ENSEMBLLLE

You shouldn’t be. 

I can feel that you’re still searching for something. Even here, in my big brother’s realm. 

I suppose I should introduce myself. 

I am Desire. It is what I am. It is what I do. I make you want. It’s me that you feel, in the longing. In the lust. You’re drawn to those objects of your desire like a… butterfly to a candle’s flame. [laughs] But… you already knew all of that, didn’t you?

So tell me, then. What is it you want? Don’t be shy. 

Or, perhaps I should try to guess…?

You want… something… sensual. Or maybe something precious. Or… maybe someone special. 

[laughs] Maybe you want all three. Yes… I think that might just be the case. Y’know… my big brother thinks the Endless are servants to you mortals. 

But I know what you really are. 

You’re a creature of Desire. My creature. [laughs] And you twist and bend as I require it. Whenever you wake, my big brother will take his leave of you. 

But I won’t. 

Alice’s eyes widen, her signature wide smile returning in an instant. She’s surprised – a little embarrassed, very amused. She wonders if Eli can pick out her natural blush from the one she’d manually applied an hour ago. She hopes not.

“That’s a very forward thing to say,” Alice teases, taking a sip of wine for no other reason than to allow herself to naturally break eye contact. It’s just for a moment. Just a breather while she smooths down her frazzled nerves.

When she dares to look at him again, she doesn’t look much different. Her smile is more relaxed, less… toothy, but her nerves are clear as day. She knows it’s obvious. She pretends it isn’t.

“I guess you could say I’m a masochist, too, in a way,” she continues carefully, rubbing her fingertip against the stem of her glass. “Like I said: sometimes it’s fun to be terrified.”

“Have you seen… Hereditary? I hear it’s good, but I’m scared to watch it alone.”

The brief moment of awkwardness from his ‘confession’ segues into something of a chemistry - at least that’s what Eli feels, and deep inside he senses a ripple of attraction. Alice’s tone, her blush, her shining eyes. Anxiety becomes electricity. Maybe he’s gone a little fast with the wine - but he’s pouring more despite himself. It’s going straight to his head, his meal is almost finished, and he’s quietly losing his iron grip on his own decorum. Not that it’ll manifest in anything remarkable, but he feels it. 

When she namechecks one of the best horror movies in the past decade, he’s elated. And rather animated, in discussing it.

“...Oh... yes, it’s good. Really not my type of subgenre, if you could assign it any subgenre in particular... but I was surprised... it’s maybe not a repeat watch, at least not regularly...” He’s starting to ramble. He clears his throat. “It’s worth watching, definitely. Though I suppose not for the faint of heart, in some ways.”

Against his better judgment once again, he takes a larger sip of wine than he should. 

“...I have a copy. You could always come over and watch.” A pause, and he revises, almost with a panic. 

Erik Fischer is objectively in the wrong here. There is nothing he can say or do that could possibly absolve him of his asshole parking job. He knows this. He knows. But the way the stranger engages with him leaves him feeling anything but remorseful. The jab at his shoulder, the name-calling, the… attitude.

Erik stares at him, adopting a look of mild confusion. He laughs nervously and shakes his head.

“Sorry, eh, no English,” he states, then sidesteps him entirely. Parking problems be damned, he has an errand to run.

No, no - Billy would recognize  a foreigner if he saw one, surely, or at least one who doesn’t speak in an American tongue. Never mind that Billy himself is new in town; that isn’t the point, is it?

He doesn’t allow the culprit to dodge him; instead, he grabs the man’s arm and whisks him round again, hating that feeling of somebody dismissing his commands. 

“...Liar.” He huffs hot air through his nostrils, like a bull ready to charge. He’s smiling, a little, but with danger in his eyes. 

“...Hey.” The blond’s tone is anything but casual - he steps out onto the sidewalk from the convenience store, whipping off his sunglasses just to ensure he’s seeing clearly. His Camaro is sandwiched in between two vehicles: the first one, a small family car which was there when he arrived. That isn’t the problem. He’s been trapped in by a pick-up truck on the other side, no room to steer and exit. 

The truck’s driver is already a few steps away, but Billy means to get his attention. He takes a couple of large strides over, taps the guy firmly on the shoulder. 

[to: sidney] did you take this?

[to: sidney]

[to: vy lette] did the concierge let you in?

It’s so hard to socialize with even a modicum of civility when the night’s violence is so fresh in Ira’s mind. It always ends too quickly. It’s never enough. Win or lose, nothing stops the craving short of being beaten unconscious – and even then, he dreams of bloodshed.

But something about Flick takes the edge off. In spite of his lack of decorum, this is the most docile he’s been in a long while. At the very least, he doesn’t want to cave her face in with his fist. It’s… something. It’s new. It intrigues him as much as it gets under his skin.

He finds her… refreshingly annoying.

“My mother is from Odessa. Ukraine, not Texas,” Ira’s smile softens as he speaks, but his gaze remains sharp. He doesn’t want to offer too much, nor does he want to offer so little that she sees fit to leave. It’s not often that anyone takes an interest in his personal life. It’s a pleasant change from the usual.

“I was born here in Los Angeles. Proud anchor baby.”

“...Mm.” Felicity doesn’t respond with complete disinterest, musing through another sip of French Martini, though her tone might suggest otherwise. “I’m French by heritage. But my grandmother, not my parents... I was born in Connecticut. Raised in New York.” With a cursory glance around them, she adds: “I still dislike LA. Too hot, too... loud. And you can drive forever and there’s nothing.”

It doesn’t really occur to her that she’s insulting his hometown; she’s never made it a secret that she resents the convenience of living here for business purposes. She still considers Manhattan to be her base. 

“...I’m sure you love it, though.” The concession is meant as just that, yet it comes out sounding disparaging. She nods at the crowds, his fans at a distance.

It is monstrously difficult to remain in high spirits for long when addictive craving rears its ugly head. Uri is fighting it as hard as he can – has to, unless he wants to end up back in jail again. But the conversation is heavy. His heart is heavy. Benji is smiling, cracking jokes, being friendly, and Uri… he’s irritated.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been scowling, but he notices how deep the expression is when the barista sets his drink on the counter. The brief interaction grounds him. He smooths out his frown lines, musters a half-smile and a soft thanks. 

The first sip of coffee releases some of his pent up tension. It scalds his tongue, but it quiets the part of his mind that is screaming for him to just ask if Benji’s got any pills on hand. Now, the voice just occasionally nags in a stage whisper. Plenty irritating still, but anything is better than the constant flood of noise.

It’s an improvement.

“Pfft, we sure know how t’pick a country,” Uri finally says, a spark of humor returning to his watery eyes. He’s a mess. He knows he’s a mess. It’s better to pretend he isn’t. “Wanna try Canada next? Maybe, eh… Mexico?”

Grabbing his own coffee, Benji makes his way to the front window of the cafe, where there’s bar-style seating. He won’t miss an opportunity to people-watch. He sets down his cup and reaches out to wipe condensation from the window, peering out for a moment before settling back onto the creaky stool. 

“...Canada... I don’t know. I’d have to develop a Mountie kink or somethin.” He giggles. “Mexico, no. I’d wake up somewhere with my tongue cut out by the cartel. Jus’ for talkin’ too much, I mean.” He grins, taking a mouthful of coffee. 

“Y’could come to Scotland. It’s jus’ rain and haggis though.” Benji misses Glasgow sometimes, but not so much the rural enclaves that surround it. Edinburgh is a law unto itself, but nothing like here. 

A pause; Uri’s dissatisfaction with their conversation hasn’t gone unnoticed. Benji’s not self-absorbed enough to ignore when someone isn’t having a good time. Thankfully, the drugs in his pocket were being saved for later; far too early in the evening to muster a high, especially in the long line at the club. He couldn’t have taken them beforehand and risked coming up while he was still waiting to go inside. And taking them while standing there... well, the security used to turn a blind eye at some things, but lately? He wasn’t so sure. 

The evening is, for the time being, saved. It would be a surprise to Alice if she were still thinking about how quickly things had gone South, but that’s the furthest thing from her mind right now. The barrage of questions worked. It was an awkward start, but it had gotten her mind unstuck. It had allowed her to move on.

Just as she’s about to take another bite of her butter chicken, he pops the question. A seemingly innocuous question that makes her eyes go wide. She lowers her fork, her food forgotten for a moment.

“Nnnno. I can’t keep my eyes open long enough to try to enjoy one.”

Alice laughs and resumes eating. As she chews, she’s quick to think of a followup that doesn’t solidify her snap rejection. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to understand that he’s asking because he likes horror movies.

She lets out a hum and cants her head to the side, as though she’s reconsidering her answer.

“Well… no, that’s not exactly true. I think it’s fun to be scared shitless. I’m just too much of a wimp to enjoy them as movies, I guess you could say. That’s not a dealbreaker, is it?”

Okay, maybe he’s a little disappointed. But it was a long shot that she’d be a Fangoria subscriber, or something. In actuality, Eli finds it almost immediately enchanting that Alice is shy of the genre. It’s easy to forget that a lot of people don’t like horror. He won’t judge, exactly, but he’s certain they’re all missing out. 

He chuckles gently. “...That’s cute.” He’s not mocking her, and the words basically just slide out before he can think. He can sense himself blushing. 

“...I mean... I know they can be a little much for some people. But I have good taste, I think. Well... I’ll watch anything, but I wouldn’t make anyone else watch anything. I won’t make you watch Cannibal Holocaust. I’m not a sadist. More of a masochist, actually... Though some people have told me otherwise.”

It takes a moment before he realizes the potential of misunderstanding or innuendo in what he’s saying. His eyes are cast downward, then lifted back to Alice, self-consciously, yet not entirely lacking in flirtation. He feels like he walked into it. He’s embarrassed, but somewhat coy, with a barely-there smile.