Series: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
Pairing: Nny/O.C
Title: There's A Good Reason These Tables Are Numbered Honey, You Just Haven't Thought Of It Yet
Genre: Humour/Romance/Angst
Chapter One: Lone
Nny stared at the cuts on his slightly pale arm. His last victim had pulled a pin from her sweater and was determined to make it out alive by cutting and scratching Nny's forearm. Squee had been particularly traumatized by the affair, since she did make it outside. Nny had followed her and cut her into small pieces with his swords. Squee'd seen the whole affair.
He rolled his sleeve down and took the tray of food from the counter, paying of course, with money he'd managed to salvage from the pin-lady.
He searched for a booth, and at the same time observed everyone for somebody who might call him "wacky", the word he detested above all others. Also in this list was 'Fresh' used as slang and 'Jiggly'.
He found no tables open, but did find one table with only a young man sitting there. Nny grimaced at the thought of sitting with him, but if he stood and ate he'd possibly get gawked at. Maybe even called wacky. He could, of course, take his food home with him. But no, that wouldn't work. Asking for a bag after he clearly wished to sit and dine could also be perceived as wacky. And it was cold outside. His food would be stale by the time he walked home.
There was only one choice.
Nny took a harsh breath in and braced himself for the impending questions. Quietly, he sat down at the booth with the young man.
The man looked up at Nny. He'd previously been picking at a plate of french-fries, holding his head in his hand, looking very depressed. Johnny noted how dark his eyes were. Like he hadn't slept in a long time.
"Do I know you?" He tilted his head inquisitively.
"No" Nny muttered, biting off a sizable chunk of his hamburger. "But, you see, there are no tables open and so I decided to sit with you rather than be called odd"
The man nodded and resumed picking at his french-fries.
Nny stared at him. He had long, dark brown hair, pale skin without the slightest blemish, and of course, his sunken, dark green orbs in the sockets of his skull that he called eyes.
They looked like glass, Nny remarked mentally. Like sea glass that's been dyed, if that was even possible.
The man looked up again. "Could you please stop staring at me?" He didn't wait for an answer and began, once again, stirring his french-fries in their dish of ranch dressing.
"I'm Johnny" Nny said, chewing thoughtfully. He was surprised at his own perky tone to his words. It almost scared him. "But you can call me Nny for short" He realized the only reason he was talking to this man was to make himself seem less odd. People didn't just sit at a table and eat food quietly, not conversing at all. Unless you had taken a vow of silence. But then how would you order your food? Notepads, Johnny concluded quite happily.
The man had an unamused look on his face, that was clear even though he still stared at the table. "I'm...Vesper"
Johnny grinned, scaring Vesper slightly.
"These tables are numbered" Johnny stared at the peeling label on the side of their table. "That's odd for a restaurant like this, don't you think?"
Vesper silently nodded.
After he'd finished eating half of one french-fry, Vesper left the restaurant.
.O.O.o.o.O.O.o.o.O.O.o.o.O.O.
Vesper's hands were hidden in the pockets of his wool trench-coat. His eyes stared at his feet as he walked, hating the painful, stinging, cold hitting his ears. Under any other circumstances, Vesper would have taken his brother's car to go out. But he didn't want Josephais to be without a car. After all...
Today was the day he was going to shoot himself.
Vesper had contemplated this for some time. He'd imagined his last meal to be something better than Wendy's. When he was younger and happier, and he was hardly twenty, he imagined life as a death-row inmate, famous for killing millions. His last meal, he reasoned, would be something spectacular.
Of course, things never happened the way Vesper wished they would.
The frail man searched around for the pistol he'd hidden in his coat pocket. The metal was freezing, but the gun was still there. Loaded. One bullet only.
Vesper's neutral expression- the expression he'd worn for months without fail -twitched into a smile.
A/N: Alright, it's an awfully suckish beginning. Reviews are brutal love! Please leave them ^.^ Constructive criticism is great. By the way, the name Josephais was the name of my friend Hail's boyfriend. He died in a car-crash on Hail's birthday. He was devastated, and was intensely suicidal for months afterward. I love you Hail! :D