Mistakes, Guilt and Drinking it away

The Observer chuckled at Arabella's comment. "Well, my dear girl, it seems to me that you broke into this place. Not exactly the... Typical thing for anyone to do. Washing clothes, obviously. Unless for some reason my eyes decieve. I doubt as much." He sighed as he raised his hand, examining it intently. Not a shred of skin showed, from hed to toe. He was completely anonymous. He had no need to be the person he usually was to other people, and yet he was anyway. Granted he acted without facade to most people. Mostly. Lies here and there, tactically placed. He had to make sure he was always the one in charge in a relationship. Be it friends, enemies or even lovers. Not that he had many lovers, he never had the time. Never wanted a permanent relationship. They were... Distracting. Oh, and here he was again with his mind drifiing off away from the current situation. How foolish of him, how unneeded. No, he was sure he could find a way for the people in front of him to amuse him. If briefly.

Without looking away from his hand The Observer spoke, his smooth voice with charm so great it was rivaled only by the obvious maliciousness that came with it. "Don't reach for that gun. Shooting, or even aiming a gun, around me is a fool's mistake. One that you won't be quick to make again." He lowered his hand to look at Omen. While the gun wasn't seeable, it was clear to Zalmon that was what he was reaching for. It was the most obvious answer to what he was reaching for at least, and though people may say not to go for such an answer it was mostly the right one. Odds that this Englishman was willing to side with. Granted, if he was wrong he would apologize. No use being too... Prideful. Was that the word? Yes, Yes it was. It was a surefire way to gain enemies, which he did not want. Conflict was so... Meaningless. What couldn't be settled by a good chat? And manipulation. Manipulation was key to everything, at least in his eyes. There were few things, if no things, that you couldn't get through manipulation. All the great and powerful leaders used it, some of them without their manipulat-ees ever knowing. Those were the best of the best. Zalmon wanted to be among their ranks. If not above them. He wanted everything. He wanted it all, each and every speck of dust would have to belong to him. And even then he doubted he would be satisfied. He doubted he would ever be satisfied. He would never have enough, not even if reality itself bent to him and his will then he would not be complete. Oh, there he went again in one of his internal monologues. He really was quite villainous, if only he were to voice these thoughts he would be quite the stereotype. He was already hyper-intelligent, and he was even (half) English. The thought made him chuckle, though it would seem from thin air to the other two.

"What do I want?" He sighed, though it was less one of dissapointment or sadness and more one of thought. Of calculation. "Such a broad question. I want many things, but with you to?" He looked at Arabella and Omen, scanning them with his mask. "I only want amusement. Isn't that what all men want? Men and women..." He raised his two hands in front of him at the same level as his head and, with a forward flick of his wrists, pointed his index fingers at Omen, his thumbs protruding upward. "You see I'm the kind of person who gets so very easily bored, won't you please satisfy me?" He chuckled lightly at this last sentance of his, as if telling a joke no one else understood, as he lowered his hands to his side. He kept one eye on Omen, and one eye on Arabella. The eye on Omen for safety, the eye on Arabella for... Pleasure. "I mean no harm to either of you, I can be quite the nice fellow if you get to know me." There was particular emphasis on the 'know' part of his sentance, if only to make it more obviously that he clearly wasn't thinking of talking about his life story over a cup of coffee at some cheap place. He chuckled again, though louder this time, as he leaned on the wall beside me. "Ah, there I go again... I apologize if you fiound that un... Nice? No, that's not word..." He began to click his fingers, lowering his head slightly. "What's the word what's the word... Aha!" His finger pointed up as he raised his head with it. "Unchivalrous!" He turned his head to look at the pair. "Yes... I apologize if you found that unchivalrous!" He shook his head and lowered it in front of him again, tutting as he did. "So unlike me." He paused. "Well, not really."

Omen's eyes never left the man as he spoke, he wasn't about to be caught off guard if the man decided to pull something. The man spoke with charisma and arrogance dripped from every word that left his mouth. From the way he droned on nonsensically it was easy to decern that this guy must really love the sound of his own voice. A scowl painted his features when the Observer had threatened him openly when he that he was close to pulling his gun. He couldn't be sure if it was an empty threat, but this guy was clearly bold enough that he wasn't even phased that he was armed. Whether or not it was confidence or arrogance had yet to be seen, but Omen got the feeling that it was most likely the former and that was enough to put him on his toes. He complied slightly when his right hand took a more relaxed position, but if at any time the man proved a danger Omen would be ready to pump him full of bullets at the drop of a hat. When 'The Observer', as he was calling himself, said he wanted amusement from both himself and Arabella, Omen had decided that his earlier analysis of the man was right, he was no hero.

One thing that had particularly disturbed him though was that he said he was bored and wanted them to satisfy him. God he hoped he meant fighting at that point, he really trully did. The way the Observer looked at Omen was with one of caution, or that's what Omen thought. The way he looked at Arabella however had Omen clenching and grinding his teeth together almost painfully. He swore that he was going to chip a tooth if he didn't calm down. At that point the guy just rambled on needlessly, yes he was damn sure that he just loved to hear his own voice. Arabella had apparently been freaked out by the vibe the guy was giving off and had chosen to move from her position on the bench, ready to leave or fight if it came to it, neither of which sounded like a bad idea. She broke the quiet that had settled in the room after his...speech and introduced herself under the allias butterfly, seemed fair, why give your real name if he wasn't willing to do the same? "And I'm Omen." He spoke chiming in, using his hero name.

A smile, however weak, had found its way onto Omen's face for a split second when Arabella had basically told the guy to leave them alone. He would have prefered a less polite approach, something along the likes of 'Go to hell', but what she said worked too. She then spoke to him in Romanian, obviously so that the Observer couldn't understand. "I don't either, watch yourself he might try to pull something." He said back in Romanian before switching back to English to address the man. "You heard the lady, go satisfy yourself for a while and leave us out of it." Extra emphasis was placed on the word 'satisfy' so that it was clear what he was implying.

"Fair's fair, I suppose. I would be the same in your position." He shrugged, then couldn't help but burst out into laughter as she effectively told him to 'piss off'. He clapped as he shook his head, laughing still, before he let out a happy sigh. "Now you see... That! That is why I am here and not anywhere else." He pushed his mask up a bit, feeling it beginning to slide down slightly. He should fix that. "That was... Amazing! Wonderful! The type of thing that wouldn't be as amusing in a movie! The unscripted interactions between people, how you react and live... What makes you tick?" He put his finger against his head, turning it. "What makes you... You!" He lowered his hand again to his side. "Something the greatest writer, the greatest director, the greatest artist could never imitate perfectly. Some have come close, but it always lacked..." He looked at his hand, clenching it into a fist. "... Humanity." He looked up again. "I love humans. Everything about them. Their minds, their bodies, their interactions and feelings! Watching them go about, some happy some sad some angry some calm... It's amusing. And that is the reason I won't leave. Not yet." He shook his head when he heard her Romanian. A language he never learnt. He had learned Japanese, his mother's tongue, French, German, Chinese and even Latin, part of his schooling, but never Romanian. He could've, he had the time, but he never thought it useful. Granted Latin wasn't useful, he hadn't particularly enjoyed doing that. Alas he had no choice. Perhaps he should pick it up, try learning it. It wouldn't be too hard. Not for his mind. It wasn't that arrogant to say it would be downright easy.

He tilted his head from side to side, rubbing the side and back of his neck. "You know, I like you. With that one sentance you have peaked my interests." His eyes turned to Omen. "You... You less so, but I assume you wouldn't want to leave this woman alone with me? I understand... Though I promise that I mean no ill on her. I suppose you're a Hero? Judging by the fact you had a alias ready to go?" He turned his sight to 'Butterfly'. "And what about you? Are you as such?" He crossed his arms and leaned back. "Either way it doesn't matter, though I do find it very good of you 'Omen'." He clapped slowly, almost sarcastically. "Have a Bou Bon." He patted himself down, looking through his pockets till he found said Bou Bon. He raised it up to his eye level, turning it around and examining the chocolate creation. "Don't worry, it's not poisoned. And quite clean" He tossed it over at Omen lightly before pulling one out for himself, raising his mask slightly to eat it. "I do enjoy these, especially with milk. Too bad I have none." He looked at 'Butterfly'. "Do you want one? I have plenty to spare."

Dese are Boubons:

Oh god, he's rambling on again... Omen thought bleakly as the Observer went onto another little speech, this time about how he loved humanity or such tripe. From the way he went on made Omen consider the idea that the man was completely out of it, but his attitude, his presence didn't suggest insanity. He wasn't crazy, well any crazier than all the others including Omen who go around in costumes all year round, but from the way he got on Omen thought him to be more than a little...flamboyant. Arabella said she didn't intend to get closer to him, that wasn' unexpected, the man was acting like a raving sociopath. The only part of his rant that he actually cared about was when he said he wasn't going to leave yet. Alright, seemed like the guy wasn't going to be leaving them alone as easily as Omen had hoped. At least he didn't know Romanian, guessing from his reaction to hearing both Omen and Arabella speaking to eachother in the language.

The guy also seemed to have been particularly interested in Arabella and Omen could take one guess why. And as for trusting him to be alone with her goes, he'd rather trust the thugs she'd beaten up earlier. Then, he had practically insulted him by 'congradulating' him for being a hero and throwing a bou bon at him. What was with this guy? Who in their right mind acts this way? An unexpected, yet not unwelcome, little surpise came from 'butterfly' when he threw it though. Sure he had heard of the girl's knife throwing abilities, but to see it in action was a pleasant sight. Now only if she threw it more at the stranger's direction, that would be really entertaining. Not that he wanted to see the man die, just maimed or injured. If he were dead he could and probably would continue to bother him. The pure speed of the blade she threw was a testament to her skill. Yet, this was no time to admire her handiwork, there was still the problem of the annoying masked man standing between them and the only way out. As for Arabella's statement, it didn't faze him in the least, she had already proven herself to him earlier when she helped that man, it didn't matter if she wasn't a hero. Omen decided that if this guy wasn't responding to the polite approach, he would have to get aggressive.

"Trust me Observer, unless you want to fight it out, I'd suggest you get out of the way and leave me and the girl alone." His voice only thinly masked the frustation that Omen held for the man. He advanced two steps closer to the door and the man, ready to fight if he needed to.

Zalmon laughed at Arabella's comment about taking candy from a stranger. Brilliant! Wonderful! Ah, too bad she didn't like him. She surely would be a delight to get to know properly, he wasn't even thinking of having sex with her now. He shook his head and tutted at Omen's threats. "Typical hero. I suppose you see violence as your only answer? Fighting isn't my thing, I'm a man who likes to talk to sort things out, rather then to get involved himself. Why do you think I chose the name Observer, as opposed to something like The Warmongerer? The Warrior? The StabbyMcKillPerson?" He spoke with an air of seriousness, despite the fact that his last word was anything but. He tilted his neck from side to side, cracking it as he did. "If you insist on fighting, you are the true villain here. I pose no threat, I carry no weapons unlike the two of you and I have not expressed a want to bring any harm to either of you. I am, quite frankly, the designated villain because it just so happens that you don't like me. Though I may sound like I want to hurt 'Butterfly' I would never do so without reason. Hell I wouldn't hurt you, Omen, unless you gave me a good reason too. Such as attacking me." He stretched his arms out before bending one over his shoulder, the other one pushing at it, before doing it again on the opposite side in preporation for the fight that Omen threatened to start. He stretched his leg out forwards, putting weight on it, and did it to the other before he stood up straight. "As much as you people would love it to be so simple as one guy bad other guy good it simply isn't. You're the ones who broke in, you're the ones threatening violence. Other people who might see this would suggest that you are the Villains. Quite frankly how would you argue against it? Sure I've acted a bit perculiar, in your eyes, but is that a crime?" He shook his head. "No, I'm pretty sure that it is not. At least not in this country, unless it's changed so rapidly overnight. So much I greatly doubt, unless you'd like to prove me wrong?"

He braced his body, moving it back and his two hands forward with open palms. It didn't seem to be that great of a stance, the type you'd see people doing as they tried to imitate people off TV. Though, that was entirely the point why Zalmon chose this stance. It would make Omen underestimate him, when he was in fact a great fighter. He didn't know anything about Omen's abilities, he hadn't seen any of them in action, so he wasn't going to start making assumptions so fast. It would be an idiot's move. "Come on then, you pathetic 'hero'. Show me that you're right here, come and beat up on the man who has commited no crime other then to have a personality that you don't like. How heroic. How bold. How absolutely full of shit."

Omen had been about to respond when Arabella had gotten in between the two men, obviously to stop the two from going at it. The glare he had been giving the man had been broken the moment she spoke. Apparently she didn't want the two to fight while inside the launderettes, something he could understand seeing as he was pretty certain no one wanted to damage the building in some petty brawl. He felt like a child being scolded by its mother from the look she was giving them and the way she stood with her hands on her hips. "Yes mom..." He spoke under his breath in a sarcastic tone as he dropped his stance completely and walked over to the bench which had his freshly washed coat laying on it. Grabbing the garment with his left hand he tossed it over his shoulder and made his way out the door, Arabella right behind him. Once outside he walked a little down the sidewalk, making a few metres distance between him and the Observer. His eyes shut and he let out a heavy sigh.

"I'm not going to fight you Observer." Turning back around he faced the man again. "Don't get me wrong, I don't trust you...at all in fact. But I am willing to accept I jumped the gun." While talking he had momentarily removed the coat from his shoulder and hung it out on his arm. His right hand reached behind him and pulled out the gun from his pants and placed it back into it's holster within the inner left side of his coat. Satisfied, he hung it back over his shoulder and continued speaking. "I'll be the first to admit I'm not perfect, but I sincerely doubt your much of a saint yourself." It didn't matter how he felt about the guy, Omen knew he was right when he said he would have been the villain by attacking first. If this guy had no interest in fighting, why fight him? As long as his interests weren't harmful to him or Arabella, violence wasn't necessary. He didn't even let Observer's barbs get to him, he had to keep calm now, no point in making the situation worse because of a bad temper.

Zalmon walked outside with the others, quite agreeing that it wouldn't be fair at all to fight in this property. The person who owned it would have enough trouble with it being broken into, the aftermath of a fight would only make it worse. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as Omen passed giving him a slight nod when he turned back and spoke to him. "Who here expected you to trust me? You barely know me, less then that even, nobody earns trust that fast. Unless you can talk better then any man I know." He stepped away from the wall, turning his body to face Omen. "And no, I fully accept that I am not a saint. I'm greedy, ever so greedy. I am corrupt. I embrace it. I accept it. I am at peace in my mind that I am not the perfect human, far from it. I allow my greed to control me, because I know that it is who I am. I will not deny myself." He turned away from Omen, looking in the opposite direction. He stayed their, taking in a breath of the night's air. Perhaps Omen was interesting after all, he didn't exactly seem too bad of a person. Granted everyone had their limits, Zalmon made a note to try and find his weakness. What would turn him over, the thing he wanted the most. Sure he had men, but they had their limits. If this Omen was a Hero they he may have powers, or inteligence, or skill greater then an average man. All traits that Zalmon could use in his hunt for power, for land, for money, for men and women. A cause he could get behind, the only one since he grew up. Slowly he began to walk forward, away from the other two. He kept his feet light, almost silent, as he did so. It helped to practice a light step.

"I am a... 'Villain', remember. It's possible that we'll meet again, though then you will fight me because that is what you Heroes do." He stopped and looked up at the sky. "To be perfectly honest with you you'd be right to, just know... Don't harm my men when you do, at least don't kill them. Under my orders they won't kill anyone without reasoning, so if you kill them I will make sure to kill you." He looked back at Omen. "They pledged their loyalty to me, and in return I pledged to treat them well. I don't want to have to stain my hands with any blood, so don't make me." Omen's face... He would make sure to keep that image in his mind for future referance, could be useful. The same with Butterfly's. He looked at the woman. "That was a good throw back then by the way, you're obviously a rose with thorns. Should you ever need anything please feel free to come and work for me, there's much I can offer." There wasn't a hint of any foul-play, or a certain kind of undertone in what he said. It was a genuine offer. "The same goes for you, Omen." Zalmon pointed his arm up and fired his Grapple Wrist, being pulled to the roof of the building. He stood at the edge, looking down. "I hope to see you around, both of you." And with that he disappeared into the night.

Omen watched blankly as the Observer made his exit, he thought the grappling hook was a bit much but whatever. Unlike Arabella, he didn't give a farewell. While his opinion of him still wasn't good, considering he himself confessed to being a villain, at least he was one with some resemblance of honor. His warning about harming his henchmen showed a sense of humanity that most villains generally lacked concerning their hired help. His offer, however lucrative it may have been, fell on deaf ears in Omen's case. He wasn't interested in money, never was, never would be. Hell, Omen wasn't interested in personal gain at all really. So when Observer did make his offer, Omen didn't even so much as blink. A quick glance back to Arabella showed him she was thinking about taking the man up on offer, he wasn't going to judge her for considering it, if she decided to work for him that was her business. If that meant that he may one day have to go up against both of them, he'd deal with it.

"What's so funny?" He said chuckling to himself a little. "What's with the lack of faith? I already told you I was a hero right? I don't stop the bad guys with my charm and wonderful personality you know." There was no hurt in his voice, just a hint of his own amusement. Why she thought he wasn't a capable fighter he couldn't understand, was it the way he stood or something? He smiled as he took off his hat and rubbed his hand through his jet black hair. "If this country does have any good bars, I have yet to find one." He went on, responding to her question. "But I do know that there's a bar a couple blocks from here that looks clean enough, I doubt you wanna go back to that other place." His thumb pointed back in the direction of the bar they met at. The faint sound of sirens could be heard, and it seemed to be getting closer. "Come on, I'll buy you a drink." He motioned for her to follow him and went off walking down the street to the bar he talked about.

"Trust me Arabella, you'd be suprised by the things I can do." Omen said simply in response. He didn't mind that she didn't really think he could handle himself in a fist fight. From the way she stated his gun as her reasoning it was easy to tell she didn't think highly of gun wielders as combatants. The main reason for actually having the gun was to be able to keep up with some of the other, more intimidating superhumans, aliens, mystical monstrosities, robots and other beings that ran around now days. While physically formidable in human's standards, that didn't mean anything at all when compared to the strength of a man that could pick up a bus or take bullets like they were made of foam. Omen laughed softly when she called the men from before Jackasses, it was kind of funny the way she struggled a little to come up with the word. He also didn't blame her in the least for not feeling shame for beating the men up, he wouldn't have either. Hell, he actually beat those kind of people up on an almost daily basis, he was a hero after all. "As you shouldn't," He said, turning his head to the side to look at her. "Those kind of people are scum, they always pick fights with people weaker and piss themselves when they go against someone who can actually fight, it's disgusting." His head dropped a little and shook, those kind of people made him feel embarassed to be the same species.

He continued to walk on along the path enjoying the atmosphere peacefully. The bar wasn't too far away now, soon he'd have finally been able to get his drink. Even though he'd still been craving a drink, the events from meeting Ari had made him completely forget why he was in such a bad mood in the first place. Then, he stopped suddenly. His eyes widened, his breathing became slightly more laboured and his heartbeat skyrocketed. The face of a familiar soul stared blankly into his eyes, almost as if they were looking right through him. The man before him wore a dirty green jacket, poorily looking jeans, pair of worn boots and a single fresh bullet hole decorated his skull. His mouth was slightly ajar, his facial expression was impossible to determine and the same blood that stained Omen's mask tarnished almost the entirety of his upper body. Everything stopped for that moment, the moment that Omen was faced with the spectre of his most recent, most emotionally draining failure. Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, he focused himself, he wasn't going to let this get to him now, not in front of Arabella, not in front of anyone. Opening his eyes again, he walked on, passing right through the apparition, dispersing it from his sight. His eyes were set on the way ahead, he dared not look at Ari right now, he knew that he couldn't get away with what just happened, but he hoped to God she wouldn't ask.

Damnit...He mentally cursed. He didn't really want to tell her what was really wrong with him, it was something he didn't like sharing with anyone. The fact that he could talk to the dead was hard enough to believe, I mean it's very hard to prove that he actually had the ability and wasn't just insane, but telling her what was wrong would also mean telling her about what happened with that dead guy specifically. He actually felt angry at himself for making a scene he saw it, he should have maintained his composure, he had seen far worse things than a man with a bullet in the head and didn't even blink, but the thing that really affected him was sudden resurfacing of the guilt. In truth, he was more upset that even though he was currently suppressing his abilities he still saw the man. That alone had him almost questioning his own sanity, was it actually a spirit or was it just a figment of his imagination brought on by his anguished mind? No, it had to be real. Well, as real as seeing the dead normally is. Thinking back, he hadn't been taking his medication as of late, he was certain that his control was improving to the point where it wasn't necessary, however that little incident just kicked that theory in the teeth.

His eyes drifted to Arabella. He could vaguely recall her voice when he was out of it a few seconds ago, it seemed sweet of her to show concern for him and despite himself, he felt kind of grateful that she did. He paused for a moment before answering her, contemplating what he would say. He could lie to her, just say that it was nothing important. He could be defensive, tell her it was personal and something she shouldn't involve herself with. However, that kind of thing was never his style. Plus, she had already told him something about herself, yet he revealed nothing that most people didn't already know. Of course telling him about her past wasn't really the same, but still.

"I...I'll tell you about it at the bar, I don't really want to get into it without a drink or two." Deciding to put it off for a little while at least, Omen walked on to the bar which had now come into sight. The lights were on and it didn't look to busy, meant that it would be relatively quiet and more importantly, peaceful. There would be no half beaten to death men in any nearby alleys, no costumed villains out for a stroll and no thugs looking for a fight...he hoped. Upon entering the establishment, his thoughts were proven correct as only a few people sat scattered around the bar, drinking silently and keeping to themselves. He was thankful for that, while some would see a depressing little scene of the illness that was alcoholism, he saw a saw a haven to people who wanted to drink away their problems. No matter how ineffective others would say this was, there was a reason so many people did so, him included.

Looking to the bartender, who was just leaning back against the wall, he whistled to gain his attention. The man gave him a bored, tired look, made sense considering he was working at such a late time and was in such a quiet bar. "A bottle of vodka and two glasses. Good vodka." He said, gesturing two with his fingers and emphasising good part so that he clearly meant a more quality vodka. He seemed to take his time in getting what was ordered, but he did eventually hand the bottle and glasses to Omen who then walked over to a booth, placing the items on the table and taking a seat. He opened the bottle hastily and poured it into the two glasses, taking his glass and throwing the drink down his gullet eagerly. The vodka was decent, not the best he'd ever had, but it was better than some of the 'piss water' he'd tried in his lifetime.