Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

We only learn as much as we are able to believe.

Vetiver

Vetiver

Super-Earth
Joined
Dec 31, 2010
Location
UK
"Spirit guides," Mark said. It all sounded like a bunch of horse crap to him, but here he was, sitting here with an uppity necromancer who had birds grooming his hair. It didn't make any sense to him. If they signed a contract, surely they picked each other? Jones could have gone for something else, but he'd chosen the birds. He frowned. "It all sounds too weird for me," he said, shaking his head. He took a sip of his coffee, enjoying the heat of it on his tongue. Jones wasn't good at explaining, and Mark didn't particularly want to understand.

"If the debt is in blood... could this be what happened here? Some necromancer, or some necromancer's familiar, getting revenge on another necromancer?" he asked. He really had no clue. Mark watched Jones take a sip of his coffee, his eyes lingering a moment too long. Funny how cute the other looked, with his birds. No one would suspect he was dangerous, a necromancer of all things.

"You're married to your birds?" Mark asked. It took an effort of will not to make fun of that, but his mirth showed on his face. "I'm not so sure it's the necromancer thing that scares people off, now, Jones." He couldn't imagine sharing someone with birds, no less. Fucking annoying things.

Apprenticeships instead of school - that was some old-fashioned, weird shit right there. Mark didn't even want to get into that stuff. Luckily, he was saved by the pancakes arriving. Mark immediately doused his in maple syrup and dug in.

"Maybe they put us together because we both fuck men," he suggested.
 
“It could be,” Dominic admitted, shifting uncomfortably in the chair at that idea. It would not be a good one. He would not like to be involved. “On the other hand, if it is that... Then it is none of our business. Your laws don't cover such things.” It wasn't possible to imprison or punish a being that was not entirely flesh. Dominic hadn't even realised that he had used 'your' in front of the concept of law. Sometimes he slipped up that way. When one of his birds nipped his ear sharply, he wasn't sure why.

He scowled at the incredibly stupid question, and resisted the urge to give a lecture in return. This was why most users thought that it was too much trouble to date normal people. Explanations. There were, of course, a few weirdoes who refused their own powers and pretended that they were completely ordinary... It worked too, if the power was only small. He just waved his hand vaguely in response, and almost knocked over his coffee, having to make a grab for it so it didn't spill.

Thank god that the arrival of the pancakes ended that conversation.

He put slightly less maple syrup on his own pancakes, and offered a piece to the birds before beginning to eat. It wasn't good for them, but every once in a while it was fine...

Dominic choked on his first bite. He coughed and had to take a few gulps of coffee to get it down. Who just said that on their first day of work together? It took a while to entirely compose himself, while the lovebirds decided to steal all the strawberries off his plate.

“I thought that workplace relationships were frowned upon.” Oh crap, he just tried to flirt. How embarassing.
 
Mark wasn't sure that he ever approved of murder being outside of the law, but at least if that was what this was, he wouldn't have to trouble himself with it. He cut into his pancakes, taking a huge bite. Jones choking on his own bite made him look up - ah, he'd probably said something inappropriate. He had a tendency to do that. He chewed and swallowed his bite, looking over at the other male.

Jones' reply took him aback slightly. He scanned the other's form - his type, really. If you took away all the magic crap, he might be interested. In a flash, he wondered what it would be like for Jones to fuck him. He wondered if the other even went that way, or if he bottomed. He wondered if the fucking birds would stay outside the room.

"I don't have relationships, I have men that fuck me," he said, taking a sip of his coffee, looking at Jones consideringly. "Sometimes, men that fuck me regularly. But that wasn't what I meant - I meant that, maybe they thought we'd get on more. God knows homophobia is pretty rampant in the police force."
 
“You have men that fuck you,” Dominic repeated vaguely, surprised by the words. Well, that was sort of interesting information. It meant it might be easy to get some. Possibly. Not that Dominic was that good at casual sex – necromancers tended to be so paranoid it seemed to run in the genetics, and Dominic was no exception. He always wondered whether a new partner would try to murder him for his secrets straight afterwards. It happens once, and it ruins a person forever.

“I haven't had that problem.” Being a necromancer was much worse than being gay, and just as unnatural in some people's eyes. Except, necromancers supposedly had the ability to kill people with a word. (They didn't, but most of Dominic's kind saw absolutely no need to enlighten the ignorant about that one.)

“One advantage of necromancy, I suppose,” he said, slightly amused. Funnily enough, he hadn't had one experience of homophobia. People saw that he was followed by the familiars, and faces changed. “When I was a kid, me and my brother used to go and heckle the fascist party meetings. Take granny's ashes and ask a spirit to inhabit them. Ash ghosts do fuck all, but they sure do scare people.”
 
"I do," Mark said, stretching his long legs out beneath the table. That wasn't something he outright told a lot of people. He didn't exactly hide it, but he didn't tell people. Some part of him wanted to shock Jones, to get under his skin. Maybe he just wanted to find out what made the other man tick. Maybe it was something more than that. He cut up another huge bite of pancake and shoved it into his mouth, looking across at the other male.

"Mm, I suppose being a necromancer is further up on the 'freaking people out' list than being gay is," Mark said. He stared at Jones. "But you don't help your case by doing weird shit like inhabiting your grandmother's ashes with some freaky ass ghost." Mark made a face. He couldn't help but be slightly amused, but really. Jones didn't do himself any favours.

Mark took another sip of his coffee. "Hard to get partners, a big guy like me. Sexual partners, I mean. I don't exactly fit the... uh... average role for my preferences." He shrugged. "Little easier when I was younger. What about you?"
 
“Necromancer family,” Dominic admitted. “Grandma left me her finger-bones in her will – you should have seen the lawyer read that one out...” Wasn't something he said often either. It wasn't easy either.

“Uh.” He was being asked about his sex life, in a strangely frank way. “Er. People don't normally ask about this.” It was more the 'do you have zombie servants'? “Usually it's all 'do you fuck corpses' and all that.” He smiled awkwardly, more used to answering stupid questions than actual ones, for all that it irritated him.

“Oh, for fucks sake-” Dominic had to stop and wave a bird off his pancake. “You'll get too fat to fly, stupid thing.” It was actually quite a good pause while he thought about the question. Back to Mark, he answered finally, “I can't complain. Quality rather than quantity and all that. And out of interest, what are your 'preferences'?”
 
"Christ. A while family of you guys? That's like some freaky ass TV show right there," Mark said, snorting. He finished his pancakes with one last huge bite and pushed his plate away. Mark leaned back in his seat and picked up his coffee cup, warming his hands around it as he looked over at the other. That hadn't really answered his question, but he let it slide for now.

"I thought that was obvious," he said. "I like to be fucked." He took a sip of his coffee and looked at Jones levelly, daring the other to laugh or say anything. "I like to be fucked by youngish, pretty men who are kind of faggy." He raked his eyes over the other male, then smirked - funny how Jones went into all three categories. Well, maybe not that faggy, but getting there. At least in Mark's opinion.

"And I wasn't asking about the quality of your sex life. I was more asking if you top or bottom. Or both. What do you like?"
 
“It's more complicated than that. My mother isn't. She doesn't talk to me any more ever since dad died...” Dominic had to shrug, gesturing with his fork. “And one of my sisters is an accountant. Said she wanted no blood, bones or corpses, cut up or otherwise.” Funny when rebellion in a family consisted of studying accountancy.

“I just wanted you to say it,” he replied. “Fuck, ow!” One of the birds had bit his finger so hard that it was now bleeding. They thought these attempts at flirting were an absolutely terrible idea, so Dominic flicked the perpetrator, which cheeped with irritation, looking terribly vicious for such a small bird, and perched on the other side of the table.

“Sometimes one, sometimes the other. Depends how annoying they are. Obviously, not so easy to be fucked by someone if they're all tied up.” He was beginning to relax more now, that he had breakfast and some coffee, that he was more awake, and that it turned out his new partner was not a complete arsehole.
 
It seemed that every family had their black sheep. Even if a necromancer's was one that wanted to go into accounting. From necromancer to accountant - well, Mark couldn't knock her choice to go for a less exciting profession. "I'm sorry to hear about your mother," he said, with genuine warmth in his voice. He could sympathise with that - some of his family had refused to speak to him after he'd come out as gay. No one in his immediate family, thankfully.

Jones wanted to hear him say it - and that was definitely, definitely flirting. Seemed like the birds didn't approve of that. Mark snorted, watching the other with interest. He reached across the table, capturing Jones' wrist. "Let me see," he said, tugging. He examined the wound, reaching for a napkin and dabbing at it. It was nothing, but the contact felt good. "Should spray that with disinfectant or something, birds are dirty."

Mark looked up, letting go of Jones' hand. The mention of bondage made him shift. He crossed one leg over the other and finished his coffee, setting it down on the table. "Do you... uh... make it a habit to tie people up?"
 
“Hey, don't speak about them like that. They shower as often as I do.” Touchy about the birds still. In a way, Mark had to court both Dominic and his birds. It was a very strange life, and it must have been a sight to see in Dominic's bathroom every day. “They just worry about me.” A bit like having over-protective siblings.

“You don't have to be concerned. I can't actually die of disease. Unless someone murders us, we necromancers have long and very healthy lives...” It was the source of the immortality myth, from ancient times when illnesses due to poor hygiene and lack of clean water meant average life expectancy was less than forty.

“Not a habit. Once or twice. If they deserve it. Or can't keep still.”

He finished off his pancakes. “So what is your problem with birds? If we are, you know, going to get more intimate at some point, it might be a problem.”
 
Mark was almost disappointed to hear that it wasn't a habit - there was something delightful about being tied up. "Your birds worry about you," he said in a flat voice, shaking his head. That was a little insane, but looking at them, Mark could believe it. They just looked intelligent. Familiars were creepy as all hell.

"Christ, you're direct," Mark said. He'd been flirting a little, sure - they both had. That didn't mean he wanted to jump into bed with the guy. Mark shrugged, rolling his shoulders uneasily. "I don't really have a problem with birds," he said. "You're just touchy about it, and it's fun to tease you." He waved the waitress over for the check.

"If anything, I have a problem with familiars. And if we did get more... intimate, as you put it. It wouldn't go further than sex. I don't want to get involved with anyone, nevermind a user."
 
“Nevermind a user?” Dominic was abruptly disappointed. If only Mark hadn't added that last part. |The birds gave him a look that was distinctly 'we told you so'. “And there was me thinking you'd have 'sensitivity' to the issues, or some such crap.” It's not like Mark would have to worry about how the children might turn out, or what happens when a blood-witch was on her period.

“That was harsh, man. Straight for the throat.” It was probably an offhand comment, but it still hurt a little. Was he not human enough? Maybe Dominic was not touchy about his sexuality, but he certainly found it very difficult not to be twitchy about being dumped for his magic. It had happened often enough to matter.

“I prefer more long term arrangements, anyway.” Apparently Mark had managed to slap down most of Dominic's interest. By long-term, he meant that he liked to have relationships. He had parrots as familiars – it did say at least one thing about his personality. He liked to live in a flock.
 
"No, that's not what I meant," Mark said. "I mean, I guess it was what I meant, but I mean it when I say I'm not looking for a relationship with anyone. Not even someone that's not a user, you know?" He shrugged awkwardly - there was a difference between teasing and bickering with Jones and leading him on, then hurting his feelings. Mark was a stupid dick sometimes, but he didn't like to be cruel.

"You said yourself, you don't have a relationship with people that don't use. I've never had one with someone that does, and I don't even know you." Christ, this was awkward. "And it's not like we see eye to eye on shit." Mark hesitated, then paid the bill for their food - a kind of peace offering. He left a tip, too.

"I like long term arrangements, too. I've been letting the same guy fuck me for months, now. We're just... not boyfriends."
 
“Yeah, only because they see my books and walk straight back out,” Dominic retorted, “Thinking I'm going to sacrifice them to some dark power or something. I don't know what's worse, the ones who think I want to fuck corpses, or the ones who think I want to murder them and drink their blood.” Most of them seemed to think that he wasn't even human or something. “Sure, occasionally I have a chat with some dead people down in the mortuary, but that does not mean I intend to actually make people dead, and I certainly am never going to fuck a corpse. That would be disrespectful. And disgusting. It's not like other users don't weird shit. I once saw a tree mage hump a nice big oak. In a public park. And everyone thought that was cute.”

He finished the last of the coffee. “Sorry, rant.” Dominic did not look sorry at all.

“So what do you do? Have sex, leave?” Sometimes, he could be frighteningly domestic. He liked tea and cuddles on the sofa, morning kisses, and affectionate kisses. Having seen three siblings get married, he was starting to want something permanent. Someone the birds would perch on too, at least. Being gay and having death magic really cut down the dating pool. It was like waiting for the planets to align, but Dominic refused to cut down his standards. Or to murder anyone.

“I'll get it next time,” he added, referring to the bill. Being in debt was not something he wanted.
 
"Well, at least I can say I don't like all users, not just the necromancing ones," Mark said. Honestly, there were weirder ones than Jones out there, with his stupid birds and his smile. He'd never thought a necromancer would be quick to smile and quicker to complain about everyone else. He looked at the other male.

"Not really," he said. "I mean, I'm not averse to a little companionship. I usually stay the night, or he does. Usually, we get breakfast together. I don't know, it's comfortable, I just don't get couched if I forget his birthday or fuck around with another man." It was kind of like having a relationship, just without all the awkward parts, and without moving in together. That kind of thing, he'd never allow. "But I'm not in love with him." Maybe if he fell in love, things would change.

"Yeah, you better get it next time," Mark said, standing up. He pulled his jacket on. "Let's go find this card person, then."
 
“Sure, sure.” The birds lined up on Dominic's shoulder, fluffing up their feathers as they went outside and back to the car. They weren't impressed much by the weather either.

“Mind you, he doesn't make much sense sometimes. Seers are like that.” He gave directions to the small, dusty second-hand bookshop. 'Spelbooks Bought & sold' and 'fortunes Told (honestly)' were the two signs in the window, together with the erratic spelling and capitalisation. The birds flew ahead of Dominic into the shop. They weren't the only customers: a girl was browsing the section entitled 'Aeromancy', and there was a man browsing a book that seemed to have a lot of diagrams of things on fire. Apparently the shop was watched over by a grey cat that was sitting on top of the till. Definitely not Mark's sort of place.

“Dommie! You should visit more often. Want a coffee?”

“Ah, no. Sorry, Paul. Here on business.” He motioned at Mark. “Police stuff.”

“Oh, you mean you have no idea and you're trying me?” Paul snorted. “Go upstairs, I'll get my stuff.” He disappeared into the back.

Dominic motioned Mark to follow him. “He gets a bit over-enthusiastic when people ask him to actually scry. Most people don't actually want their future told, it turns out.” He knew this house well, all the little piles of books in strange places, the maps spread over tables as if instead of tablecloths. Even the birds knew where to go, sitting on a lamp. If anyone was still bitter about the end of this particular relationship, it might have only been Dominic.
 
The shop definitely wasn't Mark's kind of place - the cat made him frown. Another familiar, perhaps? Or maybe just a fucking cat, who the fuck knew any more. There were a couple of patrons studying books that made Mark highly uncomfortable. Part of him just wanted to turn around and walk right back out again. He didn't like this. He didn't want anyone telling his fortune - it wasn't always good. Not when you got the real thing.

Mark steeled himself and walked further into the room. "Aren't you worried about leaving your birds around the cat?" he asked, following Jones up the stairs. "Or will the birds just poof away if it tries to eat them?" He shifted uneasily as he waited for Paul's return. "I'm not sure I want him to. But I suppose it's all we have."
 
“They can take care of themselves,” Dominic said simply, with a little shrug. To him, it was almost as if Neil had asked if Dominic was worried that the cat might eat him. “Sometimes he can't tell what's happened and what's going to happen. He can see both ways. It's... Weird. We first met when he was miserable that his then boyfriend was cheating on him. The actual cheating happened three months later. Heh. I always thought he wanted someone whose future he couldn't see. But I guess it bugged him more that he couldn't. According to divination, necromancers are dead since they first start practising. Apparently, like with virginity, it's the first time that counts...” That was a terrible joke, but being a necromancer without gallows humour made the whole thing terribly dull.

Not that they got more chance to discuss it – Paul was back, with a map of the city, a deck of worn playing cards held together with a rubber band, a box of dice, a ruler, a pen, pad of paper, a book of common symbols, all balanced precariously on top of each other. The map got spread out across the table. “So tell me where it happened, and what happened, and I'll see what I can get for you.”

While Dominic explained, Paul marked and annotated the location on the map, and took a few notes – this was, apparently, serious business. Just as serious as the forensics report they would also get would be. Paul would deal the cards, take notes, deal again, take more notes, apparently refining his questions. The dice were for when he fancied more numerical answers, chipped and old, made out of stone. Apparently these he used to make calculations whose answers did not seem to make them happy. Every so often he would ask Dominic and Neil something, but he seemed to become as baffled as Dominic was when he first turned up at the scene. “I have no fucking clue,” Paul finally informed them after hours of this, irate and confused. “If I didn't know Dommie better, I'd think he was trying to mess with me by making up something impossible to answer... All I got is you will find more. But I can't tell where, and I can't tell when. Sorry.”

It really wasn't any sort of reassuring answer. The necromancer wasn't happy. Dominic's birds decided to sit on his head in an attempt at being sympathetic and soothing.
 
When Paul appeared with a bunch of shit, Neil snorted. "I feel like we're about to sit down and play one of those lame tabletop RPGs," he said, eyeing the dice and the pen. He stretched his feet out underneath the table. It turned out to be a long and boring process. Neil answered questions where he was prompted, yawned a lot, complained a lot more, and was very, very pissed off when it essentially got them absolutely nowhere.

"Great. That's about what we came in here knowing. That it would probably happen again and we have no fucking clue when or where," Neil said grumpily. He stood up, his chair scraping back. "I knew any stupid user leads you'd have wouldn't pan out, fucking hell, hours down the drain and nothing to show for it." He'd rather have wasted that time doing honest, if useless, good old detective work. Neil was in dire need of a coffee and a cigarette.

At the least moment, he seemed to regain some manners. "Thanks for trying," he said, nodding to Paul. "Just frustrating, I guess. I wanted answers. I wanted... something, anyway." He paused. Some part of him didn't want to know, but curiosity burned brightly enough that he had to ask. "You didn't... see anything else, did you? To do with me?"
 
Maybe playing a tabletop RPG would have been much more fun – it would have been as productive after all. Still, it was worth the try. Dominic at least now knew that if someone like Paul, the best seer that he had ever known, could see absolutely nothing, then nothing was exactly what they were going to find in the near future.

Paul looked mutinous at the words, and Dominic looked slightly horrified. Criticising a seer for being useless? Blasphemy. Even when useless, it was better not to annoy one – they tended to dredge up things you would rather stay forgotten, or tell you details of a future that you never wanted to know. Perhaps someone like Paul had no power whatsoever in the physical world, but that wasn't the only power that existed. There was a good reason real fortune tellers had no customers.

“It came up.” Since Neil seemed so dubious that Paul's power existed... “The one who left those scars on you. Cigarette burns. He'll be out of prison soon. Be careful what you do when you run into him again.”

Dominic had to admit that was an interesting thing to hear – now there was something he wouldn't have expected. His eyebrows shot up and he just stared at Neil. Seriously? A thing with a criminal?
 
Neil reacted visibly to that. He flinched slightly, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly and just staring at Paul. That was good to know. He hadn't looked Sebastian's term up in a while - last time he'd looked, the other had had a long time to go. At least as a dangerous user, he'd be registered... but fuck, he was going to run into him again? Neil twitched.

"Thanks for the warning," he said, nodding his head. If he'd doubted before, he certainly didn't know. There was no way the other could have known that, unless Jones had called ahead and Paul had had time to look it up. Still, those connections were old and buried very, very deep. And the cigarette burns. No one knew about those except lovers, and they didn't know where they came from.

Neil's eyes landed on Jones - for a moment, he'd totally forgotten the other was there. He flushed a little. That wasn't something he wanted the necromancer to know. "Right. Shall we go, then?"
 
“It'll happen whatever you do. You can't avoid it. One of those fixed things. Oh. Er, Dommie, before you go, can you do that unlife thing on the flowers again? They look a bit wilted.” Apparently Paul had not quite realised the seriousness of his comments, from the way that he just switched back to Dominic.

“Why can't you just water them? I am not bleeding myself to make your rosemary into an undead abomination. Go find a plant mage.” Apparently, Paul pouting failed to melt Dominic's heart. “No. Really. I mean that.”

“You're dying again on Tuesday anyway, might as well do it.”

“I'm what?” Dominic came to a sudden stop.

“You will be stabbed.”

“Which Tuesday?” Apparently Dominic had some experience with these sorts of prophecies, because he was asking the right question.

“How am I supposed to know? Aren't they all the same?” He wrinkled his nose in apparent concentration. “Soonish.”

Dominic sighed in exasperation. “No, sweetie. They are not all the same.” Not that Dominic was overly concerned. He had just been caught by surprise. Good to know someone would stab him. Nice to know it will happen on a Tuesday. Knowing Paul's timeframe for prophecy, it would happen any time within a week and next six months. “Fine, I'll do your plants this weekend!” He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, before turning towards the door.

Once they were back outside, Dominic stopped, exhaled sharply, and looked at the sky. “He tells me his prediction of my next death every fucking time now. Seriously. I wish he would keep that to himself. Every. Fucking. Time. He's. Right. The time that bastard tried to strangle me. When I got hit by a car. The time I got shot. He seems to think it's like a fucking weather forecast.” The necromancer had to stop for breath. Just because the readings said he was already dead, did not mean that he wanted to know every time he was going to pay a visit to the other side.

“What was that he said to you?” Neil was probably hoping Dominic had forgotten. “Cigarette burns?” He was curious as hell, too curious to keep the question to himself.
 
The knowledge that Jones was going to be stabbed on a Tuesday sometime soonish stopped Neil right in his tracks. It was probably more alarming for him than it was for the user - they discussed it like it was something annoying, but not overly serious. Like the toilet was blocked, or the washing machine needed a new fuse. Christ, if someone had told him that he was going to get stabbed, he'd be anxious as all hell.

Neil followed the other out of the shop. He stopped when Jones stop, noting the way he exhaled. Maybe it bothered him more than he let on. Neil placed ahand on Jones' shoulder and gave it a gentle, comforting squeeze. "I'd be freaking out if he'd told me that," Neil admitted. Jones' question made him flinch and drop his hand.

"It's none of your fucking business," he snapped. "I don't want to talk about it."
 
Oh, Neil really didn't want to talk about it. That was obvious. Maybe go back to the previous subject, better than killing the conversation entirely. Dominic could go on for hours, complaining about his ex's current lack of tact. At least Neil had actually asked for it. The only thing Dominic had asked for was lottery numbers once, as a joke, and been told 'it's not a fixed event, asshole'.

"Dying's not as... Uh. Permanent for me as it is for most people. Half my spells involve killing myself, after all. Like I said, necromancers are a gate. It's still unpleasant." He frowned. "Still hurts. Still is messy. Feels incredibly weird to come back. It's a bit like... Almost drowning. When you can't breathe for so long, and then suddenly you have air again..." The panic everyone with siblings that liked to pull their annoying little brother under knew.

"I still can't fucking believe he wants me to make his plants undead instead of just watering the damn things. And he gets offended if I ask about the football results!" A pause to breathe in. "I really need a coffee."
 
"I know it's not as big of a deal for you," Neil said, still a little ruffled. "Just hard to wrap my head around that, as someone who... really doesn't want to die." He grimaced. "Death is pretty final for me. Or at least, I hope it will be. Maybe I'm wrong." He shrugged. "But that doesn't sound pleasant. Uh... sorry you're going to die." He stepped onto the sidewalk, turning to look at Jones. "And I could really use a coffee, too. Come on. We'll talk over a cup somewhere."

It didn't take them long to find a cute little coffee shop tucked down an alley - somewhere that wasn't so busy but comfortable. The coffee smelled wonderful. Neil ordered a black coffee, dumped a shitload of sugar into it and then sat down.

"He was a... boyfriend, I guess. I had a relationship with him," he said. "It didn't end well. Probably better that it did end, though. Things were getting... fucked up. It was a long time ago."
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom