forum I Ought To Be Thy Adam (angels and demons)

Started October 09, 2020 by @ElderGod-kirky group

tune

'No one fucking cares!" Sindy shouted, then sighed.

"I oughta go back to talk to Valen," Ozzie said, nervously running his fingers through his hair. "I sort of bailed on him."
Sybil's smirk broke into a full-on grin.
"Oh?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, and Ozzie felt himself blush.
"Nothing like that, Syb, I just wanna make sure that Don didn't rattle him too much with all of his bushwa," Ozzie said quickly, waving a hand dismissively.
"Sure," Sybil replied, drawing the word out. "Well, if you wanna go talk to him, don't sit around here barbering. Carp-uh dee-um."
"You mispronounced that horribly."
"I know," Sybil said with a wink. "Now get your short getaway sticks over there."
"I'm not that shor- alright," Ozzie said, giving in with a sigh. "Don't say anything too scandalous to Vera, she seems like the sensitive sort."
"I make no promises."
Ozzie made his way back towards Valen and the other two men.
Come on. You can do this. You can talk to him without making a fool of yourself.

Emil nodded at Valen, still smiling, then glanced behind his shoulder at the approach of Ozzie. "Oh hello," he greeted. Varhmiel flicked his gaze over to the new arrival, who he recognized as the man that had also worked to shut down the racist bartender. Before he could open his mouth to say anything, Emil grabbed the back of his coat, hauled him up and away from Ozzie, then set him down—all in one smooth motion without batting an eye. Mel glared up at him, then glowered at nothing in particular in his own sort of pout.

Emil gestured to the open space he had unceremoniously made. "There you are. I believe I caught your name earlier. Ozzie van Arbor, was it?" He tipped his head to the side in curiosity, the surname sounding slightly familiar, but he didn't know if it was simply a trick of the mind or yet another shared name from his secret decades of existence.

"Er, yes?" Ozzie said, taken aback. "You've probably heard of my father, he's sort of well-known around these parts. Not that we really talk all that much or anything. What's your name?" He didn't think that he had seen either of the men before.

"Ah!" He snapped his fingers and nodded. "That's why it sounded familiar." He noted them not talking and breezed by that topic easily, instead fixing the lapels of his suit jacket. "I'm Emil Goodnestone." In hindsight, he probably should've changed his surname throughout the years. Though not a notable name, he was sure he would've shown up in certain wars and the occasional tabloid article about his storytelling failures.

Emil patted the head of his short companion, who turned around to glare up at him before settling a bored look on Ozzie. "This here is my good friend Victor. Or I suppose Varhmiel, as he insists," he quickly added before he could get interrupted. Emil rolled his eyes.

"Goodnestone," Ozzie repeated. "Doesn't quite ring a bell."
At least, he didn't think it did. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place why–or where–he knew it from.
"And it's awful nice to meet you both! It can be hard to come across good eggs in a joint like this, the last fella I thought was decent ended up taking the jump a couple weeks back. We oughta stick together."

((ghfjgh))

Emil grinned, briefly flashing his sharpened canines before smothering it to a subdued smile. "Wonderful to meet you as well, Ozzie." He patted Mel's head again, and stuck his tongue out at the hand that swatted his away. "I don't know if this one can be completely classified as a 'good egg', but he's kind enough. Stood up for a stranger and gave me his beer out of the kindness of his heart." Emil dramatically held a hand over his chest, sighing.

"First of all," Varhmiel started, nudging Emil out of the way to get a good look at Ozzie, "You stole that beer. I never gave it to you." Emil smiled innocently but didn't deny it. "Second of all, I just have certain pet peeves that I won't tolerate." He hooked a thumb towards the bartender, continuing with a flat look. "That's one."

Valen looked up as Ozzie returned, flashing a quick smile and then taking another sip of his drink. For every sip he took, he had to wipe the corner of his mouth again; the damn scar meant he couldn't really fully close his lips, and drinks always managed to dribble out from the corner. He brushed a fingertip against the bottom of the scar, shaking his head minutely. Wisps of pale hair had fallen into his face.

"If everyone thought like you, Mel, the world would be a much lovelier place," Ozzie said with a sigh. He noted the easy way that Emil and Mel interacted, the not-quite-platonic-seeming undertones of it, and felt a brief twinge of jealousy.
"Say, if you don't mind me asking, what happened to your face?" Ozzie asked Valen, then winced. "Sorry, that sounded…sorry. I was curious about the scar, is all. Did you fight in the Great War?"

Varhmiel couldn't quite keep the baffled look off his face, and Emil briefly left to keep from bursting out into laughter at the sight. He hadn't known the tiny man for very long, but it was the most human face he had made, completely devoid of anger or a scowl. Mel blinked, face going blank, then muttered to himself and turned away to order yet another drink, as his other two had been stolen from him by a certain human. However, he did tilt his head to listen to Valen's response, curious as well but not curious enough to be the one to ask. He hardly noticed the absence of his recent parasite at the moment.

Valen's lips parted for a moment in thought. Not the Great War, no. His ex. The son of a bitch. He cleared his throat faintly. "Ah…yes." he lied, knowing that he couldn't tell the truth. "I took a knife to the face." He traced the scar from beginning to end, shrugging his shoulders faintly.

"I'm terribly sorry," Ozzie said. "My brother fought in the War, perhaps you knew him? Owen van Arbor was his name. He didn't make it. Neither did my-"
He paused, trying to figure out what to call William. He knew he couldn't say what he really was, not in public. But it felt disingenuous to simply call him a friend.
"My dearest friend," he settled with. "Apparently I was the lucky one, not being sent overseas. Sometimes I'm not sure."

Valen studied him carefully. He himself had fought in wars before. Nothing like human wars, but wars nonetheless. "I see. My apologies for your loss." He said softly. "I know it isn't pleasant to be the one left behind."

(My phone tried to correct nonetheless to boner. What the hell)

Mel listened silently, intrigued by the hesitation he heard twice—once from Valen, and once from Ozzie—as he sipped his newest drink. He angled his head slightly and glanced over at the one with the facial scar, suspicious, then sucked in a breath and leaned on his elbows without saying anything. Well, he wasn't planning on saying anything, but he finally noticed a particular absence. He glanced around curiously, muttering, "Where'd he wonder off to?" before shrugging and going back to eavesdropping.

"My thanks for your apologies," Ozzie replied. "I do my best to carry on the both of them."
Something he was beginning to find increasing difficult, as it left less and less time for him to be himself, but the novel must be finished. Once it was finished, then he could go back to the play, or what would be left of the play without William.

With their drinks, they both drank, but one of them couldn’t help but have his curiosity perked at the mention of The Great War. Though for different reasons.
Heiko glanced over at the nearby conversation. Having fought in that war, it was definitely of interest to the man. Although, he was on the ‘losers’ side, as some would call it. What could the man say? He was fighting for his country back then. And dare he say the Great War hit a spot in his heart - a sore one at that. It left his country in a shadow of its former self. Humiliating.

“What are you looking at?” Virgil broke his thought, and Heiko turned to Virgil again.
“Nothing,” he said, though Virgil shook their head.
“Nope, you’re looking at them.”
He paused. “If you knew the answer, why did you ask me?”
“I wanted to see if you’d lie or not.” Humans.

Heiko stayed silent after that, returning focus back to the conversation. He sipped his drink.

Valen cocked his head faintly. "Don't try and take on the burden of living their lives for them, Ozzie van Arbor. That would be a mistake. It will only make you unhappy, and I do not believe that that is what they would have wanted for you." His voice was serious, but gentle.

"My brother was a far more brilliant man than I," Ozzie said. "The world is made lesser by his absence, and the very least I can do is to give the world his book. As for William, we had been working closely on a script, and I do have intents to finish it. Assuming I can find a theatre that will take me, anyways."

"The war was quite wretched, if I might nose in," came a voice that had Mel groaning and slumping into the bar. He made sure to hide his drink from view as Emil wormed his way into the conversation and against Mel's side. "So much killing and fighting. What of you, Victor? You partake in the war? You seem to have a warrior's spirit."

"Killer's," he corrected with a blank look to the opposite wall. Yes, he had taken part of many wars. Never held his interest for very long, however. "And yes, though not for long. I bailed. Too mundane." A sip, and then another. "And it took more than I wanted to give." I stopped making friends because of it. He shrugged and ignored Emil's pitying look. "Wars are greedy no matter what they're for. Usually end up taking more than they give, and I wasn't about to give my skills to a cause I didn't care about."

"Be that as it may. You have your own life to live, not theirs." Valen replied. His eyes grew shadowed for a moment. "Trust me on that one. It isn't worth it to try and live as someone you are not." He took another sip of his drink, wiping his mouth again afterwards.

"I'm sure that my own life will get back to being my own in a handful of months," Ozzie assured him. "Although it must be pointed out that sometimes one must live as someone you are not."
He dug his nails into his palm, hoping that he hadn't said too much. Despite–or, perhaps, because of–his past with William, he had grown accustomed to that sort of social fake.