(2018-01-12) No Heroes
No Heroes
Summary: A fly and a monkey have a melancholy conversation.
Date: IC Date (2018-01-12)
Related: None
Player Characters: Eddie, Jack (as Azazel the Wonder Monkey)

| Sit and Spin Roof - Port Angeles - East Port Angeles |
The rooftop of the Sit n Spin Laundromat and Lofts used to be an empty expanse of roofing with a few utility boxes and the one small stairway access copula. Now it has become a simple retreat under the open air. One end of the rooftop holds a small but tall peaked roof greenhouse, large enough for two or three cozy gardeners to work among the shelves and planters. Next to it is a table with an attached umbrella and several folding wooden chairs. Along the waist high walls there are several wooden planters some for flowers, some large enough to grow a sapling or small tree. There is power and water access for those with keys and a view of the city sloping down towards the bay to the north, and up towards the mountains to the south.


It's cold and it's gray up here, and damp where it's been raining. Eddie doesn't seem to mind. He likes the privacy. He's sitting on the ledge of the roof, looking north, out at the city. It's dark enough even during the day that you can see the lights a little, and he can keep an eye on things. He's scooted the table with the umbrella up behind him to keep dry, and he's got a few sandwiches from yesterday sitting out on it to mature. They're not there yet. It takes longer in the cold.

It's not Jack that finds his way up onto the roof. There's a scuttling of feet and what sounds like soft cursing before… thump. Thump thump. When Eddie looks back towards the stairwell he'll see a small figure carrying a plastic bag that scrapes along the ground with the gentle sound of glass thudding against the rooftop. As it comes closer? It's Azazel. The monkey. When he gets close enough he takes hold of the bag in both hands and offers it up to Eddie. A bag with a bottle of whiskey and a pack of smokes in it.

"You know," Eddie says, examining the bag, "in my opinion it's all been downhill for humanity since we lost the tail. You're a saint." He takes it and takes the smokes and strips the plastic off the pack and throws it off the side of the roof. He opens the pack and shakes two out, sticks one in his mouth unlit, and offers the other one to the monkey. "I know they're not your brand," apologizes.

Azazel takes the offered cigarette easily, clenching it between his teeth as he gives a mockery of a smile. He clambers closer, to let Eddie light his cigarette for him. Once it's lit, if it's lit, the monkey peers out over the edge of the roof and takes a long, slow drag of his cigarette before his attention returns to Eddie. His expression is unreadable for most but there's some camaraderie there, smoking in the rain.

Eddie leans in to light the monkey's cigarette. Who wouldn't? He breathes in a lungful of smoke and lets it make itself at home for a while, then tries to blow a smoke ring. No luck. He makes a disgusted sound and twists the top off the whiskey, leaving it in the bag. He takes a long drink, and he seems to like it. He likes it so well that he has another. Once the bottle is a little lighter he passes it to Azazel, wordlessly.

Azazel doesn't even try to blow a smome ring. The little guy's too serious for those sort of shenanigans, his expression hard-set, stony as he takes the bottle and a swig. Not even a wince from him as he passes it back. "You know." Comes a deep, gravel-filled tone. "All the heroes are gone. Nothin' left but us dregs." It's Azazel speaking, holding out the bottle to pass it back.

"That's what happens," Eddie says, "if there were ever really any to start with." He tries another smoke ring. Nope. He takes another drink and drops ash off the side of the roof and sets the bottle down beside him. He's quiet for a while, just looking out at Port Angeles. When he speaks again, it sounds like he's quoting something: "'Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be a man of honor.' I read that, somewhere. It doesn't mean anything."

Azazel gives a little snort at the quote regardless. "Throwin' Raymond Chandler at me, huh? That's gotta be some way to live. Where the men are hard boiled and the dames to kill for." A puff of smoke comes from the little simian. He doesn't seem to mind his damp fur as he squats on the edge of the roof and enjoys the view. "But that's not who we are. We're the other guys. The bit players. We don't get the dame and we don't solve the case, isn't that right?"

"I've solved a couple," Eddie says, making it sound like an admission of guilt more than anything, "but you're close enough for government work." He takes one last long drag of his cigarette, nearly burns his fingers, and flicks the snipe out at the town without bothering to stub it out. He doesn't try the smoke ring, this time. "I guess you must be the brains of the operation."

"Jack's a good kid. He's got a big heart. But without me lookin' out for him he never woulda lasted this long." Azazel admits, tapping some ash from his cigarette with one finger." The little monkey mutters in his gravelled tone. "It's like a big joke. Barely enough of you around for a motley and you got big dreams for a Freehold." Azazel says with a wry little smirk up at Eddie. "And you don't think you're Winter enough to wear the crown anyways."

Eddie takes the bait for a second, shooting the monkey a tough look. Then he grins his crooked grin. "Too much of a Winter, maybe. It's a lot easier to hide without everyone staring at your head." He leans back toward the table, under the umbrella, for one the sandwiches. He opens it up and gives it a sniff and looks disappointed, but he starts eating anyway. "You keep secrets?"

"Sometimes. If they don't put Jack or anyone he cares about at risk." Azazel begins, tapping a crinkled finger against his chin. "That would be everyone who hangs out at the laundromat lately. He's got this idea in his head, you see." The little monkey begins, taking another deep inhale of his cigarette and visibly relaxing. "This idea that if he just smiles enough and acts like everything will be alright that everything will work out." He turns to look up at Eddie, little monkey gaze skeptical. "So yeah, I keep some secrets."

"That's a bad idea, he's got. He ought to get it looked at by a doctor. These cases are sometimes terminal, if they're not caught in time," Eddie says almost kindly. He looks at the bay and finds his office and almost points it out. He doesn't. He's just stalling. "Okay. Here it is. Keep it under your hat, if you don't want those grubby little mitts turning up in some pawnshop window." He takes a savage drink and gestures out expansively with the bottle, careful not to lose any of its contents: "Those are my streets to walk, as much as any others I've worn leather on. Those people down there," he gestures again, this time down at the building, "are my people, as much as I've ever had people. Freehold or Motley or bowling league. It doesn't matter. They're mine, and I'm stingy with what's mine. I'll do what it takes to do right by them, if it means wearing a mitre and zuchetto."

He drinks, and he laughs, and he sounds a little disgusted: "For the good it'll do."

Azazel barks out a little laugh, flicking the remnants of his cigarette out into the rain and letting it tumble into nothingness. "Funny. Real funny. 'Cause I was gonna say the same thing to you." Azazel remarks with amused little growl to his tone. "I know you'll wear the crown. I thought about coming up here and reminding you that you're the right man for the job." The monkey says before taking the bottle and another swig of it, sloshing it around before handing it back. "But you'll wear it. Because there's nobody else."

"I hope you're wrong," Eddie says, staring at the bottle. He stares at it for a long time. Finally he sets it down on the ledge, gently, and swings around the ledge and into a standing position. He does a pretty good job, for a little guy with that much whiskey in him. "God help us all if you're not. Thanks for the smokes, Azazel, I'm gonna go soak my head." He pockets the smokes and the sandwiches, but he leaves the bottle.

Azazel raises the bottle up in parting to Eddie, sloshing it around as a parting gesture. Once Eddie has walked a few feet away he'll find that if he turns back to the ledge Azazel is gone like a little hairy drunken ninja.

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