{OPEN} I Want You To Stay

[K2]

Not really sure how to feel about it.

The music played softly in the small cafe. The mood in Tefillin was a mixed one -- solemn. Anger. A desire for Revenge. A fucking war was coming. And yet, here, the people were afraid to admit just how b r o k e n they were. Tears were being shed. Brave soldiers were preparing for war. Wives, husbands, children, fathers, mothers -- left behind to cry, to hope to Aser that their loved ones survived. This wasn't pretty. This was war.

"I'm going to track down one of these cultist bastards," a soldier could be heard, bragging in the cafe, sitting near his buddies. A young woman stood on stage in the cafe, singing into a microphone, but nobody really seemed to be listening. "Shoot 'em right in the head. That's what they need. A fucking bullet through their skulls."
There was quite a bit of laughter among the soldiers, though some were less anxious to laugh.

"Damn, I'm shaking. I can't wait to fucking f-"

The soldier was cut short as Jonathan Mann stood up from the seat he'd quietly been sitting at, throwing the soldiers' table over. "IS THIS A FUCKING JOKE TO YOU ALL!?" he yelled.

"Hey, man, what's your problem?"

"Little fuckers like you are my problem. People. Die. in fucking wars. Is that what you're happy about!? HUH!? This isn't something to fucking LAUGH about, you little punk!"

"Hey, man, chill out. I'm sorry, okay?"

"What did you say to me!?" Jonathan replied.

[Beware Ye Who Enter Here]

The beat of the music swam in and out of the air overlapping with louder noises that intertwined with it to make an urban melody. The melody spoke of sadness, as lonesome drinkers sat by the bar, crying their eyes out to anyone who would listen. The melody spoke of joy, as friends laughed at crude jokes to relieve themselves of their fears. The melody was long, drawn out and chaotic. The melody spoke of home.

The roadside cafe was one he was intimately familiar with. It was a haven of soldiers and other governmental figures who were given discounts on the drinks and food. It was a shining, clean place with an older look to it. It was nice, with black leather seats and white metal tables that were spread out and circling the singer on a small stage. Today the singer was a pretty young girl with a decent enough voice. Too bad no one was paying much attention to her.

Sitting five feet from the singer was a lonesome man dressed in a fine, gray suit with black leather gloves and shoes. His eyes were closed as his fingers tapped to the beat of the music. In front of him was a neon green glass that hadn't been touched. Next to it were a pair of sunglasses. He was there to meet a contact, there to arrange a deal but so long as that contact kept him waiting, he was there to enjoy himself as well. Might as well indulge himself a little before hell breaks loose, he consoled himself, smiling thinly as his fingers danced gently on the table in front of him.

Behind him was the sound of loud, raucous laughter and boasting. It was normal stuff, really, soldiers just being soldiers. He knew all too well what that was like. He ignored it, and was fine, up until some jumped up shit started making trouble. Somehow he actually cowed the soldiers, which was surprising given their likely blood-to-alcohol ratio. The shouting got a bit louder and it interrupted the beat. His fingers stopped tapping and he sighed. He had hoped that today would bring him any trouble.

He stood up, smoothing over his suit and straightening out his suit and put on his sunglasses. Suddenly, everything was darker, much more to his liking. He turned around and walked casually over to the man shouting at the soldiers.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down." He said as smoothly as he could, coming to a halt between the man and the group of soldiers. "I'm sure the owners of this nice establishment have enough to deal with without factoring in needless fighting." The man's accent distinguished him as a citizen of the Zarethian colony of Temar, the curious inflection of his vowel sounds and the slight drawl. It was just the thing to add to his disguise.

[K2]

HOME.

The man, Jonathan, was obviously slightly intoxicated. His words were slightly slurred, and he was getting quite angry. By now, the woman singing had quieted down, and everyone was beginning to stare. It was a sure melancholy night, wasn't it? A war was coming. That much was certain. It couldn't be avoided. So, naturally, it was a perfectly good night to get drunk. And drunk, Tefillin was.

"You're going to have to ask me to...!" Jonathan began, "what."

Who did this fucker think he was talking to? He was Jonathan fucking Mann motherfucker. Hell yes.

"Hey, buddy," Jonathan replied, pointing at the man, "You don't know who you're messing with.... Hey, man, that's one funny accent you got there. 'I'm going to need to ask you to calm down,'" he repeated in the accent, mockingly. "You're a damn greensoiler, aren't you?" he proclaimed, using the derogatory slur for Temar Zarethians. "You need to back off, bud-" Hiccup - "buddy."

He took another swig of his drink, but really, he was just trying to forget, just like everyone else.

The melody spoke of home.

Jonathan surely had home on his mind tonight. The dream of making his parents happy, when he was younger -- even if it meant betraying the empire he thought he loved. Even if it meant learning that all those things he taught growing up, about freedom and patriotism, were lies. Even if it meant learning that his parents had hid secrets from him. That had been home. And the idea of reuniting with Eric. That had been home.

But what was home for Jonathan now? He was a pawn of The Organization. His parents were insane. His brother was dead... What... was home? This was the question that led Jonathan here tonight, to drink away his sorrows. Because, it was on nights like this, with war fresh in the air, with the Zarethians valuing home now more than ever, that Jonathan realized something. He had no home. And that was the greatest tragedy of it all.

[Beware Ye Who Enter Here]

He's drunk, the man thought wanly. On the outside, his face and body language remained cool and languid, as if he was a good ol' country boy who wasn't looking for any trouble. On the inside, contempt and disquiet bubbled within him. All around the planet there were places just like this filled with people just like this. Hell, all around the empire it was the same. There was no lying about what was to come but he was damned if he didn't do his best to calm this situation down.

"Sir, begging your pardon, but you're drunk. We don't want any trouble here, we're all just hoping to forget a little sometimes." He hoped that that would work, at least. Empathy was usually the best way to go about these things, especially when you want to stop a fight that already brewing up. Then, again, he'd never done this before but how hard could it be?

"Besides, the last thing that you want is to start some new trouble when everybody is worried all hell breaking loose, right? Shouldn't you be trying to help the situation?" He said calmly, the words slipping off his tongue like honey.

[K2]

"Whatever, man," Jonathan replied, turning away. You are going to die here, just like Eric did. Jonathan needed to get out of this stuffy bar, and he knew that these people weren't his people. As much as he tried to fit in here, he knew that this would never be his home. He needed to leave. The Organization would shoot him dead if he didn't fill out his orders. But he... He didn't want to hurt anyone.
He needed to think. He needed to feel. He needed... to live.