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The brothers have their own visitors sometimes, those rare individuals not searching for lost fantasies, or here to beg clemency or favour of cold Morpheus. Many are here for the legend, and that story could be told in their sleep, complete with violent re-enactments. Those wanderers wake startled or shamed, a little more innocence left behind among the mysteries and secrets.
Cain has his particular patrons, and his brother stays well away from those meetings. When the glory hounds have departed with their stories and mementos he knows to stay in the shadows, and allow the first murderer to lament his reputation in solitude. The crime is remembered well, but few recall the punishment and penance, the harsh justice so swiftly forgotten.
It is rare that Abel has the chance to welcome a guest to his house, and this not entirely due to his sibling's brutal possessiveness. The first victim is hardly a proud title to bear, and its very connotations ensure that those who would desire the pilgrimage will likely have neither the time nor courage to do so. His last visitor was an infrequent regular, and that paradox describes the man well. However they have never been more than cordial, and while the house of secrets welcomed him as one of its own as he escaped his nightmares, it is to Cain and his mysteries that Methos truly belongs. Abel did once have hope for a young adventurer, and longed to hear his stories of time and space, but those that don't sleep can't dream, so he will never listen to tales of beautiful wolves and raging storms. Therefore he is rightfully startled by the man crouched on his lawn, eyeing Goldie with bemusement.
He calls himself Adam, with a bashful smile and a handshake, and though the house hears everything he doesn't say, it keeps his secrets well. Adam is polite and curious and a little shy. He has a slight bumbling demeanour that reminds Abel of his own awkward ways, and the blue eyes are wide and earnest. Abel wonders why he has come, for there is no comfort or explanation needed with this one. Modern science has told him all he needs to know, washed away centuries of religious dogma with its sterile simplicity. Nor does he suffer loneliness, a craving for a kindred spirit. Vengeance burns bright in Adams heart, and he requires no other warmth. They sit down for tea, Goldie curled up warm across Abel's' feet, and he relaxes, and waits.
Abel thinks of his brother as he looks at his guest. The name alone might guarantee quick hatred from his tempestuous sibling, but there is a subtle irony, a secret, if you will. The stranger calls himself Adam, the first man, and yet he will likely be the last. A dark mirror of the original, he is heading away from his people to a lonely end, and the shedding of innocence lays the seeds of his destruction. Abel sees Cain in this tormented figure, more than himself under the clumsy guise. Adam has bitter rage curled around his soul, a betrayal by his saviour rooted like a weed, strangling all compassion that would grow. He is full of revenge and pain, hate and justice, and Abel has been part of this too many times to imagine a pleasant end. Perhaps the man should have called at his brother's house. He imagines there are enough mysteries surrounding the infamous Takezo Kensei to keep them both entertained.
The words, when they do come, are surprising.
'How can you forgive him?'
Confusion clouds Adam's eyes, and a stuttering reply is on the tip of Abel's tongue, but this is his house and his brother is nowhere to be seen, there is no need for him to appease with stumbling failure. He takes the time to look deep at the man, ears straining for the whispering secrets that surround them. A trace, there it is, the reason. Kinship. How odd, that in this twisted, profane individual, this man in whom Cain echoes and flickers, is the stubborn belief that only Abel can offer understanding.