He was crouching there, on a random corner post, watching the city. He grinned into the soft breeze, enjoying the sensation on his skin, the feel of it winding its way through the small orange spikes of hair on his head. His trenchcoat, torn but comforting, billowed only slightly in the wind, heavy enough not to stir too much. He waited, for something, in the shadows, watching the rats and the people scurrying similarly along through the noise and the smell of the city.
Thin fingers, clad to the middle knuckle in ratty and stained gray, pushed carefully at the manhole cover, lifting it from the sidewalk to a barely noticeable difference in height, just high enough for a sliver of light to fall across a pair of bright violet eyes. The cover fell again as silently and carefully as it had risen, followed mere moments later by those thin fingers appearing to grip the sidewalk from a drain in the side of the road. As a the stream of traffic fell into a momentary lull, the fingers' grip tightened, quickly and nimbly pulling a thin form through a hole that looked too small for the young man that emerged. With a quick glance around, the boy lay on the sidewalk, reaching an arm back in to pull out a sack that looked just as dirty and ragged as his tattered clothing. With a grin, he hopped back to his feet and slid into the shadows of an alley.
Mismatched but greenish eyes had seen the boy's entrance, and his head cocked unconsciously, only slightly, in curiosity. He made no noticeable movement, simply shifted his weight slightly in case he felt the need to rise, and watched to see what the tattered one would do. Whether he would be noticed. His fingers gripped the edge of the post, two on each hand clad in leather like the rest of the palm, the two others and the thumbs exposed to the chilly air.
Reappearing from the shadows a few moments later, he was dressed quite a bit differently - carefully polished black boots under tight black jeans and fit gray sleeveless shirt. Pulling on a trench coat, sleeveless and black leather, he stuffed his bag in a pocket. The ratty, fingerless gray gloves remained on his hands, however, along with black bracers that appeared to have no way for removal. Twisted black tattoos covered his upper arms, another one shown to weave its spidery path up the left side of his neck and spread across part of that side of his face as he brushed his long black hair back with his fingers and tied it up into a ponytail. He paid no mind now to whether or not there were people looking.
Licking his lips, he decided to stand, intrigued by this new development and somewhat aroused by the new look. He decided to lean nonchalantly against the post, feigning disinterest and hoping to be noticed. He chewed a thumbnail and ran a hand through his spikes, absently picturing a very different set of spikes that could very well have been there instead. He tugged at the metal plate earring dangling from his right ear, curling his lip, vaguely annoyed. He got so caught up in looking nonchalant that he forgot to keep an eye on the stranger, greenish eyes flashing in the darkness at thoughts and memories that drifted past, both in and outside of his head.
After a moment of fidgeting with his gloves, he shoved his hands into his pockets, smiling slightly into the city breeze and grinning again. He sighed, striding confidently towards the corner, mind racing over a list of places to go and things to do. It took a moment for his eyes to get the message across that there was someone there, someone interesting. Stopping at the corner as the traffic flashed by, he glanced at the man from the corner of his eye, humming quietly to himself.
The humming brought him out of his head, the piece of anatomy in question snapping to face the stranger. Catching himself and trying to pass it off, he whistled, a tune he really enjoyed singing rather than whistling...'Fame'...But he leaned back, seeming casual, as though he were another shrubbery in the planned greenery of the space, chewing his thumbnail again and watching the stranger with hooded lids. An almost reptilian stare, though one with a sparkle of curiosity.
"Bowie, right?" He stopped humming to comment, still facing across the street, watching from the corner of his eye. He flicked his gaze up to the walk signal, which still ordered him to remain where he was, and then back to the man at the corner post.
He grinned, standing up straight and striding carelessly over to the stranger. "Y'know yer shit, lad..." he laughed. "You'd be su'prised 'ow many ain't even 'eard of 'im." He crossed his arms, standing just a little too close, just barely encroaching on that bubble of personal space.
"Eh...prob’ly wouldn't be so surprised, really." He finally turned his head to face the man, keeping his confidence aside from a momentary flash of doubt in his eyes at the breech of space. "Sad seein' how many people wouldn't know good music if it bit'em on th'ass, though."
He laughed again, happy that someone was paying attention to him. There was something a little off in those greenish eyes, something besides their mismatched shades. "Well, laddie, as the song says...whatcha name?" He grinned again and winked, a strange breed of happiness radiating from his form.
"Name's Jack, er Jackie works, too." He watched the man's expression closely. He had a tendency to draw in the crazies, not that that was always so bad, but he liked to keep a hold on who he was talking to when and what was going on. It was a trick of the trade, really. So he pulled a hand from a pocket and offered it for a shake. "How 'bout you? You got a name?"
Shaking the hand vigorously, he put his other hand to his chin, stroking it lightly. "S'pose I oughta 'ave 'n, eh?" He laughed again, a little nervously. "'fraid I 'aven't. Not one I c'n remembah anyway..." Finally releasing the stranger's hand, he stuck it in his jacket pocket, putting the other to the back of his head, closing his eyes slightly, raising his eyebrows and smiling in a grand production of part confusion and part shrugging-it-off.
Jackie raised his eyebrows, taking his hand back as it was released and flexing it before returning it to his pocket. "No name, eh?" On a side thought he looked up at the walk signal again, just in time to see the "Don't Walk" flash back on. Possible escape opportunity number one - gone. "Like any other nemo out there, then. You got a face, but nothin' t'put to it."
Huffing slightly, he crossed his arms again, jerking his head as though flipping some renegade locks of hair behind his shoulder. He sniffed. "S'pose yer right, mate, but it ain't me fault, y'see. Tha's 'urely a diff'rnce. I didn't do i' t'meself."
He raised his hands with a slight smirk. "Hey...no hard feelin's. Didn't mean t'insult ya er nothin'." With a shrug he stuffed his hands into the pockets yet again. "'Sides...m'used t'nemos. 'Course they usually just don't wanna tell me their name. Worried I might come after'em er some shit like that." He laughed. "Too bad its the face I remember better'n th'name."
He shrugged, laughing just a little. "No worries, mate. Jus' get a lil sick a bein' pegged as an addict, what with me looks 'n me 'abits 'n all." Still smiling, he managed to fix his gaze on the other's face, calming his flitty, hyperactive nature for the time being.
"Heh...everybody pegs everybody fer somethin' nowadays. Like that little weasel over there..." Jack grinned and again pulled a hand out, this time pointing fingers like a gun at a nervous little man across the street. "I'll peg him right here an' now..." He fired the mimed gun and caught the eye of the man, who stared at him in wide-eyed terror for a moment before skittering off to cross at a different corner. "I'll peg'im fer dead if'e don't pay off'is debts."
"Eh?" He watched the whole thing, a bit bewildered. "S'pose you ain't new 'round 'eyah. Eithah tha', or ya carry a long grudge." He laughed, again, nervously, eyes darting across the street, and to the man in front of him, his posture getting a little hunched and tense.
"That man...that man gypped a good friend o'mine." Jackie shrugged, turning his head to smile at the other man. "He knows me cuz'e runs smack intah me a lil more often than he'd like. I know him cuz I got a good memory - photographic. I ain't gonna be th'one't kills.”
"Still, mate, 'slil intimidatin' t'be seein' a dead man, if yeh catch m'drift." He licked his lips, casting a quick glance behind him before chewing on a thumbnail again.
"Yeah..." He nodded. "Gotcha..." Casting his eyes around, Jackie gave another slight laugh. "More intimidatin' t'see the guy't kills'im, though." He flashed his grin back to the man. "Hey...I don't wanna miss this walk. Y'wanna catch a drink er somethin'?"
The man's face lit up, not so much from the prospect of alcohol as the invite itself, and the company it meant he'd have. "Soun's like a great idea, mate! Though I gotta b'careful, go' an obsessive nature y'see...'n things don' affect me the way they ought'o sometimes..." He laughed quietly, a little embarrassed, and scratched the back of his head before starting to whistle again, picking up the same tune.
Jackie laughed as the sign flashed to "Walk" and nodded as he crossed the street. "I'll keep that in mind, then, eh?" He grinned at a few passers-by when they gave him strange looks, perhaps in part for the company he was keeping but that didn't didn't really matter. "So, nemo, y'got any places y'like, er is this all up t'me?"
He took long strides as he walked next to the stranger, starting to gesture with his hands a lot as he spoke, since his whole body was moving anyway. "Naw, mate, 'fraid I 'aven't been 'ere much. 'sup t'you. Most a me time's been spent watchin'. Not lookin'. If y'catch me drift." He cast almost overexaggerated glances all around him as they walked, seeming to prove his point. He liked to take everything in that he could, one of the things he got obsessive about sometimes. He started to sing softly to himself, oblivious to his own voice perhaps. "People on streets..." He repeated it a few times before catching himself and laughing.
Jack couldn't help laughing, too, which just succeeded in getting more odd looks. "Alright then, my pick it is." He continued down the street until they hit the edge of the lights and turned to pull open the door to a moderately loud club. The current music blasting out over a sea of swaying limbs was a dancing Goth rock, but as they entered the building it rolled from Bella Morte to The Sex Pistols in one fluid swing. Over the door hung a half-lit sign reading "VanHelsing's Nightmare." Jackie grinned. "S'like a home away from home, if y'catch me. Nice place, really. Vic's th'one't introduced me t'Bowie. Fact, Vic's th'one't introduced me t'alot o'things."
He nodded, a little distracted, a bit taken aback by the rush of smells and sounds and visions. He tried to keep relatively still, so as not to look hopped up on something, but his eyes darted swiftly around to take in the sights. He hadn't been to a place like this before.
"C'mon." Jack motioned for him to follow, smiling cheerfully and tracing a path through the tables off of the dance floor. He aimed for a booth by the end of the bar, tossing himself into the seat nearest to the source of alcohol. "S'a good place, man. Ain't nobody gonna look at y'like yer anything 'less they know fer sure y'are."
He sat down across from Jack, putting his elbows on the table and tenting his hands. He still whipped his head around like a wild man, seemingly impressed by everything, and maybe just a little bit paranoid. "Seems like a decent place..." he said without looking at his companion. He fidgeted a little in his seat before scratching his nose.
Jack laughed, leaning back slightly sprawled in the booth, arms across the back. "So what'll y'have, nemo? I'll grab Vic over here and get us some drinks. 'Course, they got food, too, if y'like. Bill don't matter these days, seein' as I work it off anyway."
Biting his lip, he thought for a moment before speaking, eyes on the writhing bodies on the dance floor. "I think I'd like some meat. Red meat. 'n as far as th' drink...can't have fruit juice innit. That'll make me puke, eh? Beer tends to taste like piss. Wine gives me a frightful 'eadache. So, I guess I'll take anythin' that don't fall under those cate-gories." He grinned, still watching the throng, squinting a little in thought. He fidgeted again, pulling his trench slightly out from under his ass before folding his hands again.
"No fruit, no beer, no wine, and you want red meat. Rightio." Jackie smirked. "How you want the meat, man? I get it like a blood bath." He half turned on the edge of the bench, head still turned to face his new companion.
"Eh, s'pose rare's good as any. Just need t'sink me teeth inta somethin', y'know?" He finally glanced sidelong at Jack, head still turned to face the dance floor. He fidgeted yet again, wiggling his ass a little and rolling his shoulders. He leaned back in the seat, his fingertips on the edge of the table, and started to tap out a tune. A very random tune, the whole of it making him look rather antsy.
"Heh...right..." With a nod, Jack shoved himself to his feet and spun to face the drinks lining the wall, coat flying out slightly around his ankles. He leaned over the bar, ass in the air as he laughed about something with the bartender in the process of making his order. Snickering, he spun back around and tossed himself into his seat again, running one hand back into his hair and pulling some out of the ponytail. "So y'got a music thing goin'." He grinned across the table. "Y'dance?"
He laughed, a little nervously, finally turning to fully face his companion. "Naw, not really. I got 'stage moves,' not really dance moves, y'see." He winked. "Y'know, sometimes I don' even know what the bloody 'ell I'm talkin' 'bout. Y'ever get tha?"
Jack nodded, chuckling. "Yeah. Yeah, I get that." He rested his elbows on the table, still grinning. "An' even when ya got some clue what yer sayin' nobody else seems to get it." The bartender tapped on the wall over his head, and Jack hopped up like he'd done it million times before, coming back with their drinks. "Eh...y'didn't say nothin' 'bout no milk. Y'like White Russians? Cuz that's the first thing't came t'mind." He shoved the milky drink across the table, sipping at the tall red one still in his hand.
He raised an eyebrow. "Oi, fergot t'mention, I gotta lactose 'ntolerance issue what comes 'n goes...sorry, mate, didn' think of it. I gen'rally jus' 'void dairy..." he twisted his face oddly, in a sort of half grimace, half smile, shrugging his shoulders and leaning back all the way against the seat. He stretched his arms along the top of the cushion, crossing his right leg over his left. "'sides, mate, 'm still a bit frightened of alcohol. 'sbeen awhile. Dunno what it'll do..."
Jack shrugged and waved it off. "Eh...no prob, man. Just grab y'water er somethin' when th'food comes up." He sipped at his drink again, absently reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Lighting up, he smirk. "Don't suppose y'smoke, either?"
"I did. I shouldn't." he eyed the pack, laughing a little. "'s'orrible for ya. I don't like coughin'." he licked his lips, turning to face the dance floor again, drumming his hands on the top of the cushions.
With a nod and another shrug, Jack stuffed the pack back into his pocket. "Eh. S'bad habit, yeah. Suppose I'm addicted, er whatnot. Don't have the coughin' prob too much, though." He leaned back. "S'what're y'doin' around here? Hell, what d'ya do at all?"
"I watch." he said, the most seriousness coming into his tone out of all the talking he'd done this evening, his greenish eyes practically boring into Jack's skull as hard as he was staring at him. He blinked slowly, running his thumb and forefinger absentmindedly over the metal plate earring in his right ear. "'n for a time, anyway, I was watched."
