Dealing With A Wildcard

[Saccharin]

Vomas shrugged. "Might not be fun, but it's effective. Tell me, what do you see? Red Men and what else?"

[Trillian]

Timo expelled air in a dramatic fashion, throwing up his hands and glaring at the ceiling - the noise out of his mouth sounded a bit like 'plegh' and he strode over to throw himself onto the soft-looking couch that was harder than expected.  Bastard couldn't even give him a plush cushion.

"Fine Mr Mighty, I'll tell you what you want.  How long you got?" he challenged.

[Saccharin]

He stretched out his arm and shook it, revealing a large-faced watch on a pale wrist. "I have time," he said, after glancing downwards briefly. "Please, enlighten me."

[Trillian]

"How about a trade?  A question for a question?"  Timo grinned, knowing he was pushing his luck but Mr Dangerous Dude seemed happy to indulge him so Timo would take all the slack in his rope and then tug on it a little more for some extra.

[Saccharin]

"I thought you didn't want to know anything," he said, raising an eyebrow. "What happens to plausible deniability if I answer your questions?"

[Trillian]

"That was before you wanted to start pumping me for information," Timo scoffed.  "If you're going to kill me, I'd prefer to know what the fuck you are."

He gave a twisted smile to this, which was supposed to be mischievous and smug, but he didn't feel like his face was pulling it off, so he dropped it.

[Saccharin]

Vomas didn't think it'd make a difference, but he was willing to humor Timo.

"Very well. A question for a question."

[Trillian]

Timo should've felt like a winner; he'd got an agreement for something where there was none before, he'd been given permission for knowledge he wasn't supposed to have, he should be relishing this moment.  Except he wasn't.

There was a gnawing sensation in his belly that made him feel like he needed to either eat something or throw something up.  The penthouse felt too hot but his hands felt cold.  He rubbed his palms together between his knees to warm them up and then swiped them on his jeans clad legs.  He licked his lips and looked around for

an escape

inspiration.  He asked the coffee table in front of him, instead of the Red Man: "So what are you?"

His tone held none of his prior arrogance.

[Saccharin]

He stood from his desk and made his way to the couch, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves as he went. The piece of furniture was a substantial modular unit, but Vomas sat close enough to Timo that his knee brushed Timo's leg when he angled himself towards the young man. His expression was earnest when he gathered a warm hand between his two chilly ones.

Vomas was motionless except for the movement of his eyes as he searched Timo's face for a sign of recognition. He hoped he wouldn't have to give any other hints, but based on their banter so far, he didn't think he'd have to. Timo was filled with the bravado and brashness of youth, but he wasn't unintelligent.

[Trillian]

Mr Mega Pants sat uncomfortably close and Timo's hand twitched slightly as it was taken, but he didn't pull it away.  For a moment he thought that his hand would be brought close to the Red Man's lips in a suave kiss for ladies - which would've been weird - and his imagination blended in smoothly with something else

Countless movie images flashed across his mind, starting with a black and white vision of Max Schrek and ending with a pale blonde visage of a smirking Tom Cruise.

His heart accelerated with a mixture of fear and excitement.  They weren't just fodder which he'd kind of known all along.  He'd never thought of them as superior, either - just different.  Like lions were different.  Like bears were different.  Creatures to avoid but not necessarily superior.

Timo wasn't the kind of person to study, but he'd always enjoyed reading.  Poetry more so than books.  A very old poem came to him and he recited it for the Red Man... who'd answered his question about all Red Men.

"In tombs of gold and lapis lazuli, bodies of holy men and women exude miraculous oil, odour of violet.  But under heavy loads of trampled clay, lie bodies of the vampires full of blood; their shrouds are bloody and their lips are wet."

He wondered if Yeats had ever seen Red Men like Timo could.  It certainly sounded like he had.

[Saccharin]

He made a sound of confirmation deep in his throat and a smile tugged sporadically at the corner of his mouth, like it'd been hooked by a fisherman.

"Very good," he said, his voice a whisper. Timo's response to him, the quickening of his pulse, was a distraction. For a moment, all he could envision was burying his face in Timo's throat, breaking skin and pulling from his veins the very stuff of life, into his mouth and down his throat. If he hadn't fed earlier, he doubted he would've been able to fight the urge. But he came to, licking his lips and sucking in a shuddering breath. He was still holding Timo's hand, he realized, and made himself release it.

Vomas scooted away to his own cushion and busied himself with smoothing his tie, though it hung perfectly.

Eventually, he looked from his tie to Timo. "What other things do you see?"

[Trillian]

It wasn't in Timo's nature to give in easily.  He pursed his lips when Vomas moved away without warning; a hand released and a cushion shifted.  Was there something metaphorical in that?  Had he been threatened with physical closeness and been permitted his space because he'd recited poetry?

"You didn't actually answer my question, you just held my hand," he said scornfully.  His heartbeat continued its rapid pace.

Did he seriously want to poke a watchful bear within swatting distance?

Why yes.  It seemed he did.

[Saccharin]

"Oh, please," he ground out. Timo's heartbeat had taken up its rhythm in his head again, bah-dum, bah-dum. The muscles in his jaws flared and he clenched his hands into fists. "Do you really need me to say it? That I'm a vampire? That I want to feed from you? Because I can, if that'll make our game more real for you."

[Trillian]

Timo stared at the self-titled vampire, unable to summon an appropriate expression. His thoughts were spinning like tyres in thick mud, gaining no ground and going around in circles, doing nothing except to dig him in deeper.  The biggest question he had to ask was not what Mr Hot Shot was, but what did he want from him?

"There are a lot of Red Men in this city," he said carefully, thinking that a deal was a deal and he owed an answer. Timo was concerned that he couldn't find an angle for himself though. He was operating blindly, not knowing what his end game was.  "And shadow faces."

[Saccharin]

He was well aware there was a surplus of his kind in the city, and he nearly growled that at Timo, but the information he actually wanted followed and he remained silent. His fingers uncurled and his eyes narrowed as he thought.

Shadow faces. Faces shrouded in darkness? Perhaps a face hidden behind another? Could he be speaking of demons, who took human appearances when they walked among them? If so, he had little use for Timo's ability to see them, because he could smell them. Many reeked of sulfur, a rotten and nose-wrinkling smell that was detectable from a long distance away. Others carried distinctive scents from whatever planes they crawled through, but they were all decidedly other.

"What else?" He wondered if Timo would consider that part of his original question and answer, or if he'd have to perform a dance and song again.