07-26-2014, 08:41 AM
Jaxen slowly turned to face the voice broadcast behind him. He was an older man, but there was a hardness about him that suggested a short leash on a temper Jaxen did not want to rouse.
The man, dressed all in black, did not introduce himself yet he seemed to know exactly why Jaxen was there. By his questions, he also seemed to know all about Jaxen's recent history. Fevers, chills, headache? Taking fool chances? Jax scratched at his throat and wandered closer as though to do as bid and sit, but he remained on his feet.
"Have I been sick lately? Well, let me think a second."
His fingers unfurled, and his eyes rolled upward thoughtfully as he recalled the items one by one. "Before I was kidnapped by the Naga snake woman, I had a gun aimed at my face by a teenager, and a guy named White said there was a secret society trying to kill me. But I suppose that's not answering your question."
His gaze narrowed on the stranger. He had the strangest accent Jaxen had ever heard. He couldn't place it. Just as he couldn't place the city in their view.
He rounded the chair like he might deign to sit. He remained standing, however, looking down at the man. "But there was this time I raced a Lambo around the Garden Ring Road and nearly shaved my own head off flying under bridges. Luckily I managed to survive that only to find myself vomiting my brains out behind a dumpster and sweating like a pig in a sauna rather than a man on the frozen Russian tundra."
His story continued, but there was a minute pause every time he dropped a specific word indicative of his own world, culture and time. Did the man recognize things like Lambos, saunas, and Russia? If not, why? Where the hell were they? What had Naga lady done to him? And how could he mold it to his advantage?
He sat opposite the man, but to unfold himself into the cushions like a relaxed host at a dinner party rather than a prisoner being interrogated. As he crossed on leg, his blue cashmere jacket unfolded on the seat beside him. The skeleton tattoo could be seen through the thinness of a white sweater stretched across his chest. He drummed his fingers on the armrests.
"I'd say I was sick then, but there wasn't much time to wonder how I'd contracted such a quick-acting virus, because I was kidnapped again, by cannibals that strung me up in their sewer dungeon. Luckily, I do seem to pushing the bounds of my luck, don't I? Luckily a man named Michael saved me, but not before the aforementioned White clocked me on the temple with his rifle. It was him and his friend Tony that explained my Sickness was a poisoned side effect of wielding powers I didn't know I have."
Lots of interesting words there: virus, sewer, rifle. Jaxen peered around the room briefly, trying to place himself. There were no lamps nor anything particularly resembling electricity. Then again the room and city seemed to be lit by nothing yet were continuously bright at the same time. The air was comfortable, yet did not circulate on streams of air-conditioning. Then there was the man's strangely shaped clothes. Oddly enough, the cut of his black coat was similar to the cut of Jaxen's India-inspired blue cashmere.
"Now fast-forward a bunch of time in between and here I am."
He spread his arms wide like he was welcoming the adoration of his audience. A slick smile twisted his lips. "So you can say my days of late have been out of the ordinary, but I do know this, in answer to your last question,"
Jaxen's smile faded into eyes hungry for knowledge and advantage. "I've been told I'm an Ancient and a god, titles I don't particularly mind."
A thought entered his mind and he flung the question back at his interrogator in mocking imitation of the accent, "do you be knowing what you be?"
He laughed. If he offended this guy, it didn't matter anyway. In all likelihood he wasn't real.
The man, dressed all in black, did not introduce himself yet he seemed to know exactly why Jaxen was there. By his questions, he also seemed to know all about Jaxen's recent history. Fevers, chills, headache? Taking fool chances? Jax scratched at his throat and wandered closer as though to do as bid and sit, but he remained on his feet.
"Have I been sick lately? Well, let me think a second."
His fingers unfurled, and his eyes rolled upward thoughtfully as he recalled the items one by one. "Before I was kidnapped by the Naga snake woman, I had a gun aimed at my face by a teenager, and a guy named White said there was a secret society trying to kill me. But I suppose that's not answering your question."
His gaze narrowed on the stranger. He had the strangest accent Jaxen had ever heard. He couldn't place it. Just as he couldn't place the city in their view.
He rounded the chair like he might deign to sit. He remained standing, however, looking down at the man. "But there was this time I raced a Lambo around the Garden Ring Road and nearly shaved my own head off flying under bridges. Luckily I managed to survive that only to find myself vomiting my brains out behind a dumpster and sweating like a pig in a sauna rather than a man on the frozen Russian tundra."
His story continued, but there was a minute pause every time he dropped a specific word indicative of his own world, culture and time. Did the man recognize things like Lambos, saunas, and Russia? If not, why? Where the hell were they? What had Naga lady done to him? And how could he mold it to his advantage?
He sat opposite the man, but to unfold himself into the cushions like a relaxed host at a dinner party rather than a prisoner being interrogated. As he crossed on leg, his blue cashmere jacket unfolded on the seat beside him. The skeleton tattoo could be seen through the thinness of a white sweater stretched across his chest. He drummed his fingers on the armrests.
"I'd say I was sick then, but there wasn't much time to wonder how I'd contracted such a quick-acting virus, because I was kidnapped again, by cannibals that strung me up in their sewer dungeon. Luckily, I do seem to pushing the bounds of my luck, don't I? Luckily a man named Michael saved me, but not before the aforementioned White clocked me on the temple with his rifle. It was him and his friend Tony that explained my Sickness was a poisoned side effect of wielding powers I didn't know I have."
Lots of interesting words there: virus, sewer, rifle. Jaxen peered around the room briefly, trying to place himself. There were no lamps nor anything particularly resembling electricity. Then again the room and city seemed to be lit by nothing yet were continuously bright at the same time. The air was comfortable, yet did not circulate on streams of air-conditioning. Then there was the man's strangely shaped clothes. Oddly enough, the cut of his black coat was similar to the cut of Jaxen's India-inspired blue cashmere.
"Now fast-forward a bunch of time in between and here I am."
He spread his arms wide like he was welcoming the adoration of his audience. A slick smile twisted his lips. "So you can say my days of late have been out of the ordinary, but I do know this, in answer to your last question,"
Jaxen's smile faded into eyes hungry for knowledge and advantage. "I've been told I'm an Ancient and a god, titles I don't particularly mind."
A thought entered his mind and he flung the question back at his interrogator in mocking imitation of the accent, "do you be knowing what you be?"
He laughed. If he offended this guy, it didn't matter anyway. In all likelihood he wasn't real.