Love Is Ǝvil

44 Gangsta. #03

The door was heavy and thick, slowly falling to a close. In front of him opened the side of a great hall, soft carpet covered the floor and the fashionable lights decorating the ceiling had a sparkling quality to them. You expected a mass of glamorously clothed people from a forgotten era to populate the old theater. But nobody was here, and Nicolas felt like he was doing something wrong. Not a feeling he often experienced, neither one he particularly missed. Clearly, this was a building for people with a wealth of money or academic degrees to legitimate their own superiority. Nicolas couldn't be more the opposite if he tried.

Despite this feeling, he left the side entrance behind and walked into the empty theater, striding through the grand hall. Places, that you only visited with numerous people always felt eery when you were the only person there. Like it was the apocalypse and you were the only one to survive, a scenario Nicolas liked. People were only an annoyance.

But he wasn't completely alone, his steps followed Marshall to the counter. He was definitely a person, who had the money to fit into this opulence of the past, yet he looked as much as a fish out of water as Nicolas felt. Instead of a glamorous suit, he wore dark blue jeans, a black t-shirt and a lightly patterned hoodie. Without a doubt he looked good, but rather modest. Except for his bright red shoes. Already Nicolas had noticed that Marshall only wore Nike sneakers. A normal enough choice, not cheap per se but also not outlandish by any stretch. Slightly excessive might be his habit to not wear a pair twice.

The one employee working at the moment went behind the counter and looked at them, her expression a mix between bewilderment and nervousness, a struggle for countenance. She asked: "Can I get you anything, Sir? We have some good offers ..." and she proceeded to list whatever it was they served here. Nicolas didn't care. He rather watched Marshall, how the man's lucent blue eyes flickered across the menu, searching, trying to decide. Finally, he settled on: "Coke and popcorn, please." He turned to Nicolas and asked: »What do you want? Popcorn, too? We can get a big one.«

Nicolas couldn't help but to smirk about the toned down order. Marshall rented out a whole movie theater, so they could have a cheesy date undisturbed, but just a bit of popcorn was enough. Extravagance looked different. »Water's fine«, he answered.

»Are you sure?«, Marshall asked and after an answering nod he translated into spoken language. The gold of his necklace stood out from his black attire. The only thing that almost showed off that he owned a fortune was the jewelry he wore. Always a necklace, a bracelet and a watch. Mostly silver, sometimes gold and occasionally decorated with diamonds. This seemed expensive on paper, but the styles were rarely flashy. As far as jewelry went, this was mild and white diamonds were quite boring compared to other gems. A lesson Big Mama had taught him. The old brothel Queen had a distaste for the artificial nature of the diamond market, but a love for jewelry and finery. A fact, no one around her could escape.

While the employe prepared their order, Marshall kneaded his light pink lips, one of his many cute habits. Oddly enough, he didn't like to be called cute or be described in typical feminine terms; unless the rare times he definitely wanted it. It was a thin line, but sharp if you overstepped it. The anger, the man could explode in sometimes, still surprised Nicolas, but he couldn't always hold is tongue. Being flustered was a good look on the man and, honestly, Nicolas wanted all facets of him to shine. Telling him, what an adorable being he was, hopefully polished him to high luster.

Soon, their order was ready. Nicolas carried their drinks and Marshall took the bucket of popcorn as they walked into the theater that was prepared for them. Since no one else was here, they had free choice where to sit and Nicolas gestured toward the middle of the room. Wasn't that a good place to sit? He thought so.

Marshall shook his head. As always, he had his own opinions on the matter and insisted on it. By sight he measured out the size of the screen and the size of the room, slowly climbing the stairs to get a better vantage point for his estimates. It was practically visible how his brain worked on the math to triangulate the best solution to this problem. His lips moved slightly: "And the loudspeakers are...", looking to the corners of the room, but in the dim light he wouldn't see much.