♕ |[30]| Or on the pavements gray

[had_not_lived]

Today is like any other day; free of rehearsals for the moment, Monsieur Perry is seated at a small café, lingering over a cup of black coffee and a cigarette. He's reading, but doesn't seem particularly entranced. He sets his book aside from time to time when someone greets him; an old friend, a new acquaintance, a fan of the theatre who

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[absinthe_eyed]

For Justin, today is more like any other day than it should be, as was yesterday. He isn't the least bit cursed, but that hardly stops him from enjoying the City's latest change of scenery. He sits at a café, a pen in one hand and a glass of absinthe in the other, looking perfectly at home. This is his era--the era of absinthe and poets! The Belle Époque, the time of succès de scandale, la vie bohéme! A bit too late for Rimbaud, but that doesn't matter

[had_not_lived]

"Justin! Mon ami! Come, have a seat!"

Certainly he recognizes his old friend, though as what is anyone's guess. Neil is entirely a young man of his times; and the role the other boy is playing fits right into his cursed view of the world.

"It's been too long; how are you? We missed you opening night, you know. You may as well be married to your pen, for all any of us see you." His grin takes any sting out of the words as he stubs his cigarette out idly.

[absinthe_eyed]

So they do know each other, and Neil clearly doesn't think he's French (not with that accent, at least). An American student enjoying l'esprit de liberté of the times, perhaps?

"Merci, Neil." Justin sits, smiling familiarly and guessing at the part he should play in this made-up world. It shouldn't be hard to play along. "I'm no better or worse than I was last time you saw me," he replies in English, although he is tempted to practice his French. "When was the opening?"

[had_not_lived]

Neil's French is sufficient, but he's inclined to converse in his native tongue; an American runaway among peers of similar backgrounds, with a scattering of likeminded locals. It's all a little vague, a fact he doesn't notice because he's a part of the fiction. Really, it's rather a nice curse. He gestures a waiter to bring his friend a coffee.

"Last Sunday, of course. Could have done with another week's rehearsals, but c'est la vie, as they say. Reviews have been good in any case, since I doubt you've been reading the papers." Bright and teasing as ever, he has a sip of his drink. "How goes the poetry business?"

[moresake]

Yuuko does not usually frequent this cafe, but she saw Neil through the window and decided to pop in for a moment before heading off on her other errand. She approaches his table with the familiarity of an old friend; she often patronizes his plays and occasionally offers guidance to him, a young person in a big city.

"Monsieur Perry," she says, tilting her head to one side in greeting. "A lovely show last week."

[had_not_lived]

"Merci." The French is an affectation of this City he's borrowed to call home; his accent isn't atrocious, but it's obvious he's a transplant from the States. "I'm honored to have your good reviews."

Seated, he can't really bow, but he does give her a rakish nod of thanks. "And it is a pleasure as always to see you. How have you been?"

[moresake]

Given that Yuuko is herself not a native, she hardly notices that Neil speaks a little differently. She smiles. "Well, as usual. Many want to have their futures told instead of waiting around for them to happen."

[had_not_lived]

"I suppose they don't like surprises."

It would be difficult to mistake her for a Frenchwoman; but she fits well into the varied and eccentric company he keeps.

"Then business is good? I'm glad to hear it."

[had_not_lived]

"The rhyme scheme again? Or the similes?" He makes a face, exaggerated contemplation. "Or were they metaphors? I can't keep it straight."

If there's a universe, a fantasy, a parallel reality where they aren't the best of friends, he can't fathom it. And though he's friendly, happy to see everyone who's happy to see him, Todd's arrival is subtly and thoroughly different. Neil tosses his cigarettes across the table as an offer to stay a while, have a drink. Not that it's needed, but it's the thought.

[had_not_lived]

"J'adore la liberté. I've no complaints." He grins, his book forgotten for the moment. He doesn't bother to retrieve his pack; neither of them are going anywhere in the foreseeable future, and everything they own is shared. A great many things haven't changed. "You?"