright, making sure you weren’t choking on your own vomit. Just doing my good Samaritan act for the night.” His voice was smooth, honeyed, practiced in deception.
“Bull. Don’t even think of lying to me, kid, you’ll never be good enough.” The prone man’s fingers dug harder, enough to cause a yelp from most men. Still, the standing man showed no sign of noticing.
“Eh, you caught me.” His voice dropped most of its silk overtones, though retained some air of foreignness. “Hand to God, I wasn’t trying to rob you. More curious as to where you dropped from.”
Both eyebrows rose in the face that held one eye. “Help me up and I might be able to help you with your inquiry.”
“Are you sure? Sudden falls can cause head trauma, especially in old people. I should probably keep you down there for safety.” Now it was the standing man’s turn to squeeze the other man’s arm, applying just as much pressure.
The prone man grunted, either in pain or as some kind of proto-laugh. “Buddy, you’d never believe me if I told you how old I was. Now help me up, jackass.” He began to pull himself to his feet.
With what might almost be respect, the younger man helped the older up. “Oh, I could say much the same about myself. We should tell each other lies, see who’s believed. Call me Luther, by the way.”
“Wednesday.” The older man began brushing himself off, wincing slightly.
“That your name or the last day you were conscious?” Luther quirked an eyebrow.
“The former,” the other man grumpily replied. His voice had lost some of its raspy growl, but still held a much lower register. “The latter would be what felt like five minutes ago in Northampton. I’m gonna assume from the general drudgery and darkness I’m not there anymore.”
“Nope, you’re in the fine, shiny Big Apple, my friend.” He put his arm around Wednesday’s shoulders. “And, if you don’t mind me saying, you reek. Like death and sewage.”
The one-eyed man does not bother to remove the tall stranger’s arm. “Huh. I’ll have to stop in at the library in the morning. What time is it now?”
“After midnight.” The flippant reply was accompanied by an errant wave of the hand. “Why? Need a place to stay the night? I’m certain we could work something out.” Luther’s grin turned shark-like.
Wednesday didn’t miss it, but made no motion to get away. “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess you’re not speaking of cash. I can tell you, you’ll be disappointed.”
“Oh, I doubt that. But I am quite curious how you managed to fall out of the sky without anyone pitching you over the side of a roof. And it’s going to keep bugging me until I get a solid answer out of you. Now, from the looks of things,” Luther took a moment to pause and sucker punch the older man in the gut, sending him staggering to the ground, “I’d say you’re in rather poor shape. Your little teleportation trick took a bit out of you, hmm? So, why don’t you tell me how you got here, before I have to do anything drastic?”
From his kneeling position, Wednesday managed to look up and smile through the pain. “Bite me, vagabond.”
The standing man looked almost gleeful. “Poor choice of words,” he commented, as his facial structure shifted. His teeth grew longer and sharper, and with preternatural speed Luther bent and sank his fangs into the older man’s neck.
Even faster, the vampire threw himself back, sputtering and spitting. “What the flying fuck?!” he managed to say through his revulsion.
From Wednesday’s neck, a sluggish dark liquid, too thick to be blood, began to leak. He covered the punctures with his sleeve. “Told you you’d be disappointed.” Slowly, he stood, seeming to become stronger as he did so. Moving his arms to his sides, there was no longer any evidence of the bite.
Luther spat out a final gobbet of liquid. “I suppose this is the part where we trade blows and insults until one of us gets tired, is it?”
The other man’s grin was evil incarnate. “No. This is the part where I do a little trick and you run screaming into the night like the little girl you are.” Wednesday held up his left hand, and flame danced around it.
For a moment, it seemed like Luther would run, or attack again, as the light reflected off his eyes. The moment passed, and the vampire laughed. “Well, you do know a trick or two, don’t you? But really, anything you can do,” he raised both arms, and his hands, too, flickered with fire, “I can do better.”
Both men stood still, staring, the lights from their fires casting features into cruel relief. Both seemed to be fighting down an urge to bolt, or strike, but neither was willing to be the first to break.
Finally, Wednesday spoke. “Never seen a pyromaniac vampire before.”
“Well, it’s not a smart thing to be,” Luther quipped back. “Not quite as fatal as liking to sunbathe, but it’s generally discouraged. Keeps the rest of ’em on their toes, though, and out of my hair.”
“Hmph. Yeah, most sentient beings have an aversion to fire as a source of fatal pain. It’s a dangerous friend.”
“You seem like you’re getting along just fine.” The light shifted as Luther gave a dramatic wave. “Or maybe you’re immune to it, whatever you are.”
Wednesday smiled, this time conspiratorially. “No, my friends think I’m just as mad as you are, for similar reasons.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet, you have friends! And you think I do too!”
“What, you don’t have people that like you that do you bidding? You’re lazy, kid.”
Both dropped their arms, and their fires ceased to exist. “I’ll have you know I’ve seen two centuries turn, and unless you can tell me where you were during the Great War, I’m gonna have to object to the ‘kid’ thing.” Much of the menace had been lost from his tone.
“Is this the ‘telling each other lies’ part of the conversation? Because if we’re doing that, I should tell you I’m only about a year and a half old. I haven’t even reached toddler-hood.”
Luther’s brow crinkled. “See, if I were talking to a normal person, I’d assume that’s a blatant lie, but from someone like me, it’d be just the place to put a sneaky truth.”
“Guess you’ll never know,” Wednesday replied with a smile. “Ain’t no fool like a young fool, as they say.”
“Pretty sure that’s ‘old fool,’ and I’m pretty sure that’s what you meant. Grandpa.” He began walking back towards the alley. Wednesday followed.
“Guess I will be crashing your place. Mind if I stay up and watch the sunrise?”
“Be my guest, just know I’ll kill you.”
“Please, you’ll be asleep, you’d never know.”
“Hey, I could show you things to make all your dreams haunted, if I wanted. And I’m not dumb enough to let you stay at my place.”
“That’s good, I was worried I’d have to kill you on principle of being stupid.” As they wandered into the darkness, their voices began to fade.
“That’s fair. Of course, I might have to kill you for being stupid enough to think I was that stupid.”
“Touché. I feel we should end this line of conversation, as it will only lead to more stupidity.”
“Fine by me. Say, you never did mention how you got from wherever you were to here.”
“Oh, some idiot mage did it. I assume on accident, as he yelled ‘Oh shit!’ immediately before and I haven’t seen him to throttle him about it.”
“Mages. Haven’t had much to do with them.”
“Don’t. Either useless or screw you over.”
“Sounds like most people.”
“Most people don’t end up spattered across three dimensions when they screw up.”
“You’d be surprised. Hey, feel like watching TV? There’s a new episode of this show my buddy’s into.”
“And you tape it for him because he doesn’t have a TV? How sweet.”
“Hey, I’m a nice guy, what can I say?”
“Hah. Ha hah. Ha ha hah. What a comic you are.”
“With the utmost respect, fuck you, geezer. Anyhow, it’s an amusing show, and I’ve got a few tapes.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised the kid’s old-fashioned. Or maybe you’re too cheep to afford DVR.”
“D-V-what? That the next Betamax or something?”
“Beta-what?”
“You know, the first recording tapes. Twelve tracks?”
“…What did you say the name of the show was?”
“Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”
“…New episode, you said?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“…I’m gonna fucking kill Booster.”
“That your mage friend?”
“He sent me back in time, the fucker.”
“…Seriously?”
“I’m from 2009.”
“Well, ten years, that’s nice and even of him. Say, do you know who wins the World Series? Feel like making a killing?”
“…Y’know, I think that I do.”
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