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Mearcstapa's been jittery and stressed, but he finally got it in mind to ask Alexis Sobel for something to do to take his mind off problems that aren't currently his to solve. Which is why the glow-freckled changeling is in the Ritual Hall at the autumn hollow now, with an assortment of briarwolf bones and talons, polishing them with a thick ointment slowly and methodically. His leather coat is lying across a nearby bench, leaving him in just a dark t-shirt and jeans, his hair pinned out of his face with a single utility hairclip on each side. His freckles are mostly green right now, and fairly dim, and he's silent as he works.
Click-clack. Click-clack. The steps that echo somehow perfectly in the hall in such a way that one can hardly place the where of the source could be. Closer. Closer.
The figure attached to those heels was one that had another looking up... and up... and up over a body built for sin. The sinner himself was practically painted into some cut up leather pants that seemed at war with the ripped AC/DC shirt hanging half off one shoulder 80's style. Hard to place with the fighting urges of fuck me and you don't want to fuck with me he gave off at once.
"Just what do we have here?" murmurs Amon as he looks over the other. "Hiding away to polish your bone? You should have picked a better place, Mearcstapa." The name slowly languished over as if tasting it on forked tongue.
"It is the court's bone, not mine. I'm performing a public service by polishing this bone." The color of his freckles shifts as he speaks, all of them brightening and the red ones becoming as prominent as the green, as Mearc's gaze drags up and down Amon slowly before he smiles. It's a bit of an exaggerated gesture; Mearc's Vantablack eyes make it impossible to tell exactly where he's looking, so if he wants to illustrate an elevator gaze, he has to get his whole head involved, which makes it clear it's at least somewhat demonstrative. "I wasn't expecting to see you here. When did you get to town?"
"Few weeks ago," comments the Devil as he comes closer, closer, and then finally squats down, tail making a little swish behind him. "Needed a new scene, and Devon needed a notary while yours was taking a nap."
Mearcstapa reaches into a hidden pocket of his coat, pulling out an extra cloth and gesturing to the small tub of ointment in invitation, before nodding. "She's up again, don't know if you heard that yet. Are you planning on staying? Surely you know things are a mess here, already."
"Mmmmm… I've got a reason to stay," says the devil after a moment of thought. "A bargain to settle." Still, he looks down at his hands, then over to the cloth. "You do realize the tar's going to get everywhere, right?"
"Fair point. I think I have some latex gloves in my first aid kit, if that'd help any, but otherwise, you can sit and look pretty and keep me company, and tell me how you've been. That would also be very helpful." He goes back to his work, setting the bone aside for one of the long, curved talons.
"Not the first time I've been asked to latex up in the first five minutes of running into an old acquaintance, but this time I'll decline so we can extend the foreplay a bit longer." That wide devilish grin splays over his features, showcasing those strangely white teeth.
"As for me? I've been good. Broke it off with... Oh, what was his name. You know, the..." He waves a hand. "Can't remember. Been more than three nights since we were together. Can't be bothered when I've new persons to look at and plenty of alcohol to consume."
"What about you?"
Mearc's been known to prevaricate at this sort of question in the past. Too busy to look for anything, not looking for something superficial. Occasionally he's turned it into exaggerated flattery of Amon in an attempt to dodge the question.
That's not what happens this time, though.
"I've settled into a polyamorous triad with a couple of other Darklings. With a few other things on the side, but they're the core of my social life right now. I mean, if I can call what I have right now a social life."
Amon takes this in stride for just a moment before he leans over and reaches out his hand to press just a bit on the back of Mearc's shirt as he checks his back for... something.
Mearc looks over his shoulder at Amon's arm. "Hm?"
"Checking for the number of knives you've left in there. A thrupple of Darklings? Sounds like a health concern. I see you're very quick with your dodge," jokes Amon.
There's a soft laugh. "We've...run into a few problems along the way, yes, but nothing too deadly. Both of them are...beautiful, fucked up, willing to tolerate how fucked up I am. More than tolerate, honestly, they indulge me."
There's only a touch or two more, then the hand comes back to the knee of that massive creature. "I'm glad. When's the wedding?"
"We're doing things backwards. When things cool off in town, we're going on a honeymoon to Hawaii--not that either of them have explicitly used the word." A tiny pause. "They've both promised to keep me well-sunscreened, so I don't explode in the sun."
"Is that a concern?" asks Amon as he looks over the blue-black meined one. "Still, you can always just so subtly include the comment while you're gone. I know someone who's great at writing vows."
Mearcstapa grins, looking at Amon. "I didn't think you'd be the sort of person who'd be cheering me on for something long term."
"Consider me in a sentimental mood. Besides, it's delightful to see where and how things may fall," comments the Devil with a wink. "Finding just the right loopholes where one can do whatever they want while still feeling a connection? That's a premium experience."
"Mm. I don't think we need loopholes for that, not at this point." He lets out a laugh, the color of his freckles shifting warmer, the red ones brightening. "I would kill for them both. In a sense, I already have."
"And just whose blood do you have on your hands now? I didn't figure you much for a killer, but everyone can surprise when the chips are down. Care to elaborate?" offers the one looking like just the perfect one to unload their 'sins' on.
"A vampire tried to blackmail one of my partners, not realizing that I'd been making connections among her kind more successfully than she was, locally. One of them delivered her to us already staked and we took her to a rooftop for a sunrise barbecue."
There's a lot of details being glossed over there.
"So. Technically, no blood on my hands. I kept her ashes, though."
"Useful. I bet you could fetch a bit of a price for such a thing at market," comments Amon with a gleam in his eyes. "But you've got your fingers in the vampires already? Resourceful. I've not run into any just yet to my knowledge."
Mearc's freckles turn even redder, and he nods. "They're actually allied with us, to some degree. Which is why some new upstart coming to town and blackmailing us was something they decided not to tolerate. I had the go-ahead from the local leader of the vampires to dispose of this one. If you'd like introductions to some of the more--or perhaps, knowing you, less--civil ones, I'd be glad to provide them."
"But of course. Introductions all around are for the best," muses Amon with a tail flick. "It means maybe I won't be eating them without permission." Then a gesture to the bones and talons. "Are these going into Drake's efforts - I assume you know Drake? I don't recall him saying how long he'd been in town."
"I know Drake. He actually made my coat." A gesture at the leather duster, with its straps and buckles and more straps and a faint panther-spot pattern tooled into the leather. "The man's terrible at first impressions, but very skilled at his work."
"Positively awful at working with people. The geniuses usually are." He rises, gesturing to the coat. "Might I get you to model for me? I've put in my own request to the Artist, but I'd love to see what he made work with you."
He nods, wiping his hands off on his jeans before putting the coat on. It takes fewer buckles than it looks like it should to secure it, a good few of the buckles being decoys. And then Mearc pulls up the hood; it's sewn is such a way to give the impression of ears and perhaps a maw covering the face - like the wearer is subsumed by the animal instinct to hunt like this.
It is a very far cry from the standard t-shirt and cargo pants Amon usually sees Mearc in, at bars after talks at conferences.
Click. Click. Click. The slow 360 prowl around the other as if viewing a piece of art certainly had something to say for him. "Mmmm… Quite. I can't decide if you're about to kill me or fuck me, but either of the options seem positively invigorating. It's a good look for you."
He follows Amon's movement with his head, smiling somewhat. "Most likely neither, I'm afraid. But I'll accept the compliment in the spirit it was intended."
"I've my eye on someone else for both of those options. Don't you fret," offers the Beast with a grin. "I can't wait to see what he comes up with."
He reaches out to lay a hand against Amon's chest. "Don't let yourself get killed too soon. Please."
"What's the fun of playing the game if there's no risk?" challenges the tall one.
"I know. There'll always be risk. Just don't be a dumbass about it." He lifts his head to look up at Amon's face, letting his hood fall back again. His freckles remain more red than green.
"You should lead a seminar," says Amon with a light roll of his eyes, still grinning. "So a honeymoon, hm? Who am I going to torment with legal discussion in the meantime?"
He looks thoughtful for a moment. "If you haven't met Memento motherfucking Mori yet, you should. She's Spring, a defense attorney as well. A cackling fox. I knew her in Chicago. I think I still know her now, if Philly's not working to change her too much while I'm not looking. Beside her, and Drake while you wait for armor, my co-worker Wren, perhaps. She does the social engineering while I concentrate on physical penetration."
The corner of his lips quirks in a bit of a smirk over those last two words.
"You do realize I will never not give you shit for devoting your life to penetrating others, right?" asks Amon with a grin. "I get being a top, even a top without the occasional bottom spurt, but come on."
A clap of his hands. "I've not met her. A defense attorney though? Could be a good mix. And who's this Wren? You didn't mention a court so fae-touched?"
"Oh, a good half the joke is that I'm definitely not exclusively a top." He waves that comment away. "Wren's Winter, and very good about it. She's snort, unobtrusive except when being noticed is useful, and is absolutely brilliant at people, except when she's terrible at them. A lot of my friends these days are Winter, honestly."
"People who value privacy and secrets flocking together? Shocking," notes Amon in his best Devil Wears Prada impression. "You seem happy though. I'm glad."
"I mean, I'm stressed out of my gourd right now, busier than I ever was in Chicago, but...Yes, I suppose I am happy. This feels like home, now." He nods. "I hope it works out here, for you too."
"We can hope. There's only so much to do before one ends up bashing their brains out. Thankfully," he tugs on a horn, "I've got the skull for it."
"Yeah, like the old goat you are." There's a cheeky grin. He takes the coat off and sits back down at the table again. "Fun places you might visit--Atalo's thrift shop, the Succubus Club. Neither are owned by changelings. Club Vertigo has a Spring courtier who works the bar there regularly. Maddy's Wafflehouse, mind the spatial warping while getting there."
"Mmmm… I'll keep that in mind." He glances about. "I suppose I shouldn't keep you too long if I'm to still get out and meet people. Feel free to pass my number around. Always down to meet new and interesting persons."
"If you happen to run into Lux or Jack Martingale, those are my partners. I think they'll be fascinated by you, fair warning." He chuckles. "And text anytime, Amon. It really is good to see you again."
"Don't worry. I'm quite good at tempting and not giving the full experience," he offers back with a wink. "The same goes to you. Enjoy waxing Autumn's bone all night long."
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