Wolf at the Door part 4: Whiskey Sour
Title: Wolf at the Door part 4: Whiskey Sour
Fandom: Gargoyles
Characters: Matt Bluestone, Tony Dracon, and some OCs
Prompt: 73. Pessimistic
Word Count:
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Matt's not feeling very happy, and he's got some unexpected company.
“I hate you,” Tony Dracon snarled.
“The feeling,” Cassandra Icecreek assured him, “is mutual.”
The two glowered at each other while Gabriel Dracon flipped through the Times. A low, inhuman growl rose through the room, making hair stand on end. “I’d like to enjoy my breakfast,” the younger Dracon commented tonelessly.
Cassandra tore her eyes away from Tony, her strong jaw clenching. Hers was a face too rough for beauty, with sharp black eyes, a hawkish nose, square jaw, and thin lips inclined more towards frowns than smiles. She looked like the kind of woman who, had she been born 200 years ago, would have stood beside the braves of her tribe, ready to scalp a few white devils.
In fact, she looked ready to do some scalping right now.
“I mean it, Cass.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tony got to his feet, leaning across the table towards Cassandra.
“Sit. Down. Anthony.”
“I don’t answer to you,” Tony snapped.
Gabe lowered the paper, green eyes peering over the edge. “Yes, you do.”
***
Matt let out a pessimistic sigh and pulled on his coat. “Say hi to the guys for me, Elisa,” he called as he passed out of the office. He walked out of the precinct, feeling like the weight of the world was one his shoulders. He caught a cab and had it drop him off at the hole in the wall he favored when he was in the mood for a drink, but not in the mood for a cop bar.
If the place had a name, he’d never learned it.
The important thing was that it was quiet. Anyone loud and boisterous soon moved on to less somber establishments, and those looking for a fight found it in the form of a seven-foot tall, three hundred and fifty pound bouncer who answered to Helen. Matt had yet to find the courage to ask how she’d gotten the four long scars that ran down her face, and he doubted he ever would.
He slid up to the bar and sat down on one of the creaky stools, and the bartender - a lanky man with curly brown hair and a ring through his upper lip - sidled up to him. “Whisky and soda,” Matt said before the bartender could ask. The drink arrived, and Matt settled in to brood.
He ignored it when someone sat on the stool next to him, up until the man said, “Now, what is a man like you doing in a place like this?”
Matt arched a thin red eyebrow and turned, looking down at Gabe Dracon. The little man grinned wolfishly up at him, raising a beer bottle in a salute. “Mr. Dracon,” the detective said, taking a sip of his drink.
“I told you, it’s Gabriel. Or Gabe, if you prefer,” the younger Dracon reminded him, waggling a finger at the taller man.
“What do you want, Mr. Dracon?” Matt asked.
“Me?” the green eyed man asked sweetly. “Just a drink in pleasant company.”
“I’m sure your brother would be happy to oblige you,” the red head pointed out.
“I said ‘pleasant’. I love my brother dearly, but that isn’t a word I’d apply to him.”
“I think that’s something we can agree on.”
“No need to be so cold, Detective,” Gabriel said, sounding hurt. “It’s not like I’m a criminal or anything.” He arched a midnight black eyebrow as if daring him to debate the point. “I’m just a citizen trying to buy someone a drink.”
***
“Of course I believe in aliens!” Gabe said, throwing his arms up into the air. “It makes perfect sense that there are other worlds out there that developed sh-sh- intelligent life.” He took a drink. “I just don’t think they’d be friendly.”
“Why not?” Matt asked, regarding his empty glass like it had betrayed him, until the bartender filled it again.
“Well, lets say the aliens are like humans. Now, take a look at humans. Most of the technological advances the monkeys have made were made for killing each other. A peaceful species wouldn’t need to go into space. The only reason aliens would come here is to make war.”
“What about mishionaries?” Matt pointed out. “Trying to spread their religion.”
“Three words: Convert or Die. Read any history of the colonization of any place.” Gabe waved his hands again. “Nasty, jumped up monkeys, the lot of ‘em.”
***
“I have never,” Gabe said, clearly awed, “heard anyone sing Alice’s Resteraunt all the way through without help before.”
***
“You can’t believe in vampires and not believe in ghosts. They’re too… too… what’s the word? Fuck…”
“I’m not sure I believe in vampires, either. When I was with the FBI…”
“Fuck, man, vampires are as real as gargoyles.”
“But where’s the proof?” Matt asked.
“You never seen a body you can’t explain the death for? Hell, how many people go missing every year that are never found? The devil’s greatest trick was making the world think he didn’t exist.”
“You stole that from that movie.”
“Doesn’t make it untrue.”
Fandom: Gargoyles
Characters: Matt Bluestone, Tony Dracon, and some OCs
Prompt: 73. Pessimistic
Word Count:
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Matt's not feeling very happy, and he's got some unexpected company.
“I hate you,” Tony Dracon snarled.
“The feeling,” Cassandra Icecreek assured him, “is mutual.”
The two glowered at each other while Gabriel Dracon flipped through the Times. A low, inhuman growl rose through the room, making hair stand on end. “I’d like to enjoy my breakfast,” the younger Dracon commented tonelessly.
Cassandra tore her eyes away from Tony, her strong jaw clenching. Hers was a face too rough for beauty, with sharp black eyes, a hawkish nose, square jaw, and thin lips inclined more towards frowns than smiles. She looked like the kind of woman who, had she been born 200 years ago, would have stood beside the braves of her tribe, ready to scalp a few white devils.
In fact, she looked ready to do some scalping right now.
“I mean it, Cass.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tony got to his feet, leaning across the table towards Cassandra.
“Sit. Down. Anthony.”
“I don’t answer to you,” Tony snapped.
Gabe lowered the paper, green eyes peering over the edge. “Yes, you do.”
***
Matt let out a pessimistic sigh and pulled on his coat. “Say hi to the guys for me, Elisa,” he called as he passed out of the office. He walked out of the precinct, feeling like the weight of the world was one his shoulders. He caught a cab and had it drop him off at the hole in the wall he favored when he was in the mood for a drink, but not in the mood for a cop bar.
If the place had a name, he’d never learned it.
The important thing was that it was quiet. Anyone loud and boisterous soon moved on to less somber establishments, and those looking for a fight found it in the form of a seven-foot tall, three hundred and fifty pound bouncer who answered to Helen. Matt had yet to find the courage to ask how she’d gotten the four long scars that ran down her face, and he doubted he ever would.
He slid up to the bar and sat down on one of the creaky stools, and the bartender - a lanky man with curly brown hair and a ring through his upper lip - sidled up to him. “Whisky and soda,” Matt said before the bartender could ask. The drink arrived, and Matt settled in to brood.
He ignored it when someone sat on the stool next to him, up until the man said, “Now, what is a man like you doing in a place like this?”
Matt arched a thin red eyebrow and turned, looking down at Gabe Dracon. The little man grinned wolfishly up at him, raising a beer bottle in a salute. “Mr. Dracon,” the detective said, taking a sip of his drink.
“I told you, it’s Gabriel. Or Gabe, if you prefer,” the younger Dracon reminded him, waggling a finger at the taller man.
“What do you want, Mr. Dracon?” Matt asked.
“Me?” the green eyed man asked sweetly. “Just a drink in pleasant company.”
“I’m sure your brother would be happy to oblige you,” the red head pointed out.
“I said ‘pleasant’. I love my brother dearly, but that isn’t a word I’d apply to him.”
“I think that’s something we can agree on.”
“No need to be so cold, Detective,” Gabriel said, sounding hurt. “It’s not like I’m a criminal or anything.” He arched a midnight black eyebrow as if daring him to debate the point. “I’m just a citizen trying to buy someone a drink.”
***
“Of course I believe in aliens!” Gabe said, throwing his arms up into the air. “It makes perfect sense that there are other worlds out there that developed sh-sh- intelligent life.” He took a drink. “I just don’t think they’d be friendly.”
“Why not?” Matt asked, regarding his empty glass like it had betrayed him, until the bartender filled it again.
“Well, lets say the aliens are like humans. Now, take a look at humans. Most of the technological advances the monkeys have made were made for killing each other. A peaceful species wouldn’t need to go into space. The only reason aliens would come here is to make war.”
“What about mishionaries?” Matt pointed out. “Trying to spread their religion.”
“Three words: Convert or Die. Read any history of the colonization of any place.” Gabe waved his hands again. “Nasty, jumped up monkeys, the lot of ‘em.”
***
“I have never,” Gabe said, clearly awed, “heard anyone sing Alice’s Resteraunt all the way through without help before.”
***
“You can’t believe in vampires and not believe in ghosts. They’re too… too… what’s the word? Fuck…”
“I’m not sure I believe in vampires, either. When I was with the FBI…”
“Fuck, man, vampires are as real as gargoyles.”
“But where’s the proof?” Matt asked.
“You never seen a body you can’t explain the death for? Hell, how many people go missing every year that are never found? The devil’s greatest trick was making the world think he didn’t exist.”
“You stole that from that movie.”
“Doesn’t make it untrue.”