James was sitting at a table, a very potent drink in hand, his eyes closed, face almost peaceful.

Tonight he was dressed in black, as per usual, though this time there wasn't any special picture or saying on it. His pants were plain black jeans, a few chains now hanging from his pockets and belt-loops. Even his hair was all black once again. He looked rather plain tonight, though his piercings seemed to have multiplied. Each ear now held seven, for a total of fourteen in his ears alone. They all seemed to match, a bright green color, each pair of a various style. The blue loop was in it's usual place in his eyebrow.

His chair was pulled away from the table somewhat, facing out at an angle almost. His legs were splayed out, and someone unable to see or not watching carefully enough where they were going might trip over them.

James took another swig from his mug. Too bad the liquor didn't work on him or he'd be properly drunk by now.

((reserved))

The first thing Glimmerman noticed was the piercings.

The next thing he noticed was that he had, rather gracelessly, just tripped over a leg.

He caught himself before he could go sprawling, hands on the table. He wasn't keen on face-planting, though he doubted it would matter much. Well, it would, perhaps, but only to his pride. Whatever was left to it.

Do zombies have pride?

He supposed Azrael would be annoyed at him thinking he was a zombie, so he stopped.

Looked at the man.

"I like your earrings." Amiable grin, only not. It didn't reach his eyes. Nothing seemed to reach his eyes anymore, not even light. They were nothing but voided black pits.

He had several piercings himself. His lip. His ears. His..nipple. He wondered, briefly, why he didn't just remove that one.

He frowned. Remembered he had just tripped. "You should put your legs away. They're dangerous."

It should be noted Glim was still going a bit nutty. He needed to either a) find something stable or b) be able to enjoy a stiff drink. Unfortunately for him, neither of those were likely to happen.

James opened his eyes and blinked, someone having tripped over him. He focused on the man, an apologetic grin appearing on his face.

"Thanks," he said, raising his free hand to his earrings and admiring the other man's own piercings.

At the second comment, James sat up a bit more, folding his legs beneath the chair. "Sorry about that. Can I buy you a drink?"

He noticed the eyes in passing, but it could still be contacts, especially when the man looked like that.

Still, something felt wrong, familiar. He couldn't quite place it.

It could be because Glim was glowing faintly, as if someone shoved a spotlight in him and plugged him in. It could be because of the color of his skin in general, the pallid quality to it that wasn't pasty, not like he hadn't been out in the sun, but as if someone had whipped out a huge paintbrush and and painted him a whiter shade of pale.

There was something off about Glim, that was for sure.

"A drink would be nice."

For some reason, he didn't feel the urge to kill this man. Well, he did, but it wasn't as strong as the usual one he got when around other people. Perhaps he was gaining more control over his power?

"Would you happen to have a cigarette?" He ran out of the ones he had snagged from that corpse.

James usually did. He patted his pockets until he found a pack, taking it out nd handing it over. "Go ahead and keep it," he said. It's not like they'd do much for him.

The immortal signaled for a server to come serve them, let the man order, and then as the server left, said, "So what do you do?" As a job, he meant.

He took a cigarette and chewed on the end, amusing himself with that until he could figure out how to light it. The taste was enough to remind him of what it was like to smoke, without actually smoking.

Not like it did much for him, either.

"What do I do?" I kill people. "I work at a tattoo parlor. Pierce people, tat them, you name it."

That was a lie. It should be past tense.

"I have a side job. Work for an employer." That was all he needed to say.

Reaching into another pocket, he pulled out a lighter and slid it across the table.

"An employer, huh?" He left it at that. Some people had secrets.

Unable to figure it out, he finally asked, "Have I seen you before? You seem familiar, or something. I can't quite place it."

"Ever had a run in with Death?" Yes sir, that's capitalized.

His drink came and he took it, nibbling on the rim in a thoughtful manner. The urge to kill was there, right there, right within his reach, but he held back. At least until, maybe, after he finished his drink.

He didn't, of course, realize that he couldn't possibly kill this man, but that was besides the point.

"What's your name?"

"James," he said first, then paused. Death? Sounded like a capital.

"Yeah, I've spoken with Death once or so." Well, once, but he couldn't see him too well. That would explain the familiarity James was feeling here. A residue of Death.

"What's your name?"

"Glimmerman." He looked faintly amused. "Then that's why I'm familiar. You're the second person who's said so, at least. I must be very...distinct."

He took a long sip from his drink. Didn't do much, unfortunately. "How do you know him?" His voice was very on edge, now. Last time he met someone who knew Azrael, he had been forced to do what the other had ordered. It wasn't pleasant, and he wasn't in the mood to go on a rampage.

"Mmmm...." James began. It was kind of complicated.

"He made me mortal once day." It was said as if being made mortal was the most natural thing in the world.

"What do you do for him?"

He grinned.

"Well." A sip from his alcohol, an inhale from his cigarette. He exhaled in his alcohol, amused by the way the smoke clung to the liquid. "He made me immortal for the rest of my death."

And he seduced me. Big deal.

"In any case—bang! Right through the head." Pantomine being shot, finger and thumb, POW!

James nodded. A dead person. Not too strange, when dealign with Death, he guessed.

"Who did it?" Who killed him, anyway. James was most interested in whether or not Glimmerman got revenge.

Glimmerman squinted at nothing inparticular (in the direction of his glass) and frowned. He gnawed on his lower lip for a moment, the details of his death sketchy, the details of his life sketchy, before he shrugged.

"You know. I have no idea. He just looked like a shadow to me. Demanded my money, shot me when I gave him sass and...that's the end." Literally. Weird to think about. He finished his drink and wanted another.