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In Which Some Questions Are Answered, And Others Are Raised - Diary of a Necromancer
Excuse me, I'm making perfect sense, you're just not keeping up
In Which Some Questions Are Answered, And Others Are Raised
I think this idea-slash-development-slash-exposition goes about here within the running narrative that's built up so far -- thoughts?

We met on the L.

It's trite. But there's a moment of startled recognition, of forgetting not to make eye contact when this stranger smells stranger than most. It helps that we're both going past the end of the line, easy to fall in casually beside one another when we pass through the combs of the gate. You're different, he says a block later.

You're were, I say. -- No, I'm not going to -- Not even going to nick your wallet, I add and he laughs.

It turns out that we're both on our way to look at the same flat. Down-at-heel but clean, if one doesn't mind the orange wall in the lounge or the inexplicable upright piano, and the elderly woman who owns the building doesn't seem the sort to enquire too deeply into questionable credentials. Appalling to the middle-class pup but exciting in its very squalor as only the promise of rebellion can be at that age, to me it represents a vast improvement over continuing to impose on Max's hospitality so indefinitely, and I think for a few moments that I may still end up getting into it with this were over the bloody flat, of all things; but then he says, hesitantly, I think I'd need to find a roommate to help with the rent though. And the mad thought enters my head that to have a flattie wouldn't be an unreasonable arrangement for my situation either.

At least we'd start off knowing the worst.

We find something resembling a cafe to discuss the matter. And... other matters. "I didn't think you, um, people like you, um... the daylight thing, you know?" Jason stirs his coffee with the little straw. "Sorry, um, dunno if that's racist, or something."

"Most of what people think is bollocks," I say. (Noticing that he's granted me the status of people straight off. Is that because he's were, or because he's not quite white?) "Well, s'ppose that's true about everything, isn't it. Wouldn't think you should be drinking that, for example."

The were looks at his coffee. He's bigger than a dog, of course. "Just don't tell my mom," he says, as if he's been lectured before.

(He won't touch chocolate, though.)

The smoke leaking in from the hookah-lounge is making me want to rub at my nose. Across the way there's a shop with hijabs in the window, cheek-by-jowl to the burlesque theatre. Bit like parts of London, I remark.

"'I have sailed the world, beheld its wonders, from the Dardanelles to the mountains of Peru, but there's no place like London'." He has a strong baritone, not unpleasant. It's startling booming out in this tiny cafe. The djinni behind the counter is looking over at our table as if weighing how dangerously mad we both are. (But then, he's a djinni. I doubt he'd like to call in the authorities, on us.) "Your accent's kind of... different. But I suppose you've been around, a lot."

Unspoken questions there, unusually tactful for this boisterous country. "Originally?" I admit to one of them. "Swansea." Half bracing for the old reflexive sneer --

But improbably blue eyes light up, and the were says, "Cool. Swansea's near Cardiff, right?"

Of course he's a geek. Hard not to be weird when you're a ridiculous thing yourself. I have to stop him peppering me with questions over what he's seen on telly; "Don't know. Haven't seen it in... Well, longer than you've been alive, probably. Or nearly."

An expressive face goes downcast. "You must really miss your family. If, um, you still had one, or whatever."

Sometimes I want to go home like a physical ache, sharper than the desire to feed. Home to places and people already too many years gone. "Depends how you'd define it," I say.

Jason rolls his eyes. "Don't worry. You'll probably end up with mine."

(But that's in the future, the three new weres looking about at a jumble of boxes with covertly puzzled expressions, as if they can't quite believe their noses. It's okay, Jason says. He knows, he's a... he's cool.) "We're going to give this a go, then?"

"Well, y'know. This or fucking Craigslist. Least you don't smoke." The sort of thing you can't hide from a were, true. Not that he could hide it from me, either.

I rather like him.


10 responses | moved to respond?
trillianastra From: trillianastra Date: February 17th, 2011 08:17 pm (UTC) (permalink this entry)

Trevor's Welsh! ...I did not see that coming. Even though you said 'Celtic' before and that narrows it down to three possibilities.

Anyway. This is sweet. (Trevor's still adorable)
robling_t From: robling_t Date: February 18th, 2011 09:51 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
...What, the leeks and the cawl and the outraged reaction to the suggestion he shags sheep weren't enough clues? ;)
trillianastra From: trillianastra Date: February 18th, 2011 09:19 pm (UTC) (permalink this entry)
Ok, now that I think about it, the leeks should have been a giveaway... *d'oh*
ljgeoff From: ljgeoff Date: February 18th, 2011 12:31 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
I really like this. "At least you don't smoke." -- Love.

Has Trevor ever called Jason a mongrel?
robling_t From: robling_t Date: February 18th, 2011 10:32 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
Oh, Trevor's been around both sides of the block enough times by now to know a minefield when he sees it. I suspect that part of why Muse made Jason both biracial and biracial was specifically to make certain issues harder to be "lazy" about; every step of this has been who's in a privileged position relative to whom on what axes in this bit until I need a bloody scorecard...
ashnistrike From: ashnistrike Date: February 19th, 2011 01:48 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
Which is one of the things I'm really enjoying about it.
robling_t From: robling_t Date: February 19th, 2011 12:16 pm (UTC) (permalink this entry)
Muse was quietly reading along with the last couple of Great Internet Debates on the subject, yeah... So of course she goes and sticks me with a character who's "black", but identifies more strongly with other criteria (and whose parent-of-color isn't even American), and a character who's "white", but used to being kicked around by other pink-skinned people on historical subtleties of ethnicity (and without legal rights where he's at despite being a SWG in a SWG's World)... {sigh} The whole thing is probably an extended metaphor about who "passes" as what when for what reasons, it's either going to be bloody fascinating to step back from when it's done or a Horrible Embarrassment...
ashnistrike From: ashnistrike Date: February 19th, 2011 04:10 pm (UTC) (permalink this entry)
Well, it's a pretty cool theme, and one I at least am not tired of reading about.
huskyfriends From: huskyfriends Date: March 8th, 2011 07:47 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
Intriguing first meeting, but then again, there has been worse first meetings.
I thought only strange stuff came from Swansea...

Jason is pretty open about a lot of things then.
robling_t From: robling_t Date: March 8th, 2011 10:01 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
He'll put up with the vampire and the piano they can't get out of the flat, but a smoker, that's where he'd draw the line... :)
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