Angels and Addicts

Who: Arafel and Socko
Where: streets downtown
When: mid-afternoon

Yeah, it was cold out the way that only Marquette in november could be, and Socko knew it was only going to get worse. Still, his mood was largely good; it was a gorgeously clear day in spite of the chill, his sales were going as neatly as they could, and even if the news was odd? At least the hauntings he'd heard about had stopped. Really, not even the chill could stop him. Socko was the sort who lived in sweatshirts, and braving the elements had only meant tugging on a warm, puffy coat and a proper winter hat over his mess of brown curls.

He'd been walking for a while now, making a few drops to more regular customers around town before classes got out and his services were required on campus. The sidewalks were clear, his headphones were buzzing, and Socko's hands alternated between a sandwich and a cup of coffee as he walked, slurping and chewing in turn. He really loved small towns, he'd decided. Back in Detroit dealing was strictly6 business, but up here? Well, the little cafe where he'd swapped a half ounce for a wad of cash was a friendly spot, and he always got lunch when he made his bi-weekly delivery. Granted, these trips would only get harder as the snow reall came with the coming months, but before then maybe he'd break into his emergency fund and buy a second car. Maybe not.

Being on foot was practical, even moreso in recent weeks as he gradually began to immerse himself more and more in his powers. He'd started to develop a control over it, like flexing a muscle, and that control left Socko constantly awash in a world of probabilities that he felt fairly confident he could decipher. He and Bu had been reactive hunters in the past, dealing with situations once they hit. But with practice? Well, maybe Socko could learn to see the shit before it hit the fan. That's the plan, playa, he told himself as he crossed the street and sighed in resignation at the hill ahead of him.

Arafel had picked up a cup of coffee and a paper at the inn, but the local paper hadn't told him anything he wanted to know. Or rather, only things that made him frustrated that he didn't have karmic energies to harness anymore -- if he had, maybe he could have seen who might be responsible for some of these actions, if not done something about it -- and just a little concerned that as a supernatural (a powerless one at that), somehow this was going to affect him. He hadn't had any serious "ghostly" activity in his room at the Lamplighter, but it had driven some more customers to stay there, and between that and quietly watching people, he could tell no one was happy. It'd be natural for someone to take that out on anyone they thought might be different. And he was obviously different. New in town, weird eyes - even that girl with the camera had spotted those. He should have gotten out when he could. What had kept him here?

Just like you, always looking out for number one, he thought self-deprecatingly, but the article run alongside the note kept him in his own head anyway.

So much so, that, heading over the rise, he slammed straight into a man, coffee exploding over both of them. "Shit," he said aloud, glancing up to see a scruffy, dark-complected young man. "Sorry," he said, remembering to keep his eyes low and voting instead to frown at the coffee all over the both of them (coffee wasted AND coats wrecked: great). "Um."

So it wasn't just a matter of learning to keep his concentration loosely flexed, it would seem. Sure, doing so gave Socko odd glimpses of the probable futures all around him, but it also meant he wasn't paying attention to the endless variables immediately involving him. He hadn't had a collision like this in quite some time now, really, and the impact of Arafel did indeed slosh most of Socko's coffee between them. But some part of him had tried reacting in the millisecond of awareness he had before they hit, raising his sandwich up and out to keep it clear.

If he hadn't been high, Socko would've been mad. As it was, he was still irked as he shook coffee wetly from his hand, grabbing dangling headphones and looping them around his neck before he even looked Arafel's way. There was something off about the numerology around the guy, not to mention the guy himself, but Socko didn't think he could even guess at what it was, exactly. It was daylight and he was breathing, so that ruled out vampires at least. He smirked after a moment, rarely the type to make an accident into a confrontation, and took a bite of his sandwich as he followed Arafel's gaze downward. "What, got some on my shoes too?" he asked around a mouthful.

"No, your shoes seem to have made it out alive, curiously enough." Arafel hazarded a glance upwards. "And your sandwich! Your lucky day." He shrugged. "I really do apologize. My sense of direction is shot today." He shook out the damp newspaper. "This stuff in the paper - really fucking weird, to say the least."

"S'always my lucky day, son," Socko drawled with a grin, digging into the pocket of his puffed out coat for the napkins he'd been given at the cafe. "An' ain't no need for 'pologies, feel me? Shit hits everyone's fan at some point, no denyin' it." He said as much before wedging his sandwich between his teeth, holding it there and offering Arafel a few of the napkins, blotting at his coat with the rest of them. It wouldn't dry him off, but it'd at least soak up some of the coffee. Wadding up the napkins once he was done, Socko glanced back at a garbage can ten feet away and grinned around the sandwich in his mouth. Wind's 'bout eight miles, ten or eleven feet 'tween me and it... But he could read the arc of trajectory he'd need and calculate the force of it from the invisible equations in the air, and damn if Socko didn't make it look easy as he tossed the napkins square into the can.

He looked back Arafel's way with a Cheshire smile, chewing down another bite of food and swallowing before speaking. "Fuck yes, this man's got game," he congratulated himself with a snicker, finally nodding at Arafel's observation. "An' f'real, man. Shit in this 'burg's always a little slanted, you know? Only difference is that lately it makes the news. 'Course, don' read me wrong, ain't like I see a whole lotta ghosts or poltergeists."

Arafel mopped himself off, nodding thankfully for the napkins, and glanced from Socko to the garbage can as he arched a three-pointer into the garbage can. Whoa. Those were just napkins: most napkin throws went way off, picked up halfway by air. He wasn't kidding about luck.

Or something, anyway.

The man's self-congratulations made Arafel grin, though, and he said, "Yeah: I keep getting warned about how weird this place is, but so far all I've noticed is that the electricity's fucked, and the girl at the counter has a pet mouse." He laughed. "On the other hand, I guess we're supposed to be warned about the dangers of the supernatural. Somehow I doubt these people get into Harry Potter, either." He paused. "I'm Arafel, by the way." If he was staying around, the least he could was introduce himself. This wasn't a large town or anything: he'd already seen almost everyone twice just by being quiet.

Granted, slamming into people was probably not the best way to ingratiate himself to the neighbors.

And did this mean he was actually staying around? Fuck, better find himself a job. Not that he had a shortage of offers, but.

Arafel? Socko repeated silently, wondering what sort of name that was. Of course, then he remembered through the haze that he was dating a woman named Serethae, so maybe Arafel was an ethnic name on its' own. Just... for white people. And Socko couldn't exactly taunt, either, not as he nodded in greeting and raised a fist for Arafel to bump. "Yeah, s'just warnin's. You can ignore 'em, but if you do then you don' get to bitch none when shit gets hectic. An' I'm Socko, so I think we might jus' be chapter brothers in the strangeass names club."

Glancing up the street past Arafel, Socko smirked at the pattern hanging in the air: just after the local lunch rushes in town, this was when the patrol cars were on either side of town, eating for cheap. He looked back to Arafel with a smirk, head turning over each shoulder for a moment, though Socko knew there was no other foot traffic. "So..." he drawled lazily, "You puff at all? S'cool if not, jus' sometimes I'm all Welcome Wagon in this bitch, even when my grub gets put at risk." If nothing else, time spent smoking a joint might give him a chance to figure out what was so odd about Arafel's spot in the mess of probability that was the world.

"Indeed," Arafel smiled a little at that, bumping fists and feeling a little awkward. He pondered the second question. When he was an angel, he'd mostly kept his nose clean (well: as much as anyone who was effectively an adult through the 60s and 70s could: sometimes decent, well-meaning company was worth a little bending of the rules). Since then, he'd been less prone to caring about the law so much. "I've been known to on occasion," he answered casually.

"Let's take a walk," Socko told him plainly, head canting to one side before he turned and started off lazily enough to let Arafel join him. Socko had a routine down by now; he knew the ebb and flow of the local cops' routes. And if they changed? Well, he'd still see them coming. "Trus' me son, when this crib gets flipped again? And it will. When it does its' thing, ain't shit better than a rollup to puff and somewhere cool to do it while you figure out what the fuck's goin' down." Granted, he didn't usually do that himself. He and Bu tended more towards hitting the street and trying to stop whatever was happening. But the advice was sound.

"Like to think maybe I saved a life or four by gettin' fools too toasted to go out an' get themselves some face-time with trouble," he boasted, digging within his coat for the harmonica case he kept his pre-rolled joints in. Plucking one free, Socko palmed it with a lighter and offered both Arafel's way without breaking his lazy stride. "An' don't sweat the locals none, things is too crooked 'round here for them to care 'bout two dudes blazin'. Trus' me, it'll be like we ain't even here."