Two People Walk Into a Hotel Bar

"Good," he said, wrapping his arm around Everly's shoulders. "Because I plan to be in close quarters for a while, Monsieur. Feel free to create conversation--you can tell me what your type is."

Everly ignored him, looking out the window again.

"My type is everything you aren't. Free of bloodied hands, ties to the mafia or crime, or anything. A person who is truly good. Much, much unlike you."

"Ah, then I'll have to work with what I've got," he replied calmly. He kissed Everly's hand, barely brushing it against his lips.

"It can't be too hard."

"You're honestly going to do this?" he asked, before he pulled his hand away. "You'll never be anything like her, you disgust me thoroughly."

"Ah, are we talking about your wife?" he asked. "Tell me about her."

Everly clenched his fists. He hadn't intentionally been talking about his wife, no. But it was true. She was his only point of reference. The only woman he had ever loved entirely.

"I will not defile her memory by telling the likes of you about her," he snarled, crossing his arms. "You'll never have the pleasure of knowing about the only woman who has ever loved me."

"Don't say that," he teased, pinching his cheek. "You're quite the looker, even if you're a bit scary on top. She can't be the only one who fell for your charms."

He snorted.

"Just because I slept with plenty of people before her doesn't mean they cared. None of them did."

He shrugged, leaning away from Charlot.

"Certainly you don't care like she did."

"You won't let me inside, mon cher," he insisted, nuzzling him. "Give me a chance and I won't disappoint."

He almost laughed at the absurdity of the very thought.

"I don't need to give you a chance to know what a despicable person you are," he replied, shoving him away. "Now stop touching me with your filthy hands."

"I'll stick my filthy hands wherever I want, particularly places you'll enjoy," he replied, guffawing loudly. "Do I look like this is the first time I've seduced a so-called innocent? You don't get to my position without knowing how to work people."

He touched Everly's hair fondly.

"Such a lovely shade of red...like blood."

"How wonderful, it matches the stains on your soul," he replied cattily, yanking his hair from Charlot's hands. "Don't you dare touch my hair ever again, if you want to keep breathing."

He touched Everly's hair again, kissing his forehead.

"Come now--be a good sport. I'll let you touch my hair if you want--white girls go crazy for it. What about you?"

Everly clenched his fists.

"Let go or I'll break your nose," he snarled. He was not joking.

"Fine," he sighed wistfully, relinquishing his hold on his hair. "But will you at least consider a proper date? I'll dress up. Look all dapper and charming for you--the ladies love it."

"...a date?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "That is your master plan?"

He shook his head.

"Fine. Your ridiculous plan won't work."

"It's only step one in a series of steps in what you might call a master plan," he chuckled, squeezing Everly's shoulders. "Personally, I call it a simple plot, but I'm confident it will succeed nonetheless.

"So that's a yes? You'll let me try to crack you, my sweet Everly?"

"Ha," he chortled. "I'll let you have your ridiculous fun, so long as it doesn't interrupt my tracking down of the demons."

"Of course," he purred softly. "I would never think of interrupting your delusions, or your symbolism, or whatever it is that you obviously hold so dear. I like you, Everly."

He glared at him.

"You will see, soon enough, exactly what I talk of."

-x-

"How's the wine?" asked Charlot, lifting his glass in a silent toast. "I've had this vintage before--I remember it as particularly refreshing. I hope you enjoy it as well." He took a slow sip, savoring the taste; his eyes never left Everly.

"I must say, I'm still very flattered you agreed to this--why, you're supposed to be straight, aren't you? How intriguing."

Everly barely touched his glass. He was not a wine person. In fact, the last time he'd drank wine, it was because his wife forced him to. He'd never drink the shit unless he was forced. Fortunately for Charlot, he was feeling rather nice. He had drank a few sips, which was more than he would have otherwise.

"It's disgusting," he replied honestly, leaning back in his chair. He hadn't bothered dressing up for the occasion. "I'm not straight, either. I'm pansexual. I will be mildly impressed if you know what that is."

He laughed.

"Ah, open-minded. I understand. I personally enjoy both men and women when the occasion arises--if they're interesting, of course. That's why you're here. Because you interest me."

He took another sip of his wine, and then took a bite of his fish.

"You speak of your wife a lot, though. I take it she was the only one, so far? Or just the One?"

"She's the only one that matters," he replied, shrugging to himself. "And she is none of your business. I warned you about bring her up. It's bad taste to bring up exes during dates, especially dead exes."

He stared at the wine cup, debating on drinking more of the vile concoction just to please Charlot. Sighing, he did. He took another sip of the wine, not bothering to hide his distaste.

"Is this charade nearly over?"

"This isn't a charade for me. Is it one for you?" He nodded at Everly's cross jewelry. "Is it more or less of a charade than that jewelry you're wearing? Just how much do you even believe in a God?"