Let's get together

[keen_incisions]

Who: Nathan Wallace, Crowley and Rupert Giles
What: Crowley is giving Nathan the DL on Mayfield and Giles pops by to meet the newcomer. Shenanigans ensue.
Where: Olney's
When: Afternoon of Feb 11th
Warning: Hold onto your knickers, it's twice the Anthony Head. C: Oh and maybe language?

There was an off-color joke back home, about an angel and a Repo Man walking into a bar. Nathan couldn't remember the punchline-- he was never really one to spend any solid face time with the other men and women of the unit, not long enough to listen to grim jokes for any reasonable stretch of time. He was the first, the old-timer, the one the quick newbies took to giving a wide berth. Now, as he sits at the bar with his Shirley Temple between his hands, his eyes on the angelic being across from him, he feels some empathy for the new recruits.

It's been an upsetting day thus far.

Comments

[eyesofaserpent]

Crowley was drinking something quite a bit stronger: a Zombie. His feathers ruffled and smoothed down as he got comfortable in the chair.

He was struck since he first laid eyes on Nathan just how exactly he looked like Giles. It was remarkable. It had been odd how similarly they sounded on the phone, but the truth of it all...? It was baffling.

"Welcome to hell."

[keen_incisions]

"I thought you said Hell makes more sense than Mayfield." He brushes away a bead of condensation with his thumb, looking at Crowley over the rim of his glass. There's a certain tartness to the drink, the grenadine a legitimate pop without the note of chemical additives. Everything where he's from generally has a chemical taste to it.

Shilo would love it, Nathan thinks, and his eyes drop right to his hands with the sudden clenching feeling in his chest.

[watchher]

Giles chooses that moment to enter the tavern, faint strain and uncertainty evident in his body language alone. Immediately, the impossibility of their resemblance is clear; even the differences in glasses and clothing are minor. If anything can set them apart, it's something about the way he carries himself, some quirk of gait or posture that differs between the two. Small things. Details.

He spots the two of them and falters noticeably before heading over.

"Ah-- Nathan Wallace?"

[keen_incisions]

If Giles falters, then Nathan's reaction is something else entirely. He stills, frozen in place for the briefest of moments. Extensive cosmetic surgeries are too common a thing back home, face transplants elevated to new heights as people paid extensively to have cheekbones plumped, noses straightened, chins shaved, muscle sculpted and skin added to resemble Amber Sweet's latest It Girl look. He collected on a number of them- skin is an organ just like the rest.

No one, to his recollection, ever asked to look like a middle-aged, former SurGen, receding hairline and all. As Giles draws nearer, Nathan notes the light in his eyes and their color. Exact. He finds his voice, finally, clearing his throat of something low and harsh before forcing himself to offer his hand.

"Rupert Giles, then." It's too bizarre, too goddamned surreal.

[eyesofaserpent]

"Hell does make more sense than Mayfield. But that doesn't mean Mayfield isn't it's own hell, one of man's devising. Or at least I assume it's the work of men. I'm not really certain, but the creative spark I often see in mankind is built into this hellhole."

He took a drink from his Zombie right as Giles walked in. He was struck even more by how much of a perfect match they were and could not help but stare quietly for a minute until they exchanged greetings.

"Er... Do you want a scotch, mate?" What could be more important than booze right now?

[watchher]

He hesitates, only for an instant, before accepting the handshake. It is a shock and a relief to find that Nathan's hand is as warm and solid as his own-- he is real, then.

Giles has dealt with doppelgangers before, with alternate-universe copies. He's read the books and heard the lectures, reflected on the possibility of a world where shrimp never existed or where Buffy never moved from LA. He's met Willow's double, seen two of Xander standing side by side. He knows just how far a powerful glamour can go.

This seems to be something else entirely.

He remembers, months ago, the mix-up with the golden-haired boy who demanded to know why he was posing as Uther Pendragon. Remembers the fellow who dropped everything to bow before him in the street. He wonders if it's just something about him, some quirk of the universe that causes his doubles to crop up across various worlds. He's not sure what that's meant to say, exactly.

"Yes." His response comes a moment late, a little dazed, sounding impossibly relieved by the suggestion. "Yes, scotch would be lovely, thank you."

[keen_incisions]

Settling back into his seat, Nathan is still not entirely certain this isn't some vivid fever dream, or perhaps his mind working frantically in his last few moments of life. His mouth is dry, a line of cold sweat breaking out between his shoulder blades. The sensation of looking at a facsimilie of himself is almost nerve-wracking, setting him on edge and stirring something he would rather keep buried.

"It's remarkable." And terrifying. Sorry, Crowley, he's temporarily forgotten you're there. He's wearing his SurGen hat to stave off the instinct to back right the hell away, studying Giles with very keen eyes.

[eyesofaserpent]

Crowley didn't mind, Nathan. Really. It was a strange situation and if her were faced with the same thing, the rest of the world would melt away as he tried to figure out just what in the hell was happening and just exactly how he felt about it.

Still, the demon got up to get a glass, ice, and the bottle of scotch he had tucked away for when Giles came into the bar. After a few seconds of dithering, he also picked up a pitcher and filled it with water. If he or Nathan needed refills, he would just pour the water and waggle his fingers at it for effect. Of course, the end result would be that the glass was filled with the drink of their choice, not water. It was handy being a demon.

He settled back in his chair and set everything on the table, pouring the scotch for Giles.

"Here you go, Rupert."