Noir

Part One

Lucas stared into the mirror, finding a different person than he once was, pale skin, flushed with opiates, a murkiness swirling within his irises. How had he lost himself so completely without realization, where had his conscious been hiding? Within the haze of drunken stupor and cheap women. In the dark recesses of his mind he prayed that Lucifer save his soul, he'd abandoned god long ago, his curiosity for the condemned taking hold.

He splashed some water onto his face, needing the coolness, if just to wake him up. But it wasn't enough, he needed to get out, to feel the night air.

He soon found himself walking down the cobblestone streets of London, his long coat billowing behind him, a cigarette in hand, the smoke mixing with his visible breath.

It was a quiet night, no patrons in the particular street of which he currently walked, save for one, coming toward him. He looked wealthy, and his gaze held onto him, intense, shining with a certain wickedness as the thought of robbing him crossed his mind.

But no, he opted for conversation, simulation for his foggy mind. It had been a while since he made an acquaintance.

He took quick strides toward the man, making sure not to give him an opportunity to bypass him, stopping right in front of him, hindering his movement. He spoke deeply.

"You toy with chance, moving through the shadows."

Upon standing so close, he could see the man clearly now; although his eyes were clouded and his head dizzy with the opium he had consumed. The air had helped wake him up, but the euphoria remained, to his delight. Yes, he could see clear now as the other lifted his chin into the dim light of the street lamp. He was met with the sight of a lovely young man, spry and stylish, deceivingly prim and proper, and in his high state the radiance that shined through the darkness from the male made him wonder if he was a provoking demon.

The man seemed confident, even in his entrapped state, his voice passing through his lips like gilded silk, "One could say the same for you." He smirked, "Though, I admit, I seem far less menacing."

He lifted his arm slowly, languidly, taking a long drag from his cigarette, a corner of his lips lifting; he took the coy comment as a compliment. Menacing indeed, his black clad frame aiding him in his desire to remain unseen. Until now.

His constricted pupils flashed with a gleam that matched the light of the moon, "Menace is found in one's own perception." He took another drag off his cigarette, the embers burning bright, "I, for one, find menace in your ability to set aside caution."

The dapper man held the look of proper pride, pride that was most certainly his birthright, "I like to have my fun. Strangers intrigue me. Would you care to join me? I was on my way to the Menagerie."

Ah, the Menagerie, a place full of sin, just what he needed, he wouldn't have expected such an adventure from someone so pristine. He seemed to be oblivious of his previous thought to do wrong by him, having narrowly escaped harm, all due to Lucas's decision to have a companion for the night. But it was true that he was looking for something to excite his senses, something to pull his mind and body out of the depression he had induced. It was true that he was bored, somewhat desperate for excitement. Perhaps it was the right choice not to rob this man, perhaps he'd deplete his riches in another way. Not that he couldn't afford his own expeditions, but it was delightfully heinous to use someone.

"I will join you, yes."

"Splendid." 

They made their way down a nearby alley, taking the back way, much to Lucas' appreciation. In his elated state the silence around them was comfortable. No rustle of leaves, no whistle of wind. Hardly a breath. The dead of night comforted him, reminding him that even the retched could find peace.

But then the dashing man broke the calm, "My name is Julian. May I ask yours."

He took a moment to light another cigarette before responding darkly, "Lucas."

Julian lifted his chin, "Ah... Lucas. And your last?"

He had to veil his annoyance, "Noir."

"Lucas Noir. It rolls off the tongue. Much like a prayer. I can only assume how much women praise you, with such a god given name."

Lucas wasn't used to such talk. This man didn't know him, didn't know the things he did, in bed or otherwise. But his assumptions were precise.

"And your women. Are they as sophisticated as you?"

Julian laughed, the sound soft and melodious, "Hardly."

It was then that they reached their destination. The elegant man opened the door with ease, holding it for him. Why he was treating him as a gentleman would, he didn't know, but he moved inward unabashedly, not so much as a thank you leaving his lips; cold dissociation.

When Julien entered, the host beamed as if he had seen the love of his life, "Monroe."

"Pleasure as always, Keith. This is Noir."

It seemed that last names were preferred.

The host nodded respectfully before leading the way to a table. Lucas felt out of place, he wasn't one for extravagance, and this place reeked of higher class. Though, he'd heard disgraceful talk of this place, and he was nothing but immoral. His excitement exceeded his disdain.

They sat, and already they were served absinthe. Lucas was no stranger to the drink, immediately taking a sip. Julian, however, took hold of the stem, swirling the glass, "You look to be a man of good taste, yet I have never seen you here. Is it the formality that keeps you away?"

The last drag of his cigarette and he put it out in the ash tray, "I'm not one for high standards."

Finally Julian took a sip, smirking as he lowered the drink, "Does that make me an exception?"

Lucas glanced up at him from under his darkened eyelids, "Who says I hold you in such regard?"

The well dressed man gave a puff of laughter. He took another sip, coyness dancing in his eyes. Then a lick of his lips, "Tell me about yourself mister Noir. What is it that you do?"

Lucas had never held a conversation for such a duration, having always been the recluse. This was enough to agitate him. But, downing half the drink, he pressed on, "I'm a poet."

Julian's expression turned to one of surprise mixed with interest, "I didn't strike you as being poetic. I will have to read your writings one of these days." He took yet another sip, "That is, if you'd be willing to see me after this night."

"If we keep our lives til morning, I will consider it," is what he said. What he felt was something else entirely. A need to distract himself from the tedious demand of conversation. He lit another cigarette and glanced around. There were women writhing on platforms, as if they were induced by demonic forces. Men smoking hookah. Others coming from behind a curtain with the look that they had committed something from which there was no going back. Some looked triumphant.

Already his face was beginning to feel numb, his vision blurring. He swore he could make out a stain of blood on the carpet. His stomach lurched, this absinthe was even stronger than he was used to.

"Lucas."

His name echoed, dreamlike, and his head snapped back to look at Julian. What he saw startled him; he saw fire within the eyes looking back at him, and he wondered if what he had previously thought was true, maybe he was an apparition of some infernal being.

"Lucas. Would you like to see what's behind the curtain?"