|
Carovo leaned against a shelf, sturdy as it had been nailed to the wooden floor. "I can't doubt last night is quite... hard to remember." He laughed quietly, then shook his head. "No, no. I don't work here. My... um... cat does." Carovo was hard-pressed to call the thing 'his' cat. "Catches rats in the back so stores are preserved and not contaminated or eaten. I don't really work here---" "Sure 'ee do." The shop keep chimed in quickly. "Works up a storm 'round---" "Shh." Carovo hissed at him. The keep pursed his lips and imitated locking a door, curling his arms under him and leaning on the counter. Carovo shook his head, turning his back a bit more toward the man. "I, ah, keep the place safe. You'd be surprised what kind of people like to steal spices. Can make some strong drugs out of some of these things. Sell the surface ones for quite a few Echoes." He chuckled. "Puts a little... leniency on my rent." He crossed his arms. "What is it that made you come here, anyway?" he asked, suddenly very curious. "It could have been anything waiting for you here." |
"I..." he paused and lifted his sack of food. "I was shopping and happened to walk passed. I've... never been in a spice shop before." He rearranged the bottles and packets he had lifted to smell, leaving them where he had picked them up from. The way the man had spoken made him uncomfortable and he suddenly felt like leaving. He wasn't sure if Carovo or the shopkeeper looked like the sort to murder, but one could never be too careful. He heard a scurrying downstairs and a hissing noise, making him peer in the sounds direction. A cat he had said...
Max had heard of the creatures and heard of the practice of chasing them for Secrets, though he himself had never seen one. They were supposed to be common on the streets of Spite, but perhaps Max hadn't been looking hard enough. He rearranged his sack, backing slightly away from Carovo and glancing over at the door. "Well, I best be going. I see that you are busy..." Even the allure of the spices from the Surface wasn't enough to keep Max from leaving the small shop, stepping out into the damp air and glad to be able to breathe again. He hesitated on the street, as if waiting for Carovo to follow him out. He glanced over his shoulder as Edgar fluttered from the rooftops and landed lightly there. "Mighty smelly tat place is, guv," he squawked, tilting his head and peering into the shop. "Dat un be giving you a funny look, guv." He was referring to Carovo of course. "Looks like 'e wants ya to sleep wit 'im, guv." Max snarled and hit the bird, looking around to make sure no one had heard the bird brained raven. |
Carovo shrugged as he made up the excuse---or came up with it on the spot---and took his leave, turning with a sigh to run his hands through his hair. The shop keep laughed. "So when you gon' go after 'im?" He asked. Carovo growled. "Quiet, you." He murmured, sitting at a table near the counter. The other man didn't care what Carovo did, really---as long as he kept the shop safe and Scar kept the rats at bay. In fact, he tended to tease the other man about his escapades. Maybe because the round man loved a good story, or he just liked to see what secrets he could pry out of the man. The latter was a bit more difficult to do, however, as Carovo had become notoriously tight-lipped around those that might garner interesting gossip from a slipped detail or two. Now he doubted he'd see the man again. But in a way he was at terms with that. He knew what Max looked like, what he sounded like, how he acted, what one major vice of his was---alcohol. And it seemed like his thin body didn't hold it very well. He smiled and started writing. These would be less erotic and much more worthy of the public eye. A few little stories, no more, perhaps they would be published in the paper... |
Max continued down the cobbled path, every now and then he would glance up at the lanterns that shone in the Neath's roof, mimicking stars in the night sky. Ever since he could remember, he had longed to climb up and see these lanterns for himself, to find a way to escape and walk on the Surface. He had seen many paintings and read many stories about this topic. The sky was bright and blue during the day, the weather was natural - the rain coming from fluffy white clouds and not the condensation of the Neath. He sighed and kicked at a stone, finally entering Spite.
He kept his belongings close, slipping his hand into another traveller's pocket when he wasn't paying attention. He continued to walk, counting the small amount of Rosty Gold and zipping it into his secure pocket. He reached his home gratefully, thinking of Carovo and the spice store. He opened his locked door and closed it shut behind him, his nose wrinkled at the smell of sick he had forgotten to clean. He got some water from the well nearby and scrubbed his wooden floors clean, then getting more water to place in a pot over the fire he lit. He slipped in a few potatoes and mushrooms, waiting for his stew to come to a boil. He pulled a small bottle from out of his pocket, a tiny thing with a small amount of spice inside. He had slipped it into his pocket without the shop keep noticing, a trait he had learnt from his childhood growing up on the streets of Spite. He sprinkled a small amount into his food, enjoying the pleasing aroma of the Surface spices as they cooked. His stomach growled and soon he was spooning the hot potato and mushroom soup into his mouth. The day had been rather uneventful, as a few days often were in Fallen London. Max was pleased to have such a day, planning to go back to work watching the jewellery store tomorrow and perhaps finally catching the thieves that had been plotting to rob it for a week or so. But for now... Max opened a bottle of his mushroom wine, pouring it into his familiar chipped glass. |
The day was so utterly boring. Few people entered the shop, though when they did both the keep and Carovo kept an eagle eye on him or her. He'd seen Max's little sleight of hand trick, and admired the fluidity of it without letting the round man in on it. No, he didn't want to get this one in trouble. Unless he made a bit of a habit of it. Now he sat with a pile of papers under a bottle of mostly-empty wine and the shop keep was much looser. Had he been younger---and lighter---perhaps Carovo would have taken this to his advantage. But he simply sat and admired how much he could talk when he got a bottle of wine into him. He even let slip something about Hell. Hell. Once Carovo had liked the place. It was hot there, of course. One had to watch themselves ever more else they fall for the charm of a sharp-tongued devil or be somehow taken advantage of or cursed in a manner most unpleasant. "Ah, my good man, the Neath has grown so... boring." Carovo commented offhandedly, draining the last few drops from the bottle's interior. "Boring! Hah, only you could say that, mate." "Well, when one lives forever and prefers to remain under everyone's nose, there isn't much more to do than wander out each night and take someone home for a while. And it does get a bit... repetitive. Even if it never loses its... rush." He bid goodnight to the man, gathering Scar and his collection of seven rats to dispose of before going back upstairs. A long bath wore the scent of mixed spices off his skin and out of his hair, and a warm soup of various meats and slightly sweet fungi sent him to bed in a rather content manner. Though Scar tended to drift upward in the night to lie on his face. |
The swirling fog rolled over the dark field of dead grass, like giant ghostly fingers stroking the Earth. Max shivered in the cold and found that he was naked, where his clothes were he could not remember. A slurping noise behind him made him start. He turned but saw nothing but fog and darkness. He looked up, finding the dark pitch black sky unnerving. The noise was closer now and he had to move. He ran, his bare feet slipping on the clammy weed-like grass, causing him to fall every once and a while. Soon he came to a halt, staring with horror over the bloody battlefield. A cry was torn from his lips as the dead bodies of his parents were replicated over and over again, making it seem as though thousands had died. He collapsed to his knees as giant tentacles squirmed from the edges of the fog and snaked their way towards him.
"No!" Max woke with a start, glaring around his safe and warm room, as though expecting to find some sort of devil hiding there. He thought he heard faint laughing, but he ignored it and rubbed his eyes free of sleep. He looked about again, feeling as though he hadn't slept at all. The pot over his stove had burnt and the fire was extinguished, the bottle of wine drained and the empty glass rolled about the floor under his feet. He sighed and stood on tired and shaky legs, moving towards his small bed. Halfway there he turned around and soon found himself walking to the Singing Mandrake once more. He wasn't sure what time it was, as time never seemed terribly clear in the Neath, but the tavern was a lot quiet than it usually was on nights. He stepped inside and took up his usual seat, near the back of the bar, and waited for something interesting to happen. He constantly rubbed his eyes, hearing strange voices talking all around him, even though there were only a few quiet poets mumbling near the door. His hands were shaking as he took his first sip of the bitter beer that the waitress offered. |
"Stop! Stop. Listen to me..." "Of course... Let me just---" "Hold on." "Ah...!" "Calm down. Take this. Don't spill it..." "Wh-what is it...? Ah! I'm sorry... I-I just..." "Here, let me help." Warm hands grasped his. A glass goblet of thick red, full nearly to the brim of a strong-smelling liquid. Like fermented apples. It made his mouth water. "Drink every drop, love. Every bit." "It... will keep me alive?" "Forever." "With you?" "Always." The voice was so assured. He knew what he was talking about. Carovo put the goblet to his lips and grimaced lightly at how hot the contents were, but he bit back the pain and swallowed every bit of the apple-flavored drink. And a strange type of heated liveliness pumped through him, to his heart. He lifted his eyes to those of the yellow persuasion above him, and cried out... ... The cry followed him into reality, scaring the cat out of the room. Heart beating fast, Carovo sat up, brushing back his hair. What was it...? A memory, of course. A nightmare of a memory, of anything else. But that feeling that came with it. That came with drinking Hesperidean cider, the drink that had made him immortal. It was half worrisome, half pleasurable, made his heart race, his skin tingle in warmth, a life that couldn't seem to be contained in a single body. And the devil that had convinced him to drink it... Throwing on some clothes, Carovo left the building and found his way through the streets, working his way to Veilgarden since he had gone that way so many times. It was automatic now, to go there when he was worried, tired, concerned... tense... And he was glad to see it was quiet in the Singing Mandrake. He needed a little quiet, a little noise. The sound of a poet or two reciting their works might keep him distracted. With his head down, he went to the bar---unlike him, but it was close to the booze. When the barman approached, he regarded the man with flat eyes. "Just give me the strongest damn thing you got." He muttered, and pulled out a wad of Echoes. The man nodded, a face that didn't seem surprised at the words, and grabbed a full bottle of some kind of amber-colored liquid. When he uncorked it, the smell hit him hard. At least the barman made due on his request. |
That man again...? What was his name...? Carver? Rover? Max hiccoughed slightly and tried to remember the red-haired man's name. Why were they constantly running into each other? Max never believed in Fate or Circumstance, but this made him curious to an extent. He waved the current company away from him, a handsome poet with beautiful words only for him. He slipped from his chair and swayed towards the man, sitting next to him and spilling what was left of his third glass of beer.
"Fancy meeting you here," Max spoke, his voice clear as though he wasn't drunk, though the smell and the way he swayed gave away his current state. "Carovo, right? You're not stalking me, I hope." He guestered for another beer, though the barman hesitated. Max pulled out the last of his Echoes and slammed it on the table, causing the barman to pour him another warm beverage. |
This unlabeled bottle of liquor was much stronger than some. It was kept out of sight, though, underneath the bar itself so more heavy drinkers didn't get their hands on it and start yet another brawl. But the way it burned on the way down was pleasing to Carovo, though after a while it was apparent it also wasn't working to make him forget---at least for a while---that horrible recollection. Maybe a honey-dream would, though... He glanced over when someone approached, almost happy to see Maximillion. The young man was again impaired, and probably wouldn't remember their conversation again. "Stalking?" He repeated, raising his eyebrows. "While it's most tempting in this case, I don't make much of a habit of it. I suppose it seems we frequent the same areas is all." He liked the Mandrake. It was odd. And his bright red hair made him a beacon for lonely and desperate and those desiring inspiration of some sort. One of which had slunk a little too close while he was talking---he pushed the man away, who scurried out of the tavern despondently. He watched the young man for a moment, then sighed. "You know, it's so terrible to see one drown their insanities or worries or fears. Eventually it shatters even the most beautiful faces." He spoke quietly, as if to himself, and stared at the peeling paper that was what was left of the label on the bottle in his hands. He would hate to see Max become old so before that time. |
"I know... But..." Max swayed dangerously and hiccoughed again. "It's hard, you know? To forget the bad... To be able to sleep without these nightmares... It makes me wonder if life is better elsewhere..." He was muttering again, a little unnerved to be talking like this to a stranger. He was of weak mind and any persuasive person would be able to pry many Secrets from him. He knew that this man could be fishing for them as they spoke and he closed his mouth again, glancing about the bar.
"That's some mighty strong stuff you got there... Would knock out ten elephants..." What an elephant was, Max didn't know, but he had read that phrase somewhere before. "You sure can hold your drink... A lot better than me, of course." He was trying to flatter, anything to go to bed with this stranger. The comforts of another's warmth always helped his nightmares. |
He tilted his head slightly. Elephants? It had been a while since he'd heard someone down here speak of those. Carovo remembered them. Remembered riding them. With who...? Who was that behind him...? He shook his head hard and studied Max a little closer. "I could drink five of these and still walk a straight line." He admitted, shaking the bottle. "Everyone's got some... bad they want to hide. Want to forget and they come here, or go elsewhere. But I can't do that anymore. I can't forget because I've built up too much of a tolerance for alcohol. It's a rare thing." He paused. It was too heavy. He just wanted something to make him forget for a while. Maybe something more human could distract him, and it was looking right at him. Rather impaired, yes, but he seemed... disturbed. Disturbed in a way Carovo understood. He leaned forward so he could speak quietly. "Would you trust me enough to accompany me home? Perhaps I've got a few distractions to take you off the liquor." Honey was a little better than booze, anyway. It had to be conserved, and even the most addicted individual always preserved their pot. |
"Oh?" Max's eyes widened at the whisper. He felt himself growing curious as to what Carovo had planned. The man was handsome, yes, and quite a lot to Max's liking. He grinned and nodded, leaving his money and empty glass for the bar man. He staggered outside, feeling the occasional drip of water falling down. It seemed like it was about to rain again. He heard people moving about, trying to get inside before the rain fell too heavily.
He pulled his heavy jacket around him and waited for Carovo, his body warm and excited by the possibilities of what could happen that night. |
Carovo breathed out. He set the bottle down on the bar and nodded to the barman, who took the bottle and set it back down. Now it would be specifically for Carovo when he returned---and he would return, no doubt. Stepping out into the humidity, he put a hand on Max's shoulder to indicate his presence and started off. It did look like rain, and instead of making Max walk all the way back to Concord Square, he hailed a passing hansom and helped Max in, telling the driver where to go before closing the door and looking at Max. "What was it that made you choose this vice?" He asked offhandedly. "Did something happen? I mean, Max, I don't expect you to answer directly. Not if you don't want to." He sighed, looking outside at the passing street, hearing the huge, hairy beast of a horse clopping along the road. "An admission for an admission, though." Did he want to make the young man remember? He didn't want to recall his, after all, why else did he disappear into honey-induced dreams? No. He couldn't show him the pleasing scenes of such dreams. It would... ruin him. |
Max was surprised to be helped into a hansom cab. It had been a long time since he had rode in one, and it made him smile at those memories with his parents. He watched the horse through the small grimy window, mesmerised by how the creature moved. The other man's words brought him back, however and it caused him some confusion. What was he talking about...? Obviously something about the small problem he had with alcohol, but who didn't down here in Fallen London?
"Something bad happened and it was the easiest way to forget those painful memories," he replied simply, not wanting to spill anything just yet. "But it seems it doesn't help the nightmares anymore..." He felt sick and asked for the cab to pull over, opening the door to violently retch into the gutter. |
The nightmares...? Carovo was all-too familiar with nightmares. Of course most of the time they weren't fully based on fantasy so much as reality, and when Max was finished expelling the result of his night at the wheel of the cab, Carovo pulled a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and handed it to him. "Well, forgive me for saying, but it doesn't look like your binges agree with you." Compared to the young man's obvious drinking problem, what was the worry of a little respite? A good dream, for once? The thought came with that of those honey-mazed psychopaths that tended to eat small furry things whole and still squirming, or spouting nonsense and throwing soiled clothing at passersby in the squares. "True... It's easy to drown away your nightmares for a little while. Or, maybe for you. Then they always come back, and they're stronger and more frequent than ever. They drive you insane." He paused, about to ask something else, but snapping his mouth shut. Max wouldn't remember this conversation later, no doubt. And the hansom was already almost to the spice shop and his apartment above it. |
Max nodded, thankfully taking the handkerchief and wiping his mouth free from bile. He shuddered when he remembered the nightmares, and the mere mention of them made him want to drink again. "I don't eat much. My stomach doesn't agree with a diet consisting of potatoes and alcohol." He grimaced as the cab came to a halt. He remembered this store and hoped Carovo wasn't about to report his theft to its owner. The shop looked closed anyway, so Max relaxed a bit. He looked out the window, to the opposite side of the road and shuddered again.
He stayed where he was, watching the Rubbery Man slink down the road and around the corner, out of site. This one seemed to be carrying its wares to someone waiting for it. He stayed frozen in place, his heart beating in his throat. |
Carovo just nodded, and as the cab came to a stop, he looked around at what seemed to have startled Max so much. A Rubbery Man. The things were basically men with the faces of squids, didn't speak a bit of English and communicated with high whistles and trills. He thought they were rather interesting, most quite kind and innocent. But he pulled Max away from that side of the cab and let him exit on the far end, pausing to pay the cab the usual amount of money required for such a ride. In a moment the cab was gone---and so was the Rubbery Man. Ushering Max along, they went around to the side of the shop and up the stairs. "Well, it'll result in an early death. And while it'll stop the nightmares, it's so boring." He laughed lightly, unlocking and opening the door to his apartment and allowing Max to step in first. "The comfort of home." He commented with a light sigh. "And nary a whiff of the shop's spices!" And the cat... Where was Scar? Had probably had enough of Carovo's thrashings at night, and tended to avoid the whole situation when he brought someone home. |
Max let the older man lead him up the stairs, trying to get the sight of the Rubbery Man out of his mind. There seemed to be increasing amounts of these creatures, or was it simply because Max was looking for them? He blinked when he entered the small, but comfortable apartment. It was a far better home than his shack and he felt slightly jealous at the man's apparent wealth.
He staggered inside and sniffed deeply. It did seem to smell of spices and of Carovo himself, which made Max smile lightly and find a seat to sit on in front of the fireplace. Yes, he could get used to this... His attention fell on a few papers scattered over a nearby table. There was writing on it, neat and beautiful, and Max supposed it was Carovo's own work. "May I?" he questioned, gesturing to the writing. He'd hate to pick up something of importance or read someone's personal items. |
Closing the door, he didn't lock it this time. Carovo was there, and if anyone were stupid enough to break in he would be on them in a moment. He stepped around to a chair, tossing his vest onto it and untucking his neat shirt. It was certainly a bother to be vain, and sometimes he wondered why he even went along with it. Glancing around, he squinted at the writing and recognized it as what he'd worked on earlier in the morning. It wasn't as... heavy-handed as the others, safely hidden away, but it was rather unsuited for more public newspapers or magazines. Still, no names were mentioned and there were plenty of lovely blonde men in the Neath. "You certainly may." He said with an incline of the head. "It's always a treat for others to read what I've been working on so hard." But it was a bit nerve-wracking. No matter how confident and charming he was accused of being, when someone---especially someone whose very presence inspired---read one's work, the writer always squirmed in his skin. Still, he kept steady and stood easily to the side of Max, crouched and leaning, but not too close. |
Max picked up a piece of paper and carefully held it as he leant in slightly to read the elegant writing. It seemed to be a description piece, describing a young blonde man with a haunted past. Max really enjoyed the words and he smiled as he set it down. "It's good," he complimented, glancing about the small room in search of something to do. He set the paper back down where he had found it, feeling too closely watched to continue reading the other papers.
"I see I inspired you," he commented, not sounding offended or weirded out at all. He had many a poet or artist write and draw about him. He moved closer to Carovo, who was leaning in and reached up to kiss him on his lips. "Want me to inspire you more?" |
He had almost not expected such a brazen move, but distantly recalled Max's state of sobriety. It didn't matter to him, though, as he returned the kiss and brought Max up with him. "I didn't think I could get much more inspired, to be honest." He admitted somewhat offhandedly. This wasn't the first time he had brought a young, drunk man home, after all, and each situation was different. Sometimes they did read his works---rarely about them, but always strongly worded. It always worked in getting their minds on track. He lightly wrapped Max's hair around his finger, the soft strands falling individually over his shoulder as Carovo stepped backward and urged Max to follow silently, toward the slightly-ajar door at the far right of the back of the living room. |
Max was excited. It had been nearly a week since his last "adventure" with a stranger, that being a struggling artist who drew pictures naked pictures of him all night until they couldn't take it any more. It was a shame the man had disappeared lately, probably sitting in one of the cells in New Newgate Prison. He moved to the indicated room, barely paying attention to his surroundings. He laid on the bed, his hair sprawled out around him like rays of light. He slowly took off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, showing his pale and hairless chest.
The night's pleasures were indeed much needed. After much biting and passionate kissing, Max fell back onto the bed and lay quietly, slightly stroking Carovo's rough face. He breathed deeply and rolled over, staring up at the ceiling and humming happily to himself. "That was amazing, you have real talent in pleasing a man," he said, his eyes growing heavy. Sleep again? It seemed to be all he was doing lately. He rubbed his eyes and looked back to the man with a slight smile. "That seemed to have sobered me up quite wonderfully." |
It almost felt like that sweet honey-dream again. Quiet for the most part, beyond their own words, movements. The lack of sweet surface fruits and the intoxicating perfume of grape and cherry wine was hardly missed, however---a very faint sense of deja vu had set in when Max spoke and Carovo laid quietly staring upward, a bit lost in his own thoughts. Had the dream before contained some sort of doppelganger of Max? He wasn't one to get too attached to someone so quickly, even someone so otherworldly in their beauty. Oh, it was rare to find one, though... Carovo propped himself up a bit on his elbow and studied the younger man. "You really think so highly of my abilities, hm?" He asked offhandedly, breathing deeply. Stronger than the strength of the spice shop's main fare was that of Max, closer to him now. He looked tired... Had Carovo really worn him down, or was it the mix of the bar and the events that followed? "If you sleep, I'll wake you when you like." Perhaps he had a job to do, something important, like Carovo did. Not that it stopped him from putting it off, mind. |
"How can I trust you so...?" Max replied weakly, his eyes closing and his conciousness falling into the place you go when you dream. He smiled lightly and rolled back over, facing the man he had just relieved his tensions with, and snuggled into his warmth, beginning to breathe heavily and quietly snore.
His dreams were uneventful, until the familiar nightmares set in, causing him to twitch and whimper in his sleep. He jerked awake, his eyes casting about the unfamiliar setting until they fell on Carovo. He blinked and yawned, feeling how used his body was from the night before. He smiled sheepishly as he again looked over at the handsome red-head. "Oh my, I see my intoxicated night has brought some scandalous behaviour," he tutted, sitting up and running his hand through his long, waist-length hair. "Good morning, or afternoon, Carovo. Glad to see you," he smiled, feeling mischievous. |
Carovo had remained awake for a while longer, staring at the wall and finding interesting patterns in it, until Scar appeared to sit on the desk in the corner and stare at him without comment. He couldn't help but run a light hand down Max's hair, as it lie against his back during his seemingly-deep sleep. He almost felt the need to check the young man's shoulder blades for scars where wings once were. But he shook the notion away as a poet's dream. Of course if there were devils, and Hell, there had to be angels as well. But angels so near Hell? No, that couldn't be. Wouldn't be. Finally he put his head down, falling asleep alongside Max and immediately dreaming of the parks of Fallen London. The parks full of strange trees and shrubbery and their mushroom patches, and the bandaged men and women that sat on the benches and watched him as he passed. And the drownies. He went to the river dared not go near. But the drownies had crawled up onto the dark beach to collect him, singing their odd, high, mournful songs. They followed him out of the dreams and into reality, a cool, damp, Neathy reality that was sightly less melancholy at the presence of another warm body near him. He smiled at Max's words and leaned forward slightly. "I'm used to my... nightly business partners... taking leave soon after... It's nice to see it change." He admitted. Vaguely, he could taste honey. Why was that...? |
| All times are GMT. The time now is 03:43 AM. |