The Unbearable Lightness of Fleeing [John + Willy]

[prodigalflame]

John was sitting at a cafe. In a mall. It was the same mall in which Bobby worked, but he tended to push that detail to one side and focus on the fact he didn't really know any other malls to go to

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[willysilver]

"Ah, my fried, we meet again," Willy said, friendly as could be. He took the opposite seat and stretched his legs out to get comfortable. Hands on the table, he studied John for a long moment and tried to remember his names.

Mortal names. There were so many and he cared not for the power of names unless it suited him to recall. And it rarely suited him.

"Are you waiting for sweet Bobby?" he inquired.

[prodigalflame]

John looked up from his book, deer-in-the-headlights-startled before his expression slid into something a little more sly and a lot more cynical. No, this was not a set-up. This was just his dumb luck.

The universe didn't like him - and John really couldn't blame it.

Putting his book to one side, his place marked with a strip of leather, he snorted, mostly to himself. "Please do up a chair," he muttered, grumbling good naturedly. The other man had already plonked himself down. Between this guy and Bobby grabbing him, could he not get a moment to himself? No, he could not.

"Uh, no, I'm not here for - sweet Bobby," John explained, trying not to laugh. Honest. "I don't think of him as sweet, and, if I was waiting for him, I get the feeling he'd punch me out. You?"

[willysilver]

"I was playing outside. I came in for a drink," he replied honestly. In truth, if he had had any other choice for somewhere to get a drink he would have gone there. The mall was large and open but he felt confined. Whatever the weather, Willy preferred to see the sky and breathe fresh air.

"Would he really punch you? Such violence," he said. He understood that there had been friendship and betrayal, but Bobby had been reticent and he had not inquired further.

[prodigalflame]

"What do you do for play?" John asked, genuinely curious. "I get that you're not human; your...socialisation's a bit off. Different patterns of speech, social expectations, that sort of thing. It's not mutantcy, as you would have been raised by people and picked it all up from them."

John always liked puzzles: mostly because of the kick he got out of solving them. "So what are you, exactly, and what makes you tick? The violence of humanity obviously perplexes you, but I'm sure something manages to stir your passions."