"It's not darkness in my heart, just emptiness waiting for the sun." – David Jones
"Is there a franchise of this diner?"
The young girl's attention was attracted by the sudden voice, harsh and cold, much like the winter weather, and she turned around to see the grey-haired man walking into her small facility. "I'm sorry?"
"A franchise," he repeated, twisting his nose in the air, "I'm under the feeling I've seen this same diner somewhere sometime else.
The barista studies his peculiar face carefully, "If there were, I think the family business would be much better off than it is right now."
"Right," he muffed under his breathing, rubbing the palms of his hands one against the other, "And are you sure you don't have a twin sister running around?"
Her eyes were getting wider by the second, "If I had, then my parents did a really good job on hiding her."
He shot his head up and down, reluctantly grabbing one stall, "Do you believe that two people can look very much alike?"
She crossed her brows, licking the corner of her lower lip, "Do I remind you of someone?"
"As a matter of fact, you do," he confessed, "She was also a barista, just like you."
She shrugged to herself, "You know what they say, for every person there are at least another five who look just like them."
He made a face, "Who says that?"
"People," she generalized, grinning slightly.
He snorted, unbelievably, "People should find better things to do than to count how many similars one has got."
She offered him an oppressive look, "Do you have better things to do?"
"Of course I do," he howled, louder than before, "For instance, I punched a racist in the face today."
The girl seemed impressed at his confession, "Not that I condone racism – I don't, at all – but why would you punch them?"
He rolled his eyes, "His was being racist, that's reasonable enough."
She agreed with the bowl of her head, "If you were out to punch all the racists out there, you'd be with a very injured hand in just a few minutes."
The old man scratched his nonexistent beard, "Tell you what, you come and help me and we'll narrow it down significantly before either of us have to get a new hand."
"Sounds like a plan," she smiled, laughing, "You look cold."
He cackled, absurdly, "It's this face, actually. People think it's a cross face, when it's not, it's just the face. I can't help how my face looks like, can I? Particularly, I think it's the brows, they're kind of brows that could get a life of their own and attack you, and I've tried to settle them down, but they're just too stubborn."
"I was talking about the temperature," she managed to withhold a giggle, "But your eyebrows are fine, they're… stylish. People take other people for granted."
"Do you?" he instigated, looking defiant.
"Do you?" she provoked back, cornering him, but he didn't seem to mind.
"If I did," he started, vaguely, "I wouldn't save the planet as a hobby."
She gave him a doubtful look, "You? Saving the planet? Why do I have a hard time believing that?"
"I told you, it's the brows," he sighed, disbelieved, "But it's true, nonetheless."
"Yeah?" she hissed, curiously, "Tell me about how you save the world, then."
"You wouldn't believe me," he complained, looking down to stare at his own hands.
"Try me," she insisted, half a smirk on her lips.
"Alright," hesitantly, he agreed. Not out of self-interest, but because her eyes here begging for him to take her away from her mundane life, "Have you by any chance come across something you just can't explain?"
"Lots of time," she confessed with a chuckle, no shame in her words.
"So have I, and this time, I came across lights under the Thames," he told her, gesticulating with his hands, "This young poor boy stole a very important thing of mine, so I followed him down the frost fair, sliding across the frozen river, until we reached a more isolated area, and that's when the lights started to circle the kid, aiming at him, fascinating him like a prey. In fact, he was no more than that."
She felt the horror be written in her face, "What happened to him?"
"He died," he blurted out, indifferently, not because he didn't care, but because he had seen so many deaths in front of him already one more wouldn't make a difference, "But I was able to get my screwdriver back, at least."
The woman scowled at him defiantly, "You're saying you sacrificed his innocent soul because of a tool?"
"No," he scolded at her with the simply flinch of his eyes, "His life was doomed the moment those lights surrounded him. And it's not just a tool, it's a scientific utensil, very helpful when you've got to save London."
She simply swallowed down, expecting him to clarify his story.
He didn't, "Unsurprisingly, my companion was just as shocked as you are. She had never seen anybody die, especially a child, and she confronted me. She wanted to know how many people I've seen die, how many people I've killed."
Her lips fell half opened with intrigue, "Did you answer her?"
"Couldn't", he grunted, "When you're as old as I am, when you live the kind of life I live, you just stop counting. I've lost many people, I've had friends die right in front of me, people I cared for. Had I kept score, my mind would be filled with regret."
"Isn't it already?" she asked gently, softly, almost afraid to ask.
"Not regret; sorrow. Disdain. Watching the people you love face the raven is something that kills you, piece by piece, until you have no pieces left to give, and all that's left of you are the memory of them, little reminders, little trinkets, a lifetime of memories, if you're lucky enough to remember them."
"If you care enough for them, you wouldn't forget them," she argued, her own voice stuck in her throat, knowing how well she'd been in his position.
"In theory," he let out, having a hard time to sustain the eye contact, "But if you're forced to forget, then you're doomed. You can never tell what you're missing, even if you know you're missing it."
"Who were you forced to forget?" she couldn't help herself but ask, resting her jaw against the palm of her hand.
"How can I know if I've forgotten them?" he licked his own lips, pitifully, "All I know is that they were important to me. Very important," he let out a breath, "Where was I again?"
"The amount of people you've seen die," she informed, her voice distant.
"Right, right," he cleared his throat, "After that little confrontation, we were taking to the little tent that sheltered the deceased boy, along his other homeless friends. We learned that those kids were getting paid to lure people to the fair, basically to add them to the menu."
"Why?" was all that escaped her lips.
"No, that's not the right question," he mumbled, "First, you gotta ask who."
"Alright," she agreed, "Who?"
"That, we only found out in the very next morning," he said, getting her to roll her eyes, "The better alternative was to sink down the river and find out what was eating all those people: a creature, a big innocent creature, prisoned by chains."
"That's awful, who would prison them?" she sounded incredulous, even shocked.
"Have you met your kind?" he spat, angrily, "That's what we had to find out. We tracked him down to this big house, and we met him, Mr. Sutcliffe, one thing led to another and I punched him."
She made a face, "Sounds like he really deserved it."
"Oh, he did," he concluded, "We got arrested by his henchmen, gave him an useless speech on how human progress is measured by the value you place on unimportant lives, got thrown into a carriage, taken to a tent and restrained there. Not an easy day to fight against human ignorance."
She nodded, simply.
"Their goal was to blow us up, along the rest of the fair and consequently be used as food for the creature. Didn't work, of course, I used my screwdriver to free us, my companion went off to get everyone out of the frozen ice while I rearranged the chains to be blown up instead of the frost."
"And did it work?" she was anxious to hear the answer.
"You tell me," he winked at her.
"Well, the frost is suddenly gone, there weren't news of major casualties, so it did work," she deduced, too happy with how the story had ended.
"It did," he agreed, "The creature was set free, the man who had her in chains was caught up by fate and eliminated. It was a good ending."
She offered him a smile, but there was still a question stuck in her mind, "What happened to those homeless children? You never mentioned it."
"I got them a home," he bowed his head, "Gave them that big deserving house of the man who didn't deserve it all. My friend is actually still there with them, making company before we pop off."
Her smile grew wider, "They were lucky to have met you, then."
"You could say so," he shot his shoulders up and down.
"So?" she whistled, "What are you going to do next?"
"All men must go home eventually, and this is my time," he confessed.
"Don't you have any more savings to do?" she pondered, watching him as he got up and tossed a coin into the balcony, even if he hadn't consumed anything.
"Saving can wait another day," he smiled sadly, making a sign of goodbye with his hand as he left her there standing, with still many questions in her head.
A/N: any feedback is appreciated :)