Mine

From Greenthings

Lingering Smoke was depressed.

Not in the way he usually was. Usually what he was was sad, or mildly irritated, or perhaps bored, and overreacting wildly in an attempt to cheer himself up. It wasn't hard, after all, to start feeling down in the Underworld, where most of the people you met could only vaguely recall what an emotion was, portals to eternal unnatural nothingness dotted the landscape, and in a stunning display of physical laws confusing the symbolic for the literal, color was sucked out of everything that wasn't living flesh. There didn't seem to be much point to life if you didn't ramp things up a few notches- not that living in Creation would have stopped him, really.

He didn't feel much like overacting lately. Or much else.

The lion had left. That was supposed to be a good thing. The butterfly and the little bird left with him; that wasn't. While he'd given some reason that sounded less embarassing, he'd been far too stubborn to accept the offer to go with them to do the lion's business. Everyone else he'd had any contact with had either moved on or thought of him as that creepy blue-haired Anathema whom they tolerated out of fear.

So he made himself useful, like he always had, (to people who didn't want to have anything to do with him, which had never mattered before) because if nothing else, he knew that if he didn't, somehow the great God of the Underworld would have nothing better to do than show up somewhere and make him feel even more guilty about the whole not-dead-yet massive-magical-power thing. Jerk.

Until one day, he saw something.

There were forests outside of Sijan in the daytime. They weren't the nicest forests in Creation, but they were beautiful in the way life tends to inherently be. Occasionally, one could even fine birds singing there, or squirrels crunching on something, or a particularly dumb rabbit scurrying in the underbrush. Eventually Smoke got sick of being depressed, and for lack of anything more concrete to do, he went tromping through those forests. If nothing else, it was a nice day out, and there might be some terrible menace that needed to be heroicly driven away. He took his spear, just in case.

There are actually were some nice things to see in the forest that day. There was indeed light, and two squirrels, and a number of other minor things. Including- he could've sworn- something out of the corner of his eye that flashed silver.

He turned to look (a part of his mind thinking someone had returned) to see a crow. It was damnable big for a crow, thick and dreadful-looking, and it was staring straight at him with something wiggly in its beak.

He stared right back at it, his eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. It shook the thing in its beak and swallowed. Crunch, crunch. Drip.

Ew, thought Smoke. He squinted and shook his finger at it.

It continued to stare. He continued to stare back. This continued for several minutes.

"If you are a Lunar..." he smirked at it, "you'd better not be making any trouble in my city, bird."

The bird shook its wings a little, but said (as one might expect) nothing. Smoke turned back around with a little flourish and continued his march.

By the time he was back to the city proper, he was whistling happily.

---

The next few days were relatively quiet, if a bit weird. Smoke's dreams (inasmuch as there were ever dreams) had been different; they weren't the usually boring Whispers of other people's daily affairs long past, and they weren't about the butterfly or what had happened. It was a little thing that he kept dreaming, inconsequential enough to forget quite what it was upon awakening, but the little bits he could get left the world with a soft white haze to it. He still felt like shit- being one of those unfortunate situations where he'd feel terrible if he didn't feel terrible- but there was something else there as well. Whether he'd gained a bit of hope, or the walk cheered him up, or just becoming bored with feeling like that, he didn't much care.

There were fresh apples in the market. He snatched a couple of them and hopped up onto a rooftop overlooking the city.

Little lantern-lights flickered around the streets, white and pale red and green, new ones that still had the bright shining color of light. He stared off unfocused into the distance, and the light softened into what passed for a horizon; he smiled and bit into one of the apples.

A bald little man was looking fearfully at him from a window. Smoke waved cheerily.

"M... Mister Abyssal? C- could I, ah- ah- there's a message for you, please?"

He sat up slowly and started paying real attention. That was unusual. "Do tell, then, my good man. Who sent it?"

"Ahhh, he- he didn't say." The ghost bit his lip. "A Western guy, in white robes. He said he needed to- to talk to the- to the Abyssal with the blue hair. About a spear. He thought you lived over here."

"Huh." About a spear? Either that was a threat, or someone was interested in that Dire Lance he'd picked up. "Well, I don't believe there are that many blue-haired Abyssals around, so that's probably me. Good job, man."

The ghost tittered nervously, unsure whether that was sarcasm. "Y- yes, ah. Should I be telling him anything if he returns, Mister Anathema sir?"

Smoke looked briefly hurt. "Uh, sure. If he wants to talk to me, I'm taking care of that old brothel."

"The... House of Sanguine Pleasure, you mean?"

What a horrible name. "Yeah. That."

"Oh, all right, yes. Yes, thank you sir." The little man went away nodding, muttering more fearful apologies and prayers to the Dragons under his breath. Smoke shrugged to himself and went back to eating his apple.

After a while, he brushed off and returned home. The place had seemed even bigger since Sarien left; the little guy'd never taken up much space (the lion's fucking army had had trouble looking like they took up space there) but it was still his Manse, and the place echoed without him. The door creaked open, and Smoke wound his way up to the rooms that were actually being lived in.

There was a man sitting in a chair in the living room, reading one of Smoke's playbooks in the dirty light from the window.

He blinked slowly and digested this.

"You know, I am aware this place has terrible security, but it's still rude not to knock."

The man looked up from behind the book and gave him a bored look, before putting it down and getting up from the chair. "That's rich, given your reputation."

Ah, this would be the Western guy. Smoke smirked; if he thought he was being clever just by sneaking in, there likely wasn't much to worry about. "Mmhmm. So I have something you want?"

"Yes. I would like to have that spear."

"Okay..." The man wouldn't stop glaring. As if he were the one being stepped on, here. Really. "Well, it's mine, so what are-"

"That is not yours." More glare. Glare, glare, glare. Sheesh. "How did you get it?"

He sighed. "Look, whoever was buried with it had long since moved on; I made sure of that. I understand the- the symbolism and everything, but really, it's just something someone threw in a tomb." He considered the white-and-silver motif and tried sympathetic. "It wasn't even a Lunar's tomb, if that's what you're worried about."

"You have not answered the question."

"Haven't I?"

"I asked you how you got it, not why it was taken from the tomb."

"Hey!" he snarled. "You think I couldn't have done it myself?"

There was another icy silence, longer this time. Smoke forcibly lowered his hackles and cleared his throat. "Look, do you want the damn thing or not? I don't want to fight you for it."

The man's glare softened a bit, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "I suppose you were a Solar once."

"Ah. Someone was," he happily went back to smirking. "You're a bit well-read, to know that."br>
"More than a bit, but not to know that." He began walking towards Smoke.

"Uh," Smoke said. He didn't think the man was a threat (for whatever reason, part of him thought), but...

"You may keep the spear," the probably-a-Lunar grinned.

It was not the sort of grin that could have been called happy, but it wasn't a snarl or a grimace, either. He stepped slowly closer, and Smoke backed away in confusion until he hit the wall.br>
"What the hell are you doing?"

He kept grinning. Ah, the right word was 'predatory'. "You're not very perceptive, are you."

"That doesn't-"

Whatever he was about to say was lost, along with every other rational thought. The guy in the robes came right up to him and grabbed his wrist. Some part of him was screaming at the rest to get away, that this guy was obviously not going to take no for an answer and what the hell was wrong-

All of a sudden, the man's hand slid down into Smoke's and a brief light of comprehension dawned on him. A nice familiar cold light that was pinning him to the wall and sliding its tongue into his mouth. For a moment, every part of him was in agreement that this was a good thing, and he happily relaxed and allowed himself to be pawed at.

When his mind caught up with himself, he bolted.

The man leaned against the wall where another person had just been, cringing and covering his ear (oops?) as the Abyssal skittered off to one side.

"What is wrong?"

"Just- hold on." Smoke held up his hands. "What the hell?"

"You are disturbingly unperceptive."

Searching for words, he came up with little. His conscious mind was too busy damming up the flood-gates, trying to keep out the knowledge of exactly who that guy must be, to think of anything witty to say to that; but his pride's response, at least, was only slightly damp. "Not," he wavered slightly, "that, the... damnit, I don't even know your name!"

"Oh. Well." The definitely-a-Lunar inclined his head in confusion, and smiled. "I am Michael Vanguard, possibly better known as the White Crow. I've actually heard of you."

"Heard of me." Oh splendid, something he knew how to deal with. "Well, I would hope it's one of the more flattering reputations; I do have several."

"I believe you spent a bit of time gaining one as a mortal. Some minor scavenger, preying on the dead?"

The guy was obviously amused; Smoke snarled icily at him. Okay, he wasn't the best priest-of-the-dead in the world, but that just wasn't on. That was also the second insult, and getting old quickly.

"You're cute when you're angry," Michael purred.

And there went that train of thought, along with all remaining vestige of ignorance, as the flood rolled in. He hid his face in his hand.

"So. You are..."

"...Michael."

"Damnit, not that-"

"Then what-"

"I... but it, I-"

"What? Just say it."

Smoke sighed. "I'm sorry, I'm not attracted to men."

That got him a blank stare. He tried smiling and shrugging cutely in apology before realizing that was probably not the best response in the given context and in fact kind of really creepy to have been the first thing that entered his mind. He brushed absently at his sleeve; whatever had passed between them felt like it had stuck under his skin there and was slowly winding its way through the rest of him, tying itself to hooks he wasn't previously aware existed.

The next attempt at communication was trying to look seriously, straight into the other man's eyes until he understood. Still a blank stare.

"You certainly didn't seem... Er."

"Yes, well, I..." Isn't this nice and awkward. "I guess the... bond, thing..."

"But it- it doesn't do that, generally." Michael sputtered softly. "It enhances emotional attachment within boundaries previously existing within the affected parties."

"Well, the other thing..."

Watching the expression on the Abyssal's face, Michael began to understand. He was uncomfortable and embarrassed, not confused- and not that embarrassed, either. There was obviously a story in this, though he wasn't sure he wanted to hear it. "The Eternal Vow is powerful enough to incite affection without cause, but... that isn't what you seem to be bothered by, however.""

Smoke sighed again nervously and glanced away. The light outside the window was getting very slowly brighter; it would be daylight again soon. "I'm not bothered, I just... really wasn't expecting this.""

There was a strained silence.

"Then what is it you feel like doing about this, exactly?"

Running away. Touching you again. Punching you in the face for doing this to me. Whatever you want me to do.

The corner of his mouth twitched, and slowly pulled itself into a sheepish grin. "Well, ah- how long will you be in town?"