#fernando-tow

[nan-tow]

Fernando, 13 "We were looking for a miracle."

“We were looking for a miracle.”

The couple in front of him is weathered; Estonian, or Eastern European at any rate, and exhausted. The smoke curls around the room like a comfortable, intangible serpent, coiling its children-smog into tendrils to fill the corners with nests of vipers-made-vapors. They’ve been traveling for six days and seven nights to meet with him.  Fernando worries his cigarillo between his index and pointer-fingers, chewing on his inner cheek. The blonde woman is quietly frantic under her shawl, her fingers clutching at a barren belly. The man beside her is sickly, with sunken eyes and a drooping mustache.

New York has been unkind to them.

“Please,” begs the man, his brown eyes lost to bushy brows and worry lines ill-fitting for a man of barely-thirty. “Please. We just need a child. One child. To make things right.”

“They will let us stay,” says the woman, “if we have a child here.”

“An American child,” the man agrees. Fernando shuts his eyes briefly. The burn of sweet-hot smoke in the back of his mouth turns sulfuric. He has half a mind to dismiss them outright, no explanation given. He could handle greed, he could water the weeds of gluttony, and he could trim the hedges of pride, but this…

Demons didn’t play god.

All they did was file papers for the man below; God’s opposite.

And at the end of the day, he only pushed paper and pens. His deals were in blood, but it was bad blood. There was no bad blood here. They didn’t fit the bill; and they wouldn’t fill his quota.

“I’m sorry,” he says at last, gaze reopening to the furthest corner of the room, the snakes of smog squiggling away through the cracks in the building windows. 

“But I don’t deal in miracles.”

[annarper-tow]

fernando-tow replied to your post:fernando-tow replied to your post:fernando-tow...

-smiles, glancing down modestly.- “Musical look? I’d love to know what that means.” -and glances back up.- “Oh—I’m the financier, y’might say. I just own it. Write up a few album reviews now and again.” -smiles crookedly, rubbing his nose.- “Yours sounds like a life of swashing buckles, saving maidens, and having adventures. All while your hair stays practically perfect in every way. I almost envy you, hombre.”

*toys with his spoon, nodding* "You know, you're the second person in as many weeks to put me and swashbuckling in the same sentence.  Maybe I should get a new coat.  One that doesn't scream 'pirate' or something.  The antiques trade isn't that much like an Indiana Jones movie.  I hope you can forgive me for it, but I haven't picked up a copy of your paper yet.  You must have steep competition here against word of mouth.  Do you do film reviews, too?  Features on wrongful depictions of vampires in the media?  How shows about the supernatural have armed humans with popular knowledge about banishing demons?"

[beck-tow]

"No," Fernando replied with a faint smile. "You'll be able to buy your own within five minutes of signing this. Or someone else will buy you one. However it works out for you. Think of what you need, and sign your name." His eyes flickered faintly as he disposed of his cigarette, beheading it under his shoe. "This contract is also sealed with a kiss. I trust that won't be a problem, right?"

Sighing, his dark eyes fell back to the paper in hand and then, swept to  the pen that at some point gotten into the other. "Oh, joy." He bit his cheek, smiling tightly as he thought of everything that would never be. At least he'd be getting some sort of action out of all this if not impossible things. With a nod, Beck signed the contract obnoxiously large print.

Reid Efren Beckett x

"Well, come on then, big boy, pucker up." 

[beck-tow]

"Collateral," Fernando said quietly. "It's business. I pay a fee to stay out of--" his face strained. "It's just what I do. And if you don't make it to ten years--" Fernando shrugged facially. "I take the hit. No harm, no foul. But if you make it through the next decade, I take your soul and nature and super-nature take their respective courses. It's different for everyone. Some people go on livin'--you seen Wall Street lately?--others, ah. Not so much. But it's your call. I won't force you."

"And this little piece of paper'll just poof me up some happiness?"  What a shitty deal, for the other man that is. Beck doubted there'd be much profit in taking his soul, nor that there was much of it to take. Ten years from now, the takings would be even worse. Sighing, he held out a hand and flexed his fingers imploringly. "You are going to at least buy me a drink if I sign, right?" 

After all, if this was for real, he'd just had to die before the ten years was up and that couldn't be all that difficult considering. 

[beck-tow]

"The catch is that in ten years, you're back at square one," Fernando said calmly, never taking his eyes off Beck. "But if you're smart, if you're capable, you'll be prepared for what's ahead. If you think ahead, you can handle anything. And if you're too attached to your soul, I understand," he said, beginning to pull the paper away. "The exchange is your soul, if you believe in that sort of thing. Not a lot of people do. I'm tellin' you straight, kid. But you will be happy. That I guarantee."

Ten years. His jaw tightened. He never even expected to live that long. "My soul?" Rubbing his neck with a suddenly aching hand, Reid Beckett took a moment to consider it, to consider his soul. All sorts of people had wanted it before, priests that worked by his school, the pastors that stood outside the bars to preach their lot, and the Mormon missionaries out on their bikes. Through everything that had happen, he'd doubted it had much worth left in it. "And why would you want that?" 

[beck-tow]

There was suddenly a briefcase by Fernando's feet. The demon hunched down a little to open it up, taking out a blank piece of paper and a thin black pen before closing the briefcase once more. Offering the pen to Beck, Fern snapped the parchment stiff and smiled slightly--a more tired, understanding smile. "I'm not gonna give you some spiel about limited time offers and great regrets," Fernando stated flatly. "But if you sign this, I guarantee whatever you need will come to you. Instantly."

Nope.

Beck took a step back, blinking at the newly appeared case and then offered paper. “Right. You see, I’m all for instantaneous gratification and shadiness, but that—,” He motioned to the  piece of paper. “That’s fucking weird.” He looked closer, eyes squinting, but didn’t move. “And why’s it blank? Thought this was some sort of contract, some sort of exchange. What’s the catch?” There’s always one. 

[beck-tow]

"Okay, fair," Fern said breezily, smiling around his cigarette. "For the sake of pity, humor an old bastard." He tugged on his collar with a wink, indicating himself as such. "And tell ol' Fernando what would make you happiest. Right here, right now. No used car salesman crap, no coercion. I just." He shrugged, voice softening. "Really wanna know because I'm sure you don't wanna be pickin' pockets and scrapin' scraps forever." His hazel eyes sought Beck's dark brown. "Am I right?"

His nose wrinkled as his eyes darted away a moment. What would make him the happiest? Nothing came to mind, at least past impossible things. Going home. Being better. Feeling better. No, not likely. "Nah, not forever. Nobody lives forever and all that fanciful crap." Turning his gaze back to the man, Beck snorted his mind returning from other places and other things. "A bottle of jameson and someone who'll let me pass out in their bed when it's finished."  

[beck-tow]

"Let me be frank with you, hombre," Fernando said blithely, flicking ash away from passersby and Beck alike. "I can offer you ten years of uninterrupted bliss with the rules and regulations of your choice, and all I ask in return is that in ten years the contract is fulfilled. Wealth, comfort, quick fingers--whatever things you ask for, I can grant them. And all I need for you to do in reply is sign on a dotted line." He smiled faintly. "It sounds shady. I know. But it's what I do. My business."

 Beck’s initial snort turned to full out laughter, his head shooting back by the sheer force of it. Bliss? Comfort? “Shady, I can usually appreciate, but—-not to piss on another entrepreneur’s fine business model, that sounds like several loads of bullshit.” Contracts were binding things and god knows, Beck hadn’t the knack or patience for those. “I’d rather take what I can get without signing any lines, dotted or solid.” Besides, ten years of no interruptions sounded hella dull.