08-03-2014, 09:52 PM
The man stood, agreeing to go. Connor felt relief but also excitement in his stomach. For the first time since he'd gotten here, since he'd learned the truth about Hayden, he felt like he was going to be able to strike a blow for his son. This kid- no, he was a man, however young- was powerful and was famous. Connor Kent was a nobody and that never bothered him. He was content with his small world, with being somebody who mattered to those around him. But this man might take the information he had and use it to do something more important. What he wasn't sure, though it was clear that there was no love lost between the kid and the Atharim. Whatever it was, though, Connor was happy with that prospect. He stuck out his hand. "I'm Connor,"
and then listened to his name.
They walked out the store after Connor paid- cash, since he was still paranoid- for the Watkins book. It did look interesting regardless of the ruse he'd used earlier. He tried to look around and see if they were being followed. But he had no clue what to look for really. He could try to go by movies, of course, but it's not like the writers themselves had ever been followed before. They were all just making it up. But, he had to go on what he knew and that was nothing. With a shrug, he kept walking, not really saying much. The place on the corner was more of a cafe than a bar, Zobrotya's Bistro, but it would do.
They walked in and found a corner table so as to watch the entrance. While they waited for the server to come over, Connor liked at the man. Now that he was here he wasn't sure how to start. Well, best to get things out in the open. He spoke quietly. "My son was like you. He could do magic."
He grimaced at the words, then went on. "I guess you have to learn control. It's the sickness."
The memories came to him and he stifled the lump in his throat that formed. "He, uh, he didn't know how to control it."
Despite himself- despite everything, all the progress he'd made and peace he'd come to- it still was hard to remember. "He died. I was by his side."
He wiped at his misting eyes. "Anyway, I came to Moscow for answers and got them. The magic, the sickness. The Atharim."
That last was very quiet but invested with contempt. Before the kid could say anything he said, "I know, i know, hunters. But I learned of what they would have done to my son, and to his mom and I."
His lip twisted. "That they would put him down like an animal."
He breathed.
"I know not all of them are like that. At least one woman I met wasn't. She told me the truth. She gave me the answers I sought and helped me find peace."
And later she tried to feed off my pain. He pushed that thought away. She had given him a priceless gift. The anger and rage he'd felt at her had diminished. The Atharim had done something to her, for her to change. Another reason they were evil. "Anyway, I know about them. And what they do."
He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out the jump drive. "Here. These are their targets, their 'reborn gods.' It's evidence of it all."
He looked from the drive to the kid's face, waiting.
and then listened to his name.
They walked out the store after Connor paid- cash, since he was still paranoid- for the Watkins book. It did look interesting regardless of the ruse he'd used earlier. He tried to look around and see if they were being followed. But he had no clue what to look for really. He could try to go by movies, of course, but it's not like the writers themselves had ever been followed before. They were all just making it up. But, he had to go on what he knew and that was nothing. With a shrug, he kept walking, not really saying much. The place on the corner was more of a cafe than a bar, Zobrotya's Bistro, but it would do.
They walked in and found a corner table so as to watch the entrance. While they waited for the server to come over, Connor liked at the man. Now that he was here he wasn't sure how to start. Well, best to get things out in the open. He spoke quietly. "My son was like you. He could do magic."
He grimaced at the words, then went on. "I guess you have to learn control. It's the sickness."
The memories came to him and he stifled the lump in his throat that formed. "He, uh, he didn't know how to control it."
Despite himself- despite everything, all the progress he'd made and peace he'd come to- it still was hard to remember. "He died. I was by his side."
He wiped at his misting eyes. "Anyway, I came to Moscow for answers and got them. The magic, the sickness. The Atharim."
That last was very quiet but invested with contempt. Before the kid could say anything he said, "I know, i know, hunters. But I learned of what they would have done to my son, and to his mom and I."
His lip twisted. "That they would put him down like an animal."
He breathed.
"I know not all of them are like that. At least one woman I met wasn't. She told me the truth. She gave me the answers I sought and helped me find peace."
And later she tried to feed off my pain. He pushed that thought away. She had given him a priceless gift. The anger and rage he'd felt at her had diminished. The Atharim had done something to her, for her to change. Another reason they were evil. "Anyway, I know about them. And what they do."
He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out the jump drive. "Here. These are their targets, their 'reborn gods.' It's evidence of it all."
He looked from the drive to the kid's face, waiting.