outside_omens | (no subject)

Date: May 3, 2000
Setting: An Unnamed Pub in London
Status: Semi-Private (John and Pestilence - Complete)
Summary: A chance meeting between two strange customers in an out-of-the-way London watering hole. (Odd Couples Challenge thread)

It wasn't one of his usual haunts. John rarely frequented this section of town, for a variety of reasons that were not important, but he'd chosen this particular pub for two very significant reasons: it was in a part of London which he had discovered, by trial and error, he remembered fairly well; and it wasn't someplace where he was likely to run into any casual acquaintances he might or might not recognize or be able to name. This was the first time he'd ventured far from the Manor by himself since the Belfast incident, and he'd planned it very carefully to avoid anything that might trigger another attack like the one that had brought him to a screeching halt the day of the shopping trip.

So far, everything seemed to be going fine. He'd found his way to the place with no problems, the food was good, the beer was palatable, and the atmosphere was friendly and comfortably homey. Nobody had bothered him, and here he found it possible to relax and enjoy his drink and think about nothing special, which seemed to be what his beleaguered psyche liked best to do lately. It served up some rather peculiar free-associations, yes, but as long as he wasn't trying to direct them anywhere in particular or repress the less pleasant ones too much, this didn't cause him any trouble.

He took no real notice, at first, when a group seated near the door began coughing and sneezing rather dramatically. It was the time of year for that sort of thing, after all...

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The horseman cringed. He hadn't meant to be rude. See, that was the problem being immortal, it was hard to understand the human preoccupation with not dying. To be frank, Pestilence had often thought that dying would be preferable to the alternative, but as far as everything was concerned, he would never be able to find out whether his suspicions were true or not. That was one reason he particularily liked movies about zombies and vampires. It was nice not to feel so alone.

He poured John another shot. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to bring up the whole death thing. Ever since I oozed from the collective human consciousness, I've always had difficulty thinking before I speak. Probably comes from lack of practice. Most mortals instinctively avoid me, so I usually only talk to the other horsepeople, and we only talk shop. You can imagine my repetoir is rather limited," he said with an apologetic smile.

After downing another shot himself, Pestilence looked over at John. "You said you didn't have any powers, but your aura is thick with it, you know. I thought all the people at the Manor had powers, anyway. Are you sure you don't?" It was a ridiculous question, but after a few shots of tequila Pestilence didn't care if he looked like a fool.

"Well, unless you'd call being dead clever a superpower..." John smirked, but it turned to a slight, thoughtful frown after a moment.

"Seriously though, I just muck around with the ritual stuff, you know, summoning and warding and whatnot. And I did set a kid's hair on fire with a magic wand once, believe it or not, but none of this calling forth sneezes or miracling shit out of thin air like you supernatural types can do." He shifted a bit, uncomfortably. "Could be you're just picking up the leftovers from a couple, ah, uninvited guests that passed through not long ago." He didn't care much for that thought. As far as he knew, Raphael had cleared all that shit out, and if he was radiating demon mojo Crowley surely would have picked up on it and mentioned it. "Or just that I'm a weirdness magnet. I wouldn't exactly call that a power, though. More like a hereditary curse."

"That's one of the best superpowers I can think of, actually," Pestilence said. Horsepeople weren't known for their modesty, and he would be the first one to tell anyone how clever he was with his illnesses and their spread. However, since he'd already offended John once, he decided it wasn't probably in his best interest to brag about his infectious networking skills.

"No, the power is definitely yours. Not from any influence," he was tempted to ask John about 'uninvited guests,' but held his tongue. Something told him the 'guests' weren't his type of uninvited guests. He tried to feel around a little bit more, see what John's aura told him, but he really couldn't place exactly what the hazy glow around John was. He would consider it more later, when he was closer to sober. For some reason it felt important for him to do. Right now, though, he had something else he wanted to ask.

"You're pretty close with that demon, Craven, or something, right? Are you close to any angels?" It was an off chance that John would have had an dealings with Uriel, but he supposed it was worth an ask.

John's eyes narrowed slightly. Shooting the shit with a random passing personification was one thing, but this was starting to smack of being pumped for information, and he'd never taken too kindly to that.

Still, it wasn't as though the answer was any kind of a secret. "Nah, actually I'm barely on speaking terms with most of 'em. I get on well enough with the one who tends desk at the Manor, though." That seemed safe enough, and had the added advantage of being true. "And it's Crowley, by the way. Best not to get it wrong when he's within earshot, he's a mite touchy about that...why? You need an angel for something?"

He recalled fragments of a conversation with Raphael that suggested the Healer was not at all on good terms with Pestilence, and wondered if the others took their cue from him.

Pestilence lowered his eyes. "Ah, Crowley, I'll try to remember," he muttered. To his knowledge, even though Uriel seemed to be the angel of everything, he didn't think 'everything' included front-desk duties, so it was a good bet that his angel hadn't taken up the position while he'd been away. Oh well, it had been an off chance in the first place.

"Um, no. I don't need an angel. I'm just curious, you know, by nature." He upended the bottle of tequilla, finishing the remaining half of its contents in one go. He looked John straight in the eye. "Don't. Ever. Fall in Love. Only causes trouble." Standing up from the barstool, he took out his wallet and threw a hand full of highly denominated bills at the bartender. "This covers his drinks too, alright?" he said, indicating John.
He glanced back at John. "Um, take it easy. And don't worry. If you eat a little more fiber and cut down on the ciggies and booze your colon and liver will be just fine. I'd recommend spinach and yams. Cleans you right out." He turned and began to walk away, but stopped short. Turning around he quirked an eyebrow at John. "I'm sure you get this all the time, but you look a lot like David Bowie." With a final wave he headed for the door.

John blinked in surprise as the implications of Pestilence's advice sank in*, and raised his glass in acknowledgement. "Amen to that, mate. And thanks."

He opened his mouth to protest the Bowie remark, but the Horseman was already well on his way to the door, and had dropped quite a wad of bills on the bar, so he let it pass.

"David Bowie. Feh," he muttered to himself as he turned back and waved to the bartender to keep them coming.

Angels and demons, angels and Horsemen, archangels Falling...seemed like the Host was plunging headlong into a shake-up the likes of which it hadn't seen in millennia. What that was ultimately going to mean for everybody else he didn't care to speculate.

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*The love bit, not the part about the fiber.