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Numerous Halloween festivities are underway, and mutant children are running to and fro with their costumes and pillow cases or little paper bags or plastic pumpkins for candy collecting. The celebration at Eight Ball is easily at its height, but Halgrim has work in the morning, and so he's bowed out in favor of getting well and *truly* plastered. He did promise to bring the outfit back to Nathan in one piece.
It's a lovely costume, all-told; handmade, from the look of it, with a black frock coat and vest, crisp white shirt, and brown leather boots. Silver plated fastenings and embroidery on the coat and vest catch the street lights and gleam. There's even a proper tricorn and a reasonable (if still plainly fake) flintlock pistol replica secured to the heavy belt.
Children stop occasionally to yell 'Arrrr' and 'Ahoy' at him, and Halgrim varies between returning the favor or bowing to their parents in an entirely off-period manner. It's been a nice night, the least he can do is enjoy his walk home.
*
No costume for the Jackal this evening - but that doesn't keep him from indulging curiosity. Like a stray animal drawn to distant noise and animation, he's meandered over into Mutant Town. Mind, he's also getting a better lay of the land. He may need to continue visiting the area as is, given his tentative connections with a certain garage-bound gang. As such, he's simply walking up the street with hands in his pockets. In his dark coat and jeans, he's not looking out of place here, but remains an oddity to the regulars of the neighborhood. No knitted stocking cap this evening, surprisingly enough. He's very certain to step to one side and allow the families to pass rather than risking bumping against anyone, so it makes for slow work reaching one stop sign to another, but…he's got all the time in the world. Plus, the costumes are endearing in their ways, especially on the little ones.
The sound of yet another piratical greeting is cause for him to crane his neck to see farther up the sidewalk. Oh, that's…not half-bad, actually. The frock coat appears fairly period-accurate. And then Ambrose recognizes the face, even at this distance.
"…you've got to be bloody joking," he mutters, his lips curling into a pleased smirk. All too easy to slip over to lean against one of the nearby street-lamps and pretend that he's searching his pockets for a smoke. Once Halgrim's within hailing distance, his comment floats over the low murmur of the pockets of crowd: "A tricorn. How quaint. You're missing lace on the sleeves, professor." No missing that accent even as Ambrose drags eyes from boots to aforementioned hat.
*
Halgrim pauses midstride, frowning at first, only to smile when he sees who it is. He opens his arms so Ambrose can see the entire thing, lets them fall to his side with a small flourish. "Like it? The theater department loaned it to me. Specifically the head costumer, when I told him what I had in mind he was beside himself and refused to let me leave without something appropriate." He glances at his wrists, shrugs. "I think he was concerned the lace would get dirty, or he'd have put me in the right shirt."
His eyebrows go up. "Enjoying the holiday?" He turns to look around at the children running about with their costumes. "It's such a novelty, something we really should have back home. An entire celebration for dressing up and eating candy. What could be better."
*
"Truly," Ambrose comments evenly even as he has to rotate around the pole in order to avoid a giggling trio of siblings running down the block, heedless of their father a few yards back. The kids get a glare, but there's not much heat in it. "I can't think of many things much better. Mmm…" and he tilts his head slightly in thought. "Dressing up and drinking fine gin, that might be best. I do miss the Twenties every now and then…such reckless hedonism."
His eyes slide back to Halgrim and along the costume once more. "Your head costumer was correct. The lace would stain easily and possibly get your person trapped. I would have made great mockery of the man, had he chosen to fit you as such - and, of course, yourself by proxy of wearing the faux-pas. You'd no longer be a pirate, but a fop." A fast grin that disappears just as quickly. "Still…such luck that we'd cross paths this evening. I half expected to see our fellow creation wandering about in that oversized drapery of his." Ambrose looks dead at Halgrim as he says this, watching to see just how quickly he catches onto the reference to none other than Adam himself.
*
"Oh yes," Halgrim says, grinning at the children as they careen by; he gives the father a sympathetic glance. Once they're out of earshot, he continues, "Reckless hedonism, because the entire continent was struggling and ultimately failing to cope with the horror which was the first war." He sighs, sounding a little morose; shakes it off the next second. No, he has three good beers in him and an amazing costume on. No brooding! It's not allowed.
"I think you mean I would be a foppish pirate," he says, pointing at the hat. "And would that *really* be so bad? I needn't be the likeness of Blackbeard, no matter than I could," he rubs his own, actually black beard, "claim such."
He blinks, puzzling over 'fellow creation', because for several seconds he's wondering just what Ambrose does know about him. Then it occurs to him he's using the term quite differently, and he puts the reference together. "Adam?" He smiles, wryly. "So I take it you've run into him again." He looks around them, shakes his head. "No, this…is not a good time, for him. His likeness is plastered everywhere and associated with fear and loathing." A small sigh. He can't quite feel the same, even though his other face is being used the same way. They don't know what she actually looks like, nor who she actually is. It's not the same thing to him (though he has to wonder how she'd feel if she saw one of the masks).
*
Realizing now, after having heard Halgrim speak several times, that the man has been drinking, Ambrose keeps his comment in regards to the costume to: "You'd make a spectacularly foppish pirate." And bonus points to himself to keeping his amusement to a polite minimum, where it hovers around the corners of his lips.
He then watches the professor process his words and does to get to wondering if he'd somehow been more opaque than intended, given the current intoxication level, but then he appears to have been understood. "He mentioned as such, in regards to his appearance…after he'd ghosted out of the gloom like a ruddy ghoul. Explain something to me, Lindqvist. What in the bloody blazes would he find so interesting in me?" He gives Halgrim a flat look, as if he were to blame for this circumstance. "And I'm fully aware that we've similar upbringings, for all that you can call his as such, so don't go about attempting that as your answer." He folds his arms. Hmph. He's not about to go revealing how he ascended a light-pole in less than four seconds after Adam did his ghosting. Embarrassing, that.
*
Halgrim listens to Ambrose go on about Adam with steadily increasing interest. And then he just laughs. It's not *just* the beer; he'd laugh good and long at such a haughty demand stone cold sober. The beer just makes it funnier, and the fact that it's Ambrose compounds things.
He clears his throat and gets himself under control. "You sound put out by the encounter," he observes, grave in the fakest manner possible. A deep breath in and out, and he puts the brief bout of laughter behind him. He considers the question properly. "I suppose it has to do with your similar situations. You're both ageless, yes?" He tilts his head. "You've both walked through decade after decade of life among humanity, removed from it in your own ways." A small, sad smile. "For a variety of reasons I don't care to discuss, there is a similar thing between him and I as well. And, it's…rare for him, to find someone to connect with. Someone who knows, what it is he faces." He hesitates, adds, "I wouldn't be in a hurry to cast such a thing aside. He's a good man."
*
The flat look given by the Jackal just increases in intensity at the laughter. A sniff and Ambrose glances to one side, even out across the street as Halgrim attempts to compose himself once more. Apparently, he's not even going to dignify the relative cackling. Once the professor speaks, his attention slips back. A sigh that mists before his face and he rolls his shoulders as if vaguely uncomfortable with the entire thought process put forth.
"He appears to be as such…a gentleman in action if not in vision. Bloody hell, his…" — face, is implied as the master-thief draws a circle towards his own. "He is exceedingly tolerant. I suppose…given continued peaceful actions in my presence, I could see myself conversing with him properly." It's a hesitant offering of a thought and it sounds as if even the speaker hasn't come to a full conclusion on his own opinions. "Ageless, however…? Of him, I did not know this. That makes a terrible amount of sense, given the…" A pause, little snap of fingers as if to jog the wording. "Volume of his essence."
*
Halgrim arches a brow at Ambrose as he stumbles over describing Adam's countenance. "Not everyone is as blessed in that area as you or me, Atherton." He chases that with a coy little smile, there and gone in a moment.
"He is honorable. If he's said he has no intentions of harming you, then he means it. There's no reason for him to dissemble on that, particularly not with the likes of you or myself. It gains him nothing, and possibly loses him something unique and irreplaceable—a touchstone in his life."
His mouth flattens as Ambrose mentions 'volume of essence', and he shakes his head in exasperation. "Yes of course, he was probably curious," he mutters.
*
Another small tilt of his head, as if Ambrose isn't entirely certain of what he just heard pass the professor's lips — blessed, is he? As if a decision's finally reached a tipping point, there's a fine and keen light in his nadir-blue eyes as he too sports a sly smile. It's not unkind…more a fencer recognizing a fellow sportsman. The grin fully reveals itself as he finally gets an irritated reaction out of Halgrim.
"Dreadfully curious. But it killed no cat and satisfaction was found on his part. He's got a singular…depth to his energy. I look forwards to sampling it further — with permission, Lindqvist," he's sure to add, holding up a peremptory finger. "God knows I wouldn't want to annoy the man. He could cuff a bull in mid-charge and send the thing reeling. I would hate to mar the blessing that is my face and person," he adds lightly, his grin not having fully vanished entirely and left as a moonbow's curl.
*
Halgrim snorts, shakes his head. "You need not worry about retribution from me on Adam's behalf, Atherton, as you seem to understand he'll manage that quite well on his own. He's not so young, nor has he lived a life that's deprived him of experiences such as running—" He stops himself, seems to reconsider his words. "Such as running across someone with abilities on a level like yours." Unlike, say…Elmo. "I've no expectation I could protect him from much of anything that he couldn't handle on his own. I suppose it's possible, but…" He thinks that over, lifts a shoulder in resignation.
"Come now," he says, lifting his chin. "Are you going to tell me you've sauntered around for eighty years under the impression you're unfortunately favored?" His tone turns arch. "You're nowhere near a good enough liar to convince me you're burdened by such modesty."
*
"Anything is possible…" Ambrose agrees quietly, giving the professor a searching look. He's still uncertain as to precisely how that collective will emerge from the man, but no sign of those eerie golden eyes just yet. Well and truly, he's not concerned for Adam. A good thing, the Jackal decides as he shifts in his lean against the telephone pole.
The sudden sally in conversation has Ambrose's expression yet again lightening a touch. He can't help the restrained smile and glances away almost demurely to one side, itching at his jawline briefly. "It is a terrible burden," he reveals with a mocking thespian's angst. "Born and raised into such restraint, I was. Would that I could fully shed it and indulge in what God has graced me, but…maybe it is that I have become translucent in my old age. Perhaps now I'm more akin to a fine wine than the hot kick of newly-ryed whiskey. A full-bodied red…" Halgrim receives a knowing hooded look. Now someone's suspicious as to inclinations. "Your astute observation is something for me to mull over in my quiet hours, and for this, I thank you, Lindqvist. Such little favors you do me, whether you'd like it or not."
*
"I suppose, but," Halgrim's expression becomes distant for a moment, like he's trying to imagine any sort of scenario where Adam would be at risk and he — or his other face — would be of reasonable help. He dismisses that with a shake of his head. "Not likely. Which is fine. I need not insist on protecting everyone." A droll little smile for the reminder that there are *other* people he *does* intend to protect, since he can. Mostly.
He laughs again, hearty and long now that Ambrose isn't looking so surly. Elmo's request is ever on his mind. "'Restraint', is *that* what your contemporaries were known for teaching one another?" He doesn't sound like he really agrees on that point. He chuckles, narrows his eyes as he considers Ambrose. "Translucent? Mmm, it's true, you're a little on the pale side — not quite so much that we can see your blood vessels, but it's a near thing." He gives the topic of which alcohol to compare Ambrose to serious thought. "No, you're much too — reserved and brooding and acerbic for a red." He bites his lip. "Absinthe, perhaps," he decides. "A proper one, not any of that junk that gets peddled."
*
Ambrose sucks at one of his canine teeth, allowing the tic to show from behind parted lips. An arched brow and a roll of his eyes, though he does laugh quietly once. "Absinthe. Ye gods. I won't necessarily argue with the similarities in what I can enact in the human mind, much like the drink. Still, that I require sugar? Puh." A shake of his head, still smirking. "I haven't had a good glass of absinthe in…nearly sixty years. Perhaps I should indulge one evening." A sotto-voce musing to himself, primarily. Then a softer, almost darker run of chuckling. "Wormwood. Lindqvist, you're too kind. Indeed…I am a risk."
He still pulls out one hand, rolls it wrist up, and flicks up his sleeve to consider the skin. "Hmm. I blame the northern hemisphere. I've not had good color in years."
*
Halgrim groans, waves a hand. "Please, all of that was exaggerated by prohibitionists. Absinthe's no more dangerous to the mind than any *other* alcohol. Of course," he surveys Ambrose, "you could take this to mean that your reputation is worse than the actuality of your effect, if you wish." A lift of his brows, inviting speculation that he may or may not be aware that his own aversion of Ambrose's abilities isn't precisely warranted.
He frowns. "I never cared to add sugar to it myself. I know that's typical, but it never tasted like it was necessary. It's a little rough and bitter like that, but isn't that the point?" He smiles, quick and sly, suggesting he probably means that to be taken another way as well. He considers his own hands. "Eh, it's true, I too looked a bit more like my mother's people when I was in the Mediterranean more frequently. These last few years have left me properly Nordic." He gestures to the south. "Clearly, an excursion into the south of this country is warranted. I've heard Florida is very nice."
*
Halgrim gets a cool little smile in regards to his thoughts on absinthe. "I just might take it as such," Ambrose replies quietly. His eyes shift beyond the professor briefly at an odd sound, but it's just someone shutting a door loudly as they arrive home far later than usual due to foot traffic.
"Florida is not to my liking. Too populated." In comparison to New York? What? "I did appreciate San Francisco during my brief stay there, but…" A lift of one hand in a shrug. "Here I am now, in this bloody place. Are you suggesting that I take my rough and bitter self far, far from here, professor? I'm wounded. And here I felt we had reached a consensus as to my presence within your territory." A sharper grin now.
*
"Find a reputable bottle of it first," Halgrim warns with a raised hand. "I imagine the use of sugar is directly correlated with how unbelievably bad some of it can taste. The last good…" He stops, his expression going carefully neutral. "The, last good bottle I had was in Zurich, with Anna-Lise." He sighs, soldiers past that memory. "It's originally from Switzerland, so I'm not surprised there are Swiss makers who can still craft it properly."
He pulls a face. "San Francisco doesn't get nearly enough sun. But, I've heard the *southern* coast of California is very lovely. An alternative, if you don't care for Florida's," he arches an eyebrow, looks around them, "population issues. I was of course referring to myself, but you're welcome to join me," he smiles in a way which shows his teeth, "where I can keep a proper eye on you."
*
That last bit is enough to really crack Ambrose's fencing mask. Both dark brows lift. "…good god, man, you can't be serious? You want me to join you on such an escapade? Granted, I've got unresolved business here and there's no such thing as a vacation in my instance, but — " Another lift of hand, this time allowing it to drop. "Never mind Swiss absinthe. I call your bluff, Lindqvist. Alcohol has dulled your senses. You tolerate me at best."
*
Halgrim sighs, smiles at what feels a little bit like a victory. "It's true, several days or, weeks, would probably strain both of us. We'd have to bring Adam, as a buffer, perhaps." He lets that visual sink in: Adam, in Southern California. Adam, on the beach.
He can't keep it up, he laughs, low and rueful. "Ah, even if you and I could stand one another for more than an hour, I can't go on an excursion like that. Not yet. I'm too much of a…" His good humor dims. "Too much of a risk still. However, it's a fine concept to amuse myself with on this," he raises a hand to indicate the chilly October evening, "fall evening. Mmmm? Dream of summer even as it slips further away."
*
Oh, how that visual sinks in. Ambrose's eyes roam about, up and into the sky briefly as he wrinkles his nose. Oh. That visual. It's barely computes, apparently. A small shake of his head and he looks back to Halgrim, now frowning.
"Indeed. Summer dreams. Hmph." A short hollow huff, a laugh that died even before it left his lips. "Things of wisps and dust and painful memories." Bitter and rough, oh yes. His eyes slide to one side now, unable to meet those beneath the brim of the tricorn hat. "Too much of a risk indeed…" The Jackal echoes the man quietly. "No doubt we'd be at each other's throats within the hour. I've never been one to play nicely." Despite having his face averted, the attempt at the smile can be seen to succeed; it's still too sharp for kind humor.
*
A hint regret flits across Hagrim's own features. He moves on to the more amusing notion of a trip in which they didn't attempt to kill one another rather than allowing it to linger. "That's why we'd need Adam, he wouldn't tolerate it," he explains, his tone lightening. "He'd sit on one of us and hold the other at arm's length. Quite effective, I suspect. I imagine he can keep it up for some time if needed."
Around them the evening festivities are drawing to a close, and Halgrim stifles a yawn behind the arm of his frock coat. "Well, if you don't mind, Lieutenant," another one of those horrible bows, "I have a test to administer in the morning, and a discussion group in the afternoon."
*
"No doubt he could keep us from feuding," Ambrose agrees nearly sotto-voce. He appears rueful now, but only in a fleeting facet. The cloak of dignity he draws about himself again even as he finally meets Halgrim's eyes again. The yawn is enough to make his lips curl at one corner. "Not at all, professor. Perhaps divest yourself of the costume before the exam, hmm? Your students might not take you seriously in your tricorn."
*
"He could, but of course, then it wouldn't be much of a vacation for him, mmmm?" Halgrim raises his eyebrows. "So I suppose before we can make such a trip to Catalina we'll have to work up to a minimum of a few hours without going for one another's throats. That should take us until, oh, next June, I think." He smiles in a fierce little challenge.
"On the contrary," he doffs the hat in a flourish, puts it back on, "I expect them to be able to address me without so much as a smile, or their grade will be slashed in half." He raises his chin, haughty and aloof, breaks the facade a moment later with a laugh. "Ah, no, I am to return it first thing in the morning. But what fun that would be, to give a lecture of lead a discussion group in this." Uhoh, he might be making plans for next year.
He waves a hand. "At any rate. How is it the Americans put it? Happy Halloween, Atherton. I'm off to Port Royal." He turns and resumes his walk home, pausing to indulge various pedestrians as he goes.
*