alcuin (
alcuin) wrote in
londoncallingrpg2015-04-23 10:48 pm
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Entry tags:
OTA
It had been a while since anyone had randomly recognized Alcuin. He credited this in part to the fading memory of the city (despite the tabloid flair-up around the holidays), and in part to his decision to cut his hair. He'd also taken to wearing glasses, which were a prescription weak enough that he'd typically gone without them in the past, but he was spending considerably more time in front of a computer these days than he had when Anafiel was alive. Maybe it was a little Clark Kent of him, but he definitely wasn't noticed as much this way. And it wasn't even just being recognized, but he also got less attention. Which caused... more conflicting emotions than he would have anticipated.
In any case, this all resulted in his looking like a rather normal young man sitting at an outdoor cafe drinking coffee and reading a copy of Jon Ronson's new book So You've Been Publicly Shamed. It struck a bit of a chord with him, to be honest. He was glad he hadn't spent much time on social media last year. He really didn't want to know what Twitter had thought of him.
The cafe was busier than usual, perhaps due to the weather being nice, and it was a Friday just late enough for people to skip out of work early. He reached over and took his bag out of the other seat at his table in case anyone wanted to join him, as there were no more empty seats around.
In any case, this all resulted in his looking like a rather normal young man sitting at an outdoor cafe drinking coffee and reading a copy of Jon Ronson's new book So You've Been Publicly Shamed. It struck a bit of a chord with him, to be honest. He was glad he hadn't spent much time on social media last year. He really didn't want to know what Twitter had thought of him.
The cafe was busier than usual, perhaps due to the weather being nice, and it was a Friday just late enough for people to skip out of work early. He reached over and took his bag out of the other seat at his table in case anyone wanted to join him, as there were no more empty seats around.
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So she just wanted to see...
She adjusted the bag on her shoulder to tuck it closer to her body as she wove closer. "Excuse me..."
What exactly did she intend to say? She really didn't know.
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"Hi, hello," he said. "Yes, help yourself to the seat, I know that it's getting a bit crowded."
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Still, now she found herself thinking, Ah. So that's where God put it.
"Thank you," she said automatically as she tried to think of a good, concise explanation for why she was more or less staring at him. "I'm sorry, I thought that you might've..." Oh, hell with it. "Thought you might've been albino, too."
But there were other things. His accent said almost as clearly as hers did that he hadn't grown up here. Lived here considerably longer than she had, but wasn't a native. That was interesting.
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He shook his head, with a little smile. "Afraid not. Just... well, as fair as one can possibly be, I suppose. If you were looking for a place to sit you're welcome to join me."
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"Alcuin!" he called out as he came close, smiling warmly at him.
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Juan was just sitting in this nice little café, enjoying his coffee, when a young man sat down a few tables away.
Now, that was a familiar face, Juan knew, but he couldn't quite figure out why. All he knew, somehow, was that it would be useful to remember.
It took him a while, but eventually, he did remember. So, he took his bag and his coffee and walked over to the young man's table.
"Hello. You know, I just spent half an hour trying to figure out why you look so familiar, but I finally got it. Royal Albert Hall, benenift concert, about a month ago. You were there, surely? Hard to tell with the short hair and the glasses, but it has to be."
He knew a little more, of course. This was Alcuin Delauny-something, former prostitute now turned psychology student, with a lover three times his age.
But while his thoughts were less than charming, his manner and his smile certainly were.
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"Yes, I was there," he said, offering a polite smile. "But I don't think we met...?" Though there was something familiar about the man's features. Alcuin couldn't place it.
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"I didn't have the pleasure, no," Juan said, charmingly. Oh, he could be when he want to. "Juan Borgia, pleasure to meet a fellow Ravel enthusiast. May I join you?"
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It was only a flash, but there was no mistaking that the name meant something to Alcuin, and that his downcast eyes immediately after suggested he preferred to hide the reaction. He certainly wasn't going to say anything about Cesare.
"Of course," he said, looking back up then and gesturing to the seat. "My name is Alcuin. It's a pleasure to meet you, Juan."
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Juan was accustomed to his name meaning something to people. If not for himself, then either the person was charmed by sister, fucked by his brother, or known by his father. He doubted the latter, possibly the first. Most likely, though, this whore knew his brother. Typical.
"We don't bite, you know," he said with a smile. "Just call me Juan and forget my last name."
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Felix had paused with his cup and saucer on his way to find a table, just to scan the title of the book that had caught his eye. Darkly, he wondered if he mightn't need just such a manual before long. Only then did he realize that he recognized the elegant white hands turning the pages.
"Alcuin?" he asked in surprise.
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Yet how could Felix resist a smile like that?
He drew out the chair opposite Alcuin, and slid himself down into it. "I assure you, the pleasure is all mine. You've changed your hair. It's positively transfixing."
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"Is this seat taken?" he asked, charm coming off him in waves.
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"No... no, it's not," he finally said, and slid a thumb into his book to mark his place.
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"I'm Jack."
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"Alcuin...that's French, huh?" he asked, playing up the American facade. He'd found most people bought it easily and that made things easier on him.
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