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rainbowfic2013-08-09 07:15 pm
greenling) wrote in rainbowfic2013-08-09 07:15 pm
Entry tags:
Harvest Gold #13, Iceberg #12
Name: Greenling
Story: Still untitled...
Colors: Harvest Gold #13 (equinox), Iceberg #12 (snowman)
Supplies and Styles: None.
Word Count: 2902
Rating: PGish for attempted horror and some swearing.
Warnings: No warnings per se but FYI the dog is fine.
Summary: Alex continues to talk his way into the court in his attempts to investigate, but when things go badly, one door closes and someone breaks open a window.
This took way more brain than anticipated, but it's probably the first time I've ever managed to bully through an exposition scene /and/ an action scene. Also, I've skipped ahead a bit. Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
The hotel room wasn't that bad, after a few days' airing out. Room service had been kind enough to leave a few cans of air freshener without his asking, and until today, it had been sunny enough to leave the window open while he was gone during the day. At least, then, it no longer smelled like someone had died, and the bed was soft, king-sized, and brand new. The early-morning sunlight scattered through the window in red, yellow, and purple, scattering over the white bedsheets in a soft glow. Alex was curled up half underneath the covers, freshly showered, files and laptop sitting open on his bed. The light was warm, and he fought the urge (not too hard) to ignore his work and roll around in it. Later, maybe.
To say the situation was delicate would be an understatement. The more he learned about the locals, the more frightened, insular, and fractious they showed themselves to be. Something was happening that all this partying and gossiping (as useful as it had been for Alex) was an attempt to get away from. What was once a tight-knit community had started splitting into groups, nervous glances aimed at empty spaces, so much so that he doubted he was the only one on the outside who'd noticed. Some of them, he had learned, had fled the city: several names in his files showed up as having bought plane tickets recently, or some such thing, but not all of them. How many of the rest simply hadn't shown up, and how many had met with whatever or whoever had killed the young woman in the photos, he had yet to decipher. If he wanted to learn any more, he would need to find another point of entry. Carlos had been an entertaining start, but...
Alex had a few ideas on where to start. Finishing his notes, he tossed the covers off and got up to figure out where he'd put his socks.
--
Isaiah Nieve lived alone in a blocky, modern-looking apartment building that reminded Alex a little of his college dorm. It had a convenience store at the bottom, a parking lot with numbered spaces, and large windows with reflective coverings. He was employed, according to his file, as a buyer for a small landscaping business, but his free time was spent in photography, and he hung around the edges of one of the creative inner circles that dominated the occult community in this city the way they did everywhere else. Alex had seen him at the first get-together, though he'd left after the first hour or two.
Alex showed up at the man's door unannounced, dressed down, and hoping fervently that Nieve wasn't a late sleeper. His "plan", at this point, mostly involved winging it- not that it had ever been anything else- but as he knocked on the door, cold-calling the man at nine in the morning, he was acutely aware of how badly this could go.
After an interminable minute and a half, the door opened, and Alex's features slid into a smile, confident but awkward.
"Hi. I'm not sure if you remember me," Alex began, "but I saw you at Katrina Song's thing the other night, and you were mentioned in the context of exterior design..."
The man hesitated. "Katrina's?" He was not-quite a foot taller than Alex and maybe ten years older, broad-shouldered and chubby, with early white hairs sneaking in around his temples and wearing a warm-looking robe over a tshirt. Behind him, a particolored retriever of some kind wagged its tail and licked its nose. Alex glanced at it warmly, then returned his gaze to the man's eyes. "Uh. Do you need something?"
"I was just hoping we could talk. My name is Alex, by the way, Alex Meriweather." He offered his hand. "I know this is sudden, but are you busy now?"
They shook hands. Nieve had the slightly glazed look of someone who wasn't sure if he was being sold something; Alex was doing the best he could with his body language to imply this was a social call. For one reason or another, the man shrugged and stepped back, holding the door open for Alex.
It was a nice apartment, at least, all hardwood floors and dark colors. The living room was large and empty; the walls were covered in framed art prints, bookshelves, side tables with knickknacks, windows with dark curtains, and a flatscreen TV which Alex idly noted hadn't been dusted recently. In the middle of the room there was a smallish leather couch and a small coffee table on a rug. The mug and phone sitting on the table were the only things in the room that gave away that this was a real apartment and not a magazine layout.
Nieve shut the door and walked back over to sit down on his couch. He picked up the mug and held it, warming his hands. "So tell me what is it exactly you want?"
Alex looked over the wall decorations for a moment before turning to answer, giving himself time to think. "I know this might be a longshot," he said, "but I was hoping that you could help me with some... questions. I'm in a position to help a friend of mine with some unusual remodeling and I'm not sure where to start. I thought you might have some ideas, or at least be able to point me in the right direction."
The man sipped his drink and squinted a little. He didn't seem to be too concerned by Alex's statement, which was a relief. "So you decided to come to my house... and ask me. So either you think you know somebody and can get some kind of discount, or..."
Alex shrugged, holding his hand out to placate the dog, who was sniffing around, very interested in the new person. "I'm not that tactless. I just thought you might have some insight, given the way things work around here. If it requires you going to some particular trouble..."
"I don't usually deal in unusual," he mused in response. "Which isn't to say that I couldn't, but, uhm, you're being a little ambiguous. Or maybe you're just an ambiguous kind of guy?"
He was still squinting a little at Alex, and it was pretty obvious what he was trying to suss out; Alex wasn't being very subtle either, for lack of any better plan. "I don't mean to be too ambiguous; I'm just not used to blunt. I'm not from around here, though we run in the same circles... I'm trying to source significant amounts of certain materials, and someone who can shape meteoric iron."
"Oh. All right." Nieve finished off his mug and sat it down on the table. "Sorry, it's hard to tell with someone who's just really pale- that's not what we get around here, usually. I don't know any crafters, but I could get you started on materials and an idea on where to look. Most people don't ask questions about that sort of thing. Where are you from, anyway?"
Alex felt his stomach tighten a bit, and glanced towards the window as if he'd heard something outside, trying not to look embarrassed. He had intended to imply- no, he had presumed the man would think he was in the employ of an occultist or something. Why Nieve would do that... "Most recently, Michigan. People there are much less... integrated with the rest of society, I think, is the best way to put it. It takes some adjustment."
"Yeah, I can see that. LA's a big place for normal people, and it just gets weirder. And more dangerous." Nieve nodded, leaning back. The dog, who had been happy to lay by the man's feet and thump its tail, raised its head and perked its ears toward the door, whining a little. He leaned over to pet it. "Some people... well, let's not get into that."
Alex paused for effect, though at this point he was getting the impression that the man was happy to talk, and even a little lonely. "Nothing I need to worry about? I'm not planning to stay here."
"Nah. Just be aware that some people might want to make you an offer you can't refuse, so to speak." Nieve shrugged. "Most of us aren't talking to those people right now, anyway. You've probably heard people gossiping if you've spent time at Katrina's."
"I've heard a few things. That some people have gone missing. That... well." Alex frowned, sitting his hand down on a side table, and let Nieve fill the silence. There were a number of little photographs sitting on the table arrayed around a vase of fresh flowers, all very professional-looking, almost artistic, though most of them seemed to be of Nieve's friends. Between that and the prints on the walls, Alex wondered if the man wasn't a photographer himself.
"That some of my friends are involved. Yeah." He snorted; a strange chill ran through the air, and Alex shivered. Nieve noticed and gave him a sheepish grin. "Is it cold in here? Sorry. I can't tell with all the snow. Anyway, yeah, no. What happened... that was actually a police thing, we think. There's not a conspiracy, and it's not one of..."
He trailed off and shrugged. Alex mirrored him, half-smiling. "It's all right. Gossip is gossip, and the smell of old drama is all around this one. Though I suppose then I have to ask: is there anyone to whom I shouldn't mention I was talking to you?"
Alex shivered again, but this time, he didn't feel cold. Nieve started to say something, but Alex's attention was caught by the vase in front of him: the flowers had gone limp and were rustling slightly, though there was no breeze.
"Er-" he started, about to respond, but his train of thought had largely been derailed. He turned to see Nieve standing up, stock still, staring in the direction of the door. The dog started whining again, louder this time.
At that point, there was a pounding on the door.
The dog scrambled to its feet and took off up the stairs. Nieve's eyes followed it, then tore his eyes away to look at Alex. His face was pale, and his eyes were dull with disbelieving fear.
The door cracked open with a loud crash, falling forward and skidding on the hardwood. Nieve screamed and ran towards a sport on the wall. Alex's heart began racing, and he backed away as he watched, feeling as if time had slowed around him. His eyes darted between the door and Nieve, who was fiddling with something Alex couldn't see.
"Run!" Nieve shouted. The wall seemed to open, and Alex caught a brief glimpse of something moving in the darkness beyond before the man disappeared into the door-shaped opening.
There was a moment of profound silence where all Alex could hear was his own heartbeat ringing through his ears. Then there came another slam.
The wall shook as if under a great impact, picture frames rattling. Alex backed up further, checking for exits: the door out was on the other side of the room to his left, in the direction the noises had started coming from; there were stairs ahead of him, presumably leading to the bedroom, and something behind him that looked like a kitchen. He began weighing his options for going for the door, then something slammed against the wall again. Again. A piece of kitschy sculpture fell off the wall and shattered, and Alex choked.
He took a few, stumbling steps towards the door, staring at the space in the epicentre of the shaking. Theories and scenarios popped up in his head, and he throttled every one as quickly as he could, trying to focus on the present. Calm. He had to stay calm.
The air shimmered in front of his eyes like hot pavement, and he stopped- not for any good reason, not consciously- he watched it twist, reality being rubbed raw to reveal something underneath that shined like crumpled silver foil. Watching it felt like bubbles in his brain, like almost nothing Alex had felt before, and he was enthralled.
A pair of eyes peered out, turning towards him; they were soft, and dark, and not quite inhuman. And then they lunged.
He ran blindly backwards, pressing himself against the wall next to the window with the eyes staring, glittering at him for a brief instant; then the ceiling light exploded, and in a flare of light the couch and a dozen other small things went flying towards the back wall, slamming the thing against the wall with a heavy thunk and a wavering, angry screech. Alex might have screamed. He had no time to feel relieved before the thing started ripping at the couch from below, no time to think before tugging at the window. It refused to move.
A thin, wavering sound gained volume behind him; he picked up a heavy-looking vase at the floor and hammered at the glass, desperately hoping that this would work half as well as it did in the movies.
--
A sharp line of sunlight ran from the white stucco corner of a building to a blocky shape that may have been a billboard; Jaymie wasn't looking up, he had just picked the closest patch of darkness so that he could take his glasses off to look at his phone. They had changed up the landmarks since he'd last been in this part of the city, put in some new apartments and maybe closed a street, or so he told himself. It was unfamiliar enough to put him off, anyhow, and since he'd found the fabric shop and breakfast he just needed to remember where in hell he'd left his father's car. He was still getting used to the map program's idiosyncracies, and it didn't help that the thing kept trying to turn the voice recognition back on. Jaymie hated the entire idea of that; it made him feel like the phone was actually trying to talk to him, and that made him think of the line from that one movie where the little redheaded girl almost got eaten by a giant snake monster.
Flashing from somewhere in his peripheral vision, a sunspot hit him. Jaymie winced and glanced up in the direction it came from, distracted. There were a few cars on the street, but the only thing from any height was- well, it didn't matter.
Or it didn't seem to, until his eyes flicked back down to his phone and he heard a faint crackbang, and looking up again, saw- some ten feet from a man walking his dog on the sidewalk- somebody dive out of an exploding third-story window, do an awkward-looking front flip in the middle of the air, and land on his side. Jaymie slid his phone back into his pocket and his glasses back onto his eyes, glancing around as one part of his mind checked for cameras or cops and the other, a ways ahead, counted gawking normals.
The man scrambled onto his feet, brushing his left side and walking like he'd slammed his hip pretty hard. He looked fine- relatively fine- he looked like he was trying to look nonchalant, like a cat that didn't spot its landing- until he glanced up at the window he'd come out from and bolted into traffic. Cars screeched, people shouted, but terror was coming off him in waves, fierce enough that even from Jaymie's nook it made his heart race and his mouth ache. Before he realized it he was trotting towards the man, who, now that he got a good look at him, was familiar. Shortish, pale, puffy white hair. Easy to remember.
Visions of petty vengeance flitted through Jaymie's mind as he made it to the limping man and, without asking, wrapped an arm around him to "help" and dragged him back towards the sidewalk. Maybe this would be an opportunity for blackmail. Maybe he'd just tease the guy and let him go. The possibilities were endless.
"You're-" the man said, eyes wide, and Jaymie grinned so hard his jaw hurt a little.
"Yep. Hey, you wanted to run into us, didn't you? What are you, some kind-"
"No. No, no, no," he started to babble, trying to slip out from Jaymie's grip, reeking like lemon bars and whipped cream. "No, this is bad, this means it- that thing-"
He looked behind him, and Jaymie followed his eyes. Tiny shimmery spots hung in the alley behind them, popping in and out of existence; a figure moved smoothly from the wall to the ground, from four legs to two, and Jaymie's head swam as he registered what he was seeing. Its face was soft beauty, and the fringe of its hair shone in spectrums there were no words for; its cloak was made of a dozen clashing skins, and it walked on lizard's paws, a scaled tail lashing back and forth beneath the cloak. Cars passed by as it entered the road, travelling from one side of the creature to another and bypassing the space it took up.
Jaymie forced himself out of his daze, shoving all other feelings aside and embracing the adrenaline rush of fear, forcing himself to move, run. Nearly tripping over each other at the sudden movement, shopping still in Jaymie's other hand, he ran blindly down the street as fast as his legs could go.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he spat out between breaths, but rhetorical or not, the other man was too busy keeping up to answer.
Story: Still untitled...
Colors: Harvest Gold #13 (equinox), Iceberg #12 (snowman)
Supplies and Styles: None.
Word Count: 2902
Rating: PGish for attempted horror and some swearing.
Warnings: No warnings per se but FYI the dog is fine.
Summary: Alex continues to talk his way into the court in his attempts to investigate, but when things go badly, one door closes and someone breaks open a window.
This took way more brain than anticipated, but it's probably the first time I've ever managed to bully through an exposition scene /and/ an action scene. Also, I've skipped ahead a bit. Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
The hotel room wasn't that bad, after a few days' airing out. Room service had been kind enough to leave a few cans of air freshener without his asking, and until today, it had been sunny enough to leave the window open while he was gone during the day. At least, then, it no longer smelled like someone had died, and the bed was soft, king-sized, and brand new. The early-morning sunlight scattered through the window in red, yellow, and purple, scattering over the white bedsheets in a soft glow. Alex was curled up half underneath the covers, freshly showered, files and laptop sitting open on his bed. The light was warm, and he fought the urge (not too hard) to ignore his work and roll around in it. Later, maybe.
To say the situation was delicate would be an understatement. The more he learned about the locals, the more frightened, insular, and fractious they showed themselves to be. Something was happening that all this partying and gossiping (as useful as it had been for Alex) was an attempt to get away from. What was once a tight-knit community had started splitting into groups, nervous glances aimed at empty spaces, so much so that he doubted he was the only one on the outside who'd noticed. Some of them, he had learned, had fled the city: several names in his files showed up as having bought plane tickets recently, or some such thing, but not all of them. How many of the rest simply hadn't shown up, and how many had met with whatever or whoever had killed the young woman in the photos, he had yet to decipher. If he wanted to learn any more, he would need to find another point of entry. Carlos had been an entertaining start, but...
Alex had a few ideas on where to start. Finishing his notes, he tossed the covers off and got up to figure out where he'd put his socks.
--
Isaiah Nieve lived alone in a blocky, modern-looking apartment building that reminded Alex a little of his college dorm. It had a convenience store at the bottom, a parking lot with numbered spaces, and large windows with reflective coverings. He was employed, according to his file, as a buyer for a small landscaping business, but his free time was spent in photography, and he hung around the edges of one of the creative inner circles that dominated the occult community in this city the way they did everywhere else. Alex had seen him at the first get-together, though he'd left after the first hour or two.
Alex showed up at the man's door unannounced, dressed down, and hoping fervently that Nieve wasn't a late sleeper. His "plan", at this point, mostly involved winging it- not that it had ever been anything else- but as he knocked on the door, cold-calling the man at nine in the morning, he was acutely aware of how badly this could go.
After an interminable minute and a half, the door opened, and Alex's features slid into a smile, confident but awkward.
"Hi. I'm not sure if you remember me," Alex began, "but I saw you at Katrina Song's thing the other night, and you were mentioned in the context of exterior design..."
The man hesitated. "Katrina's?" He was not-quite a foot taller than Alex and maybe ten years older, broad-shouldered and chubby, with early white hairs sneaking in around his temples and wearing a warm-looking robe over a tshirt. Behind him, a particolored retriever of some kind wagged its tail and licked its nose. Alex glanced at it warmly, then returned his gaze to the man's eyes. "Uh. Do you need something?"
"I was just hoping we could talk. My name is Alex, by the way, Alex Meriweather." He offered his hand. "I know this is sudden, but are you busy now?"
They shook hands. Nieve had the slightly glazed look of someone who wasn't sure if he was being sold something; Alex was doing the best he could with his body language to imply this was a social call. For one reason or another, the man shrugged and stepped back, holding the door open for Alex.
It was a nice apartment, at least, all hardwood floors and dark colors. The living room was large and empty; the walls were covered in framed art prints, bookshelves, side tables with knickknacks, windows with dark curtains, and a flatscreen TV which Alex idly noted hadn't been dusted recently. In the middle of the room there was a smallish leather couch and a small coffee table on a rug. The mug and phone sitting on the table were the only things in the room that gave away that this was a real apartment and not a magazine layout.
Nieve shut the door and walked back over to sit down on his couch. He picked up the mug and held it, warming his hands. "So tell me what is it exactly you want?"
Alex looked over the wall decorations for a moment before turning to answer, giving himself time to think. "I know this might be a longshot," he said, "but I was hoping that you could help me with some... questions. I'm in a position to help a friend of mine with some unusual remodeling and I'm not sure where to start. I thought you might have some ideas, or at least be able to point me in the right direction."
The man sipped his drink and squinted a little. He didn't seem to be too concerned by Alex's statement, which was a relief. "So you decided to come to my house... and ask me. So either you think you know somebody and can get some kind of discount, or..."
Alex shrugged, holding his hand out to placate the dog, who was sniffing around, very interested in the new person. "I'm not that tactless. I just thought you might have some insight, given the way things work around here. If it requires you going to some particular trouble..."
"I don't usually deal in unusual," he mused in response. "Which isn't to say that I couldn't, but, uhm, you're being a little ambiguous. Or maybe you're just an ambiguous kind of guy?"
He was still squinting a little at Alex, and it was pretty obvious what he was trying to suss out; Alex wasn't being very subtle either, for lack of any better plan. "I don't mean to be too ambiguous; I'm just not used to blunt. I'm not from around here, though we run in the same circles... I'm trying to source significant amounts of certain materials, and someone who can shape meteoric iron."
"Oh. All right." Nieve finished off his mug and sat it down on the table. "Sorry, it's hard to tell with someone who's just really pale- that's not what we get around here, usually. I don't know any crafters, but I could get you started on materials and an idea on where to look. Most people don't ask questions about that sort of thing. Where are you from, anyway?"
Alex felt his stomach tighten a bit, and glanced towards the window as if he'd heard something outside, trying not to look embarrassed. He had intended to imply- no, he had presumed the man would think he was in the employ of an occultist or something. Why Nieve would do that... "Most recently, Michigan. People there are much less... integrated with the rest of society, I think, is the best way to put it. It takes some adjustment."
"Yeah, I can see that. LA's a big place for normal people, and it just gets weirder. And more dangerous." Nieve nodded, leaning back. The dog, who had been happy to lay by the man's feet and thump its tail, raised its head and perked its ears toward the door, whining a little. He leaned over to pet it. "Some people... well, let's not get into that."
Alex paused for effect, though at this point he was getting the impression that the man was happy to talk, and even a little lonely. "Nothing I need to worry about? I'm not planning to stay here."
"Nah. Just be aware that some people might want to make you an offer you can't refuse, so to speak." Nieve shrugged. "Most of us aren't talking to those people right now, anyway. You've probably heard people gossiping if you've spent time at Katrina's."
"I've heard a few things. That some people have gone missing. That... well." Alex frowned, sitting his hand down on a side table, and let Nieve fill the silence. There were a number of little photographs sitting on the table arrayed around a vase of fresh flowers, all very professional-looking, almost artistic, though most of them seemed to be of Nieve's friends. Between that and the prints on the walls, Alex wondered if the man wasn't a photographer himself.
"That some of my friends are involved. Yeah." He snorted; a strange chill ran through the air, and Alex shivered. Nieve noticed and gave him a sheepish grin. "Is it cold in here? Sorry. I can't tell with all the snow. Anyway, yeah, no. What happened... that was actually a police thing, we think. There's not a conspiracy, and it's not one of..."
He trailed off and shrugged. Alex mirrored him, half-smiling. "It's all right. Gossip is gossip, and the smell of old drama is all around this one. Though I suppose then I have to ask: is there anyone to whom I shouldn't mention I was talking to you?"
Alex shivered again, but this time, he didn't feel cold. Nieve started to say something, but Alex's attention was caught by the vase in front of him: the flowers had gone limp and were rustling slightly, though there was no breeze.
"Er-" he started, about to respond, but his train of thought had largely been derailed. He turned to see Nieve standing up, stock still, staring in the direction of the door. The dog started whining again, louder this time.
At that point, there was a pounding on the door.
The dog scrambled to its feet and took off up the stairs. Nieve's eyes followed it, then tore his eyes away to look at Alex. His face was pale, and his eyes were dull with disbelieving fear.
The door cracked open with a loud crash, falling forward and skidding on the hardwood. Nieve screamed and ran towards a sport on the wall. Alex's heart began racing, and he backed away as he watched, feeling as if time had slowed around him. His eyes darted between the door and Nieve, who was fiddling with something Alex couldn't see.
"Run!" Nieve shouted. The wall seemed to open, and Alex caught a brief glimpse of something moving in the darkness beyond before the man disappeared into the door-shaped opening.
There was a moment of profound silence where all Alex could hear was his own heartbeat ringing through his ears. Then there came another slam.
The wall shook as if under a great impact, picture frames rattling. Alex backed up further, checking for exits: the door out was on the other side of the room to his left, in the direction the noises had started coming from; there were stairs ahead of him, presumably leading to the bedroom, and something behind him that looked like a kitchen. He began weighing his options for going for the door, then something slammed against the wall again. Again. A piece of kitschy sculpture fell off the wall and shattered, and Alex choked.
He took a few, stumbling steps towards the door, staring at the space in the epicentre of the shaking. Theories and scenarios popped up in his head, and he throttled every one as quickly as he could, trying to focus on the present. Calm. He had to stay calm.
The air shimmered in front of his eyes like hot pavement, and he stopped- not for any good reason, not consciously- he watched it twist, reality being rubbed raw to reveal something underneath that shined like crumpled silver foil. Watching it felt like bubbles in his brain, like almost nothing Alex had felt before, and he was enthralled.
A pair of eyes peered out, turning towards him; they were soft, and dark, and not quite inhuman. And then they lunged.
He ran blindly backwards, pressing himself against the wall next to the window with the eyes staring, glittering at him for a brief instant; then the ceiling light exploded, and in a flare of light the couch and a dozen other small things went flying towards the back wall, slamming the thing against the wall with a heavy thunk and a wavering, angry screech. Alex might have screamed. He had no time to feel relieved before the thing started ripping at the couch from below, no time to think before tugging at the window. It refused to move.
A thin, wavering sound gained volume behind him; he picked up a heavy-looking vase at the floor and hammered at the glass, desperately hoping that this would work half as well as it did in the movies.
--
A sharp line of sunlight ran from the white stucco corner of a building to a blocky shape that may have been a billboard; Jaymie wasn't looking up, he had just picked the closest patch of darkness so that he could take his glasses off to look at his phone. They had changed up the landmarks since he'd last been in this part of the city, put in some new apartments and maybe closed a street, or so he told himself. It was unfamiliar enough to put him off, anyhow, and since he'd found the fabric shop and breakfast he just needed to remember where in hell he'd left his father's car. He was still getting used to the map program's idiosyncracies, and it didn't help that the thing kept trying to turn the voice recognition back on. Jaymie hated the entire idea of that; it made him feel like the phone was actually trying to talk to him, and that made him think of the line from that one movie where the little redheaded girl almost got eaten by a giant snake monster.
Flashing from somewhere in his peripheral vision, a sunspot hit him. Jaymie winced and glanced up in the direction it came from, distracted. There were a few cars on the street, but the only thing from any height was- well, it didn't matter.
Or it didn't seem to, until his eyes flicked back down to his phone and he heard a faint crackbang, and looking up again, saw- some ten feet from a man walking his dog on the sidewalk- somebody dive out of an exploding third-story window, do an awkward-looking front flip in the middle of the air, and land on his side. Jaymie slid his phone back into his pocket and his glasses back onto his eyes, glancing around as one part of his mind checked for cameras or cops and the other, a ways ahead, counted gawking normals.
The man scrambled onto his feet, brushing his left side and walking like he'd slammed his hip pretty hard. He looked fine- relatively fine- he looked like he was trying to look nonchalant, like a cat that didn't spot its landing- until he glanced up at the window he'd come out from and bolted into traffic. Cars screeched, people shouted, but terror was coming off him in waves, fierce enough that even from Jaymie's nook it made his heart race and his mouth ache. Before he realized it he was trotting towards the man, who, now that he got a good look at him, was familiar. Shortish, pale, puffy white hair. Easy to remember.
Visions of petty vengeance flitted through Jaymie's mind as he made it to the limping man and, without asking, wrapped an arm around him to "help" and dragged him back towards the sidewalk. Maybe this would be an opportunity for blackmail. Maybe he'd just tease the guy and let him go. The possibilities were endless.
"You're-" the man said, eyes wide, and Jaymie grinned so hard his jaw hurt a little.
"Yep. Hey, you wanted to run into us, didn't you? What are you, some kind-"
"No. No, no, no," he started to babble, trying to slip out from Jaymie's grip, reeking like lemon bars and whipped cream. "No, this is bad, this means it- that thing-"
He looked behind him, and Jaymie followed his eyes. Tiny shimmery spots hung in the alley behind them, popping in and out of existence; a figure moved smoothly from the wall to the ground, from four legs to two, and Jaymie's head swam as he registered what he was seeing. Its face was soft beauty, and the fringe of its hair shone in spectrums there were no words for; its cloak was made of a dozen clashing skins, and it walked on lizard's paws, a scaled tail lashing back and forth beneath the cloak. Cars passed by as it entered the road, travelling from one side of the creature to another and bypassing the space it took up.
Jaymie forced himself out of his daze, shoving all other feelings aside and embracing the adrenaline rush of fear, forcing himself to move, run. Nearly tripping over each other at the sudden movement, shopping still in Jaymie's other hand, he ran blindly down the street as fast as his legs could go.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he spat out between breaths, but rhetorical or not, the other man was too busy keeping up to answer.
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