A One-Time Attachment Ch.1 - Pt. 2

Deeply exhaling he entered the Bodega, corralling the very first waiter he could lay hand on. The handsome young woman instantly glowed with delight, chirping a cheerful greeting. She nearly crawled over her rostrum to beat Gwynn to any question he could ask, reciting the special dishes of the week, offering to take his jacket for him, asking him way too personal questions about the occasion of his visit, age...
The little blonde seemed so desperate it got creepy. Finally he simply told her that he wanted to meet his MALE date, which seemed to slow her down enough to let him ask his one and only question: Had she seen a gentleman deposit a red rose on his table?
Obviously she had, and measuring her pained sigh, he wasn't the only one who had turned her down that night. Still smiling (but not glowing anymore) she pointed further into the customer area. Along the left wall half a dozen booths held small, intimate bistro tables separated by beautiful wooden dividers decorated with ornamental plants.
"The one you're looking for is the fourth one on the left. You'll be able to see the rose about halfway." she said, again sighing deeply and smiling.
Winking Gwynn thanked her and went on. A quick glance at his wristwatch told him he already was late - again! -, but somehow he didn't feel like rushing anymore. Suddenly he felt giddy and nervous, knowing his target was only a few steps ahead. The drive to check himself in one of the decorative mirrors once again was like an itch in his head, so he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and strode ahead stubbornly. His first wife would have tumbled over laughing if she had seen him at that moment. The great Gwynn, Wildwalker, Lord of Misrule, Mother Nature's naughty little stepson, afraid like a little girl on her first Ceilidh.
With bated breath he passed the first tables, ignoring the passing faces of other customers, reducing them to decorative extras to his great entrée. Cold, panicky sweat trickled down his spine, and then he took the last step...

The man sitting in the destined booth was a dream come true. His face was beautiful in a way that almost was bizarre, inhuman, unearthly. Gwynn even had to stop to catch his breath and blink away the numb feeling he had fallen into right there. The stranger's graceful, delicate features were framed by long hair so black it had blueish-white highlights where the warm lights brushed his head. Kissable lips sat in his striking face, matching his calm demeanor, and eyes dark like storm clouds inspected the surroundings with highly visible attention. He seemed tall, taller than Gwynn, lean and refined like an artist.
Gwynn let out a low moan and hurried on, taking the last three steps to the table before anyone could get the idea he felt unwell. The red rose lay on the white tablecloth like a splatter of blood. The stranger looked up and into Gwynns face, and there was nothing but polite interest in his gaze. Of course, it was hard to compete with his level of beauty, so the lack of reaction was something Gwynn had reckoned. That man simply had to be a Narcissist, seeing himself in the mirror day after day. Still, somehow it hurt having his pride scratched that thoroughly. Inwardly recoiling Gwynn brought a quivering smile to his face. Better get this over with soon, and crawl back into his cave.

"Good evening. I guess you are my date?" he inquired, expecting a yes, or at least polite rejection.
"I..." the adressed frowned - his demeanor suddenly implying something was out of order. His gaze brushed the red rose on the table, then met Gwynn again. "I have an appointment with a lady. With..." those beautiful lips curved into a small smile, "...'Homo homini lupus'."
Gwynn's personal codeword. For a few seconds the demigod mused about fading on the spot. So that god made into flesh had no interest in men. Or maybe something had gone wrong? There still was a very slim chance that a woman had chosen the same code phrase and by coincidence waited in the same restaurant, slim, so slim... He had to make sure.
"You are not 'Chi fa da sé, fa per tre' then?" Gwynn croaked, fearfully smiling at the glimpse of hope.
"That's me." the cultivated voice purred, adding "We must have become victims of technology, then - or victims of fate." He seemed unfazed by the prospect of participating in the mismatched blind date. His voice hurt Gwynns ears, sounding like angel's trumpets to his love-sick mind. The words made him cringe, desperately trying to hide his disappointment with a mask-like smile. But instead of letting him - the wooed ninny - off the hook, the voice went on. "Don't be appalled, please. Would you like to have a drink with me?"

A One-Time Attachment Ch.1 - Pt. 1

The restaurant had a shiny, new, polished plate right next to its intrance, proclaiming "Bodega La Ina" in big, arched letters. It sat on a subdued rock protuding into Bracket River, its big wooden terrace highlighted by dozens of red and white lampions, providing an ambience of welcomeness and familiarity. It shone like the proverbial beacon into the night. The suppressed murmur of indulging customers was carried over by breezes of wind, changing volume ever so often.

Gwynn labeled the whole thing as "decidedly creepy".

A people's person he was not. He didn't like crowded places, and he didn't like socializing. He'd never been 'a part of society' as far as he remembered, but life had got bloody lonely over the last few decades. Which, he reminded himself, was the reason for him being where he was. Standing in front of a mediterranean restaurant, spooked like a teenager.

Somewhere in there a man was waiting for him, a blind date he'd coordinated with the help of a dating agency. One of his regular customers had recommended that agency, an elderly lady that loved the written works of Stephen King, and despised single men for their indecisiveness. One evening she'd said "Mister Whelan, if you don't want to die lonely and cold, you need to find a lady to warm your bed."

Gwynn definitely didn't want to die 'lonely and cold', but he also didn't want to watch another 'lady' die from old age, while he stayed eternally young. As a Tuatha de Danann, a demigod of goddess Danu, he was one of the very, very few creatures unable to die from age or sickness. Of course it was possible for him to get killed, and if one day he decided to fade, he would wither and die like all the other demigods that already had left Assam, the living world. But the urge to fade had yet to come, leaving him stranded in a modernized world that wasn't his anymore.

Once again Gwynn corrected his outfit, revising the light suede jacket he had chosen for the first meeting. The black turtleneck shirt underneath it fit like a glove, matching the grey linnen pair of trousers. It had taken him about two hours to decide if he should wear something tight and form fitting, or a more casual outfit - he knew his ass was great enough to catch a glimpse or two. But in the end he had chosen the casual clothing, recalling his intention to find not a bedwarmer, but a companion that would pay more attention to his mind than to his body; this alone was a quest to be reckoned with, as his body often was described as "eerily perfect".

At 6 feet and 4 inches he was of reasonably moderate height, shoulders beautifully proportioned. His waist was slim, stomach flat and muscled, hands and fingers gracefully built. 'Musician's fingers' they were called, matching his delicately chiseled features and his long, black hair that reached over his shoulders. Strangers would have described Gwynn's looks as 'womanizer-ish', giving off an atmosphere of rascally congeniality, but word had made round quickly that he seemed oblivious to the glamour of Babylon City's female population.

At that moment his lovely storm-grey eyes held mild disquiet as he stared through the picture windows of the restaurant, trying to imagine which of the customers he soon would meet, silently cursing the date agent for her persistence on blind dating.