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Among the rubble lay her hand, her trapped wrist adorned in the multicoloured bracelets he’d grown to recognise - now dulled and caked in dust. He reached for her, the other bodies didn’t matter, their chorus of wheezing, weak breaths and screams a shallow symphony. Debris dust burned his lungs, his eyes red and irritated. Her pale hand remained still, buried under piles of collapsed bricks that her idol had summoned, the person she had trusted, the person she most admired.
He couldn’t feel the warmth of her palm through his gloves, tremors racked his body. The writhing of civilians soon ceased, crushed flesh growing pale and lifeless, the scene grew silent - a curtain call leaving nothing but the tell-tale rumbling of the theatre’s foundations soon to crumble, cracks spread across the walls like a plague as the ceiling creaked before finally beginning to cave.
Scurrying like a coward, he ran without looking back, legs burning with each step, leaving behind the only thing that brought his life joy, a pile of corpses and a blood stain upon Lizzy’s hand.
Suddenly, a crash resonated behind him, the shockwave near knocking him to the ground. He turned to look back and-
Artful woke, breath caught in his throat, body momentarily seizing in preparation for an impact that would not come. It’s the same damn dream again, the one he’d been having since… “The Incident” four weeks prior. Sleep rarely provided him any respite, only exhaustion would lull him to sleep and even then his shame would come bubbling to the surface, how he threw away his whole career with a childish display of emotion, one singular flick of his wand sealing the fates of every civilian at his show, number one fan included within the death toll.
He groaned, curling into himself upon the make-shift bed, slowly - as to not aggravate the bruises that wrapped around from his shoulder to the base of his spine. In the moment, the magician wanted nothing more than to lay there among the scratchy blankets ignoring the hollowness in his gut - whether it was hunger or his shame he could not tell.
As pleasant as the small warmth of his blankets and his own bodyheat was, Artful begrudgingly set his palm down on the ground and pushed himself upwards from his pile on the floor, pain instantly shooting up his arm causing his muscles to tense uncomfortably. Glancing over his shoulder, strips of orange filtered through the covered window weakly and cast the room in an amber hue, the rags danced to the afternoon breeze filtering through the window - he had boarded most of it up using his magic, the glass was shattered in most places and luckily only slightly cracked in others.
“Bon sang… [Good grief…]”, it was already some time in the late afternoon if the light was anything to go by, Artful had not meant to sleep in that long. One would assume he’d feel well-rested but alas. A sigh emerges deep from his chest, running a hand down his face - the gesture felt grounding and luckily brought no pain with it - the bruising mostly spanning the left side of his body. Upon looking down however, he saw the remains of smudged ivory makeup across his fingers; he didn’t need to spare a glance at his pillow to know it was also stained white, it would only serve to annoy him.
What an awful start to the day, Artful thought. At least it can’t get any worse from here, he added in an attempt to find some hope in his situation. Not that there was much to be found, the magician was barely clinging onto life by the edge, his days were numbered, if the government were to find him he’d surely be killed on the spot. Hell, he almost met his match a few times to groups of armed civilians, the crack of bone when he swung at them with his wand reverberated through his head, his wounds throbbed once more.
He was never really one for hand-to-hand combat though adrenaline and desperation can make one a swift learner.
Fighting a slight wave of nausea, he made his way to the bathroom, shoddy floorboards creaking under his weight. When Artful had first found this poor excuse of a hideout, the insistent creaking of the floorboards - and everything else really - made his blood boil endlessly, a constant noise if he were to do anything but sit still and sulk. Eventually though, it became a useful defensive measure, anyone or anything making their way into his space would be announced instantly, giving him ample time to grab his things and run like the wind. His own run-down, shitty, impenetrable fortress.
Artful shut the bathroom door behind him gently, the lock long since rusted over to the point of uselessness.
Despite the bathroom faring no better than the rest of the dingy home, torn wallpaper draping over dull gray tiles as if concealing its decrepit appearance, the beginning stages of mould growth peaked out from beyond the shower curtain - just enough to ignore for now but certainly damaging to his health. However, despite all this, it fits the bare minimum criteria of having (mostly, hopefully) clean running water which is more than Artful could say about most of his hideouts over the past weeks. Electricity however was too much to ask for, mumbling curses to himself every time he would mindlessly flip the switch in any of the rooms out of habit.
Typically, Artful found himself to be a creature of habit. Careful routine laid out after every performance; he’d come home, gently wash off his body paint and remove his makeup, this would be followed by a meticulous skincare routine before finally being able to relax for the rest of the night.
Although now as he stood shivering under a spray of icy water, scrubbing at his skin hard as though it had wronged him, he reminisced on his old life, clattering teeth causing his scowl to twitch like a man possessed. Once he deemed the makeup sufficiently removed, he turned the water off and released a shaky breath, cold air hitting his colder skin - his wet hair clung to his neck in curls.
He dried himself off, trying to erase the forlorn feeling creeping up on him, he wrapped the towel around his waist and searched for the clothes he had set out. Mindlessly, he toyed with one of his black locks between his fingers. Contrary to popular belief, Artful loved his hair, even when his older brothers would tease him claiming it made him look like a girl or his old coworkers calling him a pansy for keeping it long. When it started to get in the way of his performances he had hacked it off, he supposed there was no reason to cut it now since… well.
As he dressed himself, mindful of his bruises - a green sweater he cherished and some old black cargo pants left over from his stint at construction with the label torn off, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The bruises upon his back dotted an ugly purple all the way up to his shoulders, tendrils of yellow licking the skin around the bruises like flames. A particularly strong punch was to thank for the ghastly state of his back, a civilian had managed to get the upper hand on him for just a moment - sending him reeling back into one of his own walls, temporarily leaving him without air in his lungs and sprawled stunned in a pile of white brick.
“Quel triste spectacle. [What a sorry sight.]”, he muttered.
Needless to say the civilian - or the rest of his bunch, would never get such an opportunity again ever again.
A small hiss escaped his lips as he pulled his sweater down over his back. It was almost laughable to him, in the mirror now he was met with just another boring Robloxian civilian, nothing more than a face in the crowd. Going about with the rest of his extensive routine - as one would need if they spend the majority of the day caked in an unhealthy amount of makeup, the magician could almost feel his pores cry out in agony.
Despite being awake for no longer than half an hour, he felt like he had sighed more today than any other day of his life. To add fuel to the fire, he noticed the bottom of his products were running low, he could almost see his palm through the bottom of the small containers. He’d have to go into town for more product and any supplies he was running low on, mainly perishable food and toiletries.
Taking one last, long look at himself in the dim light, he prepared to set off for his supply run.
The beaten path slowly gave way to the paved road leading out of the woods, buildings began peaking out between the dense shrubbery, leaves bellowed in the wind as if to obscure the beginnings of the concrete jungle from view. Luckily, the breeze was a pleasant one despite it being long past the afternoon by now, the sunset came and left the sky clouded in the dark of the night.
Artful’s destination was just up ahead, a small train station tucked snugly next to the woodland, a far walk from the bigger city lying ahead. It was a convenience really, it was safer to travel to smaller towns to get supplies than it was in the city, armed civilians patrolled the city while others had a strict curfew - not to mention government workers, especially after what feels like the whole world going to shit.
First it was that rogue machine, killdroid they called it, rampaging through government facilities - they had tried to keep it under wraps but the task proved quite difficult when it had reached the cities and casualties started wracking up. Then that virus badware, followed by the pursuing slate skin beast very creatively named "pursuer" and many others. What a disastrous time to be a simple, normal human being with all these hazards running amuck.
Artful chuckled to himself slightly, he supposed he himself wasn't making the situation any better for anyone.
As the station's entrance way came into view, so did the silhouette of a small group by the entrance, the magician kept his head down, a bead of sweat forming upon his brow. On further approach, he could tell they likely weren’t armed yet he still kept his eyes downcast - breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t make out the conversation they were having, words mixing with the breeze and becoming indecipherable but they halted as soon as the group had noticed him.
Making his way past the bunch (with as much confidence as a criminal on the run can muster), he could make out a young, hushed voice behind his back.
“Hey, did that guy seem familiar to you?”, one whispered, Artful hadn’t paid close attention to their appearances though from tone alone the civilian was no older than nineteen or twenty.
Another voice soon joined the first, “Nah, ‘s probably just some weirdo.”
Okay, rude. Especially coming from three youngsters who no doubt ignored the imposed curfew just to look cool - to what audience especially! Artful frowned, he’d heard it all before of course but it was still a blow to the ego.
The possible recognition did worry him though, he prayed for the train to arrive sooner. An incident this close to the city would be detrimental, he had barely walked away from the last time he was attacked only a few miles from his current hideout, no doubt he’d need to move on soon - especially when missing reports start popping up and the government workers come running.
It was quite jarring to see the space so empty inside, no matter where one would look it seemed like the sound of chatter, the rush of wind as bodies shuffled past each other and the ever-present smell of coffee was missing from the scene. Despite it being some time in the late afternoon, Artful remembered just a few years back when places like this would be crowded nonetheless.
Now nothing but his footsteps echoed across the stone slabs and pillars holding up in dingy roof, the isolation clawed at his heart - Artful knew it was the best case scenario, no one to report him to authorities or try take him down themselves, but the silence that now permeated his life was deafening. Even before finally pursuing his passion for magic he was constantly surrounded by people, gone was the warmth of his family, the empathy of his university classmates and the idle chatter of his past coworkers.
The chill of the evening made itself known, causing the magician to pace around the empty platform with only outdated posters and placards upon the brick walls to keep himself company, if he looks hard enough he knows he’d likely find a wanted poster in his likeness.
He wondered when it would end. If it would end, if things could go back to normal. He’d fucked up so much already, mistakes piled among bodies that one cheered or heckled or simply watched. What he wouldn’t give to perform a simple trick on stage again, some lame slight-of-hand card-trick would even suffice, anything to pretend he was part of civilization once more.
“The next train to depart from platform 1B will be the 18:35 service to West Robloxia. Please stay clear of the Platform edge."
Artful jumped at the sudden robotic voice booming from the overhead speakers, for once glad no one was around to see his pathetic reaction. Once the announcement was over and the air remained quiet once more. After a few more awkward minutes, the spotlight cut through the darkening sky to his right as his train finally arrived.
The rest felt like a mockery of his old routine, board, take a seat - the ones on the side with the biggest window, not get your ticket inspected, regret buying a ticket in the first place, trying to justify it by thinking “oh, they’ll surely check it on the way back”, and finally be left with the quiet hum of the engine all around you. Needless to say the whole train car was empty, like a foreboding sight from a nightmare or low budget horror flick, the dust that infused the plush seats being the only witness to the criminal on board.
Scenery shifted from blaring city lights to plain fields with nothing more than small cottages dotted around, multitudes of different lives from the comfort of the large window in front of him, it held a strange tranquility that took the burden off his shoulders - even if temporarily. His eyelids became heavy, the soft rocking of the train lulling his tired body to rest. Futilely, Artful hoped for a dreamless slumber, his destination was almost four stops away and he was completely isolated.
A worry still rested in the back of his mind, if he were to miss the stop then - from memory at least, he remembered most of the other ones being quite populated as they were closer to the metropolis of West Robloxia. No doubt he’d be faced with a civilian or military checkpoint and it would be game over. He shuddered at the thought despite the pleasant warmth around him.
The magician lapsed in and out of consciousness, body spurring into action every time the train car thrashed harshly or the speakers announced arrival at a stop, the opened doors would let nothing but the cold winds through before shutting once more. Artful's head hung low, his mind groggy and eyes unfocused whenever he would wake up.
Like clockwork, on the third stop Artful shot awake and grumbled at the pre-recorded voice over the speakers, if he had been keeping track correctly he had stopped at one of the larger cities along the way but he doubted his recollection, the atmosphere was simply much too lifeless. The doors parted once more and he paid them no mind until a heavy boot made contact with vinyl, the sound causing Artful to look up through eyes still blurry from sleep, he leaned his head on the palm of his hand to keep himself up.
The top of the combat boots the stranger wore sunk below the hem of beige pants that clung to strong legs nicely, the bottom of a trench coat rested just above his knees. Artful’s eyes travelled upwards, taking in the sight of the man by the doors, he wore a checkered black and red sweater above a dress shirt - only the dark gray shirt collar visible, the rest buried under the dark coat he wore over his broad shoulders. From the lapel of his coat, a small pin stared back at artful, a yellow smiley face. Cute.
Artful couldn’t shake the thought that he had seen the man before, his tired brain not quite catching up with the information his eyes were processing.
The stranger was tall; freakishly so to the point he had to duck below the door, Artful’s own height was no small feat, standing tall at 6'3 yet this giant of a man was likely a head or so taller. The magician found it both intriguing and frightening.
When Artful’s wandering gaze reached the man's face he straightened immediately, all exhaustion exchanged for adrenaline, the moment seemed to slow down exponentially. He recognised the slicked-back dirt blond hair and goatee, even the raised eyebrow behind the man’s glasses gave him away.
It was a face he had seen in many a wanted poster or on the news prior to the “incident”.
Devesto, the erratic man wandering throughout the cities doing whatever he pleased whenever he pleased it. He was a killer - not mindless like that roaming beast pursuer or in wild displays of emotion and self-defense like Artful, seemingly whatever annoys the man soon lays limp beneath his boots.
As soon as the man noticed Artful, he let out a hum. The goosebumps forming under Artful’s sweater made themselves known.
Artful tried to keep his expression neutral, it was best to avoid any conflict with Devesto. While he still had his wand on him, tucked away in one of the pockets in his cargo pants, the enclosed space of the train car would act as nothing more than a tomb for him with zero chance of escaping - lest he jump out of the window and break all 206 of his bones.
His eyes were still glued to the tall figure now approaching slowly, the hair on the back on his neck stood on its ends. The best course of action would be to ignore him entirely or pretend he had no idea who he was, he only had one stop left to go before he reaches his destination and can breathe easy once more.
In just a few long strides, Devesto ended up right in front of the magician, he collapsed onto the set of seats directly across from the magician with a soft groan - legs spread wide and back slightly hunched almost like he was sitting in the comfort of his own home. Social awareness be damned, a man like him can truly act however uncouth he pleased without fear of consequence.
“God, this place has gone to complete shit! Can’t even go anywhere without armed civs’ on your ass telling you where you can and can’t go.”
Artful’s eyes widened for a split second, not expecting Devesto to start speaking.
The man, seemingly not expecting an answer, continued his monologue, “What are they so afraid of anyway? ‘Doubt it’s difficult to dismantle that hunk of junk Killdroid and don’t get me started on that pathetic, fraud magician people are pissing themselves over as of late. I mean- It’s pathetic really.”
Said pathetic, fraud magician fought the urge to roll his eyes, his fear parting to make way for annoyance.
Suddenly, for the first time in the short interaction, Devesto’s eyes met his, “-But you don't seem afraid of all that shit, what’s your name, man?”
Artful blinked under the man’s ceaseless gaze, “...Jean.”
He doesn’t know why he gave him his real name, it left a bitter taste on his tongue - it’s not like it even feels real anymore, all coverage of his crime always just lists him as Artful, the only name he resonated with now. To him, Jean was just the man with delusional dreams of performing magic on stage to an adoring crowd, the construction worker who desperately hoped for the deafening noise of drills and construction equipment to be replaced with chants and praise.
Without his makeup, mask and suit he supposed that's all he was. Jean, the youngest of three in the Fromage family and the heir to the construction business.
“Jean.”, Devesto repeated, testing the name, his deep voice carrying a strong American accent.
The blonde then sat up, smirk still plastered across his features, crossing the distance between their opposed seats and offered a hand steadily despite the unsteadiness of the train.
“‘Names Devesto.”
Devesto’s eyes scanned his face for any mild changes in his expression - perhaps a moment of recognition or clarity but found nothing. Whether that displeased the man in front of him, Artful didn’t know.
Artful took his hand in a handshake, feeling a bit silly seeing as the man's palm completely dwarfed his own. While his grip wasn’t hard per say, it was firm, not letting one forget the sheer strength that lay in the man's hands. No doubt if Devesto wished, he could crush the bones in his hand without breaking a sweat.
“...A pleasure to meet you.”, he replied politely, the heat of Devesto’s palm still lingering on his palm after they broke contact.
It was hard to focus on anything else but the man in front of him, the vignette of rushing scenery now served as nothing more than a reflection, he had barely noticed the skies at last turning black while he was battling consciousness previously. Gradually, his initial fright was subsiding but Artful remained on edge around the criminal.
Resuming his lounging upon the seat, Devesto enquired, “So, what is it that you do, Jean?”
“I, uh-” Artful thought for a moment before settling on, “I work in construction.”
“Construction?” His tone was one of genuine surprise, eyebrows shooting up, “I thought construction workers usually weren’t so- well…”
Devesto trailed off, his hands making gestures at Artful’s form.
“Scrawny?” Artful tried to finish his sentence bluntly, eyes creasing in displeasure while still trying to keep an air of politeness about himself.
It’s true that he lost a lot of the lean muscle he used to possess ages ago, uncertain meals and spending your days on the run will do that to a person. Even his recent costumes he adorned from his time on stage hung off him looser than before.
Letting out a brisk laugh, Devesto put his arms up in front of him, “Hey, you said it yourself, not me.”
Of course the man's rich, smooth voice carried over to his laugh, if it had belonged to anyone else other than Devesto then Artful would be quick to call it pleasant. Damn, he’s been isolated from society for far too long.
From his descriptions on his wanted posters, Artful hadn’t expected the man to be so chatty and ever… playful? The image he maintained was often shrouded in mystery, he was often described as erratic, sure, but there was a morbid curiosity that had Artful wishing to figuratively peel back the layers he kept hidden behind that leather trenchcoat.
“Bien sûr, peu importe. [Sure, Whatever.]”, He sighed, “It’s something many people fall into, I’m no different.”
A half-truth would suffice.
Devesto hummed in agreement, “An industry so large and yet so overlooked- Everyone remembers the big-name engineers and architects all the way from Michelangelo to I.M. Pei but the workers who brought their vision to life? Eh, who cares.”
“I mean- take the work of Lois Le Vau on Versailles as an example of what happens when you provide people with zero recognition for their labour.”, He continued on, passionately but with a hint of amusement in his tone.
For a moment, the statement somewhat resonated with Artful - being a man that craved recognition since childhood and being forced into a path he viewed no future in until he discovered magic, and even then all it brought him was pelted banana peels and bottled wrath. On second thought however, he realised how narcissistic it was to conflate his stagnant career in magic to the generational, systematic suffering of thousands of people.
He was still somewhat taken aback by Devesto's words. Though he supposed he didn’t really know much about the man sprawled out in the seat in front of him.
Artful tilted his head slightly, “Pardon my assumption- But I didn’t think that was something you’d care about.”
“People or Architecture?”
Artful paused for a moment, “Both, really.”
“Ha!” He laughed, “Nah, I don’t really care ‘bout people all that much but I can recognise their work when it matters- Especially when it comes to art or architecture.”
Devesto paused for a moment, scratching at the back of his blond hair in thought. The smirk that seemed to be permanently fixed to his face morphed into something more neutral, "It's hard to find ways to entertain yourself y’know? ‘Started travelling a while back- Visited many continents and cities but the only thing that interested me was the art and architecture, there’s so much history or emotion that one can gather from a simple bunch of strokes on a canvas or chiseled stone.”
Artful didn’t quite know what to say, opting to nod along in agreement. He himself hasn’t done much traveling in his life - especially after his family had permanently moved out of France.
It was strangely honest and somewhat vulnerable, Devesto broke eye contact after Artful remained silent, his green eyes seemingly finding interest in the interior of the passenger car for the first time. The man before him was clearly adept in conversation - probably more so than Artful at this point, this is by far the longest interaction he’s had in months - but Artful doubts the man often shares anything serious or personal, if his reaction was anything to go by.
Devesto swiftly turned back towards him with the same smirk he had been getting used to, shrugging, “I guess I just have a fondness for interesting things. Nothing less, nothing more.”
The overhead lights hummed calmly, the soft fluorescent glow making it hard to discern his location from beyond the window. Artful wondered when his stop would be announced, should be any minute now if he’s correct. There was a small part of him, a seed of selfishness sprouting within his mind that hoped he’d have more time to just listen or talk. Just the sound of another human being - not taunting him but simply speaking was more than he could ask for in his current situation.
He was speaking to a man that could honestly kill him in the blink of an eye, he didn’t know when the fear had vanished, couldn’t pinpoint why, just simply accepted it as fact for the moment.
“What made you settle here then?” Artful tried to lighten the mood after that slightly awkward moment, “HQ or Glass houses can only keep you entertained for so long.”
Luckily, Devesto seemed amused by his response, “Oh, true. But who says I’ve settled here? ‘S there something you know that I don't, Jean?”
Devesto leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees and peering at him from atop his sunglasses. His voice had a dangerous edge to it despite its joking nature that seemed to carry throughout all of the man's words. Something churned in his stomach at the use of his real name.
Ah, Merde [Shit], he thought. Artful may know that Devesto had been terrorising the neighbouring cities for months but “Jean” initially didn’t react to any mention of his name. Come on, magicians are good at improv, he could think of some excuse.
He shrugged in an attempt to seem nonchalant, “Well, you seem to be travelling light so I assumed you had some place to stay somewhere in Robloxia.”
It was flimsy at best, and slightly flawed logic but it’d do.
“Hm, maybe I’m just a monk, no earthly possessions ‘n all that.”
The lie seemed to have worked on the surface at least, given the man gave no vaguely threatening comment. Nonetheless, he found a slight smile tugging at his lips without his permission.
Artful exaggeratedly looked the man up and down, “I’m sure you are, Monsieur.”
“Hey, don’t be so quick to judge, man. I’m plenty virtuous.” Devesto seemed like he tried to keep a straight face, but he failed quite swiftly, “You don’t seem to be carrying much yourself.”
Artful allowed for a dramatic pause, as if he were keeping an audience in anticipation, deciding to participate in the man's antics - something Artful's polite nature typically never allowed but he supposed he was “Jean” right now.
He tried his best to form a mock American accent, he deadpanned “I’m a monk too, no earthly possessions and all that.”
It wasn’t funny, Artful knew he wasn't known for his comedy (he was barely even known for his magic) but the man's laugh that followed was warm, chest rising and falling with the sound. Artful let himself get lost in the pleasant moment, pushing aside the sullen emptiness of his life, the lifeless, shitty shack he gets to go home to in but a few hours. He’d likely need to get moving soon anyway, he’s not too keen on any vengeful civilians trying to carry out his death sentence at his own door. Maybe he should take a page out of Devesto’s book, travel the world and get out of this hellhole, become a travelling one-man act.
A tranquil notion, completely unfeasible but comforting nonetheless.
Soon, the speaker sounded once more, shattering the bubble of his thoughts like glass, announcing that they would be coming to a stop soon. A strange disappointment washed over the magician, he tried to ignore it.
Artful got up, arm resting on the rail lest he waver through the trains thrashing and trip like a moron. Leaning the back of his head on the window, seemingly not bothered by the vibrations coursing through it, Devesto looked up at him and lazily pointed to the information display.
“This stop yours then?”
He looked strangely neutral, similar to when he was describing his travels previously.
“Oui. [Yeah.]”
Devesto gave no real response besides an exhale, a cross between a sigh and a scoff before the smirk was plastered upon his face once more.
As the train’s movements slowed to a crawl and the doors began to open, evening breeze thrashed into the cabin, carrying with it chatter. Artfuls face contorted, shouldn’t this place be empty at this time? This should be the safest stop. He peered out the door cautiously, black hair blowing back onto his face and partially obscuring his view.
Footsteps echoed before him, heavy, military perhaps, he glanced about and there stood a group of six or so armed police, weapons resting in the crook of camouflaged fabric, no doubt enforcing the curfew and checking civilian ID’s.
Typically, he’d try his way at getting past them, playing up being a foreign tourist or poor civilian visiting sick family members. But typically…
“Hm? Something wrong there, Jean?”, the voice of the man lounging boomed.
Typically, there isn’t a highly wanted criminal (other than himself of course) in his close vicinity.
To his horror, a ruffling sounded beside him, Devesto began to get up to investigate curiously as the men outside seemed to notice the open door. Artful’s breath hitched, adrenaline suddenly coursing through his veins, as the known criminal creeped closer he moved swiftly, like a panicked hare.
“Non! [No!] No! Sit back down! Nothing’s wrong.”, the other man was nearly pressed against his side by now, he tried to push him away from view the best he could, and he gave his damned fleeting best despite being probably a whole foot shorter. A quick glance outside did not help his racing heart, one of the men, brandishing a radio he was speaking into, had his eyes narrowed at the train - no doubt suspicious.
Artful was by no means religious, but in circumstances such as this it was hard not to internally pray to anyone or anything for the fucking door to just close.
As if by divine intervention, the intercom announced the closing of the doors, Devesto, the nosy bastard, now tilted his head out the window, still trying to make out the situation outside through the dim evening light. He let out a small “Ah”, likely finally seeing the situation outside that Artful had so graciously saved them from, thanklessly of course. Artful did not need to look up to know the man was probably grinning from ear to ear.
So instead, he let out a sigh and sank back down to his seat, tendrils of heat from where Devesto was pressed against him still radiated up his body, he shivered slightly. The next town over was hopefully quieter, he hadn’t expected any form of patrol around these parts but you can never be too certain, he supposed he learnt it the semi-hard way. He rested his head in the palm of his hand, exhaustion racked his frame as the adrenaline evaporated from his system, limbs suddenly feeling sluggish. There’s no way he’d arrive back “home” to his little hideout at an appropriate time, his sleep schedule was also in the gutter, he mourns the amount of concealer that would stain his eyebags for the coming… forever, probably.
His sulking was cut short, warmth radiated beside him as Devesto leaned on him once more, clearly trying to get his attention.
“So,” He stretched the word out painfully long, “What was that about then, hm? Why’s a man like you afraid of the feds?”
Devesto lowered his voice, “You got something to hide, Jean?”
Artful looked at him in thought for a moment, he was awfully close, personal space clearly was just a concept to the man, his blond hair framed an expression of smug curiosity, like he already knew the answer.
Eventually, Artful decided on, “I forgot my ID. I didn’t want to have to deal with overnight detainment until curfew was lifted.”
A boring civilian excuse for a boring civilian.
Devesto blinked at him for a moment, face frozen.
“Yeah, fuck it. Sure.” He laughed, “Doesn’t explain why you pushed me away, you worried about me, man?
Artful pointed his finger at the criminal, Devesto refused to back up, he spoke, “No earthly possessions means no ID, your welcome.”
The blond man scrunched his eyebrows in a stupor then laughed once more, the noise echoing from the moving train cabin, “Unbelievable! Fucking unbelievable!”
Leaning his weight more on Artfuls side, pinning him to the cold steel railing, likely to try to irritate the French man, he said in an amused tone, “You're an interesting man Jean, It’s okay to say you know who I am.”
While his tone was one of amusement, the magician knew the weight those words carried, danger radiated from the man much like his bodyheat, part of Artful still held cowardice but the tired majority of his brain could hardly care. He still breathed, that's something.
“... Your wanted posters do you no justice.”
It was true, Devesto’s essence was hard to capture on paper, the towering form and devil-may-care attitude hardly translates on a simple camera. Even without knowing he was capable of murder, many men would cower just at the sight of him alone, he had the disposition of a capable fighter and certainly the body of one.
He added, “And you're not a particularly hard man to identify.”
Devesto shrugged, “Not all of us have the luxury of blending in.”
Artful narrowed his eyes before he could stop himself, if the other man saw his reaction he paid it no mind and left Artful alone for a while, well, as alone as you can leave a person while being nearly attached by the hip.
The rest of the ride was silent, the mechanic hum of the hunk of metal gliding along the tracks played a steady rhythm, an industrial melody rendering his very flesh with a yearning for rest that would go painfully unanswered for a long while. Heat coursed over him like a blanket which was certainly not helping his tired eyes. When the speaker called the next stop, he found himself jolting awake as if he were struck by lightning, Devesto groaned quietly.
He detached himself from the man with a small apology, unacknowledged, and made his way to the door, cautious not to repeat the mistake from last time.
“Hm,” Devesto hummed lazily, “Coast clear?”
“Ouais. [Yeah.]”
Devesto got up and nodded his head, “Well, Take care.”
Artful gave a slight smile, eyes crinkled, “Likewise. It was… nice meeting you.”
Wind howled from outside, like a call to continue forth, Artful began to plan out the route in his head, the town the train stopped at was a small one, if he remembered correctly there should be a few stations dotted around that should hold enough supplies for him to live off of for a while, nothing luxurious but he’d left that comfort behind long ago. As he moved to exit Devesto spoke once more.
“Oh and Jean”, Artful had not realised the man had gotten so close, his body froze when Devesto's palm met his cheek, heat steadily spread through his cold skin like wildfire. His thumb caressed the side of his face, Artful’s pupils widened, “You have to be more careful.”
He stepped back, smirk brandished on his lips as he presented his palm out to Artful.
The slight remnants of white makeup stained his thumb, a clear message.
“Someone might recognise you.”