It's a bit late in the evening (perhaps a little later than is strictly polite) when it's Solomon's turn to receive a slightly grumpy text from Javi, inviting him to come out for a drink. While it isn't as if Solomon has never seen Javi annoyed -- since he's seen him more than once -- it hasn't been that usual for him to start //out// annoyed. The place he's given him is near-ish to his apartment, which is already not in the best part of town, and when Solomon gets there, if he hasn't been there before, he will find the specific location fits its surroundings very well. This is no fancy magic show. It's not even a cool hipster place where some interesting up and coming indie band might play. No, it's a dive. There's no other word for it. It is the sort of place that regulars end up several times a week, but everyone else avoids. No danger of gentrification here any time soon.
Javi may have chosen it because he's one of the former -- and it may mean he can get at least a round or two on the house, because by the time Solomon makes his way there, the graveyard of glasses in front of him indicates he's at least a few rounds in. And from the look on his face, they haven't been happy rounds. He's looking pretty pissed, actually.
It isn't as if Solomon sleeps much, anyway. Thus, the text is promptly replied to. It takes a while for him to get there, considering he's at the mercy of the train and bus, but get there he does. And as a native, he seems to have some sort of idea what the neighborhood entails, because he's dressed down in a faded t-shirt for some forgotten band, equally faded jeans, and shoes that don't mind puddles that might include vomit.
None of it makes him any less a stranger in the bar, of course, and he doesn't ignore the stares he gets as much as he acknowledges them just long enough to make it clear he's not worried, then moves on until he finds Javi. He saunters over and settles in with the other man. "No one who's had that much beer should look that sour, Javi. I'll buy the next round."
Javi is in a booth facing the door, maybe so he can be sure Solomon doesn't sneak up on him -- or maybe it's just a habit. It's always good to face the door, just in case you have to run. So, he does see the other man as he makes his way over. There's a brief smile, a laugh that's a little wry, before he settles a little bit into the foul mood again.
"Yeah, well." He gestures vaguely with the bottle that still has some left in it. "What's up, man? How you living?" Is he actually attempting to get away with zero explanation of why he's sitting here, clearly drunk and obviously angry? Well, maybe.
"Oh, you know me. It's always sunshine and roses in the land of Jessup," Solomon lies, with a wry twist of his lips. He considers the bottle, eyes half-lidded, then considers the man drinking the bottle. He makes a noise. Then says, "I'm gonna get us a couple refills at the bar. When I get back, you can have figured out whether you wanna talk about what's eating you, or just need someone to make sure your drunk ass gets back home without taking a nap in a gutter." He winks, then stands up and makes his way to the bar to order another bottle for Javi and one for himself.
"Oh yeah. All fun all the time." On a normal occasion, it would have been coupled with a bright smile and pitched to sound lighthearted and joking. In his current state, it comes out a bit sharper than he probably intends. He hears it a second after he says it, and it's possible he regrets it, judging from the wince that crosses his face a moment later, but it's too late to do much about it now.
He does modulate his voice a little better when he goes on, though, perhaps in tacit apology. A real apology might be better, but nobody's perfect. "Hey, we got some nice gutters around here. Barely even any dirt." But he nods in acknowledgement -- though he also finishes off the quarter-full one while Solomon is gone, perhaps to steel himself for the inevitable admission. The anger is giving way a little to frustration, as well as perhaps some embarrassment, which are clearly the real issues in whatever the situation is.
Since it's not like Sol is asking for anything complicated, the tender just slings a couple of bottles at him and takes the money in return, and the professor is back in a jiff. He slides in across from Javi, and sets the bottle down neatly in front of the other man. The other, he reserves for himself, taking a pull from it almost as soon as his butt hits the seat. "See, that's the problem. If you're going to sleep in a gutter, you want a nice thick layer of dirt. Almost as good as a pillow." He offers a brief smile, then adds, "So. What's on your mind?"
"Speaking from experience, huh?" This time, Javi hits closer to where he aims, and while the smile might not be quite up to his usual standard, it's at least more wry than bitter. And then: "Thanks." It's said with a gesture toward the bottle. And he lets it sit for at least a few seconds, though he does stare a little balefully at it. Poor bottle. There's nothing it can do.
"Okay." He reaches up to rub a hand over his face, letting out a sigh. "So I been kinda trying to pick up extra stuff when I can 'cause I got that class, right, and things are a little tight right now. It's going okay," he clarifies. "I mean, barely even started but it's fine, like, I'm doing okay. But just, you know. Gotta plan around it and stuff. Anyway." He realizes he's meandering a bit, and so in something that's sure to help with that, he does opt to take a pull from his own beer right now, too. Excellent choice. "So this guy I know texted me and he was like, he needed some extra hands to move some shit for someone in one of those nice places over in Lakeview, you know? So I was like, sure. So we go, and it was for some asshole but it's fine, he's just looking over our shoulders and saying shit but whatever, right? It's annoying but who cares. Anyway. But at the end Dan goes to get the money, and the guy's like, no, and he says some bullshit about how we scratched up some of the furniture. Which is a fucking lie 'cause he always takes pictures of stuff before, but to be honest it's not like, legit legit. I mean he's not moving illegal shit but it's just like, getting paid under the table, right? So there's nothing he could really do, so we just did a fucking big-ass job for nothing and I'm out like a couple hundred bucks."
Solomon doesn't seem to mind the rambling, although there might be something unsettling in the way his attention is fixed on Javi throughout. He takes a few sips of his drink, but his eyes never leave the other man's face, and it's hard to say if he even blinks. There's a certain tightening of his lips at places, and when the story finishes up, he snorts and says, "What a fucking asshole. It's always the motherfuckers who could afford to pay who stiff you, too." He takes a drink, and now his brow is furrowed, thinking. "You remember the address?"
Javi might be drunk -- well, in fact, he is drunk. So it takes him longer to notice that slightly unnatural and definitely unrelenting stare. But somewhere in the middle, his lizard brain takes over, and he shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat even before he realizes the reason for it. Eventually, it makes his way up to his consciousness, and his eyes drop away as he slouches a little bit against his seat, using the beer as an excuse not to be looking across the table for a moment.
"Right? Dick. That shit was //nice//." He makes a little sucking sound against his teeth, shaking his head. And also because he's drunk and his tongue is even looser than usual, he doesn't even think about the potential consequences of it when Solomon asks for the address. He just says, "Yeah," and rattles off an address in that extremely nice neighborhood. "How come none of //those// places are getting set on fucking fire, huh?"
"Complete dick," Solomon agrees, and he seems to mean it. He's not seething like Javi, but it's clear the wheels are turning. He takes another few swallows from the bottle, then says, quietly, "Don't know. But I figure...everyone should pay their debts, one way or the other. You're owed something, and that asshole owes something. Maybe you can't get the money, but..." his teeth flash in a grin, "what about revenge? Want to see that guy wet himself and scream for his mommy?"
"Mm hmm." Javi was perfectly content to engage in what he thought was going to be a good old-fashion shittalking session, complete with getting smashed and maybe throwing up at the end, who knows. He did not expect Solomon to make the offer he makes. //Why// not is anybody's guess, but it probably relates to all those empty bottles.
As soon as it's suggested, though, his eyes widen, and he suddenly sits up straight in his seat again. No weaving at all. It's his turn to stare unblinkingly at the other man as some wheels turn in his head, too. A little slower, maybe, perhaps with some stopping and starting, but eventually he grins, too. It's definitely not his usual sweet one. Maybe if he hadn't been already four or five deep, he wouldn't have entertained it -- or at least not very long -- but right now he actually nods. "You know what," he says, "yeah. I really fucking do."
Almost as soon as he says it, his head whips to the side and his mouth twists. "No. Fuck that. We're doing it." His invisible friend seems to be against it, but this is the problem with ghosts. They don't really get a say, do they? A pause; then: "Because I said so. People need to fucking get what they deserve sometimes!" His voice rises at the end, a bit like he might be referring to something else -- or something else //and// this, maybe. But if he is, he doesn't clarify. He just drains his last bottle, and slides out of the booth to stand. Slightly unsteadily, but he can make it. "Let's go."
Solomon tilts his head to look towards where he thinks the ghost might be and says, quietly, "He's right. Sometimes people need to pay their debts and receive the consequences of breaking their promises. This is a little debt. A small broken promise. But you and I both know it's not the only one. He might have already done great damage to others - and if he hasn't, one day he will. Unless he learns to fear the consequences." He smiles, oh so wide, and slides out of the booth to offer Javi an arm if he needs it. "Lead the way. But if you pass out, I may not stop to record it."
Javi looks back to that place in the empty air, and it does seem to be pretty close to where Solomon is speaking to. His expression is hard, very unlike his normal open smiles, or even sullen frowns. It's a different sort of anger now. He doesn't add anything else to Solomon's words, but he just nods once to punctuate them. It must have been enough to placate the ghost, because there's no more argument. Javi does take the offered arm, though, with a snort. "I'm good," he assures him. "Not gonna miss this for nothing."
True to his word, he manages to make his way onto the L without incident, though maybe he leans a little bit on Solomon here and there. And he's pretty quiet on the ride, too, with that same hard expression. He stares out the window, watching whatever he can see rush past them, but mostly just brooding into the dark.
He has enough presence of mind to get them off, and also, apparently, to get them to where they're going. However he manages it, soon they are across the street from a //very// nice house, ostentatious even for the neighborhood. It's easy to see, because there are no dirty or broken streetlamps here. They actually have to work to stay in the shadows, in a way they would probably not have to in Javi's neighborhood. "There," he says quietly, flinging his hand out to point at it. "It's that one."
Solomon isn't, if we're honest, the most stealthy person in the world. But he makes do as they step out of the train station and into the shadows of the nice neighborhood. His eyes skim the houses, and he does that weird sniffing thing, as if he thinks he can figure out who's awake and sleeping by scent. Other than that, he's surprisingly quiet on the walk, and his own face is alight with some sort of intense anticipation. When Javi points out the house, he studies it, and his tongue plays with his bottom lip, almost like he's tasting the air. "All right. You think you can find somewhere nice and out of sight but with a decent view? And where's the bedroom. Did you see it?" He's scanning the windows, looking for signs of interior lights, or exterior security systems.
"Hell yeah I can." Javi flashes Solomon a thumbs up, as well as another not-quite-so-nice smile. "It's on the top at the back. End of the hall." Even drunk and righteously angry, he seems to be able to find those gaps in the light quite well, moving instinctively to even the smallest amount of cover that doesn't seem like it ought to be able to hide him. He's out of sight soon enough, tucked somewhere that he will be safe -- and also witness justice being served.
Once he's gone, all that's left are the usual night noises. Even in this neighborhood, it's a city, so it's not silent, but the house and those around it are all dark and asleep, for the moment.
Solomon slinks his way up towards the house. He approaches it like a predator, circling his prey to get a good look at all the potential entrances and exits as he spirals in. When he finally reaches the house, he pauses at a wall and then just quietly climbs up, hands and feet finding handholds that don't, technically, exist as he scuttles. He stays crouched so that no nosy neighbors are likely to see him. Then, carefully and quietly, he starts to test the second story and attic windows, just to see if someone has left one unlocked. If he can, he also looks for a vent or hole that might fit a snake.
There's no telling what Javi thinks about Solomon's sudden spiderness. Safe to say, he's probably freaking out about it at least a little bit, wherever he's hidden himself. But since he's not here, no one will know for sure until the end.
The one who //is// here is Solomon. While he finds most of the windows closed and locked, there's one that seems to lead to a bathroom that's would open. It's the kind that doesn't actually open all the way, and there is a screen, but a snake could probably slither through the space if the screen were circumvented somehow. But it's flimsy. This is not the kind of neighborhood where there are bars on every window.
The flimsy screen doesn't prove all that much of an obstacle to the Lost, especially as he doesn't need his hands to keep his grip. He sets his feet against the wall, sticking there as easily as..well, a spider, and opens the window just a little. Enough to where he can find a corner of that screen and work his claws around the edges just enough to pull that corner out and back. You couldn't hardly fit a human hand under it.
But that's fine. Because as he sits back, humming a soft little tune to himself, Solomon proves not to have hands at all. From a distance, it might look like he just _disappears_. But in actually, he's replaced by a sleek, black kingsnake. The snake scents the air with its tongue, then slithers forward to nose its way into that tiny gap in the screen, and from there, into the bathroom. It doesn't bother to drop to the floor; the snake retains Solomon's ability to climb, and it slithers merrily along the ceiling and walls, seeing if it can make its way towards the bedroom.
Javi had not been exaggerating. The house is expensive. Everything in it is picked to be as expensive as possible. But it's living proof that money can't buy taste. Some people might say that a little scratching on some of this furniture might have improved things. However, that's neither here nor there. What //is// here -- or actually, there -- is the bedroom, right where Javi had said it would be. It's at the end of the hall near the back, confirmed first by the faint sound of snoring, and then of course once Solomon gets in, by a lumpy bed indicative of a sleeping person. It seems to be only one person. So hopefully it's the right person! But it probably is.
Snakes are not physically capable of laughter and they don't do much in the way of expressions, but if there were anyone watching, Solomon-snake's expression would try for anticipatory as he notices that sleeping, snoring form. He slithers up, along the walls then the ceiling, until he's directly above the man's head. Then, with a shiver, he transforms again - legs bursting from the snake's form, and his whole body swelling to grotesque, nightmarish proportions.
When it's done, a creature out of primordial horror clings to the ceiling with two of its eight legs. The rest of its body bends downward, swollen abdomen and thorax, with a grotesque, almost human but also feline head that's stuffed full of sharp teeth and glaring eyes dominating the front of it. With his delicate front leg, he reaches out and slowly, carefully, pulls down the cover. "You owe a debt," he says in a hoarse, gravelly voice.
It's quite, quite late, and so the man really is dead asleep. So, it takes him a second to really realize what's happening. Or several, really. He rolls over as the cover starts to be pulled pulled down, and he mutters something unintelligible before his eyes drag open and focus on the thing that's hovering above him.
It's debatable whether Javi would have appreciated seeing what's happening in the room right now. While he might have taken some perverse pleasure in the fear that is surely coming, whether it would have outweighed //his// fear of the creature Solomon has become is hard to say. However, removed as he is from the visuals, and with only the benefit of hearing it, surely he appreciates what happens next.
"OH MY GO-!" The last word just turns into a scream as the man is suddenly shocked awake by the thing looming over him. He jerks so hard he cracks his head against the headboard (because of course he has one, ornate and ugly like one might expect from the rest of the house). As he screams, he tries to get away, but he only manages to tangle himself up in the sheet and actually make himself stuck right underneath the giant spider. Tears begin as he continues to scream, and his lips move like he might be pleading, but there are no words that can be made out at all. It's so loud, so full of true fear, that the neighbors who have surely been awoken by it might at least be debating calling the cops.
Solomon shivers in pleasure at the scream, which makes all eight of his legs quiver as they form a loose cage over the bed. Trying to leap from the bed would only put him right in the path of one of those things, and they are chitinous, tipped with what look like razor-sharp serrations. One of the foremost legs, delicate and almost fingerlike, comes in towards the terrified man, and it moves to touch his lips, so gently that all he can feel is the cool, smooth edge of it. "Shhhhh," the bestial mouth hisses at him, almost gently. "Shhhh. Unless you wish to /be/ shhhhed." The eyes, far more than two, gleam with amusement. "Shhhh and listen. //You owe a debt//."
When there's a giant spider telling you to be quiet, well...maybe sometimes you don't be quiet, but eventually if a person screams enough they will not be able to scream anymore. That is what has happened to this guy. His face is deathly pale, which Solomon may be able to appreciate fully in his current guise, and now that he's not screaming he looks a lot like he's about to pass out. He's trembling so hard it makes his head jerk against that horrifyingly smooth leg, and the feel of it makes him whimper as he tries to nod. Or, maybe he does. It's difficult to tell.
The long, serrated leg taps his lower lip, just once, then strokes upwards, delicately tracing the curve of his nose, making a brief detour to hover over one of his staring, horrified eyes like it was contemplating plucking it out. But then it moves on, to pet his hair, with the kind of deliberate gentleness that only serves to remind someone that the thing above them doesn't //have// to be gentle.
And, judging by the fanged smile, doesn't really //want// to be gentle. "I come to those who do not pay their debts, to extract payment in blood and fear. But you? You I give one more chance. Your last chance. Balance your books, or I will be back. And I am so very empty. So very //hungry//."
He stretches his back legs to lower himself down until their faces are inches apart. "Do you understand? Or shall I take my dues now?"
The man's teeth are chattering so hard at this point it could almost be imagined that the neighbors will hear //that//, too. He tries to close his eyes when the leg hovers over one of them, but he can't quite bring himself to do it -- maybe he thinks that's what will be the thing that causes whatever this is to actually //do// it. He's still whimpering, choking sobs wracking his body that he tries to suppress because they only make it more likely he's going to accidentally get closer, especially at the end.
"Uhhhhs..." Maybe he was trying to say yes. Maybe he was trying to nod again. It's safe to say that he would promise anything at this point to get away from this nightmare thing. But at least right now, he means it.
Solomon chuckles again. "Pay your debts," he reminds the man, quietly. "And close your eyes. Count to one hundred, and this will all be a bad dream you need never have again as long as your balance book is clear." And he continues to stroke the man's head until his eyes slip closed. And, just for the effect, he lets a little drool slip from his mouth and drip in tiny, tiny drops on the guy's forehead until he DOES close his eyes. Only once that is done and the man is counting does Solomon withdraw to the ceiling and transform back into the slender black snake to slither away.
The man does at least close his eyes when he's instructed to do so -- but hopefully Solomon will be appeased with the idea of counting, because he can't actually seem to make any sounds anymore. It's probably for the best.
Things are still relatively quiet when Solomon slithers his way back down the hall and presumably out the window again. The neighbors' apathy must have superseded any desire to call the cops, because the only sirens that can be heard sound like they're coming from far away, probably heading to some other fire that won't touch any of the luxurious houses over here. Javi is nowhere to be seen, but he's probably around, still hiding since he can't see Snake Solomon, either.
Solomon doesn't change to human form immediately. Instead, the snake slithers all the way down the outside wall and into the grass. And then? Then his tongue flickers out as he tries to find Javi. And if he can get a good bead on the man's location? Well, here comes a snake in the grass, slithering around to Javi's rear before he transforms into a human once more.
It's a little tricky to find him, but Solomon probably has some senses that others don't, and so he manages to do it without having to spend the rest of the night at it. Javi has found a truly good hiding spot, set back out of the way but also not in view of the house he's actually in front of. He really does seem to be very good at hiding.
But as has been proven, he's not always as great at sensing Solomon sneak up on him -- but to be fair, today he's still probably at least a little drunk, and his ghostly alarm system may have deserted him, considering their little disagreement before. So, Solomon gets the reaction he was probably looking for, which is making Javi jump when he finally notices he's there.
"Shit!" But he's grinning, and even though he was definitely startled, it makes him laugh rather than get even more angry. "Man, you're such an asshole." Actually, he's laughing a little too hard, though he is trying to keep a lid on it. "What the fuck, you didn't get enough in there?" Although now that laughter might be tipping dangerously toward another emotion. Oh good, they've reached this point in the evening. "That was fucking amazing." And yes, now he's crying. But he barely even seems to notice, just starts them back toward the L, wiping a hand across his face without acknowledging why he's doing it in any way. "//Fuck// that guy."
Solomon rolls his shoulders in a shrug. He's got that loose-limbed sort of relaxation that might usually be expected by someone who just did some OTHER activity in a bedroom. His grin is smug. "I can be," he agrees without hesitation. He moves in, protectively, as Javi starts laughing and crying his way towards the L. He falls in easy step beside him, just reaching out a hand to steady him if he seems to need it. "Fuck that guy," he agrees, cheerfully enough. "I'm glad you enjoyed." A hesitation. "Sometimes, justice should be done. Even if it's done by an asshole."
It's the touch that does it in the end, whether Javi actually needs it or not. He's as quiet about it as he can be, but his shoulders shake as they continue toward the train. He nods at the end, and after a moment he leans a little bit toward the other man, just enough so that their shoulders touch.
"Sorry." He sniffs audibly, scrubbing a hand over his face again. "Just no one ever stuck up for me before except Nacho." His voice cracks at the end, but he takes a deep breath to steady himself. "I just really miss him." He looks up then, and off to the side, before his expression twists with agonized guilt. "I know," he says after another moment, to nothing visible except to him. "I love you. But you ain't really him."
Solomon doesn't shrug away from the shoulder touch, and his arm comes down and around Javi for a moment in a quick hug. He seems comfortable with both the tears and the physical contact. "That's a shame," he says, with a frown. "Because you're worth having someone stand up for you." His gaze flicks to the air that the other man addresses. He doesn't say anything to the ghost, and if sympathy flickers in his eyes, Javi's not looking at him so that's //fine//.
Javi takes the hug, leaning his head against Solomon's shoulder just as briefly as his eyes close. He does straighten up a moment later, but it does seem to have made him feel at least a little bit better. "Thank you." His voice is subdued, and he's definitely not looking at Solomon now, so yes, he misses any sympathy in the man's expression. "I really fucked it up, though. I messed up." Whatever that means. He's not going to go on tonight. He may not totally realize he's said it.
"You don't live the same way as me, right?" The tears have stopped, and though his face is still a bit of a mess, he looks like he might have sobered up a little bit. "Or do you?" He's unsure, but he adds, "I'm good now. I can get home." And he absolutely does not mention anything about what he'd said a few seconds before.
"What are friends for?" Solomon asks, quietly. He doesn't pursue that brief, but intriguing claim, perhaps recognizing the other man's tiredness and state of drunkenness. He shakes his head at the question. "I take the other line," he admits, nodding towards that end of the station. "If you're fine getting home, then that's good. Drink some water before you go to bed, or else you're going to feel like complete shit in the morning." He smiles, then. "Good night, Javi. Don't let anyone give you crap."
"Yeah, I'm good." Javi's obviously tired, yes, but he does seem steady enough on his feet now. "I will, yeah. No worries. Prolly will anyway." Feel like crap, that is. It's admitted wryly, but he reaches over to knock Solomon's shoulder gently with a fist. "Right. You either." As if Solomon ever would. "I'll see you. Night." With that, he turns to head down the platform in the opposite direction.
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