neutral_omens | (no subject)

Date: December 12, 1999
Status: Public
Setting: The Lobby
Summary: De Carabas arrives at the Manor

When the marquis blinked, he was in a lobby.

He blinked again, just at the strange sensation, then smiled. Door had done as he'd asked, after all. All of their debts were cleared. Nothing tied him to London Below any more... at least, nothing important. He looked around in interest at the nice room, amused when he considered how he must look: dirty Victorian garb, a ragged piece of cloth around his throat, frock coat still slightly unrecovered from its adventures among the Sewer Folk. He hadn't bathed recently, either; that was something he'd gotten used to, but knew others might find abhorrent. Especially having come from London Below, where it would really be prudent to bathe once a day, at least.

De Carabas walked up to the reception desk, ringing the small bell sitting there. He smiled, moving back to lean against the wall, relaxing against it. His eyes darted around the room, white in a dark face.

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"It is," de Carabas agreed, his own voice quiet. "You understand that I can't simply keep carrying it around on my person. It isn't that I don't trust Adam Young, but I have had to use this quite recently..."

He hesitated almost imperceptibly, then reached up and pulled down the cloth around his neck slightly, revealing a scar across his throat.

"I'd feel safer having the option open," he concluded after a moment, pulling the ascot back up to cover the scar once more.

Wednesday was surprised, and quite frankly a little unnerved, but the only outward appearance of it was a slight widening of his eyes. It took quite an ordeal to leave a mark on a rejuvinated body. He was both curious and appaled at the force this Croup and Vandemar had exerised on his friend. He would have more questions later, but now was not the time. With determination he took his grey sportcoat off and layed it over the top of the bar, then rolled up the crisp white sleeve of his shirt. Taking the backing off of the world-tree tie pin, he etched a mark into his wrist, dark red blood pooling in a wide sideways V.
"I'd offer to heal your throat, but some scars are better kept... and now, I offer you a new one."
His eyebrows raised. "I leave the option open to you."

This time, the marquis's eyes widened. Looking at the bloody mark on Wednesday's wrist, he slowly shook his head. "No..." de Carabas said, "you're right, of course. I will keep my scars, for now." He smiled, then, and it was one of his more true smiles. "Thank you for offering, Wednesday. I do appreciate the gesture."

Wednesday licked his thumb and rubbed it over the mark, leaving untouched skin in its wake. "Well both offers stand open to you. But I do insist on some sort of bind. I was hoping the blood would save me from drinking anymore diabetic piss, but I suppose kinship is not for everyone. It leaves up the mead." He waved his hand over the bartop and six glasses of yellowish liquid appeared. "You understand, I'm a creature of tradition." He winked at the Marquis and thrust a glass into the man's hand, taking on himself. "To our respective tasks." He tinked his glass against the other and swallowed it in one gulp. "Jesus bloody Christ it gets worse every time."

The marquis raised an eyebrow at the liquid, then closed his eyes and downed it.

Now, the marquis de Carabas had eaten and drunk many things, quite a few of them horrible. But then, the same could be said for the All-Father, of course, and he wasn't very happy about the drinks himself.

De Carabas began coughing, eyes watering slightly. When he calmed some, he took a deep breath, giving Wednesday a look of amazement. "I was going to express my trust by not asking, but what is that?"

"Diabetic Goat Piss, also known as honey wine," Wednesday said as he downed the next glass. "Quite a favorite with the people who once worshiped me. Never could stand it myself. Thank *me* my people got over to American on the first wave and cultivated more discerning tastes." he grimaced. "But it would be a sorry statement if I didn't at least adhere to tradition on momentus occaisions."

The marquis nodded in acknowledgement and downed his next glass, then the third. He barely coughed after the second, and third only earned a grimace before he gave Wednesday a wry smile. "The alternatives must have been abominable for your worshippers to enjoy this."

Wednesday shook his head. "No, you see thats the thing. They *liked* the stuff. And they didn't mind throwing themselves onto burning pyres, or jumping into freezing water. Masochists, all of them." He smirked. "Don't get me wrong, I approved of it, but the Aesir never really dealt with humans too much. You know, other then to mess them about." He looked meaningfully at the six empty glasses. "Well, thats it, then. It is sealed."

The marquis bowed his head. "Indeed. Whatever you need me for, Wednesday, you need only request." He set the silver box on the counter, pushed it across to Wednesday. "You will, of course, know what to do with it if the time comes."

"Of course." Wednesday took the box gently in his hand and made a design on the lid. Suddenly the box wasn't there anymore. "As for your end of the bargain, I'll be contacting you soon." He leered. "Nothing says Merry Christmas like a nice bit of deception." He stood and straightened his suit. "I wish you good night, Marquis. I'm glad that you're here."

The marquis nodded, standing himself. "I, too, am exceedingly glad to see a familiar face," he said. "Good night to you as well, All-Father. I'm sure I'll be seeing you very soon."