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“Listen,” Zacharie purred, tucking away his wares, “you're looking kind of tense, don't you think?” There was that perpetual smirk in Zacharie's voice, that unending stare behind a mask. “Aren't you getting tired, Batter? Not a lot of progress has been made these last few days, and I can see it in your eyes.”
The Batter hesitated there, a little torn between his mission of purification, of setting things right, or pausing in his all important task to amuse the only other person that seemed to be putting any actual effort into his quest. “I suppose,” he tried, shoulders relaxing just a little. The Batter adverted his eyes from that off looking mask, not wanting to see the way Zacharie shifted around on his feet.
“Then,” Zacharie tried again, voice dipping that tiniest amount, just enough for The Batter to pick up on. “Why not take a break? Why not stay here with me for the night? Rest up, friend, and continue to white out the zones in the morning.” And there was that soft chuckle again, that little noise that sometimes made The Batter want to reconsider exactly what his priorities were.
The Batter took a breath and held it for all of one second. “I suppose... one night couldn't hurt. Not if you, as my temporary guide, think I should rest.”
Yes, The Batter told himself, that was a wonderful excuse. Surely one night from fighting ghosts that just seemed to multiply and multiply couldn't hurt. He would still complete his mission, even if he was a little late on it. And besides, he wasn't entirely sure if he would ever get a chance quite like this again. A chance to see what kind of person Zacharie was behind the masks of the Merchant and the Guide. To see if lingering those few moments after his purchases were done were really worth it.
“No, I don't imagine it could.” Zacharie was back to that almost purring quality of his tone, posture straighter as if he were honestly excited that The Batter was accepting his words of advice.
And Zacharie was invading the bubble that had settled between them as Merchant and Customer, hand at The Batter's wrist and easing away the weapon that had been at home in The Batter's sweaty palm.
“Take it easy, amigo. We're all friends here, aren't we? I'll help you relax. I'll help you sleep.” Zacharie's voice was soft, deep and like only the richest of honey.
And suddenly The Batter was increasingly curious as to what lay behind such a mask. Curious to know what could fit such a voice, such a firm touch. He allowed the hand around his bat to loosen, allowed Zacharie to drop the wooden thing to the floor with a thunk.
The Batter's chest felt tight without the bat in his hand. His heart pulled and tugged and hurt with the anticipation of his thoughts. With how close Zacharie had gotten and with the tense air that surrounded them. It felt like a million questions and it felt like nothing all at the same time. Like time was slow enough that it wouldn't matter if The Batter took two years or two seconds reaching up with his newly freed hand to the back of Zacharie's head, fingering the thin strings there that held his mask in place.
Zacharie visibly tensed, then and it was plain even to The Batter that he, too, was holding his breath. That Zacharie was nervous and excited and maybe his honey-soaked heart also hurt from the anticipation of the whole thing.
All it took was a little bit of a tug, just a small movement of The Batter's wrist and Zacharie's hand was moving up to catch the mask before it fell to the floor. The Batter's heart twisted again at the movement, his batting hand hesitating there behind Zacharie's head.
It felt like a small eternity while Zacharie lowered that hand and his precious mask with it. And The Batter watched every small movement, watched for Zacharie's eyes to reveal themselves to him naked from their hiding spot. He wanted to see the handsome face he had built up in his imagination from Zacharie's voice and his words.
But the mask was removed and The Batter's breath caught in his throat, shoulders tensing and disappointment flooding through him for only an instant. There was nothing attractive about Zacharie in the way of his appearance. There was nothing appealing to the eye like Zacharie's voice was appealing to the ear. Instead all The Batter found on his face was scars and a kind of hope in those black eyes that disappeared before the disappointment had even completely dissipated.
“Oh,” The Batter breathed, retracting his hand. He felt tight. Felt guilty for looking at such a face and feeling disappointment. Felt guilty for allowing Zacharie to see that disappointment.
Zacharie took a step back from The Batter at that point, eyes darting down to the mask that had hidden his scars that ran across his face, marring something that probably wasn't even all that nice in the first place. And Zacharie had let out a soft chuckle, though hardly the confident, amused one that The Batter had grown accustomed to but instead something nervous and maybe even a little scared.
“Maybe you shouldn't have... I suppose it would be better if you didn't rest tonight, after all. After all, how are you going to 'purify the word', as you put it, without pushing forward?”
And Zacharie was turning away from The Batter, tucking his Merchant mask away and reaching for the mask that allowed him to take place of The Judge.
The Batter stood there for a moment, not entirely sure if he could take that disappointment back or even if he wanted to. Instead he nodded to himself, stooping to pick up his fallen bat.
“Perhaps you're right.” He turned away from his faux guide, fingers tight around his instrument of purification and deciding that it was for the better this way. He didn't need a distraction like Zacharie.