There's many a beast then in a populous city

[goodhonest9.livejournal.com]

~ Iago has not had very long to try to make sense of his surroundings. There was once a time when he had to know the lay of the land before moving, but sometimes you can't help but run blind.

This is Six. He's pretty sure. It’s a city, yes, but one that makes no sense. It’s as if someone has taken all the very worst parts of every thronging metropolis and hurriedly slapped them together; some of the edges don’t quite fit. And then there were the statues: the brass bulls with the fire under them. They were oddly placed - some times on street corners or else discreetly under an awning or away in an alley. It is by one such bull that Iago stands now. Out of the way, almost out of sight, because the city is populated with a number of things Iago knows with whom it would be very unwise to become acquainted.

But still, he dimly hopes that maybe, just maybe, he can snatch a little warmth from the flames that burn beneath it and have a second or two to catch his breath. He looks at himself in the shining side of the brass bull. Even though his reflection is distorted and bulbous with the curve of the bull’s belly, he can see how he’s changed. His face is thin and gaunt and he is very, very pale, although it might just because his skin and hair are touched with frost. He looks like a ghost. A pitiful moan issuing from the bull’s mouth makes Iago twitch. He examines the statue. It’s hot. Scalding. As if with a mind of its own, he reaches up a finger and lays it on the bull’s back only to draw it back with a wince. He notes with dismay that even as the skin on his hand turns shiny and white and blistered from the burn, he’s still bone-cold.

Oh well. It’s a little better, here. More bellowing from the brass monster makes him smile grimly. Here he is, warming himself with another man’s misery. He shrinks back against the wall, willing himself to go unnoticed while he rests. It’s not so bad. He’ll stay for just a moment, warmed by the fire and his only company the poor soul in the belly of the beast.

For what feels like the first time in a long while, he exhales slowly, breath steaming even in this damned heat he can barely feel. And even though it's unwise, he lay's his head against the bricks of the wall. Eyes closed. Almost. Just a moment here to rest. ~

Comments

[madlymirthful9.livejournal.com]

*a finger, equally cold and blackened by frostbite, pokes Iago's cheek - really it's not that Barty thinks it's a particularly smashing idea to prod at unknown, prone figures but, this late in the game, resisting temptation is about as futile as building a giant drill out of scrap junk and burrowing to sweet freedom*

[wetandbothered5.livejournal.com]

*it takes Regulus a few moments to realise Barty is no longer following him - with a sigh echoing off the nearby heated shells of metal, he doubles back until two frosted figures come into view*

-Barty. Psst.

[madlymirthful9.livejournal.com]

*shoots him a gleeful smile*

[wetandbothered5.livejournal.com]

*waves him back, trying to stay hidden behind one of the bulls but it's all rather futile as everywhere he goes in this blasted city makes him steam*

[madlymirthful9.livejournal.com]

*Barty stubbornly makes a series of gestures that, to anyone acquainted with his sign language (and there are very few who care to become acquainted), clearly means that Reg should come to him first*

[wetandbothered5.livejournal.com]

Do you know him?

[madlymirthful9.livejournal.com]

*prods at the clearly exhausted form yet again*

[wetandbothered5.livejournal.com]

*he leaves the safety of his hiding place with great reluctance, simply for the fact that often it is a frightful insectoid in a mandisguise that Barty decides to attempt to befriend; still, Regulus joins him, only hanging back slightly as he warily eyes the man*

[goodhonest9.livejournal.com]

*Here there are worst things that can happen to you than being poked in the face by a stranger but that isn't the thought that immediately occurs as he is roused from... well, he isn't asleep, surely.*

*Makes a grab for the frostbitten hand before evening opening his eyes, and when he finally does, his glance darts from one figure to the next. He's cornered. Bad, bad place to be. There's fear in his eyes for a moment, but it quickly changes to something much more useful, as Iago sees it: anger.*

If devils thou art, 'twas poor indeed to become the likeness of a man, for that's a creature I'll little mind the murther of. So, if thou be fiends, shed that mocking semblance of humanity that so unbecomes a demon. A glance at thy talons or horrid maws and mayhap I'll submit, but so long as thou warest the flesh of a man, it is in my mind that I may yet best thee.

[wetandbothered5.livejournal.com]

*glances at Barty before returning a level eye to the man, they have all been surprised and spouted nonsense at once point or another, Regulus certainly doesn't deny that, but he is in no mood for soothing anyone else's fears when he and Barty get into quite enough trouble on their own*

I do wish you wouldn't be so loud, something will hear you and I've had far to much of this city for a while. These are the only maws we have, I'm sorry to disappoint.

[madlymirthful9.livejournal.com]

Don't listen to Regina, he only attempts to deceive you with his filthy lying words. We keep all our horrid maws under our shirts, you see. We're Gentlemen Demons.