#pul1tzer

Armand slips through the window like a stray cat, finds his way to Daniel's bed and sits there silently for a while. Some time has passed, yes, he can see the time in Daniel's features as he sleeps.

Perhaps he should let Daniel sleep, but he is impatient. He leans over to turn on the bedside lamp.

the booth upholstery is sticky. christ, do they ever clean these places. the bridge of her nose wrinkles, but she's certainly seen her fair share of worse dive bars.

"is tha' wha' it is?" she drawls softly as she keeps circling him; the delicate line of her nose raised a bit higher than usual to capture heavy cigarette smoke and jasmine. she likes him. a fine specimen whose mind has yet to unravel beneath the weight of knowledge. she has seen lesser men tumble down under the pressure of what it means to witness immortality. some, she has brought on the brink of insanity just for the fun of it. they would scream at the gods, they would whimper for a better chance at life. they would pray and beg and demand to be offered amnesia... the only way to live a normal life. as if normal was something to be coveted.

upon every turn, she disappears into the tall shadow he casts on the ground. she finds that amusing too: like plants reaching for the sun, mankind has grown taller & taller, desperate to touch the stars. she wonders if he, too, wishes he could forget all that he has already forgotten; she wonders and for a moment that wondering takes the shape of a hand being dropped in a bucket of memories. it demands great effort to force the fingers into inaction; nothing is grasped. his mind remains his own: she'll only take his words.