Nice smell. Barbecue, charcoal, beer. The kind of combination that makes even me nostalgic. The gate creaks when I step through it, and half the crowd starts whispering like someone just brought a loaded weapon to a picnic.
They're staring again... they never stop staring. They want you dead, you know.
Thomas: There he is! Thought you'd ghost me again, Y/N.
Y/N: You throw one party and suddenly I'm expected to socialize.
Tell him you hate it here. Tell him you hate all of them.
Thomas (laughs): Thirteen years of watching your back, and this is the thanks I get? I even made ribs.
Y/N: Thirteen years. You've lasted longer than most.
He grins. I hand him a bottle.
Y/N: Gift. Don't say I never gave you anything.
You never give me anything.
Thomas (snickers): Whiskey?
Y/N: From my own brewery. Aged better than you.
He pockets it, shaking his head.
Thomas: Go grab a plate. Food's on the table. Beer's in the cooler. Unless the analysts got there first.
A crowd of people mill around. Every other one gives me a double take, then that knowing nod. The kind that says I've heard stories about you.
Because they're afraid. Which is good. Fear keeps them obedient.
Guest1: Holy shit. The Immortal Python.
Y/N: You say it like it's a compliment.
Guest2: Didn't think you showed up to social events.
Y/N: I don't. But the guy retiring knows too much about me to ignore an invitation.
Let him retire. You don't need anyone but me.
Laughter breaks out, uneasy but genuine. I fill a paper plate. Ribs, slaw, something that might once have been corn. I take a seat near the fence. Easier exit if I need it. Thomas approaches with two beers.
He sits beside me, handing one over. Warm, of course.
Thomas: You still drink those potions of yours?
Y/N: Yeah. Taste is vile, but it gives me strength.
It also gives you a reason to pay attention to me.
Thomas: You ever think about quitting?
Y/N: The job? Or breathing?
Thomas: Both.
Y/N: Tried the first one. But Uncle Sam is quite persuasive.
Thomas gives a low chuckle, shaking his head.
Thomas: Still the same bastard.
Y/N: Consistency's all I've got left.
He stares out at the crowd. Men and women laughing, arguing, drinking under paper lanterns. He looks older when he's not holding authority like a shield.
Thomas: I'm tired, Y/N.
Y/N: Then rest. You've earned it.
Let him wither. They all will.
Thomas: You know, they talk about you all the time at Langley. "The Immortal Python." Some of 'em think you're a myth.
Y/N: Good. Myths don't have to file reports.
YOU ARE READING
Madness: DxD
FantasíaWe are taught that strength is what keeps us alive. So he became strong. Strong enough to endure the battlefield. Strong enough to command men into hell and lead them back out. Strong enough to win a war that should have destroyed him. They called h...
