neutral_omens | (no subject)

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(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.

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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.

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