"Hey, Giriko?"
The chainsaw is sitting at his worktable, his face calm and focused. He acknowledges Justin's presence with a light hum, his eyes not leaving the delicate clockwork he's adjusting.
"How old are you?"
Much to Justin's surprise, Giriko bothers to answer. "You mean this body's age?"
Apparently, he is too engrossed in his work to dismiss the question. There is no hint of irritation in his voice, which is a rare enough occurrence to sound slightly foreign.
" 'M not sure, actually."
"You mean you don't know how old you are?" The mockery in Justin's voice is unmistakable, and Giriko finally looks up, scowling.
"Hey, when you've lived so many shitty lives as I did you start losing interest in that kind of details, okay?"
He huffs, and focuses back on the clockwork, doing minute corrections with a screwdriver so tiny it looks like a children's toy in his big hands. He's quiet for a while, and Justin is about to repeat his question when he adds, "Dunno, I guess I'm 26, 27, something like that."
The priest's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He isn't really sure what answer he expected, but surely not this. He allows himself a little smirk, and strolls towards the chainsaw.
"Is that so," he drawls. "Apparently, a lifetime of alcohol and depravity take their rightful toll."
Giriko grants him an irritated look. Justin scoots closer, leaning forward with a sceptical expression and a hand on his chin, as if gauging an overpriced item at a garage sale. He prods a finger at the chainsaw's shoulder to assess the suppleness of the skin, then traces the creases on his forehead with one finger until his wrist is batted away.
Justin shakes his head, reprobative, and rubs his stinging wrist. "Tsk, tsk. You look spent, old man."
"Oi, cut the crap." Giriko tosses the screwdriver at his head, but Justin ducks right in time. "Just cause you're absurdly young, doesn't mean you get to talk shit at me."
"Hm." Justin merely smiles, and folds his arms behind his back, pensive. "But shouldn't you have an ID on which your date of birth would stand?"
Giriko barks a laugh. "Do I look like I need an ID?" He smugly grins, displaying an impressive amount of sharp teeth. "I'm a fuckin' demon chainsaw, and up until recently I was part of the world's leading terrorist group. No one in their right mind wants to card me."
Justin chuckles warmly. True. He's the only one reckless enough to bother Giriko - his very own madman. Speaking of which ...
"That means you don't know when your birthday is, either?"
The chainsaw rolls his eyes. "No, I don't. Why the fuck d'you care?"
Justin shoots him a bright smile. He leans down to steal a kiss, earns a bite, and retreats with tingling lips and an idea.
Giriko wakes from a soft kiss against his temple.
"Hey you. Good morning."
"Nghhh ..."
He rolls over on his back and swats the air in a tentative to drag Justin back in his arms, but the other is already gone. Giriko plops back with a groan, closes his eyes, and dozes for a few more minutes. It can't be that long, because when he finally opens his eyes the mug of black tea at his bedside is still fuming. He groggily takes a sip, and sighs in contentment at the creamy, sweet taste. By now Justin knows exactly how he likes his tea - warmth blooms in his stomach.
That's when he notices the plastic card on the nightstand. He curiously picks it up.
There's a picture of him on it - he's laughing, looking at something left of the camera. When the hell did the priest take that picture?
And then there's what it reads:
Pet identity card
NAME
Giriko
HEIGHT
6 ft. 4
WEIGHT
210 lbs
BREED
Czechoslovakian Hunk
DATE OF BIRTH
The Ancient Days
If lost please return too:
Justin Law
"Motherfuck - JUSTIN!" Giriko roars, tossing the covers aside.
In the distance, there's a laughter like chiming bells.
