The Evening Street : RADIODUST

7: Wooden Cabin - Lantern

The pair entered the pizza place smelling like hot rain. Alastor's dress pants dropped as he walked in the pizza parlor. Both Angel and Alastor made small puddle trails as they walked in the parlor, choosing the table closest to the exit.

As Alastor sat down there was an audible "blop" and "squelch" as his dress pants flattened and stuck onto the plastic seats. Angel snorted, looking no better with the smeared makeup. One might have gotten a fright when bumped into a male with dripping mascara and faded pink lipstick. Angel's drenched hair reminded Alastor of a soaked dog.

The waiter walked over, looking surprised at their guests.

"Let me get you some towels," the waiter said.

"I didn't know your hair was curly," Angel said. He reached out, and flicked a strand of Alastor's hair.

"It gets in my way, so I comb it back," Alastor said. He gently tapped Angel's hand away from his face.

"Why? It looks good," Angel said.

The waiter returned with the towels, " Your lucky business is slow. Next time, bring an umbrella, because you won't be allowed to drip in here. What are you ordering?"

Angel hooked the towel around his neck and began to ruffle his hair dry.

"A small Margherita pizza and— Do you want meat Smiles? Do you mind sausages, they're good here?"

Alastor let the towel drape on his shoulders. He took off his gloves, placing them in his breast pocket.

"You are the knowledgeable one here, mon ami , I trust you to choose well. Sausages do sound filling. After a nice run, one must always stack up on proteins."

"Okay small Margherita and Funghi e Salsiccia ," Angel said. The waiter nodded.

Angel and Alastor ate the pizza. The slices were soggy with tomato sauce, slapped on basil leaves. The other pizza was sausages and mushroom— and Alastor enjoyed it. The pizza was one of the best he had eaten in a while. The meats' umami taste was strong and leathery. The crust was crisp.

"Al."

"What Angel?" Alastor placed down his piece of pizza. Hazel's eyes met Alastor's own eyes.

"Anthony's my real name."

"An-tho-ny, Anthony,"Alastor tasted the words. "What a wonderful name."

Angel's cheeks were redder under the light, perhaps from the exertion of running around.

"We both have A names, huh Al?"

"We do,"Alastor said. He ate another piece of soggy pizza. Angel ate as well, the pizza sauce smearing in their wet hands. There was no point of decorum, not anymore, but the lack of it was dangerous. Politeness and predictability kept Angel at arm's length and away from any emotional attachment. Emotional attachment meant Alastor's information gathering methods would be judged and criticized.

Alastor needed Angel's story to fit in his podcast. He needed an idea to sell. Friends do not sell each other's souls for the sake of fame. Friends do not sell secrets.

Luckily, Alastor was no friend. Well, Alastor and Angel barely had known each other for about twenty hours in total, considering their first meeting, the park talk and today... Funny how easily the pair had hit it off. That would make this painful, but purposeful push succeed.

"Not to intrude or ruin the moment, but how did you get into the business of selling yourself?" Alastor asked.

Angel stiffened, wet hair strands dripping globs of water. He hesitated, looking down at his pizza and back at Alastor. Blonde long lashes hid Angel's eyes, Alastor could tell Angel was weighing his heavy words, calculating something difficult and complex. Whatever secrets Angel kept was complicated, difficult, but not impossible to let out. Alastor was a stranger, barely a close acquaintance.