milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Ganymede comes into the bar holding a small box wrapped in simple dark blue paper and a golden ribbon, with no note nor address on it; it was sitting outside his door this morning. At the bar he unwraps it carefully to find a small, fine linen pouch and a handful of bleached white bones, parts of their surfaces coated with lustrous gold.

They're astralagi, jackstones used to play a game older than Ganymede himself; with an easy flick of his hand one of the weird sinuous shapes is tossed into the air, coming back down balanced just below his knuckles on the back of his hand. It's an easy game to play, but hard to master; he has time. He may even be at it for a while between cups of strong, spicy and bitter coffee.

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"That's an interesting accoutrement," Alana says as she approaches, smiling at him. "Are they pieces of bone?"

"They are," Ganymede says, tipping his hand sideways to drop the bit of bone and gold back into the pouch. "Astralagi, or jackstones. They're used to play a game."

He's not sure how he feels about an ancient game set being left at his door with no note, which is why he opened it here, not at his house. "It's the ankle bones of various animals. Camels, sheep, horses, goats, all kinds. These were left at my door."

"Left at your door?" Alana says, tilting her head. "Do you know by whom?
It seems an odd gift."

"Oh, I have a decent guess by whom," he says. "There are relatively few people alive at the moment who would have known I played this game. It was a very long time ago," he says.

"This isn't quite anyone's style here."

"What an interesting mystery," Alana says, inclining her head. "Where are my manners? How have you been doing lately, Ben? It's been a long time since we've talked."

"It has," he says. "Several months, I think. Since you came in last," Ganymede murmurs, unwilling to remind her of shooting someone she presumably now dislikes greatly.

Someone who, coincidentally, Ganymede does not dislike. "How are you?"

"I'm all right," Alana says, placing a hand on the back of a chair at Ganymede's table. "I've been cooped up here since I saw you last, too afraid to go home. May I sit?"

"Certainly, of course," he chuckles. "I took a gun from your hands, I doubt you'd need to ever ask to sit at a table with me."

He smiles, inviting her to sit by him, pushing out the chair. "Don't be afraid to go home, Alana. Waiting won't make anything any easier."

"I remember," Alana says, taking the seat. She looks down at her hands for a moment, fidgeting with the hem of her purple skirt. "And I know that waiting isn't doing me any favors. I just need backup, and Rae, who has promised to go with me, has some things in her world to take care of first."

"I'm glad you'll have someone going with you," he says. "I would offer, but I don't think you'd like very much my method of fighting."

It's one he's developed over years of necessity; kill quickly and without remorse.

"Attending this place, I shouldn't be surprised when you say you can fight," Alana says, raising a brow at him. "But yes, Rae will be coming with me, as will X-23. In their hands, I should be safe."

"It's the way I look, isn't it?" he asks, amused. He's never looked like a fighter, and in far more ways than not he has done nothing to stop that perpetual image. "I don't look like someone who could fight."

"No, you don't," Alana says, shaking her head. "Forgive me for saying so, but you look far more like a lover than a fighter. How long have you been fighting?"

"Oh, since I was about thirteen," he says. "I like being a lover as well as a fighter."

Ganymede smiles, and pulls the length of his hair over his shoulder. "I haven't told you how old I am, have I?"

Alana beams at him. "No, you haven't," she says, lacing her fingers together. "You're what, early thirties?"

"Not exactly," he chuckles. "This past winter I turned thirty-two hundred and forty-eight. If I remembered what day I was born, I'd tell you exactly how old I was."

Beat. "Needless to say my given name isn't Ben."

"Thirty-two hundred!" Alana says, her eyes widening. "That's incredible. Were you born immortal?"

"Oh no," he says, laughing a bit. "I was completely normal until I was nineteen."

Alana leans forward, cradling her chin in her hand. "Oh, wow. What changed for you?"

"How good is your grasp of mythology?" he asks.

"Mythology?" Alana says, canting her head to the side. "I'm decent at it, in suppose. Are you saying you're part of a legend?"

"That depends on whether you know the story of Ganymede or not," he says.

Alana tilts her head. "Well, sure, he was taken by Zeus in eagle form to be the cupbearer for the gods. You're telling me that you are that Ganymede?"

"I am telling you exactly that," he says, rolling up his sleeve to show the long talon scars wrapped around his arm from above his elbow to his wrist. "Ganymede isn't an exact translation of my name, but it works."

Alana's eyes widen as she takes in the scars. "That's impressive. How long have you been free from Zeus?"