Reflections

Joined: 12 Dec 2007 Posts: 9

A man with many faces sighs wearily as he sits near-motionless on a jutting ledge of stone overlooking the waves, moonlight blocked by a thin blanket of clouds. His fingers absently brush over the guitar strings as he gazes out over the waves, the crash of the surf nearly muffling the sounds of the guitar altogether. He remains almost motionless, the long coat that he wears flapping in the wind coming in off the ocean. Weary eyes watch the constant tumult of the surface of the water unmoving, drops of spray running down his cheek in an unintentional fascimile of tears. His long, red hair is tied back into a ponytail to keep it from whipping into his face, and he watches, not quite knowing what to look for, or to expect. He really isn't looking for anything in particular, looking for the sake of it. Before his eyes, the water becomes a stage for the play of figures and images from his past, scenes and scents and sounds long since filed away being dug up, lit by the paltry moonbeams that manage to find their way through the clouds to dance on the waves so far below. Wyl Evrest almost leans forward onto a familiar wooden railing, jerking to a halt when he realizes it isn't there. His fingers, with a will of their own, continue strumming the guitar. "Your luck's run out." "Let me be!" "I told you, I'm not brooding." "Some things are more important than all that, you know." Glowing green, like a Maglight. "Looks like this place is as good as any." Is this a new beginning, or just the continuation of the same? The same cycle, the coin tricks, the misdirection. Two heads of the same many-headed hydra. There was something deeper than all of that, and he was determined not to get involved with it. For better or worse, the others could play power to their little rotting hearts' content. For Wyl Evan Evrest, or whatever name he was calling himself today, there were better things to do.

Reflection... seeing yourself for the first time in her eyes... "Then what's living good for?" Instinctively, the musician reached up to grab beneath his shirt, fingers grasping for something that wasn't there. And then he remembered. "I would die if I lost this. It's not something that you can wear with a mask on." Why couldn't he let it go? "Some threads are forever." So he had gotten the nautical star tattooed onto his chest instead, over his heart. "Was it worth it?" "You can't be sure of that until it's all over." "Do you still walk the streets at night, with that wanderlust you find, back to the corner, where we went our seperate ways?" One hand reached up to touch a cheek gently, the fingertip tracing its way over his jawline. Was that the jaw he had been born with? No, it had been changed too many times. "We've been through a lot, and we just have to keep on going. Why? Because there are too many unanswered questions to give up just yet." "You'll have plenty of time to sleep when you're ash." "Get on with it." So why was he here? Los Angeles was the place to disappear into. Vanish. Get lost in the chaos, and never be found. Only a handful of people could find him anyway. And he would wait for them. For a year, two years. Whatever. "We'll see." "Remember, Evan." He was only remotely aware of his phone ringing, as if the phone belonged to someone else, and he were watching that person watch his phone ring. And ring. Eventually the caller was put to voicemail. "I'm not afraid of dying, pieces of me die all the time." "She wanted my agony." "And look what happened as a result." "Nothing?" "Hey, you're catching on. Good for you." Smiley faces and exploding shopping malls go together in strange ways. Jail is always a choice for meeting the sun face to face and having a short talk.

One hand, almost mechanically, stopped playing the tune to 'Laura' on the beaten acoustic guitar that rests in Wyl's lap, and reaches down into a pocket to produce that noisy cellphone. A brief glance at the lit up display was telling enough: the caller had been with one of the Mobs in town. It was enough to bring in the cash. Once construction finished in Los Angeles, things would heat up. It would be easy enough to slip his things in past the paltry security at present, the construction crews. And then he would wait and set up shop. Hitmen are paid well enough that they don't have to work very often. That leaves plenty of time for self cultivation. And study. I've been needing to catch up on that. I might need another soul or two to work with, but then, in this city..

In Los Angeles, he had noticed, there was an abundance of souls without people who knew how to use them, so it would be easy to find a particularly disconnected one to borrow for a while. That would be his first task, like hunting prey. It had been a long time since he had the opportunity. It would be something to savor. "Monsters we are, lest monsters we become." Where had he heard that?

He was a monster. Sometimes he would put a face on it, a mask to hide himself from those he walked among. A ghost, telling human stories. But tonight, he would be a monster wearing a mask of smiles. Construction would be done soon, and work was already beginning to filter in. "Death is his business, and business is good."

Where had he heard that?