#abelstarter

"So I uh... I got hired to do a job." Nathan admitted as he shovelled some oysters down his gullet. "I guess there's a demigod who had something stolen last year, some mirror the witches were giving out last year at that vigil, feel like breaking some rules with me or-?" Yes he'd said he would turn over a new leaf but this was basically using his powers for good: yes he was stealing, but he was stealing and giving back from the person that was stolen from. Very charming, handsome, and Robin Hood of him.

Somehow Micah had made it through the festival sober, he’d left early to go talk to his sponsor and find a meeting but that was more to do with Farenduil - and it hadn’t kept him from getting pulled into the labyrinth. He couldn’t really think about his actual father without wanting to go to the nearest bar, so Micah was focusing on the things that he could control: work, and the relationships in his life that were still positive. People like Abel, Abel who’d always been there for him even when the faiman made it exceedingly difficult to do so. “You alright?” Micah asked, he’d noticed that Abel was more or less absent from the shop lately, he looked haggard. Which was maybe to be expected. “You just uh, you just seem like there’s something on your mind.” 

All-in-One was a staple for the witches of Rome, Ezekiel had maybe been ten or eleven when he'd shown up here the first time - trailing behind a group of Amaranthus apprentices that had begrudgingly taken him along. Magic still felt so new to him then. Years went on and new ownership moved in but the shop remained, and Ezekiel returned every few weeks or every couple of months. Trial and error through his own failed attempts at brewing potions, or to pick up orders that the coven had placed to try and be useful to them. He never really had been, magic didn't really come naturally to him until he was turned.

The door to the shop closed behind him and somehow Ezekiel thought that the place was going to feel different - it'd been about a year since he'd last been inside but everything more or less seemed the same. That was crazy to him. Rhiannon had said something to him that had stuck out - about mortality and life, how much of the people he'd known would be gone before he realized. She'd given him a lot to think about. Plus, that fucking blood orgy was insane and he was hoping for a magical remedy to help cleanse all the fey blood he'd drank.

"Hey man." Ezekiel greeted, Abel had always given off the same vibe as that Ben Affleck meme where he was smoking a cigarette. Just a guy that was always completely done, kind of comical really. "Long time."

Vivianne had still earned his silent treatment, a level of pettiness reserved especially for demons as he punctuated his simmering rage with a harsh snip of his pruning shears. Abel had committed no offence, but the gruff witch seemed to be in a no better mood than him, maybe worse. It was hard to tell with Abel, his face always made it look like he’d recently swallowed something very large and very sour. “Do you listen when Cain says something to you or do you just treat him like annoying background noise?” Alastor asked, clearly projecting, but the demon didn’t have anyone else to talk to at the moment. “Because Cain might seem stupid, but he’s got a lot of experience under his belt-” A biting snip of his shears, “I mean, how long have you two been together now, twenty? Thirty years? That’s not nothing.” Another snip and a healthy sprig fell onto the table. “It’s actually a really, really fucking long time. Nothing compared to how long he’s actually been around so you know, age and wisdom and all that. So do you listen to him or do you treat him like a glorified babysitter?”

"What, no dancing?" Nathan joked, his jacket had been open since they'd got here so there was no need to work over the buttons before he flopped down into one of the biggest couches he could find. "This is insanity." Came the senator's comment, the pulsing music, the drinks, the... Everything. There was a lot going on here and Nathan felt very old because of it. "We're not staying the whole time, right?" Murder She Wrote was on at midnight.

From the kitchen the coffee maker rumbled to an end as the automatic brew signalled it was probably about that time. In that early morning delirium where the thief lived somewhere between waking and dreaming he wondered where he was, what had happened the night before and where he’d ended up. His consciousness led him in a myriad of different directions, a basement floor, a mattress with no support, a room filled with orphans, somewhere cold, somewhere sterile, or somewhere dangerous. Nathan rarely slept well, most nights he’d wake sometime before or in the midst of the witching, splash some cold water on his face and remind himself that things were alright now. He’d look back at Abel’s slumbering frame in his bed, the overgrown oaf snoring loudly, mouth agape. Outside some vespa would wail on its horn and Nathan would crawl back into bed until that familiar groan of sputtering hot water in a glass carafe pulled him back a few hours later. 

The thief reached behind him and stole the witch’s hand, coiled it along with Abel’s arm across his midsection as he sank his head deeper into the pillow. He was tired, always tired, something told him that was never going to change. Another night together, once was a mistake, twice was the formation of a habit - not that Nathan was complaining. When he awoke it was nice having someone to crawl back to, someone warm, someone familiar, someone that reminded him that against all odds and the overwhelming evidence to the contrary: everything was going to be okay. “You stayed over again.” Nathan grumbled, it bordered along a complaint, though the thief’s body language clearly indicated something different. “Keep this up and I’m going to start charging you rent.” 

It was only a matter of time before the witch came through his door, Nathan had told Abel that he wouldn’t see him again - that he’d ruined him, and he’d meant it. The thief had made a deal with the devil to save his own skin and now there was really only two reasons for him to stay in Rome: one, he owed Lilith a favour and she’d come to collect eventually, and two, he was too petty to let Abel think he could throw him in a cell and toss the key away. It had been a couple weeks now, while news wasn’t bound to get back to Abel, if the witch made good on his promise to return to the cells then it was only a matter of time until he found them empty: the guards clueless.

The bell over the door rang and Nathan didn’t have to look up past the gated desk to know who was standing on the other side. The front room was all chachkies, what you’d expect of a pawn shop while money changing and everything of value was in the back. His desk with the gate the thing separating them. His own enchantments kept everything safe and secure, the cambion with his backdoors and exit strategies at the ready. The thief had officially come out of retirement and business, once again, was good. 

“You know, you wouldn’t have to see me again if you didn’t come to my shop.” Nathan deadpanned without looking up, something constricted in his chest at the words - but all along the thought just plagued him, what was Abel doing here? The only thing that made sense to him was that the marshal would try to cuff him again. That wasn’t going to happen, Nathan didn’t care what he’d done, he wasn’t going back to prison.