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Sharky sat at the table in the corner of the Spread Eagle, bobbing his head to the twang of country music he could just make out over a chorus of voices bouncing around the open room. He didn’t really care for country, but right now he’d focus on anything if it meant he could ignore the awkward tension surrounding his currant companion at the table. He’d agreed to go out with Nikki, and they’d run into Callie Greene at the bar. She’d apparently managed to convince the elusive John Seed to join her.
They’d sat at a table together, and after a half hour of comfortable conversation, John only providing the occasional snippet from across the table, the women had gotten up and left to get drinks. He had a suspicious feeling that they’d been ditched, some attempt for both their other halves parts to get them to try and talk to each other. And it’s not like Sharky didn’t want to talk—in fact, this silence was almost killing him as he squirmed in his seat. But he didn’t for the life of him know what he could offer in a conversation with the pretty boy lawyer sitting across from him.
He glanced over at the man in question, trying to take in his details without the other catching him clearly staring. He wore a pair of jeans, a fitted light blue button up shirt tucked into them behind a large belt buckle. ‘What was that color anyway, periwinkle?’ This thought was followed shortly by. ‘How do I know what periwinkle is?’ He blinked his eyes, trying to stop the derailment of the train that carried his thoughts but he failed to throw the brakes down at the right moment, like usual, and his thoughts scattered back to trying to figure the man out beside him. He looked over his tattoos, not being able to catch much detail due to the low lighting of the bar. John lifted his glass of whiskey to his lips and took a drink, and Sharky had another two thoughts. ‘Why does he look so damn elegant?’ which was interrupted when he caught the planes on his arm. ‘Dumbass, its not periwinkle, it’s sky blue. He likes fucking planes, talk about PLANES!’
John turned to look at him then and his eyes widened when their eyes met. He’d been caught staring fuck. SAY SOMETHING. “If you don’t know where he comes from, and you don’t where the fuck he goes then don’t that technically make Cotton-Eyed Joe a cryptid?” What the fuck was that? That wasn’t even close to PLANES. There was the sound of internal screaming echoing in his thoughts as the train flew off the tracks and killed a great many people in a tragic accident. There were no survivors, they all went up in flames. STOP IT. He immediately reached to pull his cap down a little, as his voice carried just as far as he’d intended it to. Too bad what had come out was nonsense, and to top it off he’d just kept talking to himself in his head.
John turned more in his seat to look at him fully now. He squinted his eyes as he looked at Sharky carefully, probably trying to gauge if he was drunk. God he hoped he thought he was drunk. But instead his pivoted to put all of his attention onto him. John lifted his glass up and downed the rest of its contents before he leaned over the table so they didn’t have to shout. He leaned on the table with his arms. His eyes followed them in favor of eye contact due to his embarrassment
Sharky couldn’t help his eyes roaming over the ink decorating his arms with the sudden movement. His gaze darted across each, but ultimately fell onto his hands. One held words he didn’t understand and the other hand a star with diamonds surrounding it. He followed them as they lifted up, folding up in front of John’s face. He met the other’s eyes in almost an awestruck daze and found him grinning at him with the cattiest smirk he’d ever see. “I know I’m pretty, but do go on. I think you may have a valid point in there about Cotton-Eyed Joe.”
He snapped back what he had said, and immediately tried to dip back into that. Then he started just saying everything that came to mind. “Well, if you think about it he meets the basic requirements of being some kinda cryptid. Which really just means ‘things we don’t know enough about so they may not exist but some people see ‘em’. And some of them are all spooky and shit but they don’t have to be.”
“You are correct. Bigfoot is just a creature, and Mothman is supernatural for example.” John was quick to answer, and Sharky had to admit he had no idea what was happening now. Had he’d hit the magic topic to get this man to talk? Holy shit he had hit gold.
He was excited to be encouraged to continuing rambling, and for just a moment it seemed like someone could keep up with the thoughts that streamed straight from his brain to his mouth. “Yeah, man! It just means no one’s been able to catch one and some scientists are too damn bent on being right to try and get the evidence they’re missing. So Cotton-Eyed Joe just shows up in towns, maybe disguised as some roguishly handsome man just wanting to have fun and party and shit.” He took a second to take a drink from his own beer—which holy shit, he’d forgotten he’d even had! Speaking of spells, I’m under one. His words when they came again were jumbled and slow, and John was smirking a bit more and it had him grinning wider like a puppy just tryin’ its best to make everyone happy. ”He comes out of no where and basically everyone in town falls in love with him cause he’s just so damn charming—I’m freely interpreting lyrics here just a little—and when he leaves after going trough every party and bar and I guess club he can find, all those folks just bolt for anywhere else cause he ‘broke their hearts’. Like I believe that.” He scoffed here, shaking his head as if the very thought was distasteful.
John sat in silence for a while, still smiling as he took in Sharky’s frantic opinion. He didn’t seem put off, and he wasn’t sure what the other was thinking. He wished he did. “And just what else do you think he could be?” The words almost made him jump out of his skin, having gotten lost in his effort to sort out was going on behind those stained glass eyes.
“What if he didn’t break their hearts, huh? Maybe that songs a warning about some kind of horrible monster that devastates small towns by eating most of the population of every where it’s ever struck. And to think we’ve just all been dancing to it like a bunch of dumbasses this entire time?” He was in his element when someone entertained his scattered thoughts.
“Huh.” A simple sound, one of what seemed to be awe. And it had him grinning and leaning forward on the table toward John now so he could hear the other easier. “I had never even considered that. Maybe he’s like…the fae! Yes, sweeps in and charms everyone before cursing them and moving on. Commonplace really.” The other was moving his hands again, the ink scattered across the tanned skin and drawing his attention as he clapped his hands. Where else does he have tattoos? Why do I care?
Sharky shook his head, countering to keep the conversation going longer. “I was thinking something like a Pied Piper meets boogeyman kinda thing.”
“The Pied Piper is a fairy tale, does it technically count as a reference?” John argued back and it had him laughing and shaking his head in response.
“Well, fuck. Alright, true.” He admitted, and that seemed to close the conversation briefly. “So can I just ask why we’re talking about this? Beyond me blurting it out earlier like an idiot.” And just like that, the whole ‘no-filter’ thing came back to bit him in the ass. But to his surprise, the other merely shook his head as if it didn’t bother him. Maybe it didn’t and he was just overthinking things again.
“Because I’m maybe three drinks in and you’re engaging. Plus I don’t have anyone to discuss these things with that actually provides input. I have a fascination with the seen yet undocumented. It even includes ghosts and aliens, so please, give me your best questions if you have any.” The formerly silent shadow was showing a light he’d evidently been hiding for a while. “I too face the burden that is too many ‘what-ifs’ at one in the morning and no one willing to talk them over because they diverge from the path of normal. Or relevant.” Some how he understood that and it had him laughing again, John’s own rumble joining his as they leaned in towards each other with dissolving laughter.
Sharky summoned forth that muse again, humming lowly before voicing the first thought. “Is bigfoot just an alien species that are scattered across the world? Cause a yeti is just a bigfoot but in snow camouflage.” The spark that lit up in his new friend had him assured he was on the right path again so he kept up his some hacking pace through his thoughts. “And maybe it’s an alien species, because it’s really good at evading and its fairly intelligent. Not to be too harsh on Earth life here, but everything on this planet seems to have some kinda dumb catch-22 bullshit, but bigfoot is clearly a superior being who should be respected and probably left the fuck alone…but it’d still be pretty damn fun to see, honestly.”
“Goddamn, good point. You’ve fucking got me.” John lifted his hands, palms splayed out in defeat and he caught a quick glimpse of scars across them. “What did you say your name was?”
“Charlemagne Victor Boshaw the fourth. Friends call me Sharky.” He answered quickly, happy to do so as he held his hand out for the other to shake.
The other moved slower, a little hesitant at the gesture before he took his hand and shook. “Sharky. I have a feeling we’re going to get along like a hurricane.” All hesitation was gone as he wore yet another smirk, squeezing his hand gently before withdrawing.
“Shit yeah, man!” He whooped after the agreement, drawing a few sets of eyes to their table. It had him pulling the brim of his cap down as he smiled through the whole thing. “A wildfire of bullshit theories of the unknown! I can dig that.” That had them both laughing again, which continued as they finished their drinks. They paid and slipped out of the bar, heading around the side to smoke a cigarette in the quiet. His ears were almost ringing but the giddiness in him made him not give a flying fuck.
They settled into quiet conversation in the comfort of quiet before their girlfriends found them again. He was almost disappointed.