Welcome to Gaia! ::

'Proustite?'

His eyebrows knit together for the briefest moment. Jack followed her eyes as they traced the details of his hand-written contract, and then laughed at himself. Sloppy, Jack. That was just sloppy.

His true name (true in a manner of speaking, at least) on the shared document was an oversight. He shrugged.

"Call me whatever you like, sweetheart. Sometimes I am Aurostibite. Sometimes I am Proustite. Once, I was Charonite. Other people know me as Steven. Still others know me as Jack."

There was a spark of defiance in his eye. He took a moment to revel in the adrenaline rush of his own daring, head rocking backwards to gaze at the stars. He exhaled loudly, breath coming out in a great whoosh, as though he'd just climbed out of a roller coaster.

And then he reached for Olga, fingers curling tenderly around one of her shoulders. He licked his lips and siphoned some of her energy. Not a lot. But enough to make her just a little bit light-headed.

"Feel that rush?" He drawled. "That's what being in the Negaverse is like. All the time. Everyday I touch somebody's life, Sol."

Proustite let Olga shove him; absorbing her shock and displeasure with a smile that was soft, and far from apologetic. Olga's energy still curled around his fingers like static. He considered her question and then extended his hand to show her, stared at his palm until it concentrated into a little ball of sparking light.

"Are you asking me why I do this?" Exhaling, Proustite took the cigarettes from his lips with his free hand. He ground them into the cement. "Or are you asking me why the Negaverse is what it is?"

These were two different questions. Probably he was not qualified to answer them, but he had a thought or two for Olga anyway.

"I like being stronger than other people," he drawled, "The power gets me off."

It was in the base nature of a parasite to take without asking. A leech suffers more in the cessation of freeloading than with compunctions of morality. Proustite was not sorry for what he was. He wished the Negaverse was not so strict about how he went about being what he was.

"I like being called lover." Proustite grinned toothily at Olga. Lifted the little ball of energy -her energy- to his lips, and then sucked it inside of himself.

He grinned at Olga's fear.

Considered letting her leave. Weighed the pros and cons with his hands in the air, palms open to the sky. Proustite looked at his right hand, and then at his left. His expression was penseive.

"If you go," he said, "we will not be able to keep chatting."

That simply wouldn't do.

"And I'm afraid I was having such a lovely time."

He started humming. A tune familiar to children's nurseries, often accompanied by a colourful box with a crank and a Jack inside. He stood up, dusted off the back of his trousers, and then started to speak the song. It came out calm, but was also wrong. Too slow, with a break between each word. So brief it was barely there, but it was there.

"All

around

the

mullberry

bush"

Jack strolled around Olga, hands clasped behind his back.

"The

monkey

chased

the

weasel."

The grin on his face widened. Split it in two. He circled closer with every step.

"The

monkey

thought

t'was

all

in

good

fun."

Jack slipped one arm around Olga's waist. Smoothed his hand over her lower back. Pressed himself close. Held her tight. Grazed the shell of her ear with his lips, when he murmured;

"Pop! goes the weasel."

And then they vanished.

Carl skittered across the spot where they'd stood. The butts of Proustite's cigarettes glowed faintly red in the dark, against the cement.

It was quiet.