“We ought to murder him for making us travel from Suriname every time he gets bored,” Gemini suggests. The tone and dialect that he affects is mingled with mannerisms of Japanese anime, which Solinis had introduced the djuka to in order to teach them how to read English.
It is hard to say where Frederic gleans his idiosyncrasies from. “Go ahead.” A smug lower lip hints at the confidence of nepotism. “I die every night before going to bed. If you think you can do a better job than me, he my guest!” To this end, his shadow sits up a little bit straighter in a show of rare solidarity.
The Tower of Babel that I have torn down for these people seems to have left only Frederic in disarray for he was the only one who was ever really on the outside, staring into mirrors and trying to brainwash himself with what he thought to be normal human behavior. When he woke up in the same world as Solinis, Frederic took a glance at a television and was charmed to find out that his hunches towards social norms were accurate. Solinis let him stay in his little play pen of superiority to keep him from damaging himself.
“What does it feel like to die?” Solinis asks, beginning to settle into his professional duties “Wait. Scratch that. What does it feel like to bw reborn every morning?”
The petulant slant shall never leave Medina’s face but the longer he spends in his now ex-lover’s presence the more he accepts that the other man, now a stranger to him, has some superior comprehension of the metaphysics that the boy loves to molest with spontaneity and the glam of surprise. Solinis refrains from revealing his identity to Fred because it will hurt when the time comes; the burgeoning damage that persists due to the ignorance, however, will have the unintentional bonus of meeting employment quotas, building in intensity and pay off with each moment that Medina proves his unknowing.
The Soldier of Scion smiles thin, a credible front that conflates smug with stupid.
“No, but seriously,” Gemini continues. “It is a real violation of my philosophy to have this goof trotting the celestial back roads with the name and likeness of my kid. Names are not easy to come by; astrology is tough to fake.” The telltale shadow is what bothers Gemini the most: He remembers a little boy playing all alone at the forest’s edge, trying his hardest not to tell everyone that his shadow really talks to him.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Fred spits. “Maybe I slit your kid’s throat and drank his blood.”
Gemini goes for his gun.
“He’s your sons reflection in my world,” Solinis sighs, pained to stay his associates hand. He has no doubt that Fred kills himself every night and is curious to see what manner of nonsense is his resurrection spell. “If you harm him at the moment you will be harming your child as well.”
Gemini tries not to feel guilty for being so rough with his prisoner.
[You are getting a little too old for this routine,] Sol purrs in the ancient tongue.
[You want your little drugs and your tiny fun, correct? There is no need to antagonize this nice old man; he is the one who synthesizes the cough syrup for your ecstasy. So to speak.]
“I… I don’t even like drugs.” A halfling. He had prided himself on being able to follow the tongue but not speak it because it gave way to his favorite games, teasing the speakers of illicit conspiracies with the unlikely fact —-like he could read, but not write.
A silly, disarming sigh escapes the demon, coupled with a shaking of his noggin to provide playful exasperation. It is his renowned talent: Solinis spent eons convincing the entire human race that he was naught but whimsy and hedonistic joy so that he could bluff the same irreverent attitude when he is on the cuspoff gential mutilation as revenge. [Darling babycakes, we slip handfuls of ecstasy tablets into your morning coffee and let you believe that you are having a good day. While Lucifer promised you eternal life and happiness, do keep in mind that even he admits defeat when God stands up tall enough.]