A pair of fine older men
Another evening working on ancient texts, his ‘hobby’ turned job that he has been doing for the last 20 some odd years. No one else was going to do it, and no one else has done it. Since they were written they sat untouched begging to be read and once he learned the languages that were scrawled across their pages, his hands worked delicately against their aged surfaces to open them up and decipher their secrets. He may be one of the papas who was rather rough around the edges, one who had a mean bite to him, but his hands knew when to be gentle and when to be firm.
Pinned out across a board with the corners clipped down, an old scroll of faded, dense paper with exaggerated cursive writing sat under the light of his lamp. In one hand, a pencil rested in his grip as it hovered over the pages of his cloth bound notebook, the other hand floating across the scroll as he read and reread the same line to make sure he did not miss the translation. Most of the lights in the room had been dimmed, shrouding him in the low amber glow of the old sconces that lined his walls. The glasses that sat across the bridge of his nose, reflected the light from his computer screen that was lit up with the most recent completed translation he did. Across the document were notes from a professor at the university confirming his work and making comments about possible duel meanings in the work.
Next to him on the desk, away from the notebook, was a crystal glass with two fingers of whiskey sat in the bottom. The amber liquor had been refilled twice through out the evening, his decanter of choice sitting on the corner table across the office where his other various bottles sat. The room itself held the warm scent of barrel aged whiskey, aging papers and tobacco smoke that had been aired out from the open window, all which was lingering beneath the noir cologne that followed the man who sat behind the desk in his black collared, silk waistcoat.
“Hahah, it is alright. I respect getting our rules of engagement set out before hand. Claws are fine, biting fine. But please keep in mind that I need to be able to retain decent movement considering my position. Really everything is free game, unless it involves bodily fluids or will leave perminant and or debilitating injury. Blood is fine, I’ve entertained a few who enjoyed hematolangia and if blood type matters, I am B negative and clean. Tested every 2 months because of how active I am.” Taking a deep breath he popped his neck and continued on. “No scat, no emetophilia. Watersports can be debated but 8 times out of 10 it’s going to be a no. Rare circumstances for a yes on that. Red light is my word, and if ignored I will throw you off me but I know you won’t cross those lines.”
Sitting up straighter, he paused like he had to run through a list in his head.
“Oh. I’d rather we not rip these, I’m a fan of my tailored items. But if thats something for the future I do have clothes for those days. You can spit on me, but not in my mouth unless you plan on sharing liquor with it. I don’t mind involving any of our vices like booze or smoking, but mind altering substances like hallucinogenics stay out of it, as well anything that can be laced with ketamine or fentanyl which is unfortunately common in los angeles. No ones had a snow party since 2001 because of the rise of additives.” With his throw away line about coke, he smoothed out his vest as a cocky smirk rested across his face. “Any specifically you need to know about or want to check?”