Stuck (open, but if someone wants to rp the different lemme know and I can tweak as needed)

This was the most bollocks-ed up thing that had ever happened in Asher’s short but already very much bollocks-ed up life. He’d had to help someone, someone who would probably never be able to, or want to, pay him back. Standing outside the hospital with a cigarette in one hand and the other clenched in his jacket pocket, Asher wondered how he’d managed to get into such a stupid situation.

He probably should have seen it coming. He’d been taken out by some different, Asher didn’t know his name but he had had a lot of money and wanted a good time. They’d hit the usual bars and clubs, doing the whole ‘getting to know you thing’ but before anything serious happened and even worse, before Asher had been paid, a fight had broken out. A group of normals, of course. Feckin normals were always causing trouble, making life difficult. But trust this different to have a gun.

“Bloody idiot. Bloody feckin stupid idiot.” Asher muttered darkly to himself and threw his cigarette on the ground, grinding it into the pavement with the heel of a patent black boot. So of course the normals knew about the gun, with those crazy mind powers, so really Asher and his client didn’t have a chance. Luckily no one was killed, but Asher’s nice new leopard print jacket had blood on it and his wallet had been stolen.

“I should have left that prick to bleed to death or get to the damn hospital himself…bloody idiot.” More dark muttering.

His client had been shot in the leg, and instead of just running like he should have Asher had been hit with a lightning bolt of compassion. Well, maybe not a lightning bolt. But it was sharp and it hurt and he would have felt guilty for days if he hadn’t gotten the injured man to the hospital. You couldn’t count on any normals helping him, not even many differents would have stopped to help one of their own. That was the kind of sick world they lived in, like it or not.

Now Asher was standing outside the hospital as the sun set, dressed to impress but no one to look his way with no money and no way home. “Could always give a blowjob to a taxi driver s’pose.” Asher mused, though he hated the thought of having to give someone a favour, it tasted too much like desperation.

It was in fact one of the safest places in the city to be trying to sell dreadfuls. Rarely did you find a Norm in the area considering the abundance of Diffies about. It was, after all, the hospital specifically for Diffies. And really, what fun was there in beating up somebody who's already injured? Okay, well there's a little - but it doesn't last long. Theo had been out in the area since the wee hours of the morning for once. Generally he enjoys sleeping in a while before dragging his sorry ass out of bed, into clothes and out into the big wide world... and directly towards a cigarette. It had been a good couple hours since his last one and fuck him sideways if his luck were just terrible enough to be out of them. Needless to say, he was feeling a bit twitchy.

He looked around and tried to spot a potential customer and saw that only one was hanging around with nothing to do - the guy looked... wierd... but who was Theo to deem who was normal and who wasn't in this world? Theo thought about dismissing him but then spotted the cigarette... his eyebrows shot up as that nicotine monkey on his back yanked at his hair. Perhaps he could fandangle something. Theo headed over in the young man's direction, his satchel of penny-dreadfuls slung over his shoulder. His sales pitch started rehearsing itself in his head.

"Hey there," he started off friendly, "It's kinda odd seeing a healthy guy outside a hospital, you waiting on someone?" Theo dug a dreadful out of his bag, turned out to be an adventure story about distant lands - pretty generic crap, but people get kicks out of it. Escapism. "Got some reading material here; cures boredom and passes the time. If you're interested, that is." The question wasn't really 'are you interested' so much as 'can you even read.' Sad really that literacy was so... last century. Theo would save talk of pay for later.

He lit another cigarette. What else was there to do, anyway, stuck out in the dark with no money and no way home. Maybe Asher thought he could smoke his lungs to death before he decided on a way home. He was indecisive sometimes like that. For instance, he wasn't sure whether he should step inside the hospital and find the idiot who'd gotten him in this situation and beat the hell out of him, or wait until he got well and sober enough to feel scared. Another veil of smoke curled around Asher's sharp cheekbones and sank into the fabric of his clothes.

So few people around, no one to even ask the time from...but one guy. Automatically Asher cocked his hip to one side and took 'the position' as the man walked over. Quickly Asher tried to figure out what sort of guy this was. Considering that he was at a hospital ran by and for different's then the stranger was probably a different as well. Injured differents had less stamina then healthy normals, so Asher had been told by a particularly candid normal one cold night....

"Hey there. It's kinda odd seeing a healthy guy outside a hospital, you waiting on someone?"

Asher was halted from reliving the experience. He grinned though, because he was an attention seeker and he had definitely caught someone's attention.

"I'm looking for a way out of destitution and tragedy handsome..." Asher trailed off and looked curiously at what the man was holding out. His dark eyes flashed up and he smiled again, taking a drag of his cigarette and exhaling in the man's face.

"I am not, however, looking for some escapist fantasy crap. I can make my own adventures, thank you."

Why did everything Asher say turn into something sexual? Most of the time he didn't even mean it, it just came out that way. Just another bit of proof that this was all that the young man was good for. 4 years as a trained dancer couldn't get you crap, but selling your body and time could get you a whole lot. What a sick world.

Theo stiffled a sigh. Leave it to him to try and sell something to a, well, a hooker. A male hooker at that. Rather, he pulled on a kind smile and shook his head. "Sorry, bud. You're not my type." He'd seen and been involved in far stranger things than being hit on by another man, so there was no need to get in a fit over it. Unless of course he fell victim to shows of unwanted affection. "All I'm doing is trying to scrape together a living." and possibly bum a smoke, his brain said. The smoke blown in his face didn't help a damn bit either.

He tried to stay...friendly, despite the fact that he was trying to not make friends any more than he already had been recently. It was damned annoying, when he thought about it, that however hard he tried to keep a low profile somehow he kept on stumbling into friendships and other such bull. Now, however, Theo didn't know what to do. He could stay and talk but what was there to say? The guy wasn't interested in buying anything, Theo was having a rough day, and there was still time to burn before he'd have to turn in. Damn but he wanted a smoke. Theo eyed it, trying to remain casual.

"I'm not a prospective customer for your...services. Though I'm willing to fork over a buck or two for a smoke." He couldn't fricken take it anymore. It was the sort of desperate craving that dictated everyone within a twenty foot radius should don some protective gear - as Theo himself didn't know what would tick him off or who would feel his twitchy wrath. The buck or two he was willing to give would be sorely missed in the long run, Theo knew... but thinking ahead in the midst of a crave-fest wasn't all that easy.

Asher attempted to hide a scowl. His scowl was famous in some places but this wasn't one of them. His pride had just been wounded, how dare he. This peddler, wandering up with nothing but a bag of...well...Asher had to admit he was curious about what else was in there. Not that he'd ask, not directly anyway. But still.
"Sorry, bud. You're not my type."
What did that mean? Was Asher too girly for this man? Was he too obvious? too expensive looking? The last one was least likely. Asher had probably just encountered one of those people who had absolutly no imagination and no sense of adventure.

"Hey, I may not be a normal but I know that look! I don't just sell sex you know." Asher tried his best to look indignant. "I sell company, and style." For some reason though, he smiled. A crooked smile that kind of tugged his mouth upwards on one side.

"Sorry I don't want what you're selling. If I had any goddammed money I might humour you, but I don't."

He wanted a cigarette. Asher tried to hide another smile. Taking his time he hunted in the pockets of his tight trousers then his jacket pockets. In the last pocket (of course) he found his pack. A crumpled, half empty pack of Camels. He pulled one out and held it between his middle and ring finger.

"I need a ride out of this joint, help me out and you can have the whole pack." He said. It was a risky gamble. For one this guy mightn't want more then one cigarette, secondly maybe he didn't have ride. Thirdly...well, thirdly Asher hated haggling in the first place. Not enough control. But what the hell else was there to do?

The first response that came to mind was one along the lines of 'what the crap is your deal?' but more colourful. The second was more physical and the third was appropriate. It took a while for Theo to get into a more decent frame of mind; alot of things seemed to be pissing him off at the moment. The young man before him had some fucking nerve and one wicked dead something up his arse. Audacity and assumption, an unpleasant combination. Theo pulled a small face of reproach and tried to stay behaving decently.

"Okay, I've had a shit week so I'm going to outline everything wrong with what you just said. One, I have no interest in sex with another guy. Two, I don't need more fucking friends and I don't need some guy in tight pants sauntering along beside me for style and appearances, least of all I don't need to be handing over good money for it. Thirdly, if I had a ride do you think I'd be trying to mooch a damn cig off you?" He gave a harsh laugh that dripped cynicsm. This was just a bit too much for Theo, so much too much that his mouth seemed to be running itself off again. His mouth would in fact be his undoing some day.

"And it's a small wonder that I just assumed you were trying to proposition me. I mean, Jesus, you cock your little head, smirk and blow smoke at me. Not to mention the Handsome comment - what the hell else am I supposed to assume? That you're going to dazzle me with insurance policies, or that you want some quick rendevous in the stark in some musty motel?" Theo stopped, exasperated. He knew he'd gone a bit far there but... it just wasn't in him to control his lip. Theo was tired and fed up with people's bullshit today. He couldn't count the number of times people had tossed his merch back in his face, how many times he'd been chased off, or how many times he'd just been flat out denied. It got to you after a while, being told you're no good.

One of those epiphany moments hit him, and Theo felt like a jackass.

He sighed, "Look, I'm sorry I said that crap... I mean, you know how life gets out here for our sort," Theo meant, of course, the Differents of the world, "I don't have a ride, keep your cigarettes - I'll get them some other way, it's no big deal."

Theo felt like just giving up and walking into a room full of Norms and just waiting to get lynched. He shrugged and walked away to a nearby slab of curb, sat down and roughly removed his satchel. Theo scrubbed his face in frustration and clamped his hands on the back of his head.

Jesus. This guy certainly had a mouth on him. He had probably fit more snarky comments in one breath then any one else could in an hour. Part of Asher wanted to defend himself, part of him wanted to punch this guy in the face and the other part wanted to burst out laughing. Because that’s what you do in a bad situation, you just have to laugh. What amused Asher even more was the fact that they were actually in the same situation. Both of them had something to sell, but the other didn’t want it and apparently this bloke hadn’t had a good day either. Well you wouldn’t, selling trash like that Asher thought to himself, eyes flickering to the satchel then up and down the man. He took comfort though in the fact that no one can beat being in a gun-fight in ‘who had the worst day’ competitions.

What bothered Asher about this whole confrontation, as much as he loved arguing, was that this asshole was right. He did look like a complete fool outside a hospital, dressed like he was going to the opera. Still, no one gets the last word but Asher.

“Well excuse me for not appealing to your tastes, who was the one not five minutes ago asking whether I wanted ‘reading material’? Sorry we don’t all have honorable jobs like you but shit happens and people deal with it. I could outline every single thing that’s gone wrong today and it’d take years more time to tell then your week. There is a goddam good reason why I’m standing outside a hospital with nothing but cigarettes and sore feet.”

That felt good. Ranting always felt good. Asher took another drag from his cigarette to hide the smile appearing on his face. Sometimes it was nice being a bitch, we all need someone to yell at sometimes. That actually was another subsection of Asher’s job description. ‘Unofficial Psychologist.’ You’d be surprised how many people just wanted someone to yell about their wife, or their boss, or their life to someone impartial.

, "Look, I'm sorry I said that crap... I mean, you know how life gets out here for our sort…I don't have a ride, keep your cigarettes - I'll get them some other way, it's no big deal."

Asher scowled at the mans back as he walked away. They hadn’t even begun to argue properly and Asher felt like he’d been deflated. He sighed, groaning inwardly before following the guy, trying to walk normally and not swagger like he usually did. His left leg hurt like a bitch from falling badly during the fight, and his feet hurt in these shoes but he put on a kinder expression.

“Hey, have a cigarette…for free. I shouldn’t begrudge someone a cigarette, especially since we seem to be in the same boat.” Asher held out the pack, taking another one for himself and lighting it with the old one before flicking it away into the gutter. This was the second time today he’d done something nice for nothing in return, and he hoped it wasn’t becoming habit.


(ooc: sorry its so long >< i seem to write long when I'm in a class and supposed to be working)

Ha, yeah - honourable job, right. Theo snerked silently at the gravel under his feet and didn't bother responding to the comment. Writing used to be an honourable job but now it was just a joke. There were many a day he sat down, stared at the paper infront of him and wondered why the hell he bothered. He honestly didn't have an answer beyond liking to write and having stories to tell. Theo supposed that people needed a good story every now and then, but most times what they needed was food in their mouths and a roof over their heads. Not a book. Well, you could eat it but it would taste horrible. And hold it over your head in the rain and it takes a bit longer to get soaked through... still. His job was a poor one and he didn't need to be reminded.

Theo peered up at the cigarette. What was this? Unfounded kindness? What witchcraft was this? There seemed to be something morally wrong about accepting the cigarette now, but Theo took one anyway. He fumbled in his pocket for a match, as he didn't have a lighter. Those things were expensive when you managed to find one. Lighting it with a flick of his wrist off the pavement, Theo took a deep drag. His eyes were closed as if it were some euphoric experience - though, really, it was. When Theo smoked alone, he fooled around and blew smoke rings and similar things. He didn't now for obvious reasons. The whole day just felt so strange, it was one of his bad days.

"Thanks," He said, exhaling smoke through his nose. Theo wondered idly if he should just try and start the entire conversation over again; introduce himself and act like a decent human being instead of a cranky prick who got up on the wrong side of the bed and put on his mouthy face. He also felt a touch bad for taking a cig for nothing; it just felt odd. Nice people are hard to come by as they seem to snuff it quickly. He sighed, inhaled sharply, and took another pull on the cigarette. Camels weren't his normal brand and the taste was different... He was used to DeMauriers. "I'm going to give first contact another, less jackassy try... I'm Theo."

(ooc: lol no prob, long posts are entertaining)

This felt weird, almost surreal. Asher supposed there had been a time when people did nice things for each other just because...well just because they were weird like that...but still. This was hardly the kind of world where people became friends as soon as they knew each others names. For some reason though thinking about 'before' irked Asher. Sometimes he'd lie awake in bed and think about a world where not half the population could read your mind and kill you wantonly. Did people like him exist in that sort of world? What sort of things did they do? Did they all go to church, smile at each other, spring cleaning every year?

Aside from the usual 'death-may-come-at-any-moment-' feeling that all differents lived with, Asher liked his life. It might not have been the most noble of existances, but he had a story. No life was worth it if there wasn't a story at the end of it. Not only did Asher have his own story but he'd studied mythology in university. Well, that was a lie. He'd never been to University, but he did know a lot about mythology. He used to read a lot when he was younger and always told himself he'd study dance and mythology, and then become a famous dancer who told myths in dance or something.

Kids dreams. Maybe that's why Asher hated differents just as much as he hated normals. That they'd allowed themselves to be treated like shit by these people...it infuriated Asher.

"I'm going to give first contact another, less jackassy try... I'm Theo."

Asher rubbed his right eye and smudgied eyeliner everywhere. Perhaps he should have entertained this guy a little better before...he hadn't read a book in a while. He watched Theo light his cigarette and enjoy it thoroughly.

"I'm Asher. And, well...sorry about being rude earlier as well. I forget myself sometimes."

"Do you write all those things? Or just collect 'em and sell 'em." He asked nodding his chin towards Theo's satchel. It was unusual for him to ask a straightforward question like this, but he was tired and seemed to have used up his bitter loathing for the moment.

Theo looked, following where Asher was glancing, to his satchel. He ignored the first impulse he had, which was to say that Asher was a wierd name, and opened the satchel. He tugged out one of them, he didn't pay attention to which, and held it up. "I write them myself and sell as I can... If I happen to find a book, I keep it. I'm odd that way; liking to read and write."

It occured to him frequently that fewer and fewer people knew how to read or cared to know how to write. Theo himself couldn't imagine not being able to do those two basic things. Then again, it wasn't as important as being able to run at a moment's notice. It wasn't a required life skill anymore. He thought for a moment about what had happened to him recently with that...that...woman. A word that both did and didn't suit her. He recalled her reaction to him mentioning his ability to write and supressed, with difficulty, a shiver. Norms didn't value that sort of crap at all - most of them hated it, it would seem. It was beyond their scope. All that mattered was communicating with one another via emotions and that freaky brain link that Theo and all the other Diffies were exempt from. It wasn't fair. They beat on him and so many others just because they didn't have the mental capacity for the link... so it was like trying to talk to someone who was deaf and mute. But what was really wrong was that they just assumed that Theo and others were, because of that, idiots... bugs to be squashed beneath their 'all-powerful' boots.

"We all lose it sometimes, I suppose."

Curiosity made Asher lean forward to peer at the object in Theo’s hand more carefully. Part of him itched to touch it, but that would probably mean that he owed Theo something. Asher hated owing people. Instead he found it more fun to take information, kind of steal it without anyone noticing. No one really valued information anymore it seemed. Unless it was stuff like who owed who what, who had what and how much it was worth, where this said valuable object was…no one cared. All those stupid normals with their mind links…you’d think that people would become closer but they were only driven further apart. One of the only things normals agreed upon with any consistency was their hatred of differents, which sucked if you were different.

“I used to read a lot…” Asher bit his lip and thought carefully about releasing this next bit of information. “I used to be a dancer, a proper ballet and modern physical theatre dancer…not a stripper or what not.” He knew that whenever he said 'dancer' most people imagined him at a pole in a seedy club. But that was the one thing Asher refused to do. He refused to dance for people who didn't realise how much it meant to him. Dancing was what had basically saved Asher’s life when he was young. He could have been dragged into decay by drugs or gangs, could have been killed by normals but he’d found something beyond this shitty world every time he felt that electricity in his muscles. Not that dancing had got him very far.

“I suppose arts like ours aren’t very much appreciated anymore. You’d think that with access to other peoples minds writing and theatre and dance and all that would become even more alive and beautiful, you’d think we’d be able to find some sort of truth…but all those normals have found is a constant state of PMS.” Without noticing it Asher had waved his hands in front of him as he spoke, articulating his point about truth and beauty in art. There had once been a time when he’d believed in that crap…but not anymore. Not he just felt embarrassed and he stuck his dainty hands into his jacket pocket, leaving his cigarette in his mouth.

"Tell me what you write about." Asher said, or rather demanded as he tried to shift attention away from himself.

"They really aren't," Theo agreed. He had been told about the days when a writer was held in some sort of respect, and when a dancer was the envy of people. It didn't really surprise Theo to learn that Asher was a former dancer; he looked it. It suited him. Theo didn't say anything like that though. Praise wasn't something you dished out like some kind of free-for-all, especially in Theo's opinion. "It's a shame." He felt like going on and saying that it's warped, his love for writing. It was fun and a release of some kind, it was difficult to describe. But what with how he was treated, even by his own kind, he was made to feel like a fool for bothering. It felt like he was some kind of scum stain flake because he didn't do something else. Something less personal and more concrete and, well, dull.

He felt a bit taken aback by being told to talk about what he wrote of, but Theo just shrugged and took a drag. "Some adventure stories, you know, the generic stuff; epic battles, journeys to far off places, folk heroes. I also do things like...christ this is sad; romance... I've done a few science fiction-style stories, but people didn't appreciate my dystopia stories - or the eutopia ones. Most of the time I just write what I see; an act of bravery or... or..." Theo gave up, who the hell was he trying to fool anyway? He wrote shit. He wrote shit stories trying to pass around shit morals that everyone couldn't give a flying feck about. "I don't know what the hell I write and I don't know why anymore. You can take a look at them if you want to, no catch. It's all sentimental crap."

Even Theo was now amazed at how bad a mood he was in. For one, he'd never said or seriously thought that sort of thing before and for two, he was telling a complete stranger. What the hell was that about?

Asher's cigarette had burnt out while he wasn't paying attention to it, so engrossed was he with Theo's books. Absent mindedly he flicked it away and tried to put on a vaguely more disinterested face. The fact that Theo didn't appreciate his art didn't really surprise Asher that much, but it did piss him off. Like every other different, believeing what the normals say about how much we suck, how low we are. It was one flaw in Asher's type of human. The way they just kind of took everything, let the normals walk all over him. Admitedly he wasn't joining any sort of resistance group or standing up to the normals himself, but still...he had the right to be indignant. The fact that things like writing and dance and theatre and art had become so useless bothered Asher on a more general level. He supposed he was just reflecting general hatred and discontent on Theo, because that's what Asher was good at.

"People don't like stories of utopia's cos it reminds them how shit their lives really are. I find that its the quality of the reader that decides whether a story is good or not, and everyone these days has shit for brains."


Very unlike Asher to get all philosophical, especially with someone he didn't know at all. It was, however, a much better situation to be in then earlier. Compared to earlier this was a friendly Christmas dinner, with cheer and food and everything. So he supposed he could be nice for a little longer. And besides, he itched to look at one of Theo's books. He was reluctant to take one though, even if he had said 'no strings attached'. Strings could always be attached at the last minute.

"Well I did give you a cigarette, so now we're even. Gimme a hero story, or a brave act. I could use a good story right now." Asher tried to be demanding like he usually was, but perhaps he'd used up his quota of bitchiness because he just felt a little stupid, and mean.

"At least your stories will still be here, one day maybe people will care about them again. No one's gonna even know about me or what I did when I die. Now you're immortal." He remarked, carefully inspecting his nails and not at whatever snide or incredulous expresion Theo probably wore.

(ooc: could you describe the books a little? Are the little comic type things handwritten, or typed proper books with bindings...just to make it a little clearer for me fanks)

(ooc: no problemo )

Theo chuckled a little. People nowadays really were shit-brained, weren't they? It would be comical, to say the least, if it weren't so massively irritating for those who still had a good head on their shoulders. Which isn't to say Theo had the best of heads resting atop his shoulders, but that's neither here nor there. He tried mentally to start cheering himself up or, at the very least, to start repressing the bad mood and just pull on a happy face.

Demanding one, wasn't he? Theo shrugged, forcing a smile that looked fairly geniune, and started digging through his satchel. His books were, given he couldn't afford (or find) a typewriter, handwritten. Theo had clean handwriting though; he didn't write in cursive but his lettering was crisp enough and consistent enough to appear produced by a machine. He prided himself on that, despite how relatively useless nice handwriting was. The method he used to keep the pages together was string; it was weaved through small holes pierced through the edge of the paper and wrapped around solidly. It was as good as any glue binding method but better. Theo could easily reuse the string like he did the paper. Each book was on average a good 3/4s an inch thick - but not every page had text. Theo could draw and so every now and then there was an illustration. He both liked and disliked doing illustrations; it was fun but ink was costly.

He picked out one that had a cover design he was particularly pleased with. Theo had trouble with titles so it was no wonder he just had covers without them. This one had an intricate image of a tall man, the setting reminiscent of the long since passed 1950's, with a fedora hat and overcoat. Under the heel of his left shoe layed pinned a grubby and obviously villanous man scowling up at the hero. The background was a cityscape seen beyond the alley in which they stood, and to the man's right stood a young boy who was posed looking up proudly at the man. At the edges of the alley was a small crowd looking in on the scene and cheering. "This one might be one you're interested in. A man, a tyrant, controls a small community; violent man, thinks he's entitled to just about anything and takes it from the families. A new guy in the area takes it upon himself to change it. It's one of my better stories, pretty popular."

Theo left out entirely whether it was a hero story or an act of bravery he'd seen because he didn't want to have to explain where or when he saw it. Truth of the matter was it was about his own father, and since Theo Fletcher wasn't the sentimental nostalgic sort the truth of the matter was that the story just came to him out of thin air. He thought about what Asher said, about his stories making him immortal. It was a nice thought but not why he wrote and tried to distribute his stuff. It was more like he had stuff to say and things to share and writing was the best way he knew how to do it.

"Ya know, I don't care if they remember my name. I'd like it if they remembered my stories though," Theo flicked away the cigarette which was getting perilously close to burning his hand. "You never know. One day maybe you'll wind up doing something incredibly brave and mildly stupid and get yourself into one of my stories." He smirked, getting up off the curb.

(ooc: I wrote a bit of your novel hope that’s a-ok
brilliant idea about the books btw...great detail for this world )

Their workmanship was impressive, Asher had to admit it in his head at least. The covers only had pictures, no titles which confused him a little, but they were all bound securely, and they were longer then Asher had imagined. Opening the proffered book up he read the first sentence. Then he flipped to the back and read the last sentence. It took Asher a second to realise that it was handwritten; it was so neat and even. His writing was all over the place, curly and long and he couldn’t keep on the line and he wasn’t consistent at all. In the same word he’d use a cursive ‘s’ and a block print ‘s’. That’s what education meant back in Asher’s days at school…you got beaten up, told a bunch of lies, made to work your ass off and all you got out of it was shitty handwriting and a delusional sense of purpose. Which was soon smashed to bits when you realise you earn more for sex then for art. At some level Asher was mildly jealous of Theo, he was still writing and at least alive. Maybe Asher just wasn’t as good a dancer as he was a writer.

“I like the cover…it reminds me of wooden block printing that the Japanese used to do hundreds of years ago…they were the first cartoons and comics. Did you draw them?” Asher didn’t wait for a reply but opened to the beginning of a chapter.

“It happened the very next morning in the cover of dark. So when the sun decided to peek its head over the horizon it lit up the mangled body of yet another victim, stretched out on the steps of the town hall, dead eyes wide in fear.” Asher read out loud, his voice automatically taking on the story telling tone he’d had so long ago. It was weird how some people could read out loud so well, almost like they knew the story by heart, but then some people couldn’t read for shit. And even though Asher hadn’t read a book in years he found it so…easy…and, well comforting…to slide back into telling stories. He stopped himself and closed the book not knowing what to do with it put it back on the curb beside Theo.

“Me? Doing something incredibly brave? That would be in some fantasy or science fiction novel I should think…” Asher had been able to add another self deprecating joke but then he remembered. He’d saved someone’s life just today, just a few hours ago even. That was pretty heroic and brave in Asher’s mind. He shook his head, trying to dispel any hopeful thoughts from his head and gave Theo a small smile as he stood up.

“Well if it makes you feel any better I’d buy one if I could. Since I don’t have anything that you want, you’ll have to take my apologies and thanks.” He was so close to flirting again. He didn’t mean to, really…but lately he’d found it hard to distinguish from his job and his real personality. Not that they’d been too different to begin with.

"Nah, don't worry about it. Consider it a gift," he was going out on a limb with this one, "from a friend, huh?" Theo thought about how much of a human hypocrite he was; bitching about making too many friends one minute, then turning around and extending a hand for friendship the next. "I think us artistic types should stick together, you know? So we don't forget that there are others like us."

Theo didn't know what else to say now. He wondered at times if he was too nice for his own good. Combine too nice with too large a mouth and it was a small wonder that he still had a heartbeat and personal possessions. Still, it seemed that he was a decent judge of character seeing as he hadn't been victim of a vicious ass-bite for all of it.

"I have to get on my way; business calls." Theo adjusted his satchel over his shoulder. He didn't know why it occured to him to say it, but he did. For the next while he would think about it and still not understand what prompted him, but at the time it seemed right... after a fashion. "Watch yourself, Asher. If you need anything...well, within reason," he smirked, "I'm out Boarding House way. Someone is bound to know where the hell I am."

He was left with a book in his hand. A book that he hadn't paid for, in any way shape or form, and he was supposed to consider it a gift. Asher looked at Theo curiously, convinced that he had some sort of scheme. One look at him though told Asher otherwise and he felt bad for even suspecting anything other then kindness in the man. Which was strange since they'd only known each other for a bit, and liked each other for even less...but that was just how Asher felt. He brushed his dark hair out of his eyes and behind his ears to give him time to reply.

"Thanks, Theo...this is...well, no ones just given me anything before. I'll make sure to do something brave and good for you to write about." Asher gave a small grin. "If you ever need a hand...or anything...I'm in the city...Park Street, by the old church." He mentally made a note of Theo's home, even though he wasn't sure whether he would ever see him again. He wanted to, Asher realised, he didn't just want this to be a five minute friendship. Theo was right, people like them had to stick together, and, well, Theo seemed interesting. Instead of saying anything like that outloud Asher put one hand on his hips and called at Theo's back

"If you ever need a blowjob...you know where to find me."

The young man rolled his eyes at himself and straightened his jacket and fixed his hair. Now it was time to go home and get a good fucking days sleep.