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Five weeks was a long time to be separated, though this was hardly a thought Arthur ever expected to be indulging. He was rarely in the habit of missing people; centuries of practice saw to that, but Charlie had somehow dismantled this with very little effort. A month away from him felt different from the solitude Arthur had previously resigned himself to—less empty, and more filled with wanting.

The video calls had hardly helped matters. Charlie appeared on a screen every night, entirely sincere in the belief that putting himself on display would make up for the distance. Stripped, flushed, and doing exactly as he was told, holding off until Arthur said otherwise, working himself to the edge and back again while Arthur sat three thousand miles away, tormented by the fact that he could not touch him. And then, in the final weeks, he had taken to keeping his shirt on despite Arthur’s demands, which Arthur read as deliberate provocation. Charlie knew how Arthur liked to watch the marks slowly fade from his skin, knew exactly what the sight of his body did to him, and seemed to have taken satisfaction in the withholding of it.

He had not slept around while he was gone. He didn’t do that anymore. It took some adjustment at first; Arthur wasn’t, historically, a man who had ever had particular cause to exercise that kind of restraint, but he found that he could not put up with any more guilt over Charlie. Ashamedly, Arthur used drugs to get through the worst of the trip instead—the constant travel, negotiations, and the performance of being exactly where and what everyone needed him to be all the damned time. He wasn’t in a bad state, but a certain fatigue had settled behind his eyes and would not lift, sleep doing nothing to ease it. There was no reason to mention this to Charlie however; his immortal constitution meant that it could easily pass for jet lag. It was what it was—a month's worth of uncomfortable pinning on top of an already demanding trip, but he was home now, Charlie was almost here, and Arthur fully intended to make up for the lost time.

Charlie eventually let himself inside with Churchie at his heels, and Arthur came through from the kitchen to meet them. The dog went for him immediately, beside himself at the sight of his master. He tended to Churchill first, then to Charlie. It was barely ten minutes into the reunion before the other said he had something to show him and reached for the buttons of his shirt, which gave Arthur brief pause. Not unwillingly—only an observation that even by his standards this was fast. An amused grin pulled at his lips as he watched the garment fall to the floor, his slightly red-rimmed eyes moving over him hungrily, and then widening as sudden recognition hit.

Arthur’s own words, written in his own hand in that distinctive malachite green, set directly over Charlie’s heart.

So long mine heart lay in a lonely mist till thou cam’st changed, and in thy changing found; thine love, offered blind, knowing not what bliss thou didst bestow on this drear soul, made kind. ⸺ A. Kirkland.

He had wanted Charlie to have it; it seemed, at the time, the closest thing to the truth he could give him, but he had not expected this. He did not expect to see those words now, branded on Charlie’s skin like some mark of ownership.

"You're having me on, aren’t you?" Arthur said, the words close to pleading as he reached for him, pressing his thumb hard into the writing on his chest, as though it might scrub away under pressure. Arthur had left his mark on people before, in ways they did not choose and could not refuse, dressed up in finer language than it was. Right now, despite Charlie having done it out of his own volition, it felt no different. Arthur could not stop the guilt from flooding over him. Oh God—what had he done? He’d utterly mislead this man.

With a hiss of pain, Charlie's hands rose on instinct to grab the other man's wrist and pull him away. For a moment, the sharp feeling had at least worked to distract him from the troubled disbelief in Arthur's tone, but that couldn't last forever. His face had already fallen in response to the pain, his excitement along with it, and the expression only continued to shrink away as the reaction he'd received started to register.

As he was prone to, and perhaps as a defensive reaction, the upset he felt as a result of his lover's rejection swiftly morphed into indignation. Of course he knew it was permanent! Despite what was apparently popular belief, he wasn't an idiot. He was still perfectly capable of coherent thought and could make informed decisions for himself, thank you very much!

And why would it be a joke? What was so unbelievable about his display of love? Arthur felt the same way in return. Charlie knew that. Okay, so maybe he didn't say as much with his words in any simple way, but the poem's meaning had been clear enough, and he other man's body and behaviour spoke wonders about his thoughts. When it came to declaring his love, it was only his ability to say it in basic terms that fell short, but that was okay. Arthur had his reasons for his silence and Charlie accepted that. He didn't mind navigating around the lingering effects of past damage, and anyway, it was hardly like he didn't bring any complications of his own to the relationship, was it?

Under any other circumstance, the hold on Arthur's wrist would have inevitably transitioned into an attempt to entangle their fingers together for a while. However, instead of trying to take his hand, Charlie found himself pushing Arthur's arm away and dropping it, making no further attempt to continue the connection as his sparking temper took over.

"What do you think I was thinking?"

So what if it was permanent? When Charlie imagined his future, it was never without Arthur by his side. They were going to be forever. In a decade's time, when Arthur was still an important man with a diary full of international travel, and Charlie had recalibrated the trajectory of his own career, he was going to be able glance down and see the words on his chest to remind himself that their time apart was only temporary. And later, when they were both grey and enjoying retirement together, the stanza would still remain etched in place, as unchanged as their relationship.

Besides, if he was going to have anything scratched into his skin, at least he had got something meaningful. Who was Arthur to comment on his choice of tattoo when he'd chosen to decorate himself with a guitar? Sure, he liked music, but that hardly seemed important enough to warrant modifying his body. And how about that ship on his chest? Compared to what Charlie had chosen, it seemed out of place. In fact, Arthur's whole collection seemed disjointed. What had he been thinking when he'd got them? At least Charlie's tattoo had significant meaning behind it, and he wasn't planning on turning himself into a haphazard patchwork of ideas by adding anything else.

The question of what he had been thinking was more warranted than he would admit, though. The fact of the matter was that Charlie hadn't been thinking - not in any way that actually considered the ramifications of his decision, anyway. Now the question had been raised, a small voice in the back of his mind finally managed to make itself heard. Maybe he should have talked to Arthur about the tattoo first. If he'd done that, maybe he would have liked it. They could have picked the words together, and they could have spent hours deciding exactly where to place them. It would have been something belonging to them both rather than a decision Charlie had made alone. That would have made it a better symbol of their relationship.

Was that why Arthur wasn't reacting like he should? Because he would have preferred it to be something else? Or, instead, because he felt left out of the process?

The wave of irritation that had overcome Charlie passed as quickly as it had arrived, replaced instead by the dejected feeling that came from being unable to deny that his gift had not been as well received as he had hoped it would be. In all his time knowing Arthur, he'd never been able to successfully mask his emotions, and a look of hurt was evident in his entire being as he bent down to pick his shirt up and pull it back on.

"I have many travels to make across l'globo," he was a busy man after all. "After I am done en your York-shire, I will be going back home at last." He smiled but then cast a more thoughtful look over Charlie. "I am sorry that we could no' come to see you sooner, would you have preferred that en the hospitale?" He doubted it, "People they panic when a priest comes ento a room like that too," he tried to reason but really given Charlie was not possessed, he didn't need to know the Vatican had worried his miraculous recovery was a demon in his head.

A more patient little laugh escaped him at his comment on his mother, taking a sip of the coffee again and looking out across the park.

"You know, people feel their connection differently," Lorenzo began gently, "You do no' want to go to church, that es ok, you live, you talk to strangers who turn up en your office, you buy him coffee," he toasted his cup to him but not for a connection, just an acknowledgement. "These things they are small but show en you a thoughtfulness, you do no' have to speak to Dio to still feel him. He es en what good you do and loves you anyway." Priestly, used to this talk of course but he was more careful with Charlie, he was a little more volatile than others.

A visit from a priest may have changed that. If someone could have seen him before that stage, perhaps he'd have never started down the thought path that had led to his disillusionment with the church. He'd been a new person at that point. In many ways, he still was. Instead of panicking, Charlie didn't find it too hard to imagine that he might have latched onto the chance to be offered answers instead.

But it was too late for that now. Charlie had decided on his own answers, and they included the fact that if an almighty being was willing to let such terrible things happen to him, then he shouldn't see anything of worth in them.

"Yeah, it's almost like fate, isn't it?" Charlie muttered in response to the comment about his name. The same had been said on one of the days where his parents had dragged him along to church with them. It hadn't been malicious - just someone trying to comfort a man who clearly needed it - but, in the moment, it had felt so infuriating. Charlie's response hadn't been kind. It had been an angry torrent of emotion which had resulted in his parents having to make countless apologies for him as they tried to explain that the mood swings couldn't be helped and his words shouldn't be taken seriously. In hindsight, that was regretful, and he had ensured that he apologised himself once he realised that, but on the positive side, it had at least meant that he'd been left at home on Sunday for a good few weeks afterwards.

That wasn't something Charlie wanted to talk about, though. What he wanted to talk about was absolutely anything else, and he quickly found himself trying to work out what exactly that could be. He could start recommending things to do in Yorkshire? Or talk about how nice is it to go home? Actually, no, that wasn't a good idea. That could get shot back at him, which wasn't ideal seeing as his home didn't really feel like anything of the sort anymore. So, how about-

Oh, actually, he had an idea! A good idea, too. One that could be useful for more than just idle chatter.

"Hey, you must speak better Latin than me, right? Before you leave London, I don't suppose you'd have a look at some evidence I've got in an old case I've been given? It must have slipped through the cracks because it's definitely one of those weird ones that I'm supposed to hand off to this other department, but I reckon I have some ideas about it so I want to see if I can give it a shot myself first. Would you mind? It shouldn't take long. It's just some old documents they found on the victim."

But he acknowledged the invitation, "Sure, I'd appreciate that," confirmation and now it was said, it was not something Dallas could back out of in Lucifer's mind. He'd be turning up there regardless. Though the idea of catching rattlesnakes took him by surprise and Lucifer gave a hesitant nod, "Sure, I can give it a go or at least get you to a hospital if things go wrong." He would not be doing that, why bother?

"I've been to Maryland... I think." In that moment, aided by the alcohol, Dallas wasn't quite sure. Geography had never been his strong point (nor had any other academic subject). He knew his states, of course, and he knew that D.C. was next to it, but he couldn't remember if it was its own thing or part of Maryland - or, for that matter, part of Virgina instead! Either way, though, he must have been there at some point, right? Even if only to go to a bar a little more out of town, or a store, or something like that.

In fact, he must have definitely been to Maryland because he'd been been all over the country with work. After accompanying Bush all those years, he reckoned he must have been to all of the states.

But whatever the case, he couldn't remember anything about the place, so it can't have been all that good. Still, Nick was interesting enough. Just went to show that everywhere had some positives, didn't it? Other than Detroit, anyway. Nothing good ever happened up there.

The suggestion that showing him the case files was already an indication of trust and also a habit frowned upon at least told Moriarty that Charlie was not too scared of breaking a few rules now and then. He would work on that, test the limits carefully and subtly, feign ignorance for mild illegal acts or incorrect procedures. "I see, I will be mindful but I figured this informal consult would be confidential." He tried to reassure him, "call it a test run," a smile as he handed back the case files, he didn't need to see them again but he knew it would look better showing he was conscious that it was best he wasn't the one caught with them in his office.

At the same time, though, the part of his brain that prevented he himself from breaking them was no longer fully intact. He knew what he was doing and he was doing it for the right reasons, so why shouldn't he take a few liberties here and there? Was it hypocritical of him? Yes, but Charlie didn't see it that way. To be quite honest, he didn't see it in any way at all. Having a hole in your head tended to cause your internal logic to become somewhat wonky, and he was far from an exception to this.

Charlie laughed back at Moriarty. If the joke was being returned, then it had clearly been appreciated! Good. When people were nothing but serious, they didn't seem to work with him so well, although he wasn't sure why, yet again oblivious to his own behaviour. Another result of his injury was anosognosia - the inability to recognise the effects of the damage done to him. This wasn't always the case, but it happened often enough that he'd be concerned if he could accept what people told him what he was missing.

"I reckon I can get it sorted out within the next few weeks. I don't think I'll be able to push it through as a priority, but someone like you must have had background checks done before, right? So hopefully they can reference them to speed it up."

In the meantime, if they needed to get on with things, there'd be no issue with just doing it on the sly, would there? By all reports (other than that of Sherlock Holmes), Professor Moriarty was an upstanding citizen. What harm could it do to continue to work with him?

Tired Sentences Vol 4

That seemed like a terribly long time to go without sleep. While he understood that disorders came in all forms for agents he dreaded to think what one around sleeping would be like. Should he maybe knock him out or would that make it worse? Was something hunting him in his dreams or was it a case of something in the waking world?

"You must be exhausted," because no one could function on that long without sleep. "Is it that there's a problem in your sleep or are you worried about something coming for you while you sleep?" One he understood more than the other and could at least help with, supposedly anyway.

Jeremiah did have some sleeping pills, but he shook his head anyway. "They don't always work," he explained. Despite the exhaustion, eyes were wide and continuously flicking back and forth, as if he were watching for something he couldn't quite see. At what point did people start hallucinating due to lack of sleep? It had to be soon, right? Jeremiah would really avoid that if he could. Considering the things he'd seen and done, he dreaded to think what horrors his subconscious mind could up given the chance.

"Sometimes I have bad dreams, sometimes I'm worried about what may be nearby. Sometimes I can hear things nearby, and sometimes I see them. I like those times the least. If I had to pick, I'd rather just have the nights where there doesn't seem to be a reason for it all and I just can't drop off, I think."

There were probably other causes too. To tell the truth, Jeremiah didn't really keep track anymore. Not sleeping had become as much a part of his life as anything else. No point in spending time thinking about it when it wasn't something he could fix, was there?

"I think maybe this time it's because of the coyotes. I've been thinking about them a lot, you know? It really worries me. I mean, I don't actually want to be one, do I? That would be really bad, and-"

Jeremiah suddenly cut his own rambling off, a thought seemingly coming to him. His eye fell back on Killian, a serious look in them.

"Things always hit people differently and the loss of someone you look up to at a young age isn't going to be easy to digest," especially if he had come to think of John Wayne as his pseudo father figure. He felt guilty in some way but as ever with Edgar, it was easy for him to shrug off, he didn't know so how could he have possibly done anything about it? He was there now that he did know and that was good, right?

"I'll know what to get you for Christmas now then," he mused with the idea of just collecting remastered DVDs of the westerns he seemed to have enjoyed. "We can watch some together actually, you can show me how it was cowboys always rode off into the sunset on their own." He cracked another smile and moved the veg onto a pair of plates. "Not much of a film buff I'll admit," cinema had not really interested him given the exciting life he had lead already. "But that can change with some good drink and company, an easy habit to fall into."

Edgar moved the steaks onto the plates next and paid attention to their positioning and just how much of the juice went with them, watching the meat absorb just that last bit off of the plate before they would be ready to serve. "My father was a senior accounts manager for a defence company," Dallas might as well know about his grandfather, "I know it's not the sort of thing that sounds glamourous, but we travelled a lot when I was a child, picked up some of the languages too, French, Spanish, Arabic," he listed off, missing a few out. "My parents both died when I was eleven, I had to navigate the rest by myself."

"I've got me a DVD player back in D.C, y'know. You could come over to mine," Dallas suggested. His flat in the capital was a lot nicer than his run down ranch. It was even tidy and everything! Admittedly, that had a lot to with how little time he spent there - his life in the city mainly filled with work - but what did that really matter when Edgar seemed to work a lot too?

Dallas was interested to hear about what he supposed were his grandparents, though the concept was an alien one to him. Obviously his mother had parents too, but he'd never met them. In fact, they'd never even been mentioned, which he'd never questioned too much but did make a lot more sense now he knew she used to be a spy. Presumably, she was in hiding for some reason. Dallas wanted to know more, but there was no point in asking her. Even if she happened to remember, the information was presumably top secret.

Truth be told, though he supposed there were benefits to travelling as a child, Dallas found himself glad that he'd strayed in one place. His childhood hadn't been a perfect one, but at least he'd felt as though he belonged. Had Edgar felt the same? Maybe, but even if he did, it must have been more difficult.

"Oh, there's no need to apologise. Not like you knew I was alive, is it? 'Cause if you'd known, you'd have been there for me, right?"

Dallas did not know that as a fact. He was making assumptions based on the reality he wanted. It like like there was evidence to support his theory, though. Edgar looked after Ethan well, didn't he? Arguably too well, judging by his brother's lack of motivation to make anything more of himself, but that was another conversation for another time. So, if he'd known that he had another son, then he'd have looked after him too, wouldn't he? It just made sense that way!

As he spoke, he moved around the kitchen to pull cutlery out of a drawer and drop them onto the small table in the corner of the kitchen. The steaks looked good! They smelt good too, and Dallas was eager to try his!

Sebastian felt the same way that Charlie did, frustrated and lost, but it wasn't the first time he'd felt that way, and it wouldn't be the last. It was, unfortunately, a part of the job. There would always be losses, but it was their job to continue, to push on and get past it. Hopefully, together, they could.

And he did have faith. Not faith in any higher power--though he did, in a strange and complicated way, have that, too--but faith in himself, and faith in Charlie. He didn't know the entirety of the man's history, or any of it, really, but he still had his badge, and he still had his instinct, and that was enough for Sebastian. They'd figure it out. Charlie had the instinct to come to him, and that counted for something. He'd given Sebastian no reason to doubt him, and until that happened, which he didn't think it would, he would continue to believe in him.

For all of that, though, Sebastian's eyes were not on Charlie. He didn't see his frustration, though he did hear the sound of the kicked rock, his head turning to it, excited until he realized it was Charlie. Maybe he should have asked, should have realized that there was something deeper bothering him, but he didn't. There was enough frustration to be felt in general about this that he didn't realize it was anything else.

What would they do next, though? Return to the car, retrieve the files, and then... What? As much as Charlie hated to admit it, this had been his only real idea. He'd known it had been unlikely to turn up anything new, of course, but with no other leads in mind, what else was he supposed to do?

Needless to say, the lack of knowing what to try next was doing little to reduce Charlie's irritated state. It wasn't helping his need to prove himself either, but in all reality, there wasn't really anything that could fix that particular problem. There wasn't a way back to the place he'd been before. Charlie was lucky to have got his job back at all, and now he was stuck in place - held where he was by a head injury that was never going to get better.

Maybe Sebastian would have an idea about their next steps. It had to be said, it was nice to be working alongside another person again. The company was appreciated, and the ability to bounce ideas off another person even more so.

"So you're thinking we get the files, hope there are photos of the forest, then we go back in and try to find the same spots to see if they're different?"

It was another long shot. If there were photos of whatever search had occurred in the woods, they wouldn't cover the whole thing. If their luck so far was anything to go by, there'd be photos of everything except the area they needed.

Caring & Reassuring Sentences, Vol. 10

(Sentences from various sources for muses that care for each other. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"Just because something seems inevitable doesn't mean there isn't hope."

"I never want to see you hurt. Not even a bruise."

"You know, change can be a good thing. The future is a curious creature."

"You did your job, and you did it very well. For that, you should be proud."

"Just promise me that if you get lost, we get lost together?"

"I wasn't there to protect you once. I won't make that same mistake again."

"I don't want you to every give up, alright? Promise me you won't ever get bitter, or cynical, or tired?"

"I'm not your dad. I'm not going to do what he did."

"It's okay if you're scared right now. I know I am."

"Whatever's wrong with you is wrong with me too."

"I know you. I can see the real you."

"We're never alone. Don't you know that?"

"I promised to stay, and I will."

"I care about you. I want to make sure you're making the right decisions."

"You know, sometimes we think we have to do something, but we really don't."

"I know what it's like to be alone. Believe me."

"For whatever it's worth, I thought what you did today was pretty damn terrific."

"I wish I knew what to say to make it all better, but I don't have the answers. Nobody does."

"You've been looking behind you. Try looking ahead."

"This moment is not about me. It's about you."

"You are more than the stone and steel face you show the stars. You are allowed to be open."

"For me to help you, you're going to have to talk to me at some point."

"You know where I am if you need me, but don't leave it too late."

"When you think about this later, it'll just seem like some nightmare you had."

"Being frightened is a normal, natural human function, just like breathing. It's how you react to fright that really counts."

The Horus Heresy Sentences, Vol. 1

(Sentences from The Horus Heresy (2006-2024) and related stories. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"The difference between gods and demons depends on where one is standing at the time."

"A weapon doesn't question who it kills or why. That isn't the point of weapons."

"I have never quite come to terms with my status. I see what I am capable of, and what is expected of me, and I shudder. The mere fact of me frightens me sometimes."

"You have a very lovely voice. You could ask me to do anything."

"The truth can't be wrong, even if it is ugly."

"Are you saying that I bore you?"

"Some of the things you have told me sound like wonders, yet you yourself do not seem to wonder at them."

"Have you not seen things so bizarre they left you speechless?"

"There is no fundamental immutable evil in the cosmos. It is too large and sterile for such melodrama."

"I could give someone a bad name just by standing next to them."

"If I insulted you in any way, let me assure you, I meant it."

"Does it hurt? The truth you keep hidden?"

"Answer me this: how far does your loyalty go?"

"Did you not see the warnings I left?"

"Why have you tasked me with this? Why have you forsaken me? Why?"

"It is too hard. It is too much. Why did you leave me to do this on my own?"

"Have you ever known me to lose a fight?"

"You always want to be the first, don't you?"

"I am your sword. Tell me where to strike."

"What do you leave here for me that you don't dare bring me directly?"

"Will you follow me no matter what I do?"

"Common decency and civil behaviour are just a thin veneer over the animal at the core of mankind that gets out whenever it has a chance."

"Find some other gullible fool to seduce. I don't have time."

"It is only those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shriek and groans of the dying who cry aloud for blood, vengeance, and desolation."

"If you think you can bully me with your bad manners and your high and mighty attitude, you can go to hell!"

"I usually make up my mind about someone in ten seconds, and I very rarely change it."

"You have a thinker's head on you, but wars are not won by thinkers. They are won by men of action."

"There's always room in my life for temptation. I count it a bad day if I'm not tempted by something or another."

"We are brothers, yes, but like all brothers, we squabble and seek to outdo one another."

"One should never see a drinking establishment well lit. It just makes them look even sadder."

"There is little of you that can still be called human, isn't there?"

"Only one person has a need to know what's the things inside my head, and that person is me."

"Si, et was very interesting," he confirmed, more so than he thought others would consider, "I think people believe et es prayer and scripture studies and no learning how people work, how communities come together." Psychology in some sense but anthropology was more obvious. Lorenzo had certainly learned how to handle himself in that time, his jolly persona lingered after working out its what granted him access to things and people he supposedly wouldn't have in the past. Not that it was a barrier anymore.

He smiled when he revealed he had considered joining the church and he looked at him thoughtfully, he didn't think Charlie could be an exorcist but there were other roles in the church that might fit him perhaps. "Never too old to follow the call," he encouraged gently, no point in forcing it given Charlie had revealed he was already very disillusioned with the church.

Surprise crossed his face at Charlie's check what they were supposed to be talking about, in truth, Lorenzo already had his answer, Charlie was not possessed and he could in theory end his talk with him and head up to Yorkshire early. However, he didn't want to do that and as he stole another sip of his coffee he eyed him patiently considering his options.

They all did it, these priests. That was one of the reasons why Charlie didn't want to go to church anymore. He didn't want to feel like he was being placated, or gently herded in a specific direction because someone else thought it would be best for him. Everyone had been so kind to him after his injury. No matter how genuine - because it had been genuine, he knew that - it had felt stifling. In the end, Charlie had only been able to take so much talk of God's plan for him and how these events were a test, and of people treating him as though he were a broken thing to be pitied and nursed back to health.

He didn't manage to resist rolling his eyes in response to Lorenzo's comment about never being too old. In truth, Charlie didn't even try to resist. The action happened without thought, as had become the norm for him nowadays. Once again, he felt a wave of irritation wash over him. Why would he want to join the church now? Was it an attempt at a joke? If it was, then it wasn't a funny one.

"Right. And you thought it better to turn up now, once my life was back on track, rather than when the wound was still fresh?"

Not that he'd have appreciated a visit while he was in the midst of recovery, mind you. It was a bit of an odd decision though, wasn't it? Was his return to work the most interesting part of his story? Or had it just not been noticed until now?

He just raised an eyebrow which was admittedly partly hidden by his hat at Agent Mulder did not in fact hold back about his opinions on how extra-terrestrials interacted or manifested. Theo had of course seen the real deal for himself and while he couldn't be sure Mulder hadn't he knew he had to do his best not to appear not to take him seriously. The better he suggested he didn't believe in such things the more convincing his by-the-book stance on it would be while he did indeed do everything by the book for Delta Green.

Then came talk of the Men in Black and Theo pinched at the bridge of his nose in some frustration. It was going to be a long cover up and he wondered if he would have to hand everything over to another Delta Green agent so that he could secure the cover up story.

"I appreciate your input Agent Mulder, but I have to stress again how important it is that you keep your head out of the clouds on this one." He dropped his hand and looked to him seriously, "A light doesn't indicate that there's some sort of alien or whatever, here in reality, it means either a torch or a vehicle." It was in some ways hard to lie to Mulder given he worked so hard to find the truth, he was no enemy to Theo but in this case he had to do as the mission needed.

There was a dryness to Mulder's tone that could flawlessly accompany rolling his eyes. He managed to resist that, though, and, in fact, monotone was the man's default state when it came to tone of voice. It came through with the vast majority of situations - interest, happiness, even excitement. Not to say that Mulder wasn't being sarcastic, though. He was, only he wasn't putting much effort into it.

Sometimes, his cases did turn out to have normal explanations. These situations were unusual, but they did happen. Notably, there had been one case where even Scully had been wrong. He'd thought it was ghosts, she'd thought a cult. The reality? A lottery run by organised crime where if you lost, you paid in body parts.

Then again, though, somehow that sounded just as absurd as some of their other cases.

"How'd you want to start, then? Have you talked to the family yet?"

Of course, Mulder knew a thing or two about the mysterious disappearance of a child himself. The abduction of his sister, as well as his theory that she was taken by aliens, was no secret. His sister hadn't come home, though. Still, he'd find her one day. He had to.

More recently, Mulder had investigated a number of these cases over the course of his career. He had the files memorised, too. To be quite honest, Mulder thought himself the biggest asset Beneventi could possibly have for this investigation!

And it was an alien abduction. Even ignoring that was that Mulder had a hunch about it (and his hunches were usually right), what else could it reasonably be?

The corner of Hannibal's mouth quirked upward into that asymmetrical smile of his. Fire. One of his favorite little amusements to display, though few were ever granted such a performance. It wasn’t a known topic; Mulder just so happened to be special enough to be privy to it now. After all, if humanity was destined to burn itself to ash eventually, why shouldn't he accelerate the process with his own particular talents? Even Mulder seemingly agreed to it all.

"True entertainment requires innate gifts," Hannibal remarked with casualness. He extended his open palm toward Mulder for inspection; no residue, no hidden mechanisms. He tugged at his cuff, demonstrating the absence of any concealed compartments that might explain the upcoming spectacle. With a twist of his wrist, he brought thumb to middle finger and snapped. A flame materialized between them. His fingers pinched, cradling the fire as it danced obediently at his fingertips.

"Observe," he stated, that telltale smile returning as his other hand mimicked the motion but instead of creating another flame, this gesture extinguished every light in the room. Only the single flame remained, casting Hannibal's features in dramatic shadow. He enjoyed Mulder enough that he wouldn’t snuff out his soul flame, no. There was intellectual conversation with him, something he had searched millennia to find: intellectual stimulation worthy of his attention.

As a child, he'd been enamoured with the TV show The Magician. He'd been watching it the night his sister had been taken, and in the following days it had become so easy to throw himself into researching those types of illusion. It had been a distraction, but it had also been a way to convince himself that it had all been a trick. Samantha wasn't gone; it was all an illusion, and she'd come back laughing about it.

Of course, that hadn't been the case. That had become clear soon enough, but it hadn't been until years later, after trying hypnotic regression, that Mulder had discovered the truth of the night.

Inspecting Hannibal's hands with the eye of somebody who was familiar with what he was looking for, it was clear there was no sign of any device or other traditional method of summoning a flame. Hannibal's repetition of the trick further demonstrated this. It was at that point that the gears began to turn in Mulder's mind.

He'd met pyrokinetics before. The phenomenon had been recorded numerous times in a variety of circumstances. Could Hannibal be one? Were he talking to a stranger - not somebody Mulder had worked with - he wouldn't hesitate to say so. It was, after all, what the evidence was telling him. Hannibal seemed so normal, though.

Okay, sure, he was an eccentric. He lived in a dramatically lit house and his idea of dinner was like something out of a gothic novel. He wasn't a abnormal, though. He wasn't a monster.

But if that was true, then how was he doing the magic trick?

He scoffed a laugh at the assumption and did indeed give a little gesture to himself, certainly not dressed for the country life, or at least not that country life anyway. "Hardly here in disguise," he teased gently and airily, "I just figured somewhere remote would be fitting but not so remote that there wasn't indoor plumbing, a bar and some good company," he pointed a finger around his whiskey glass at Dallas with a little nod his way for good measure.

Dallas was careful in what he revealed about his real job.... and the other one he did on the side. Lucifer of course was cheating in already knowing it all but he was more than happy to play along for now. "Sounds like there's a story in that, how'd you end up going from ranching to protection? Quite the leap. Are you perhaps some sort of gunslinger?" Another careful joke to play into Dallas' assumptions.

Lucifer was of course not actually on the run and was looking simply for an opportunity to cause some appropriate trouble to get humanity to doubt and if they committed a couple of the deadly sins along the way that was all the better. Dallas had his attention for now and he was sure he could have a good time messing around with him, newly converted and all.

Dallas didn't say any of this, nor did he respond to the question about how he'd moved into his current job. One of the things he'd always been taught back in the heyday of L-Cell was that it was wise to say as little as possible. Of course, Dallas had never been the best at doing that. He'd always been more prone to running his mouth with a half-planned cover story and hoping for the best than anything else, and recent experiences proved that nothing had changed in that regard. However, in this particular case, coincidence had it he'd been too busy laughing at the idea of being some kind of old-time gunslinger to say anything he shouldn't.

"Now, if I know one thing 'bout gamblin'', it's that if a man tries to rope you into a bet, then you ain't got the common sense God gave a tangerine if you take it!"

Dallas was a good shot. That was undeniable. In a room, he could usually assume he was the best with a gun in there. That didn't mean he was the best in the world, though, and he still had enough of his wits to know that he shouldn't allow himself to be neither enticed nor goaded into making bets with a stranger!

However, apparently that good common sense didn't extend to inviting said strangers into his home. Why should it? If Nick tried to hurt him, then he'd have Nibbles to deal with!

Never the less, Lucifer still had some domino pieces to push and when Siger had been suitably settled in his little private spot as a regular, Lucifer made his entrance, nothing showy of course, he didn't want to scare away the pigeons so to speak. He shook Siger's hand when it was offered and smiled, "Likewise," Lucifer hummed for the polite greeting and then sat down on the opposite side of the table, comfortably.

"Quite the morning, don't you think?" A polite but knowing smile crossed his face again as he relaxed into his chair, "It happened fast though, I thought there would be at least a little lag before it hit the press but that part of the inevitable is harder to predict." No, it had gone exactly as it was supposed to but he had to appear at least a little humble, right?

The fact that Lou had known the story was going to break while Siger hadn't was concerning too. Of course, he'd been aware of the content already, but as far as he'd known, the only people aware were people who wouldn't gain anything from bringing the affair to light. So, where had it come from? And, more importantly, how had the other man caught wind of it?

Amidst all the questions, one thing was for certain: Lou was somebody that Siger wanted on his side.

"I have considered your proposal, yes." The moment it had become clear that the man was more than a jumped-up individual with delusions of worth, Siger had begun to seriously think about their prior conversation. Clearly, he had some incredibly strong media connections. That alone made it tempting to accept, but he did still have questions he wanted answering first...