neutral_omens | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Date: February 7, 2000
Setting: Tadfield Manor
Status: Public
Summary: Mr. Young visits Adam.

Mr. Young drove his carefully maintained little car down the long driveway to Tadfield Manor. He hadn't actually been here since Adam's birth nearly twenty years ago, but he was pleased to see how well-maintained and tidy the grounds remained. The old building seemed to be in good condition, too. He'd heard that there had been a fire, but no trace of it remained. It was nice to see people keeping up the artifacts of the past, he thought.

Pulling to a stop, he parked the car, set the emergency brake just in case, and stepped out. Leaning back in, he released the lever to the seat, allowing Dog to jump out. The animal had almost seemed to know where he was going because he'd been insistent about coming along. Locking the door, Mr. Young closed it with just enough force for it to catch and headed up the Manor steps.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Mr. Young looked disappointed. "Then you don't know where I can find him, then?" He sighed. "At least it sounds like the boy hasn't been getting into too much trouble."

His eyes roamed the entry. "I haven't been here since just before it burned down. Adam was born here, you know. It looks like they did a quality job with the remodeling at least, although I'm not sure I'll be able to find my way around now. Is there anyone here who could act as a guide?"

Uriel shook his head apologetically. "I'm sorry, but I have no idea where he is at the moment," he said. "I'm not really the best person to ask, though; I don't much talk with people. As for a guide, though, I recommend you ring the bell. It worked for me." He pointed at the small bell on the front desk. "I apologize for not being much of a help," he then added.

"Quite all right," said Mr. Young politely. "Thank you anyway." And he took his leave of the reserved Mr. Green.

Calling on Dog to heel, he strode up to the Manor desk and tapped the little silver bell sharply.

Adam came barreling down the stairs three at a time to get to the lobby. He took a sharp turn and saw Mr. Young standing at the front desk waiting for someone to come by.

"Dad! Dog! Welcome to Tadfield Manor!"

He flung out a proprietary arm and beamed happily.

Dog, who had, up until a few seconds ago, been investigating the fact that he felt and smelled quite strongly that there were traces of both angelic and demonic presence in the building--

--together--

--in quite close quarters at frequent intervals for quite some time (if he had only known how close)--

decided bewilderment was not a viable option as soon as he realized, with that instinct that was part olfactory and part just-plain-sense, that Adam was approaching the lobby.

Something in the region of his diaphragm simultaneously collapsed and imploded. To hell (metaphorically speaking) with Mr. Young and his stodgy flavourless shoes. With the momentum of a Great Dane, the rabbit-hole sized Dog flung himself full-heartedly at Adam, his face saying all the dozen things appropriate for this situation, mostly: "How dare you abandon me this long?" and "the food here is excellent, I hope" and, predominantly, "I know you have had a hard time getting by without incident without your loyal watchdog--err, hellhound--but never fear, despite the dramatic feelings of betrayal he is suffering, he is again here to ward off all beasts--angelic and demonic and mortal--with designs on your life, your bedroom, or, if you aren't around, your dirty laundry." It also managed a fair bit of: "This looks like excellent rat-prowlin' land."

Dogs' faces can say a lot.

Mr. Wednesday strolled toward the lobby swilling his Jack. Whoever rang that damned bell could just wait for him to finish mixing his drink.

He acknowledge Adam with a respectful nod of his head once he entered the room. Wednesday smiled when he saw Dog. He always had a soft spot for canines, his wolves Freki and Geri had always been so loyal. He put his hand down for the animal to sniff.

As he spotted Mr. Young, though, he raised his eyebrows curiously. The kid was way too young for this guy. "Can I help you all?"

"Hallo, Mr. Wednesday," said Adam. "No, we don't need anythin' in particular at the moment. But I'd like you to meet my father, Mr. Young. Dad, this is Mr. Wednesday. He's the maitre'd."

He grinned and pushed Dog towards Mr. Wednesday's hand. "And this is my dog. His name is Dog."

Adam laughed and caught Dog in mid-jump. Snuggling him to his chest and burying his face in his short fur, he said softly, "I missed you, too, Dog."

Wednesday extended his hand to shake with Mr. Young, nearly ripping Adam's father's arm out in the process. After centuries of weidling spears and handling the reigns of an eight-legged steed, the old god had formidable upper body strength.

"Good to meet you Young." His real eye made an apprasing scan of the man before him. If Mr. Young had been around during the viking age, and been aboard ship during any conquests, Wednesday would have put him in the kitchens.

Wednesday kneeled next to Dog."'Dog,' eh? What a fitting name." His face broke into a smile. Still petting Dog, Wednesday directed his attention back to Mr. Young. "What brings you to the manor, Mr. Young?"

Rubbing his arm surreptitiously, Mr. Young smiled proudly.

"My son, of course. This is his first time away from home, living on his own, and I wanted to make sure he was among good company. I wouldn't want him to be taken advantage of, you know. Boys can be so gulliable at this age, as I'm sure you remember. Wont to go in for strange things. I admit that I'm reassured to meet such respectable men as you and Mr. Green so soon after arriving. That says good things for the house. Good things, indeed."

Wednesday was not a 'laugh-out-loud' type of diety. (Well, except on occaisons, such as after completion of a particularily good con-jobs. Then he could manage a guffaw). He was hard pressed, then, when Mr. Young laid out some of the most ridiculous tripe he'd ever heard.

In all the ages of men, he didn't remember ever being referred to as "respectable." Ha!

Wednesday smiled at the naive mortal before him. What Mr Young needed, in Wednesday's not-so-humble opinion, was to be loosened up. Time for Wednesday to put on some of the Old Charm.

"Well, I'm glad to hear you approve. It's always a pleasure to meet a level-headed man in these troubled times. What with loose morals and stiff drinks. The pleasures of life have turned so many of today's youth into Young Devils, wouldn't you agree?" His eyes twinkled in a very un-Santa-like way. "Its a world of sin to be sure. A world full of deception. Adam here is lucky to have such a stable and congnizant force in his life. With his Father's guidance, I'm sure that he will make his mark on the world."

Wednesday took a sip of his drink. "I must admit that I have to be off now. It was a Pleasure to meet you Mr. Young. Adam." He nodded at the young man and turned to walk away. Before he was out the door, though, he turned to look at them both. "Funny old world, isn't it? Genes especially. You two look absolutely nothing alike." With that he walked out the door.

Adam scowled briefly, but it quickly turned into a laugh. Mr. Wednesday was incorrigible, but his father probably wouldn't notice.

"Dad? Want me to show you the rest of the Manor? I can give you the grand tour and you can meet some of the other people who live and work here."

Mr. Young blinked. Something Mr. Wednesday had just said seemed odd to him... But then Adam spoke and he forgot it entirely.

"What's that, son? Yes, certainly. I'd be glad to see the rest of this grand old place. Lead on."

Michael stopped momentarily as he walked into the lobby and saw a strange man walking towards the door in company of... Adam. Adam, the Antichrist. The boy's aura made him shiver slightly.

However, it wasn't truly polite to just freeze there. And, however impatient and hotheaded he might be, he certainly could be polite. Whenever he wasn't angry, that was. "Good afternoon," he thus said.

Turning to face the voice, Mr. Young smiled at Michael.

"Good afternoon, young man," he said politely. "I'm Mr. Young, Adam's father. And may I ask your name?"

"I am Michael Plant," replied Michael, remembering the false name he had used when signing in to the Manor. "Adam's father, eh? It is pleasant to meet you." 'Much more pleasant than meeting his real father, anyway,' he thought to himself.

"Plant?" boomed Mr. Young cheerfully. "Good English name. Lots of good English names around here. And what do you do for a living, Mr. Plant? Don't suppose you're in the cost accountancy line, eh?"

Michael couldn't help but wonder just what the man was thinking. he had no idea what "good English names" Mr. Young meant, but he seriously doubted they were any less false than his own. Well, if it made the man feel better to think that not only real, they were also usual names, who was he to say anything?

"I am --" For a moment, he was tempted to call himself a writer. However, he was an angel, and inclined to honesty -- however painful it may have been. Therefore, he couldn't really call himself a writer; however much he may have wanted to be one, he just hadn't been given the skills. His talents lay elsewhere. Thus he settled for the most honest option and said, "I work in the military field." That, at least, was not a lie.

Mr. Young laughed and clapped Michael on the shoulder. "I should have known that such a strapping young man would be a defender of our country. Up from the air base are you? Good for you lad. You show those Americans that our local boys are just as good.

"Adam never seemed terribly inclined to the regimented lifestyle of a soldier. Well, I guess it's not for everyone, right, son? You grew up just fine anyway."

Flushing with contact embarrassment, like every child since Cain has done when listening to his parents talk, Adam interrupted the conversation.

"Dad, we should really get goin' if we're gonna see the rest of the Manor..."

Michael smiled faintly at the huamn's words. Defender of their country? Rather a defender of their species against the filthy demons. (Quite literally filthy, too. Far too few demons had still discovered the definite benefits of regular bathing.)

"Well, your son is certainly a fine young man, too," he said, smiling at the Antichrist's obvious embarrassment, a bit -- only a bit, though -- more at ease in the powerful being's presence. Sure, he didn't appear to be much older than Adam himself, but he couldn't really call Adam anything but a young man. "I hope your visit to the Manor will be enjoyable. I fear I must get going now, and apparently Adam is also getting rather impatient. Have a good day, gentlemen."

Smiling as the young man left, Mr. Young turned to follow Adam on his grand tour.

During the afternoon he met many fine young men, who he assumed were students of some kind, and a few respectable older men, who were probably professors. He didn't see any women staying at the Manor at all. As he'd been worried that his son had ended up at a hippie commune, discovering that it was, in fact, an all-boys school was something of a relief. Except...

"That fellow with the trench coat..."

"John," prompted Adam.

"Yes," said Mr. Young, "Constantine. Not a proper English name at all. What's a ruffian like that doing around here?"

Adam smiled. "He works with Mr. Crowley and Mr. Fell."

"Oh, that Mr. Crowley. He looked awfully flash to me. It wouldn't surprise me that those two work together. But I bet that nice Mr. Fell keeps them in line, right?"

Mr. Fell had been especially respectable.

Adam's smile widened into a grin. "Oh, yes. You can count on that."

Mr. Young ruffled his son's hair. "Then you take after Mr. Fell, my boy."

He looked around one more time. "Well, son, your mother will be waiting for me, so I'd better be going. You be good now, look after Dog, and come visit us soon."

He pulled the boy into a gruff one-armed hug and left quickly.

Uriel couldn't help but hear Mr. Young's words as he was slowly making his way out of the lobby. And, as he heard them, he couldn't help but smile.

Respectable? Well, he should hope so. But man? That was quite questionable.

Sure, he appeared to be male. However, that was only because to appear female, he would have had to make an effort. As far as he was concerned, he didn't belong to either gender. Had he absolutely had to make an effort, it probably would have been of the male variety, but only because everybody always referred to him as, well, him. Still, he could just as well imagine himself being a woman as a man.

Well, it didn't matter anyway. It wasn't like he was ever going to make an effort, anyway.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only