Starring:
Summary: Matthew goes looking for Seth for answers about last night's werewolf antics.
Date It Happened: 1 February, 2002
Bingo and the Nice Warlock
Griffith Park
He's getting the hang of this whole tracking thing. That new nose of his coming in quite handy. But the stalking bit? Not so much. Especially the part where you aren't supposed to draw attention to yourself. More than once does Matt draw concerned, frightened looks from passersby as he goes to sniff a bench or tree, or the ground when he looses his bearings and has to find them again. But it isn't like LA has a shortage of crazy homeless people, right?
Crazy homeless people are pretty common, especially around the park - and that's why Seth pays absolutely no mind to the psycho wandering slowly but surely in his direction. The warlock is seated on a bench, carefully situated to take up all of it with his bad leg stretched out atop the seat. One arm is hooked over the back of the bench and his cane hangs from the same, and in his free hand he holds… a book. It's not the kind of book most people would probably be reading when one considers the fact that the battered leather cover has a few horrifyingly graphic illustrations of people in mortal agony on it, but hey - the passers-by thus far have written it off as being one of those new fangled fantasy novels. Maybe it's even by Tolkien! Right? Right? Totally. Slim-framed reading glasses are perched on the man's nose, and he lazily sets the book down on his leg to lick his thumb and turn a page. It's just a nice day in the park.
Ah, eyes. That works much better. Seeing Seth at last, he quits the sniffing act and begins to walk behind the bench he's sitting at. He isn't really interested in whats inside the weird book, but gives it a nod anyway as Matthew asks: "Any good recipes in there? I read Swift, but I'm pretty sure he was just pulling his out his rear, and I'm not sure 'baby back ribs' had this in mind."
"Jesus Chri-" The man on the bench flails a little bit as he's suddenly spoken to, finding himself clutching at his seat for support by the time he manages to send a rather unhappy look Matthew's way. Recognition sparks almost instantly, but it takes him a moment to remember that "You're the Dingo kid." Seth frowns, righting himself and shutting the book on his lap with a sharp snap.
"Yeah, and your the… uhm… the uhm… guy with the uhm… leg" Matt retorts, not quite so clever with the nicknames, after flinching back an inch when the book snaps. Right to the point, his next questions are just as unimaginative: "What was that guy last night? How could he run so fast?"
"So in addition to being a baby-eating moron, you are also clueless. Awesome. You don't have a baseball bat on you, I hope?" It's worth checking. Seth wouldn't particularly enjoy getting beaten with a glorified stick, and he eyes Matthew up accordingly. "He was obviously just cracked out on amphetamines and shrooms." And if the boy believes that, Seth has a bridge to sell.
The insults manage to ruffle Matt's fur a bit, and his chest rumbles briefly to show it. "I've seen plenty of tweaked out bums before. They hit like a truck, can sometimes break down metal doors, and are scary as hell." Matt argues back, not really interested in extra prime real estate at the moment. "But they don't go Mach 4, and take peoples eyes away. And they don't know what-" He stalls on this last point. "I just want to know what you know about what he is, and if you all were able to help those girls last night?" Alright, so his assumptions aren't really doing him any favors against the clueless accusation. As for the bat? Well, as he moves down the bench, one side of his jacket is definitely moving a bit more stiff than the other side of it, and something long is tucked inside there.
Oh no. No no no. The stupid might be contagious. Seth stretches his leg out a little more to attempt to block Matt from taking a seat, his good one coming up to join it. This bench is his, okay. A tiny smirk makes its way onto the man's face when the boy mentions the curse - hey, if they think it was all the bum's fault, that's even better for him. "Kid, what makes you think I know anything about whatever you're blabbering about? I don't care about any idiot girls, missing eyes, or stray dingoes that cross my path. Do us all a favor and drop yourself off at the pound, won't you?"
Matt's chest rumbles again, but he doesn't push the issue any further. "Fine, need to get my shots, anyway." he says to the crippled jerk, and simply turns to leave the way he came. Dead end.
Aww, the defeated slinking away is adorable. But Seth - Seth just can't help but flash off knowledge whenever he can. He speaks up again once Matt's back is turned, watching the younger man curiously. "I'd say that he simply wasn't human, Bingo." For better or for worse, the pup's nickname has undergone a single-letter change. "There are lots of things around that aren't. If I had to make a guess, I'd say he was a demon of minor strength." Not that Seth actually believes that; he knows perfectly well that Spratt wasn't the one cursing people into blindness.
Matt's supernatural experience is pretty limited, so he doesn't know any better than to believe everything Seth says. That bit of knowledge stops him in his tracks quickly, but before the pup turns around, he looks down to his right hand, flexes it, turns it over, and then slowly closes it into a fist. "Demon, huh, is that what they are?" he asks, as the one crazy guy is now lumped into a group of more than one crazy bums somewhere. 'Him', becoming 'Them.' He's not growling at Seth anymore, and much of the hostility is lost now when he turns around. "Where can I find out 'bout demons like that?"
Pity actually manages to make an appearance in Seth's expression as he looks at the boy in front of him, relaxing his position against the bench. Goddamn, the kid is so gullible. "Generally speaking, yes. He could be one of many things but I think it's most likely that he's a demon. Hell, he could even be a vampire. Start wearing a crucifix, kid."
"I'm thinking more like silver bullets." Matt answers, sharing the only bit of information he has on the situation. "Unless that's all crap, I dunno. But it can't hurt, right?" The mention of the 'V' word manages to put a confused twist to his eyes, but he shakes it off. "Anyways, thanks."
"Really. What would you know about werewolves, Bingo?" Suddenly the conversation has gotten a lot more interesting. The warlock's gaze grows considerably sharper as he stares over the rims of his glasses, searching Matt's face for something - anything - who knows? "And what makes you think our friend was one?"
"More than I wanna know about 'em." is Matt's answer, as he puts his hands into his pockets, almost as if he's hiding them. There are some subtle changes, if said Warlock is looking for 'em. Matt's posture gets a bit defensive, the hair on his neck standing on end. His feet shift slightly, and his legs tens up, as if he's ready to rabbit at any moment. "He told me, and he knew—" stop that line of conversation cold. "Besides, your friend thought so, too. He knows. The one that didn't wanna cut my fingers off."
In no way does Seth miss any of the little guilty tells that Matt's body is displaying. No sir. The bizarre growling from before is now drawn into a different perspective and things suddenly fit together - there isn't really a way to know for sure without seeing things for himself, but now the warlock has his suspicions. "Angel. The guy in black? He said your buddy was a werewolf?" That's enough for Seth; the vampire's got one hell of a nose on him. The cripple sits up and carefully drags his legs off or the bench, retrieving his cane immediately afterwards. "How fascinating, Bingo. But be sure to tell whoever does end up cutting your fingers off to do it with a silver knife, mm?"
"Yeah, I'll be sure to spread that around." Matt answers, as the defenses only tighten. Being identified by Seth wasn't unexpected (he came to him for answers, after all), but mention of more finger cutting doesn't sit well with him. "Uhm, thanks again." he says finally, and backs away several steps before turning to leave again.
This time the warlock lets the werewolf leave without trouble, taking his time in getting to his own feet. He watches for a few moments and tucks his book under one arm, smiling to himself with a short shake of his head. His estimate gives the kid about two months before he's being used as someone's throw rug.
