Demons Aren't Usually Called Charlie

Danté

Danté tapped his fingers on the chipped table. You would think after existing for so long he would know how to better start a conversation. Awkward silence filled the booth like water, seemingly inescapable. Damien stared longingly at the floor. Danté stared at him.

Damien had very distinct features. His cheekbones could cut you; his face gaunt. Midnight black hair flopped over his face, unkempt and messy,it contrasted with doll-like skin. Once you saw this man, you could never forget him. Suddenly and sharply, he breathed in and looked up at the stranger sat opposite them. Ice eyes pierced Danté like a knife. Damien's brow knitted together.

"What do you want?" he asked, exasperated and tired.

"Nothing much, just a chat. You seemed lonely." Danté smiled politely,trying hard not to upset him. That would ruin the fun. "My name's Danté."

"Like Danté's Inferno?" Daimen's interest in this conversation had pricked up just a little bit.

Danté hadn't thought of his name that way before. It was fitting. He'd walked hell after all.

"Yeah just like that, I didn't take you as someone who was into fourteenth-century poetry." Danté just needed to keep Damien's mind off grief for a while. "Do you mind if I light up a cigarette?"

"No, it's fine. I only really know that one fourteenth-century poem as I studied it in university." Damien was distracted by something. "I'm sorry, but I have to ask, why the mask? It's really distracting."

Why did everyone ask about the damn mask? It might be unusual, but was it really that bad? It's not like he could take it off. He would be trapped then. After all, Tony F. Clarke was supposed to be dead. Now he was just a marionette with Danté pulling the strings.

"Oh, the mask. Yeah lots of people ask me about it. To cover up disfigurement some people might have a fringe, some might have an eye patch. I have a mask." this was probably the most truthful thing he'd said in a while. Finally untwisted. The mask covered up a bullet wound. Right between the eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Must've seemed a bit inconsiderate." Damien's toned shifted to something even more melancholic. Danté was losing him.

"Oh, no no no. It's fine to ask. I don't mind talking about it."hastily, Danté tried to salvage the conversation.

Damien returned his head to his hands, staring at the floor. He wallowed in his grief like a hippo in mud. That wasn't surprising considering what had happened to Damien's life. Grief was a strange thing to Danté. It was an emotion he'd never had to fake before. He was always the one causing grief, not suffering it's wrath.

"Sorry, I mustn't be the kinda conversation you were looking for. I'm not in a very good place at the moment." Damien's small talk was laboured.

"No, no, it's fine. If you don't mind me asking, why's that?" this question was obsolete to Danté, he already new every single detail, but he had to act human.

"It would probably do me some good to get it off my chest." Damien exhaled deeply, putting his arms down on the table. "Someone very close to me was involved in a fatal car accident recently. He didn't deserve what happened to him." He rolled his eyes back, trying to avoid crying, his voice cracking.

"Hey, it's okay," Danté placed his cigarette-free hand on one of Damien's, a comforting gesture. Damien looked down at it, but didn't pull away. "Tell me about him."

"His name was James. James was really nice, like unconditionally nice." Damien smiled, remembering all the good things about him, tears once again coming to his eyes. "I'd known him since high school. We were best friends. He had my back all the way. The perfect duo. He had silly brown hair that stuck up in all the wrong places. I used to tease him and call him Harry Potter because of it. We made so many outdated references that only we would get. He just laughed, he never minded what I said. It's the little things like that, that is why I'll miss him. I loved him so so much. And now he's gone. Do you know what was the last thing I said to him was? 'Don't forget the food'. It was so mundane. I wish I could've told him something more meaningful. But then again we can't always say meaningful things to people when we say goodbye, can we? Everything would lose it's meaning. What kind of world does this?"