"Hm. Tempting, but maybe later. Assuming you play your cards right and ask me nicely." So it was an easy opener, but Asher wasn't about to let something like that slide by untouched.
"Look at you. Out and about," And had he just been talking to himself? Not that it mattered. Who here hadn't been talking to themselves in recent weeks? The ones without voices in their heads were in the peculiar minority round these parts, "and...halfway out of that shifty vagabond chic thing. It's progress, man. You don't feel faint, do you?" He'd totally give him mouth-to-mouth if need be, not that he had the slightest idea how to do it correctly. He'd spent five hundred years taking life, not give people a new lease on them.
Mort had always thought himself to not be one to really jump at the enexpected snapping of a twig or a sudden touch on the shoulder, but it seemed that had drastically changed when Shooter had shown up on his doorstep. In fact, the moment he heard Asher's voice, he first tensed completely and then jumped as if in surprise, turning to stare at the man and wonder how the hell he had approached without being noticed, or Shooter telling him.
Bastards.
"Oh yes, I really strained myself today. I think that the actual sunlight is burning my hermit flesh." He said shakily, as an inner mantra of Don't turn around, don't turn around, don't turn around, don't you turn and look at... rattled in his head, but unable to help himself, he turned and looked at his favourite Southerner. Shooter smiled ever so slightly and waved to the new arrival.
Asher didn't look half as amused as he potentially could have, just slightly thoughtful as he studied him. He really was a strange one.
"Color me impressed. And I think you're safe. If it hasn't done any major damage to a former vampire, hermits are probably immune to it, too. Well, aside from the possibility of, you know, skin cancer or something... But other than that? Safe as houses."
Houses with at times faulty security systems. Humans were such a pathetically fragile race.
"Houses are less safe than you'd typcally expect." He muttered, thinking back to his own only recently surfaced memeory of himself burning down his beautiful home. His wife's home. His wife's home where she fucked Ted, mostly likely often and in the same bed they'd shared--
"Oh for the love of Pete, Mr. Rainey, you wouldn't be having to worry 'bout the little Missus had you done what was in need of doin'."
Mort ignored him, because he didn't want to think about that, and because he didn't want to giftwrap and hand Asher ammunition to use. He had a strong feeling that he'd never live it down.
"Soo, uh, what're you doing out here? Skulking about for a nice bit of shade or simply on the look out for an easy victim?"
Adora Belle had found that while three cigarettes was, by no means, an adequate supply, the simple expedient of having them to hand was comforting enough to warrant not smoking them all at once. In fact, it was a full week before she smoked the first - lovingly drawing it out of the crumpled cardboard container, placing it between her lips and slowly lighting it with a pilfered match was extremely therapeutic.
She went for a walk while she smoked, not really in any particular direction except away from her thoughts.
Then she spotted a man peering behind bushes and talking to himself. Huh. This island really was full of loonies*.
"Are you lost?" Adora Belle asked from behind him, as politely as she could manage. Which wasn't very much. Politeness and Miss Dearheart just didn't go well together, unless it was the type of icy-cold politeness deliberately used by the very rude.
Mort jumped and turned to stare at the woman, not comprehending how she had gotten so close without hims hearing her. Then again, he had been a little preoccupied. He supposed voices that were in your head would cover up footfalls, if you really considered it.
"Uhhhh, no. Not lost. In fact, I was just leaving. Yes, leaving." He tunred slowly, shot the smirking Southerner a dark look and turned back, plastering on a slight smile.
Adora Belle raised an eyebrow at him. Jumpy. Then again, she would be too if someone caught her talking to herself, except she never would be caught talking to herself because she didn't do that sort of thing. It was silly.
"Is it?" She took a drag from her cigarette and blew the smoke at the sky. "I hadn't really noticed."
"They do blend together as one mess of nice days," he mentioned lightly, edging away from where Shooter stood and leaning against a tree as if to give off the impression that he was in fact perfectly relaxed and had nothing to be jump about.
Perhaps it was a wasted effort.
"I'm sorry, I hope I wasn't bothering you." Or her cigarette. He may have quit, but there was still something about the smell of tobacco that made him salivate and take a deep breath.
Satine gave a start. She had not realized anyone else was nearby, let alone in the area for her to be bothering. And yet, oddly enough, there was a man here who looked more than slightly troubled by...well, it must have been her presence. It simply could not be anyone or anything else..for there was no one here to do so.
"I apologize," she said immediately, offering forth a gracious and apologetic smile. "I did not mean to come along and intrude.."
Mort hadn't been expecting anyone to be around to catch him argueing with somone who technically exist, but when he jumped and turned to see who had spoken, the last person he'd been expecting to see was Nicole Kidman. If anything, he was left twice as speechless, partially because duh, it was Nicole Kidman, and partially because he was mortified to have been caught.
"Oh! Oh um, no please don't. Sorry, my-- my issue. I didn't see you there." He doubted that would help as it raised more questions, but he was having a little difficulty focussing at the moment.
Satine regarded the stranger curiously, with a fair amount of concern weaving into the expression on her pretty face. He appeared well enough, but as though something might be troubling him, and yet she could see nothing about them that might do so in the are. It was a very strange set of circumstances indeed!
"No, it is quite all right," she said in reassuring, warm tones, for he was very good looking after all. The sort of good looking rare to come by, that seldom mingled with her clientel. Those sorts tended to be wealthy men with hair slicked back to plaster at their skulls and..well, numerous other defining traits, one not always being handsome looks.
This man, on the other hand..
"Are you sure you are all right?" she asked. Satine did not have trouble stepping a bit closer, resting one hand at her hip.
"Friendly little number isn't she?" Shooter drawled, and for a moment Mort was almost positive that he could hear the leer in the man's voice. he didn't turn to look though, as the idea of Shooter having any sexual interest not only nauseated him, but made him rather twitchy and uncomfortable.
"I'm fine," he assured her, even if it was impossible to reassure himself. "I--tend to voice my thoughts aloud. Sometimes I get so caught up in my own little discussions with myself, I don't realize how loud I'm being." A terrible excuse, he knew, but he'd panicked and it was the best he could think of.
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"Look at you. Out and about," And had he just been talking to himself? Not that it mattered. Who here hadn't been talking to themselves in recent weeks? The ones without voices in their heads were in the peculiar minority round these parts, "and...halfway out of that shifty vagabond chic thing. It's progress, man. You don't feel faint, do you?" He'd totally give him mouth-to-mouth if need be, not that he had the slightest idea how to do it correctly. He'd spent five hundred years taking life, not give people a new lease on them.
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Bastards.
"Oh yes, I really strained myself today. I think that the actual sunlight is burning my hermit flesh." He said shakily, as an inner mantra of Don't turn around, don't turn around, don't turn around, don't you turn and look at... rattled in his head, but unable to help himself, he turned and looked at his favourite Southerner. Shooter smiled ever so slightly and waved to the new arrival.
Reply
Asher didn't look half as amused as he potentially could have, just slightly thoughtful as he studied him. He really was a strange one.
"Color me impressed. And I think you're safe. If it hasn't done any major damage to a former vampire, hermits are probably immune to it, too. Well, aside from the possibility of, you know, skin cancer or something... But other than that? Safe as houses."
Houses with at times faulty security systems. Humans were such a pathetically fragile race.
Reply
"Oh for the love of Pete, Mr. Rainey, you wouldn't be having to worry 'bout the little Missus had you done what was in need of doin'."
Mort ignored him, because he didn't want to think about that, and because he didn't want to giftwrap and hand Asher ammunition to use. He had a strong feeling that he'd never live it down.
"Soo, uh, what're you doing out here? Skulking about for a nice bit of shade or simply on the look out for an easy victim?"
Reply
She went for a walk while she smoked, not really in any particular direction except away from her thoughts.
Then she spotted a man peering behind bushes and talking to himself. Huh. This island really was full of loonies*.
"Are you lost?" Adora Belle asked from behind him, as politely as she could manage. Which wasn't very much. Politeness and Miss Dearheart just didn't go well together, unless it was the type of icy-cold politeness deliberately used by the very rude.
*It explained why she was there, at any rate.
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"Uhhhh, no. Not lost. In fact, I was just leaving. Yes, leaving." He tunred slowly, shot the smirking Southerner a dark look and turned back, plastering on a slight smile.
"Nice day, huh?"
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"Is it?" She took a drag from her cigarette and blew the smoke at the sky. "I hadn't really noticed."
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Perhaps it was a wasted effort.
"I'm sorry, I hope I wasn't bothering you." Or her cigarette. He may have quit, but there was still something about the smell of tobacco that made him salivate and take a deep breath.
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"I apologize," she said immediately, offering forth a gracious and apologetic smile. "I did not mean to come along and intrude.."
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"Oh! Oh um, no please don't. Sorry, my-- my issue. I didn't see you there." He doubted that would help as it raised more questions, but he was having a little difficulty focussing at the moment.
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"No, it is quite all right," she said in reassuring, warm tones, for he was very good looking after all. The sort of good looking rare to come by, that seldom mingled with her clientel. Those sorts tended to be wealthy men with hair slicked back to plaster at their skulls and..well, numerous other defining traits, one not always being handsome looks.
This man, on the other hand..
"Are you sure you are all right?" she asked. Satine did not have trouble stepping a bit closer, resting one hand at her hip.
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"I'm fine," he assured her, even if it was impossible to reassure himself. "I--tend to voice my thoughts aloud. Sometimes I get so caught up in my own little discussions with myself, I don't realize how loud I'm being." A terrible excuse, he knew, but he'd panicked and it was the best he could think of.
"I'm a writer. We're quirky that way."
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