milliways_bar | (no subject)

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On any given day, Silas habitually wears opaque clothes with long sleeves, and long trousers. Only one of those is he wearing today; the bar has replaced his shirt with a pair of white feather wings, leaving him topless. He's in a pair of white loose pants, white hair tousled from sleeping late, and once he reaches the bar he stops, looking down. "...Oh. My."

Come see what Halloween has done to one of Milliways' albino population.

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"Halloween, as celebrated at the end of the universe, includes costumes one did not necessarily plan," explains a nearby painted skeleton in a white tuxedo.

Silas looks over at Yrael's voice and starts at the painted-on skeleton face, hand to his chest.

"Mon Dieu," he murmurs. "What are you?"

Strangely enough, the blacked-out parts of the skeleton are the only parts painted.

"A skeleton, I believe," Yrael says, shrugging. He's already tall and thin. The bone-paint just accentuates it. "Nothing... elaborate, this year, thank the Landlord."

"Nothing elaborate for you," Silas corrects, gesturing to himself. The wings are nearly impossible to get off, and he has no shirt. "I'd much rather be in your costume."

"It could be worse. One year, I was stuck as a dog," he says, smiling.

He cracks a smile at that, but only barely. "This holiday could be dangerous in here," he murmurs. "That black paint might be difficult to wash off."

"Oh, it won't wash off, not until the holiday is over. The same with your wings, I would imagine," Yrael smirks, sighing wryly.

"I can't get them off," he says. "I can't reach quite that far behind my shoulders," Silas admits.

"Though she won't give me a shirt."

"She should have at least given you a halo to go with your wings," says the Bright Shiner, quickly fashioning one out of bent light and magic, and setting it to hover over Silas' head.

He squints at the light halo, and glances up towards the glow.

"...Really?" he asks, though it makes him smile for a moment until his mouth settled back. "I'm no angel, you know that."

"And I am not truly as bony as this costume would have one believe," Yrael smiles, inclining his head slightly.

"I've leaned against you," he says. "You are."

Silas is about as close to joking as he can really get right now, at least until Yrael makes him laugh. "I feel like I can't laugh anymore."

"Alas, my secret is out," he says, mock-mournfully.

"You will, I believe," Yrael adds, more sincerely. "In time."

Silas reaches up and runs his fingers through Yrael's hair, making it stand on end. "I hope you're right." He reaches into his pocket for the candy Bar gave him earlier in the day, and tosses a tube of Pez at his friend with a soft and finally close to serene expression.

"You mentioned going to New Orleans once...I think now might be as good a time as any to go, if you're still willing to let me."

Yrael tries to look up at his own hair, his green eyes going slightly crossed in the process. He still manages to catch the Pez as his eyes uncross, however.

"We can go whenever you want. If you want to go now, we will go now. Halloween is always big in the Big Easy." Not as big as Mardi Gras, but still substantial.

"Not necessarily right now," he says, "Unless you simply want to go home."

Not that New Orleans is his home, but Silas can't really get over Yrael wanting to live in the bar.

"I am home," Yrael says, smiling with very white teeth. "New Orleans is... call it a vacation home. Or an occasional getaway."

"I still don't understand that you want to live here," he says. "I couldn't live in a place where I was locked in."

Silas shudders once, rolling his shoulders and attempting to not think about the fact that he's still unable to leave freely. "Do you think this would stay on if I left?"

"I know that one day you will be unBound," Yrael replies. "And I hope you would not think of this place as a cage. The world of my origin was my cage long before I found this place, and then, this place became my escape. And when I was freed, my home. From here, I can visit and explore any world of my choosing. The possibilities are endless."

"I can't help but think of it as a cage," Silas says with a gentle grimace. "I'm...locked in here. And I can't even go home to make sure I didn't murder my own father," he starts to explain, and then feels like his chest is suddenly deflated, like he can't get a proper breath. Truth be told he doesn't want to know, and he's almost happy pretending that things are fine. But the illusion will only last until he opens the door back to his own world. He can only really be glad as long as he's here and lets himself forget for a few weeks, and Silas isn't letting himself do it.

"You must think I'm terribly ungrateful."

Upon seeing Silas's breath catch in his throat, Yrael moves forward, wrapping the boy in a hug. So what if the wings might get mussed.

"I do not think you are terribly ungrateful. I think you are reacting to a bad situation better than anyone should expect you to."

Silas accepts the hug easily, leaning against Yrael heavily for a moment. "I never really thought any of this would happen."

The wings only end up with a few bits of marabou left on the floor, and Silas doesn't notice; he can't see it while they're on.

"No one ever knows what path their life will take, and no one can know for sure how they will handle something until it happens," he says, gently. "I know you may think of this place as a cage right now, but it is also a gift. It is time, time you would not otherwise have, to figure out what you will do, and where you will go from here. You have all the time you might need."

"It's hard to figure out what I should do with it," he admits. "Other than try to come to terms. And it's slow going."

He straightens up eventually and brushes his hair back from his face. "Will you take me to New Orleans?"

"It is better for you not to rush yourself, Silas. Come to terms with what has happened, and decide then what you will do from here. People can rationalize away any act of good or ill, if they do not want to truly face it. They can justify anything with blame or conviction or belief to get it off of their consciences without having to come to terms with it. It is the coward's way out, and it is not your way."

"Of could I will. Would you wish to go to New Orleans tonight?" Yrael offers.

"Yes," he answers simply, not sure what if anything he can really say to the first warning. "Please."

"Then, let us go," Yrael replies, moving towards the door.

He heads towards the door after Yrael, looking at it for a moment before he reaches for the handle. "I hope all goes well," he says. "I have heard things about New Orleans that are...interesting."

Yrael grins at the young man, opening the door to a small alleyway off Bourbon street. "What you have heard is likely true. I do not go places that are not interesting."

Now to define 'interesting...'

The wide, brightly-lit street at the mouth of the alley they enter is busy people in costume, going to and coming from various Halloween parties. Though the evening is chilly, there are some whose costumes leave them scantily-clad, mingling with the silly, the geeky and the grotesque sorts of costumes. Truly, a half-dressed angel and a tall, pale skeleton in a suit do not stand out at all among this crowd.

Silas doesn't react outwardly past a sharp intake of breath when he comes across a man in an equally vivid death's-head painted mask, following Yrael as he looks around the street trying not to blind himself with the bright lights.

"This is New Orleans?"

"A part of it. It is not a small city, after all," he says, walking through the color and noise with ease.

"This is part of what they call the French Quarter, the oldest neighborhood of the city, and current hub of music, entertainment and good food."

"I...had imagined it wouldn't be small. It seems nothing in America is," Silas murmurs, still apprehensive but beginning to relax and enjoy the atmosphere. Some of the raucous costumers still startle him when they seem to pop out of the darkness.

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