It's You!, Tag: The Awesome Hal! :D

Cutler squinted at a stuffed owl, stinking strongly of fag smoke and must. The other vampires would love something along these tacky, stereotypical lines to add to the growing pile of decorations that’d welcome the Old Ones to New York. He suppressed a groan, thinking about that shoddy, trite table with the human bones sticking out of the gritty sand, which had been flown to this country. They didn’t even look real.

He mooched around the big, cluttered shop, in the process glancing at his swish watch. A quarter to three? He’d spent, no, wasted most of his day off work, helping the others turn their headquarters into some sort of cheap and nasty haunted house attraction. They’d have a hard time impressing kids, let alone the so-called esteemed members of their kind.

When he’d voiced that last polite and constructive observation, the other vampires had snapped and sent him on this pointless mission. He was supposed to buy a few antique urns, preferably with human ashes still in them. Oh my God. Human ashes in antique urns. Had he mentioned yet that they were busy turning their headquarters into a cheap and nasty haunted house attraction?

A group of delicate pewter urns stood on top of a small cupboard, their frilly shadows stretching out across the threadbare floorboards. He took one down and popped open the flared lid, unsurprised to find it empty. Who in their right mind would give away the remains of their Grandmother Beatrice or Aunt Dotty? On the way back, he’d have to fill them with dirt and dog shit.

“Do you need any help?” A wrinkled, baggy-eyed man was crouched close to the blocky till, peering over the tops of his small half-moon glasses at him. He clutched at the sweeping counter as though a crutch to keep his brittle body in an upright position, his stick insect arms shaking noticeably, but not wildly. An antique running an antique shop. Fitting.

“Got any more urns?” He popped the lid back on with a clunk. “I’m a vet at local surgery. We’ve had a massive rabies outbreak. It’s killed a lot of cats and dogs. You know how attached people get to things. We’ve got whole queues of them, wanting the ashes of their precious pets. A plastic bag or a cardboard box isn’t worthy enough to hold them.”

The man winced and raised his eyebrows, creating more deep lines in his craggy, discoloured skin. “I might have more in the back.”

Slower than a slug, he managed to turn around and hobble into another room, marked by faded Staff Only signs. Cutler gave the empty shop a shifty look, before following him.

Hal likes them old things – books, paintings, sculptures, timepieces and even furniture. These old things gave him a sense of history. The memories that he got just from looking at them were often personal. After all, the Old One had lived through most of them. It may sound as a cliché but such antique objects reminded him of an older, simpler time.

Although not a collector himself, Hal had developed a habit of doing a little bit of window shopping once in a while. There's this antique shop in midtown Manhattans near where he usually does his grocery shopping. He came to know the place rather well – where the different types of antiques were shelved; which were the grossly overpriced and which were the under appreciated, but more importantly, he knew where the staff storage was; That's where they kept the good stuff. If only he had some money Hal would have invested in some of these. Unfortunately, money and investment were never his strong suit. He was barely able to afford his tiny little apartment in the city, and it didn’t help that he didn’t have a job.

Holding a centuries old brass urn with one hand, Hal has been starring at the antique for a good five minutes now. While he's usually pretty good at identifying them, the European but slightly Arabic pattern on the urn threw him off. There he was, standing in the middle of the staff storage examining some of the hidden gems that were sadly missing in the storefront. Hal didn't like sneaking around like this, but he figured with only one staff working today the chances of him being caught were slim. He could usually hear the guy from a mile away, the way that he stomped on the wooden floor. Another couple of minutes had passed and Hal had finally decided to give up. He held it carefully with both his hands and slowly placed the urn back on the shelf.

Just as he placed it back on the shelf, he noticed something else that bothered him. None of the urns were properly placed. In fact, this whole shelf seemed like a mess to him. He didn’t know exactly when he became so obsessed ordering things, but it must have happened sometime during the last fifty years or so. Standing in front of the shelf he just couldn't stand it any longer, and began to pull them out and line them back one by one so that they were precisely 15cm away from one another. He arranged them by size and material. It took him a good while to put each and every one of the antique urns back in place. He was so focused in ordering the urns that he wasn't aware of the footsteps coming his way. When he was about to place the last piece back on the shelf, he heard the door opening behind him. The noise startled him as he nearly dropped the urn. It was an expensive one and there was no way he had enough money to pay for it. Hal breathed out a sigh of relief before turning around.

Hal was going to come up with some excuse as to why he was back in the staff room when he was shocked by who he saw walking in. It wasn't the owner, but was rather a familiar face. That boyish face, the parted hair and the arrogant smirk all looked a little too familiar. Hal couldn't believe his eyes. He couldn't believe his luck. It took him a good few seconds to regained his composure. With the urn still cradled in his arms, Hal lowered his brows and said, ”It’s you!”

(I hope I didn't steal your line! I will be more than happy to return it if you'd like it back for Cutler )

(OOC: Nope! That line belonged to you anyway. )

The old man grew silent and still as though he’d spotted a ghost. Cutler squinted into the gloom, recognising a ghost from his own past. He was dark-haired, slim and apparently interested in out-of-date fashion.

“My God...” he managed to rasp. He could only stare at him several seconds, his mouth caught between an odd grin and a gawp. Hal wasn’t proper dead. What wonderful news! He would make history and his old friend proud.

Snapping out of his shock, he rushed across the room and wrapped his arms around him, like a child might greet a parent who’d returned from a long, long, long trip. Something hard and knobbly poked into his abdomen. Was Hal pleased to see him or- He noticed the antique urn in his arms. Oh.

“I can’t believe it’s really you!” Cutler stepped back, his hands still on his arms just in case he was a hallucination and would drift apart in the draught. He scrutinised him thoroughly from head to foot. Had he put on weight? Muscle not fat. Obviously. He poked him in the chest, his finger meeting a smooth slab of rock. “Somebody’s been work-”

“What’s going on here?” The gummy old dinosaur ruined their special moment with his loud and grating demand. “You’re trespassing! Are you trying to steal my urns? I ought to call the cops!”

Cutler gave him an icy sidelong scowl, disgusted by his lack of manners and understanding. Couldn’t he tell that they were having an emotional reunion? You’d think that he would keep his ancient gob shut, while they got reacquainted at least. God! People today!

“It’s so good to see you!” Cutler gushed. “Why don’t we go back to mine and talk? Fifty-five years Hal!”

“Get out of my shop or I’ll call the cops!” the antique yelled at them. Was he deaf? He’d just invited "the trespasser" back to his apartment. They were leaving.

“One problem. I don’t have anything fresh to drink. We’ll have to find something on the way…” He grinned at the old man, his eyes bright and teeth sharp in the isolated, shadowy room.

His body was tense as he was pressed tightly in Cutler’s embrace. Hal was clearly uncomfortable with the physical contact. His eyes blinked, his mouth hung opened but words failed to escape his lips. “It’s you… Cutler….” was all Hal was able to mutter before he remained almost motionless for a good minute. It took the Old one much longer to snapped out of his state of shock as Cutler and the old man babbled on.

Hal remained speechless. He couldn’t believe his luck, running into people, or things of his past rather since his move to America. It was something he’s desperately been trying to avoid for the past fifty years. It seemed as if New York has became the centre of the vampire universe right now. Perhaps moving across the pond to a place like this wasn’t a wise decision after all.

He was finally able to gather himself and snapped out of it when Nick gave his arms a tight squeeze. “We’ll be out in a minute.” Hal said calmly to the old man who happened to be the storeowner, but his eyes never left Culter’s for a second. The old man became less panicked when Hal reached over and placed the brass urn back on the shelf. He rushed almost immediately count the stock, making sure that none of his precious urns were missing.

Hal looked over at the old man for a second before turning his attention back to Cutler. Cutler, Nick Cutler. A name that he wished he had long forget… but there he was, flesh and blood, standing right in front of him in his nicely tailored suit acting slightly more enthusiastic about the reunion. “What the hell are you doing here?” Hal asked.

It had indeed been fifty-five years since the two last saw each other. Hal could still remember the terrifying things the two of them would do together. Worse yet, he could remember those horrific things he has done to the man. The thought of that gave him chills. Hal tried to regain focus and stay calm, until Culter mentioned blood. Drinking to be exact. It might have been a good idea fifty years ago, but not anymore. “I.. I can’t.” His hands flexed nervously as he spoke.

(OOC: Sorry about the rapid response again. No pressure to respond as fast. I can wait patiently. )

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he replied, gesturing at their surroundings. A few motes of dust twisted and twirled in the poor lighting as though flakes of filthy snow. “Hal York in an antique shop? On the other hand, I suppose you’re an antique being older than anything in stock.”

And he would cost more than them. He didn’t say that part aloud, because it came too close to brown nosing. He’d already sullied some of his dignity by hugging him, but at least he hadn’t done anything subservient and absurd, like kneeling before the great Lord Harry. Fergus and his shit-eating grin would no doubt attempt something that archaic and foolish.

The negative reply dragged him out of his spell of scorning idiots (such an entertaining hobby).

“You can’t what?” he asked, caught between humour and bewilderment. “Can’t stop at mine? Can’t have something to drink?” Quick sidelong glance at the old man. “Can’t talk? Fifty-five years Hal. You owe me a few hours minimum. Parents who clear off and abandon their kids have to pay maintenance money, you know. Where’s my birthday cash or university savings?”

Cutler grimaced inwardly, wishing that he hadn’t compared vampirism to something so human. An insult to his kind, or did he really think it one to theirs? He’d been denied the chance to have a child or two, or several, to lavish with birthday presents and a prestigious education, thanks to- He wasn’t going down that thought path, thanks.

“I want you to leave!” The old man sounded close to begging, and was stood bowed next to the doorway. His blood probably tasted too sour and stale anyway.

Smiling broadly, Cutler clapped a hand on the other vampire’s shoulder and tried to steer him out of the room. “How about dinner? I know this little place just down the road...”

“We're just leaving!" Hal reassured the old man gesturing them to leave the store, before he turned his attention back to Cutler. And Cutler was right. At the very least, he owed his former protégé an explanation. After all, Hal felt responsible in some way in making what he is today.

But this wasn't the right place to catch up. Not in the backroom of a dusty antique shop in Lower Manhattan with an angry old man breathing down their necks. This wasn’t the right time either as he wasn’t really prepared for the reunion but he didn’t really have much of a choice. Looking into Cutler’s hungry eyes, Hal knew that he needed to get them out of the shop as soon as possible. In fact, Hal probably knew him better than just about anyone on the planet. And if their past together were any indication, things may not bode well for the old man if they were to stay in the same room for any longer.

“Fine, we'll go and have dinner now." Hal told Cutler as he glared over the hand clapping down on his shoulder. Hal was still trying to cope with the physical contact in additional to Cutler's overwhelming enthusiasm towards seeing him. The tense muscles on his shoulder weren’t able to relax until Cutler finally took his hand off of him. The two old friends got moving, but before they leave the room Hal looked back at the old man and gave him a sincere apology. “I'm sorry about that." Hal said as he followed Cutler’s lead out of the store.

Hal was curious as to what Cutler’s been up to in New York City. He knew well that someone like Cutler just doesn’t show up in a place like New York without a good reason. Perhaps he’s here on vacation? Or did he move across the pond like himself? He must have a damn good reason and Hal wanted to know why. Either way, Hal had a feeling that Cutler was up to something. Knowing the man that he is, Hal had a growing suspicion that Cutler was up to something no good.

“What exactly are you doing here, Culter?" Getting down to brass tacks Hal asked Cutler one more time. "A man like yourself just don't suddenly show up at a place like this. Why are you here?"

Hal agreed to go out with him. Cutler positively beamed, as though promised his place in history on a golden dish. He wished that they had a decanter of fresh blood at hand though. You couldn’t celebrate a reunion with just expensive wine and gourmet cooking. Perhaps tonight.

By then, he hoped that his maker would have chilled out a bit. He was rigid to the touch, like a big slab of cement. As they left the antique shop, he even apologised to the old man.

“Did you just say sorry?” he asked, temporarily ignoring his questions. Ugh. Sorry. That word left the taste of curdled milk in his mouth. “You’ve really been hanging around with the gorillas in the mist too long, haven’t you? I can see that you’ve picked up some of their bad habits. Not to worry. I’ll set you back on the right track again, champ!”

Cutler slapped him on the back, as they strolled down the quiet street. The bright, biting sun was beginning to slope drunkenly in the sky. Oh, Hal had asked some questions, hadn’t he?

“In the shop? New York? Both?” he asked cheerfully. “The same reason as you, I reckon. Now, are you okay with French cuisine? I can’t remember whether it’s French or Italian that gives you a dodgy stomach. Or was that Fergus? My God! It’s been so long, Hal!”

He tackled the other vampire and gave him another massive hug. A few pedestrians paused to stare at them.