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[Sitting in the same diner, drinking coffee and designing mazes in a notebook.]

((ooc: Could. Not. Resist. Hope that's okay.))

[Finishes up his coffee, on the way out he passes her table and pauses briefly, overlooking her shoulder as she works in the notebook.]

Who knew Escher could ease boredom.

(ooc: Is okay :))

Having just delivered some artwork to a buyer Noah is busy walking down the sidewalk with his arm out, trying to get a cab driver's attention. For as much as he's been in the City, he's still not mastered the art of hailing a cab. Also, it's a busy time of the afternoon, which probably isn't helping all that well.

He's just stepped back to take a break from trying, getting his wooden cigarette case from his coat pocket to get a smoke when he notices John sitting there in the cafe through the window. He stares for a few moments then walks over to the window to lightly tap against the glass to get his attention. If and when John looks up, Noah will nod a greeting and mouth the word "Hello."

He would have gone in but he figures that this gives John the opportunity to ignore him and/or tell him to go away were he so inclined. It's only courteous, given the abrupt retreat the last time they had seen each other.

[She is so focussed on her current drawing that she barely registers him passing by. When he speaks, she tries not to jump. A slight tension will be noticeable, though.]

Oh, yeah. It's just a doodle. Keeps me out of trouble.

[It isn't just a doodle and trouble seems to have her address, but he wouldn't know anything about the worlds she creates in dreams. Very special dreams. She casually pulls one of her architecture text books over it anyway.]

[Observant as he is, the man prefers to take her cues and notices only what she wants him to notice.]

Good thing one is just passing by, trouble can hardly be engaged in such a manner, no? Unless, it is considered inviting trouble with small talk to enquire about the architecture book.

[The rap on the window draws Markus’s attention to the noise. There is a flicker of the Immortal persona as he assesses Noah with a predatory look of a Gladiator wanting a fight. Then his expression is unreadable and he finishes his coffee. Standing to leave he places a tip on the table, where he made his way outside.

Once outside the diner John greets Noah, his expression now showing an awkwardness, his face seems to flush with a hint of embarrassment and John’s eyes are downcast.]

N-Noah…

I-I didn’t think I’d see you again.

[That initial look makes Noah's stomach twist a bit, both in good and bad ways. His nerves suddenly seem magnified and he has the idea that maybe he should have just let it be. But the man who came out of the diner seems a contrast to that first flash of awareness and self assuredness he'd seen through the glass.

He offers him a small, timid smile.] Could say the same for ye. Spotted ye. Thought I'd say hello. [He pauses.] Ye doin' alright?

Stopping by to say ‘hello’ is polite of you.
A cigarette would be welcome; may I beg one off you?

[He uses the excuse of the cigarette - as he is carrying a full packet in his jacket pocket - to avoid answering any questions about him self.]

[Noah nods, opening the wooden cigarette case and taking one out for John first, then himself. He slips the case back in his coat pocket and pats his other pockets until he finds a matchbook. Lighting a match, he holds the flame up for John, shielding it from any breeze with his hands.]

Aye, well politeness is somethin' I ken well enough.

[As Noah holds the lit match, John leans in to light the cigarette given to him. He doesn’t pull back without accidently brushing his fingertips across Noah’s. With the lit cigarette he moves away from the other.]

Were you heading in some direction? I don't wish to keep you from anything important.

Edited 2012-09-08 04:20 (UTC)

[That brush of fingertips against his doesn't escape his notice. It give's Noah enough pause to almost miss bringing the match back to his own cigarette to light it before the flame reaches his fingers. He gets it done just in the nic though.]

Was headin' home. Just delivered some pieces to a client an' got hired t'do some more work as well. One o' those wealthy men who wants over-sized portraits of his wife an' children t'hang on the wall. Amused that anyone still does such a thing, really.

A busy man, then.

The wealthy have need of the most useless things normal people do without. What is the expression: More money than sense? Still it is bread for your butter; the commission price is a good enough reason to celebrate.

Aye, he'll pay a pretty penny for the work. S'good money even if it's in oil paints an' not charcoal. An' he's a real piece o' work, the one payin' me. Used t'gettin' what he wants.

[He studies John for a moment, wondering if it would be best just to leave him be or not. Unsure of what to do next. He draws from his cigarette.] M'sorry I disturbed ye from your... drink. Should've thought it through better than I did.

[John takes a drag on the cigarette Noah gave him, he gives a similar appearance of uncertainity.]

You’re hardly the type to let money sway you. Were you looking for a different challenge from the usual medium?

I-I had about finished---coffee---it was coffee. Drinking liquor at ridiculous hours is not something this old body is use to any more, unless there was incentive to do so.

[He purposely used the word incentive, appearing to remember how the word was used for wanting Noah to touch him in their last meeting.]

Nay. I... I've been told that I d'nae get out enough. By a friend. Somewhat of a hermit, I suppose. Wallowin' in the recesses of m'own mind. M'tryin' t'do things t'change that about meself. Thought takin' the sort o' jobs I used to when money was an issue might be a good place t'start.

[Noah had already had several drinks since he had woken up. He was indeed ridiculous in that way, a mess really. His bottom lips pulls through his teeth at the use of that word: Incentive. He was very attune to everything John did, every move, every word.] Would ye like some incentive, John?

Your friend means well. However, they need to understand grief needs a place to pity itself for while. Still, a man needs to remind himself he does not owe his past anything --- your past is not your future; as she once told me.

[John looks at the tip of his smoking cigarette, briefly lost in his own thoughts and came back to remember where he was standing.]

Are you offering me incentive, Noah?

Sometimes I wish I could see into the future, know exactly what it may hold. Feel as if I've been standin' stagnate for a very long time... because I d'nae ken what t'do.

[It wasn't a confession he had planned on. It just sort of spilled out in the moment. Noah drew a deep breath, his look turning down to the sidewalk as he took another drag of his cigarette. And after a moment, he nodded.]

Aye, m'offerin' incentive. Would ye like t'come home with me?

Be careful what you wish for and at least be more specific. A man might expect insights into the far flung landscape of his wheat fields; instead he is given the sight to look up and see past his nose. As for stagnate, could be that there is nothing to be done yet.

[John takes a final drag on his cigarette.]

Hardly a strong enough incentive. Would it be more attractive should I enquire if you are in need of a practice model for your restart in oil painting?

D'nae like bein' accused o' bein' too afraid t'move one way or another. Perhaps because I worry that it might be the truth. In any case, it's of little matter t'anyone but m'self, I suppose.

[He pauses, considering whether that was a question, an offer, or both. As it is, he understands that the promise of his company isn't incentive enough for most, John included. Since their last meeting, Noah had sketched John a time or two but he never expected that the other man would sit still for a portrait.] Y'd let me paint ye?

To be blunt, Noah, you make it a matter for everyone. Your heart is on your sleeve, so to speak.

A man has the time to allow such an offer. It will give the notion he is not sponging unnecessarily from your need for solitude and creative work. A fair trade, company when you wish it, and where one is not held to any debts.

Always. An open book. More the reason t'stay inside.

[He looks confused as he replays John's words once more in his mind. And again. And once more.] Aye then. But y'should ken I'd never say ye owed me a thing. Would ye say I owed ye?

[John gives a laugh and stubs out his cigarette remains on a nearby brick wall.]

Or know there are some who understand the Irish need to rejoice in battle and sing sad songs. Unlike the rest of the world who prefer that there be happy songs and grief over battle.

[His gaze settles on Noah.]

An eye for an eye, love, isn’t that how this…life…works? A heart for a heart. Body for a body. Company for---well---there is always an owe.

Edited 2012-09-08 17:45 (UTC)

[Noah studies John's shoes intently for a few moments. Sometimes the other man speaks like he understands much more than Noah would think anyone could. It always surprises him. And maybe that occasional understanding was one of the things that drew him to him even knowing he would eventually get burned, maybe even multiple times.]

I've never lived that way... an eye for an eye. Nothin's ever been so fair an'balanced as that in me experience. But I'd still love t'paint y'portrait, John Porter.

[ As Noah observed John’s shoes with sudden interest, Markus observed Noah. The mortal was making everything so easy for him. Money. Loner. In the cups regularly as a functioning alcoholic. Depression. Few friends. No family. The art---no issue for a thief and forger like him who could copy anything. The passion would be missing but the technique would be similar. It was all so easy.

Too easy. Why would he bother with this lack of a challenge?

Markus’ gaze roamed over the man’s face. Taking in the subtle things John had been seen cross his features. He went beyond that, memorizing the angular features, strong nose, the eyes, the colour of which reminded him of blue summer skies over wheat fields. And last his gaze fell to Noah’s mouth.

John had kissed that mouth. Noah had kissed John’s mouth in return. Markus’ gaze lingered there on the full sensual mouth, for one moment he wondered what it would be like to have Noah kiss ---him --- Markus. And in desire cry out his name.

He should walk away right now. Easy just became difficult.

Too bad he was a sucker for difficult; especially when there was Irish attached to it.]

Well then, Noah MacGreggor, seems a man has his dance card full. While you appear to have yourself some company.

[Kind of him to be so accommodating. She smiles, because he seems polite. No harm in that, is there? Though she isn't really sure what he means by his first sentence, so she goes with responding to the second one.]

That shouldn't cause any trouble. I'm a student, just doing some extra reading. It's an addiction.