Malls are so dull.

Since when were malls so dull?

He sits (pondering on this) on the green-painted bench halfway between the ice cream place and the funny little Hottopic-knockoff shop, imitation of an imitation, watching the mallrats and emo kids and suburban dolls drift between the two, thin arms crossed over thin chest, thin legs similarly crossed and foot tapping absently.

Something about him as he sits there (setting on fire, in the privacy of his mind, the faux-poseurs that skip in and out of the store) fits inexorably with his surroundings. Fair-skinned and golden-curled, trim-fitting jeans, teeshirt and old-worn Converse hi-tops, glasses sliding down his nose. And something about him (as he sits there) shows, upon closer inspection, that he doesn't fit at all- the shirt a real second-hand shirt, product of hours of patient rifling at a thrift-store and no expensive reproduction; the jeans girl's jeans, no doubt, long enough in the leg and thin enough in the waist and, ahem, sit-upon; the face glam, eyes mismatched myopic and sweet.

In fact, something about him suggests that he might fit in anywhere he'd want to and one supposes it makes sense, because his entire mind at the moment is consumed by the recycled revelation that the mall is one of the most boring places anybody could possibly hope to find oneself, and instead he starts to more resemble somebody's admittedly cute but assuredly irritated older brother, coerced into ride-giving and babysitting than some cheerful shopper.

Amuse me, contemplates Jaime, and watches as the suburban matron whose black-clad son he's just nuked collects said spawn (blissfully geared up with a new spiked collar and blissfully unaware of any malice from a young god) and waddles away.

(( Mind if I join? ))

ooc|
be my guest ^^

If you were looking for Scott in this particul mall, he would be the one slouched over on the bench next to Jaime. A look of slight annoyance was present on his face. He didnt exactly look like he wanted to be here. Hell, he didnt look like he wanted to be alive at all. He groaned softly and rested his head on the arms he had just rested on his lap, boredly watching as the happy little mortal shoppers ran from shop to shop.

Oh how he wished his life was like that again. Hanging out with girlfriends and catching the remains of the big game on the little TVs in small diners with friends. But none of that could happen anymore. He couldnt have a girlfriend, because he was a freak. He couldnt go watch the game with friends, because he didnt have any friends. As far as he was concerned, he had lived the most of life, and life was no longer worth living like this.

"You look nearly as jaded as I must."

Silk bedsheets on a warm summers' night, windows open pleasent breeze full moon- the first things his voice suggests, although with a little more than a hint of some nasal British rasp better make those sheets raw silk, to be on the safe side. Jaime tilts his head slightly, running an appraising glance over his benchmate- cute- nice hair- disgruntled- worth cheering up? Possibly. Maybe. Now to sit back and wait for an excuse to.

He turned his head to look at Jaime as he spoke, a strange look on his face that suggested that was the first time he realized he was there. He just merely stared at him for quite a few seconds, something he had quite a habit of doing these days, as if he was taking in their every feature, and placing them to memory.

"I suppose so." His voice was soft, his light scottish accent detectable as he spoke. He turned his gaze away from him again, and returned it to the busy mortals. Just the thought of them being able to cure this thirst made him sick, and he turned away, finally setting his gaze on the floor.

"But not nearly as much to say," he prompts, almost irritably. He does so hate when people are surly to him while he's practically sitting in their lap. He should like this boy to lighten up; but if the endeavor takes more than half an hour he thinks he might dismiss it as a lost cause.

"What's your name?" Alas. Even Cupid isn't all-knowing untill he's been introduced.

He had been studying three little kids, dancing around a foot locker store with lollypops in hand as the boy asked him his name. He turned to look at him again, holding his gaze for a minute or so before answering.

"Scott." He remained watching him, just instinctively, that he would tell Scott his name as well. It was just how things usually worked. Scott's dark hair had fallen into his eyes, and he raised a hand and brushed it away nonchalantly.

"Really," Jaime wonders, chin in his hand, meeting Scott's gaze. Clearly a challenge from the godling- You have got to be one of the most boring people I've met all day. Now prove me wrong.

He watches the vampire's movements, can smell unease and boredom and irritability and an older, deeper unhappiness as tangible as if Jaime'd reached out and touched Scott's face. Come on now. You can do better than that.

He continued to look at him. Yes, of course really. Why would he lie about his name? He just kept looking at him, expecting him to tell him his name, but he didnt. Another thing Scott thought to be odd about him. He reached a hand up and ran it through his long hair before looking away again, his shyness obvious.

"Whats your name?" He asked quite suddenly, not looking back to meet his gaze.

"I'm Jaime," he replies promptingly, almost as though Scot already knows and Jaime is merely reminding him. Well, it's a start- but if the boy is going to be this shy something really must be done about it. "And you are a vampire."

And Jaime is content to sit and watch him with that concentrated ease of the practiced voyeur- he thinks he'll give scott another ten minutes before he lets the jitters that consume his entire body take back over, he does so hate sitting still for so long but it really might be worth it.

He gave him a small smile and looked away when he mentioned his name, but the vampire statement brought his head swiveling back to the boy. An incredilous look was on his face, and his eyes were as wide as they would ever be. He stopped his mouth from dropping open, and rubbed the side of his arm nervously, not knowing how to react to his statement.

"What...What makes you say that?" He was finally able to blurt out. His gaze never left his, and his surprise showed in his eyes. He gulped silently, his adams apple bobbing up and down.

"Because you are," Jaime replies kindly, glancing at Scott over the rims of his glasses. Ah. Now we're getting somewhere. "Actually, it's quite obvious. One can smell it a mile off, darling, and I'm not even one myself."

Where's Jaime's scent, for that matter? This sweet golden youth with bicolored eyes and bad eyesight smells nothing like human and nothing like much anything else, except a faint but insiduous aroma of roses. And a hint of cigarette smoke, but mostly roses.

He gulped again, growing quite uncomfortable around him. He was just a mortal then, how could he possibly know, while just being a mortal. He sighed silently, looking at the floor before raising his gaze to see him again.

"But, you cant be just a mortal." He said simply, more confused then he had been in a long time. He quickly picked up his head and looked around him, noticing all the people in the mall and cringing, hoping none of them overhear.

"Perhaps I'm not," Jaime sing-songs, resting his chin on Scott's shoulder (awfully assuming, but it might not matter at all).

"I could be anything, couldn't I? Anything at all- oh, guess. Do guess."

Scott flinched as Jaime rested his head on his shoulder, nearly jerking his chin up with his shoulder. As you could probobly tell, Scott wasnt one for a lot of physical contact. He stared at the boy with an incredilous look on his face. He was probobly more confused in the past few seconds then he has ever been in his entire life.

"What are you?" He asked sternly, his eyes never leaving Jaime's. His headache was about three times as bad now, contributing more and more to an upcoming mood swing. He wasnt very good at controlling his emotions either.

"Oh, come on, love, now that's no fun." Jaime pouts (oh lord, the pout-), tilting his head and looking up at Scott.

"No idea? No guesses at all? You're brighter than that, I can smell it."