(no subject)

[ash-imperfect.livejournal.com]

Another night, another refusal from Jean-Claude. Asher grows tired of being shunned from Jean-Claude's bed, but 'ma petite' is not willing to share her lover, and so he is to sleep and die alone.

He does not expect, however, to wake up stretched out along one of the booth seats in Milliways. But he is there, clothed in thin silk pyjama trousers (he refuses to call them 'pants'), which makes a rather interesting change from his last entrance.

Sitting up, he carefully pulls a ribbon from his hair. He had tied it back to sleep, but he has no wish to scare the clientele. His hair is long enough and thick enough that he can brush it over one shoulder, letting it hide the worst of the scarring, as long as he stays seated in the shadows.

He will wait until the door appears for him once more, and then he will leave.

Comments

[ostro_goth]

"Greetings," Teja says as he recognises the blood drinker with the golden hair.

He doesn't have enough experience with customs from the future to know that the trousers the man wears might be considered inappropriate for a public place.

[ash-imperfect.livejournal.com]

"Hello, Teja." Asher smiles, a little, raising his good hand and waving in greeting. Self-conscious he may be, but he will not turn down company, if it's sought.

[ostro_goth]

Teja sits, and looks at the blood-drinker. A few words exchanged, and the odd similarity with Totila will evaporate again, and not tug so painfully.

"So you do find yourself here again, soon," he adds.

[ash-imperfect.livejournal.com]

"Sooner than I had thought," he murmurs. He is certainly not in the mood for drinking synthetic blood, and clothed as he is, he's not suitable company for most.

But perhaps this is exactly what he needs. Teja was entertaining on their last meeting, after all.

"How long has it been, here? Does time move the same?"

[ostro_goth]

"That changes from world to world, from person to person that comes here," Teja says. "It was, I think, roughly two weeks since I saw you."

[ash-imperfect.livejournal.com]

"Ah, it has been about the same for me." He nods, folding his arms about his body.

[ostro_goth]

"Ahh, then no complicated accounting for time differences," Teja says. "For some people, that is rather steep -- one woman I met was with child when I first spoke to her, but just barely so; she had to say so for anyone to know. Some weeks later, she came in here with her little daughter, Valeria, a month or so old."

Pause, during which Teja contemplates the golden hair that still feels painfully familiar. The effect will dull in a moment, Teja knows.-

"I would ask you how you fared, but I don't even know what it is blood-drinkers do in their worlds."

[mogget_cat]

Oooh, silk. There may be a soft weight against Asher's ankle, purring.

[ash-imperfect.livejournal.com]

Asher looks down, and cocks an eyebrow. He reaches a hand down, gently brushing the tips of his fingers against the cat's head, scritching gently behind it's ears.

"Hello," he murmurs.

[mogget_cat]

The very white cat pushes its head up against the scritching fingers, its purring loudening. Bright green eyes look up at him.

[ash-imperfect.livejournal.com]

Asher smiles, scritching harder, running his fingers down the cat's spine. He wonders, for a moment, what a cat is doing in a bar, but considering the universe is exploding just outside the window, perhaps it's a silly question.

[mogget_cat]

It purrs, arching its back under Asher's hand. Eventually, it leaps up onto the next barstool.

...Scritchers tend to stop after a while, if you make them lean all the way over to give scritches.

[ash-imperfect.livejournal.com]

Unless said scritchers beckon the cat closer and consider lifting the cat into their laps. The fur feels nice under his hands.

[necessary_child]

The slim, pale-skinned young (well, apparently young) man lying stretched out and lazy as a cat in a nearby booth is rather different in appearance to Asher.

Sam's jet black hair is thick and perpetually-tumbled, just long enough to almost cover his eyes if he wants it to, and his slight build, shorter than average but with disproportionately long legs, makes him look almost as though he could be a teenager. The intense, bright black eyes watching Asher with a laughing curiosity give more than a hint of his real age away, however.

"Did the door manage to open inconveniently for you?" he asks, eventually. "It's done that for me, before."

Sam's usual choice of sleeping attire, however, is not silk. More scruffy cotton.

[ash-imperfect.livejournal.com]

"I have been in this bar only twice, and both times it has been...inconvenient." Asher replies, a soft murmur. He doesn't turn to look at the stranger, still hiding behind his curtain of hair.

"At least last time the bar had the decency to leave me clothed."

[necessary_child]

"Oh, I don't know, I can't see much of a problem from where I'm looking." Even if Asher doesn't see Sam's grin, it's probably possible to hear the laughter in his voice.

"You're welcome to my coat, though, if you want it."

[ash-imperfect.livejournal.com]

That may be because Asher is hidden under that glorious hair. He nods, smiling a little.

"If it's not too much trouble," he murmurs.

He turns towards Sam, and as he reaches out towards him, his hair falls back, revealing the scars that marr the entire right half of his body.

[necessary_child]

"Not a problem." Sam notices, but doesn't seem to; he doesn't pause as he leans towards Ashier to hand him the coat, which is somewhat crumpled, but warm (Sam's been using it as a pillow).

This is firstly because Sam, having seen it all, is hard to shock, and second of all, you should see the scars on his best friend (and Sam has).

He gives the newcomer another grin. "I'm Sam."

[ash-imperfect.livejournal.com]

"Thank you," Asher murmurs, slipping the coat on. It's a little snug around the shoulders, but it will do. It's certainly preferable to sitting there with no shirt on.

"My name is Asher." He offers Sam a hand to shake.

[there-is-a-me.livejournal.com]

Spoon has fifty two out of sixty beads in his hair. He's cheerfully cussing, chomping on a piece of gum in lieu of a fag, while he braids it all up and today is one of those days where his own scars went livid instead of pale.

That happens, sometimes, post-Lunar.

[ash-imperfect.livejournal.com]

This one smells different; closer to Jason and Nathaniel than any of the humans he's met, but different still from them.

That, and the werewolves in his world don't scar at all.

"You certainly have a flair for language, sir," he murmurs, undercurrent of amusement running through his words.

[there-is-a-me.livejournal.com]

Spoon looks up, quirks a hint of a smile, and says, "If the English offends you I could [change to Greek] or," and he keeps...uh. Making noise, anyway, although the noises he makes sound something like what would happen if you threw a handful of gravel into a blender and put a pillow over the whole mess to muffle some of the sound. (Also, his Greek has the same accent as that used in Dardania before the fall of Troy.)

The combination of smells on Spoon contain: wolf-man hybrid, goats, hints of burnt ozone, Cheetah-woman, hordes of dogs, human, sword-oil, and scents that have nothing at all to do with anything Earthly.

[ash-imperfect.livejournal.com]

He certainly has travelled wide.

"The only thing that could offend me would be if you tried to curse me out in French," Asher teases, though for all he knows, the interestingly-coiffured stranger's accent is perfect - it's not as if he speaks Greek, with any form of accent.

Asher is trying to place all the scents on the man, and he frowns a little, lost. Giving up for now, he watches Spoon, resting one ankle on the opposite knee, still clad in his silk pyjamas.

[there-is-a-me.livejournal.com]

"Me only languages are English, Canine, Dardanian Greek, and yautja." Spoon says contently, "Don't speak any French, so you're safe there." It doesn't take that long to finish beading his braids, and the werewolf settles the last into place with a shake of his head that causes them to chime cheerfully.

"An' that's that for the next month."

[ash-imperfect.livejournal.com]

"Yau- I'm sorry, pardon?" He tries to pronounce the last dialect, but gives up.

Asher wonders idly how long it would take to braid his hair like that.