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Diving to the ground with a bitten off curse, the redhead’s body made a squelching thud as his chest landed in a melting puddle of dirty snow, thoroughly soaking the front of his expensive dress shirt. His face wore a dark glare and from the impact his teeth had almost bitten clean through his cigarette. He growled in the foul language of the Netherworld and clutched his hands tightly. The rings on both thumbs glowed an unearthly green for a moment and the shadow caught between his fingers screamed, en ear-splitting yowl that was somewhere between the call of a frustrated cat and a highland warrior’s battle cry.
Adrien answered it with a roar of his own.
Behind him, on the wall of the theater, someone chuckled, “You know, Fire Hair, if you’d said something I might have considered doing something.”
“Shut up, Shade.” Adrien snarled, and focused his attention on the being in his hands. “What are you doing here?!”
The inky shape squirmed and pulled against the bard’s grasp again, screaming and cursing in its foul unearthly language. But Adrien held on and arched his back, bringing his feet under him. Using his elbows, he sat up out of the muck, though the motion soaked the knees and front of his slacks. He cursed, clenching his teeth and pulled, separating the shadow from the ground like it was made of an ebony fabric. Again the thing gave a fierce yowl and Adrien answered it.
Drawing his hands apart stretched the midnight creature like elastic and changed the tenor of its cries. Eventually the incomprehensible sounds became clear. “Okay! Okay! I talk! I talk! Stop the stretching! I talk!”
“Good.” The redhead gave another tug for insurance and the shadow yelped. “Now, why are you here?”
“I hunger… look for food.” A vague face appeared in mimicry of Adrien’s but a flex of the bard’s left hand stopped it from actually forming.
“Well, look for food on your side of the Veil. This town is protected. No humans!” The redhead growled.
The thing downright whimpered, “But…”
“NO!” Adrien commanded in the language of magic.
A pulse of energy radiated from him, bringing another submissive noise from the shadow. It squirmed in his grip again. He pulled his hands apart slightly, and it stilled, though it continued to whimper like a kicked puppy.
A blue flame darted through the bard’s eyes, “So you’re going back across the Veil and I’m not going to have to deal with you again, right?”
“Yes! Yes! Right! Right! I find food among Imps. I swear!” It promised.
“Good. Now GO.” Adrien spoke again in the language of magic, making the Veil ripple, even as he let go of the thing.
It gave one last shriek and disappeared through the barrier between worlds in a blue-green flash. As soon as it was gone, the stage door opened to spill soft yellow light across the kneeling redhead, illuminating the alleyway. The bard took his crushed cigarette from his mouth with a frustrated exhale. He drew a second drag from the cancer stick before climbing to his feet, the toes of his dress shoes now scuffed from the gravel. He tried brushing off the dirt and muck but after a moment gave up, turning to face the slender figure in the doorway. The angle hid the shorter man’s features but as Adrien brought his free hand up to his hair, heedless of the grime on his fingers, he was sure the ebony-haired swordsman was incensed. Trying to find the right words left him stammering and attempting to be both apologetic and not.
“Michi… there was… I couldn’t… Hell, if I hadn’t… aw, fuck.” He drew the last inhale from his cigarette and flicked the butt into the puddle where he’d just been kneeling.
Taking a step towards his partner had the Asian man bringing his delicate, yet deadly, hand up to stop the redhead. “I care not for why you are in such a state. I’m sure you have a good reason. Just clean yourself, and quickly, the second act is about to begin.”
With that Michi disappeared back into the theater, leaving the frigid alley that much colder. Adrien shivered and blamed it on his state of dress. As in his haste to obtain the precious nicotine now coursing through his veins he had skipped donning the jacket and overcoat that came with the tuxedo. Looking down at his formerly white shirt and stained vest he groaned. Now he’d have to wear the damnable jacket for the rest of the performance. Climbing the stairs to the stage door, he mentally cursed the shadow again.
To his right, the figure on the wall snickered, “Somebody’s in trouble.”
“Shut up, Shade.”