neutral_omens | (no subject)

Entry tags:

belial,
remus

(no subject)

Date: August 12th, 1999
Setting: Tadfield Manor, Bar
Status: Private - Belial, Remus
Summary: Fuming Demon meets Werewolf. Conversation ensues.

Belial's hand hurt from scrubbing tables. He'd worn the skin on his thumb a shiny, raw red from pressing it against the grain of the wood.

His skin still smelled, beneath the layered scent of cleaning supplies, like that blasted angel, despite his every effort to remove it. He began to stink of it--but maybe it was only in his mind.

It was late, and he'd barely noticed, the darkness hardly penetrating his meditative concentration on cleaning. There'd been no patrons for several hours, and he thought should probably close up. His eyes lingered on the window for a long moment and he wallowed in the pervasive silence.

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Remus looked up at Belial as he ladled food onto his own plate intently. "Nice to meet you. You don't have to apologize - it obviously slipped my mind as well. My name's Roman."

He dug in, too hungry to question where the food had come from. "The people I've met," he said, "probably overindulged at one point or another in their evening. It's a common phenonema." He thought over it as he chewed.

"Belial... That's a very odd name. Crown of Satan, is it?" Remus said, eyes twinkling. "I read quite a bit, you see. Was your mother religious?

"And this," he said, gesturing with his fork towards the food, "is delicious."

Belial leaned forward, interested. "Roman? Like the lettuce? Or is that Romano?" he asked, trying not to crack a grin. He leaned his elbow on the edge of the table and punctuated his question with a vague jab of his chopsticks.

"I've found it true that humans, in the courses of their lives, rarely decline to take an opportunity to overindulge in something. Even the most virtuous," he said, "can overindulge on their zealousness."

Belial grew quiet, and made no attempt to answer this Roman fellow's question on his origin. He could smell the lie on the man--but it was a small one, and perhaps Roman had his reasons. It was not for Belial to judge.

Remus smiled. He noticed the omission and ignored it. He was not in a position to press, after all.

"I think I've always been one to decline actually, but I bet every person you say that to says as much." He took another bite, suddenly aware how fast he was eating and made a visible effort to slow down. "Well. It wasn't as if I've had much opportunity to, uh, overindulge anyway. Usually if you're in my field of work you are doing so to feed yourself-" he nodded to the food "-or to support a bad habit. I'm afraid my bad habits may have got me to this point, if they aren't actively keeping me here."

He laughed suddenly. "Sorry to be so grim, Belial. It's not often I get the chance to talk freely. What was that you were saying about lettuce?"

"It's not important," he said suddenly, smiling brilliantly. "And I know what it's like to be stuck on a job. I'm not quite... bound to my employer by choice. I have, so to speak, an unbreakable contract. It's Hell," he sighed, giving Roman a steady look, then let it dissipate into a wry smile.

He noted Roman's quick appetite and visible effort to restrain his hunger, and chuckled suddenly. "If you're really that hungry, I can feed you."

Belial twitched his chopsticks, flicking a grain of rice towards Roman playfully. "Consider it my good deed for this millenia."

"For the millenia?" Remus asked, raising his eyebrows. "Now that sounds like an interesting story." He liked Belial. So sensible and, er. Glittery. Remus wished he had a bar of chocolate to offer him.

The werewolf looked down at his empty plate and grinned ruefully. "Well, if I eat anymore just now I'll be sick, I'm afraid. However, would it be possible for me to come back tomorrow or much later for food? I mean, since you offered and there doesn't seem to be any other arrangement."

He looked up at Belial, amber eyes glinting like the glass of rum in his hand did. "It sounds like it is. I'll bite my tongue about my curiosity for your job though. My experience of a desk job sounds different than yours, for certain."

He smiled back at Roman, appreciating the odd man's respect of his privacy. There was something odd--and animal--about him, but that could be understood.

"You can come back anytime. I'll be here--I hardly ever sleep," he said, understating the fact. "I've no use for it."

He swirled a minute tornado of rum in his glass, gazing steadily at it. "If I'm not, you're welcome to come find me."

Remus sensed his cue to leave. He nodded, grinning suddenly. "Thank you, Belial, for your sparkling company, your delicious meal, and your generous rum." He stood, gathering his felt cloak to him, and took a last sip from his glass.

"I really must get back to my room," Remus said, regretfully, straightening his clothes. He started to turn, stopped and surveyed Belial, looking a bit surprised at the sad expression he saw writ in the demon's slightly glittery face as he watched rum spin idly in his glass.

"You look like you're unlucky in love," was all Remus offered, when Belial looked up, and then he was off, disappearing down the darkened hallway from whence he came.

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