Samuel turned around. On seeing Don Juan's face, he thought that the man had not liked his dismissal, even though he took great care not to show it. He had quite expressive eyes; they were not as carefree as his demeanor seemed intent to suggest.
"We have met before, a number of years ago. At a rather particular festivity in Montparnasse."
Samuel paused, deliberating how much more to say. Entirely sure why he had mentioned it at all, he was not. It was perhaps unwise to let his guard down any more than he already had, with this reply. Truth be told, he was not certain if he could trust his memories. He was certain that he had sat down beside Don Juan in one of the rooms of the catacombs beneath that residence in Montparnasse. Samuel had been down in these magically altered labyrinths too much at that time of his life. Things had started to blur together. It was likely Don Juan had been the young man with the dark curls who had been so terribly out of it, on some concoction or the other; or more likely, a mixture of many. Samuel had sat down next to him and on seeing in what a state the man was, he had stayed around and kept watch and listened to the things he had said in his delirium; With wide eyes and a racing heart and twitching muscles in his face he had told things that made no sense and some that were poetic. Those had stayed with him enough that Samuel thought he had likely written them down in one of the countless notebooks he kept. He could go back through them and look, but he would not. They had talked a bit when the man came to, but he would be unsurprised if that memory did not survive the night.
Maybe that had not been Don Juan at all. Maybe the night he remembered had instead ended with the dark-haired Englishman that had followed him home. They had walked along the Seine quite drunk and Samuel had made a very morbid comment about the dead in the river and passive thoughts of dying, which he had regretted burdening a stranger with. He was not proud of that time of his life. Maybe it was for the better to let the matter rest.
So he smiled slightly at Don Juan and said: "It was likely not an interaction of note. If you are worried about sitting back at the table with me—I am done being unpleasant to you. I will behave and stay out of your head and your business, you have my word."
"We have met before, a number of years ago. At a rather particular festivity in Montparnasse."
Samuel paused, deliberating how much more to say. Entirely sure why he had mentioned it at all, he was not. It was perhaps unwise to let his guard down any more than he already had, with this reply. Truth be told, he was not certain if he could trust his memories. He was certain that he had sat down beside Don Juan in one of the rooms of the catacombs beneath that residence in Montparnasse. Samuel had been down in these magically altered labyrinths too much at that time of his life. Things had started to blur together. It was likely Don Juan had been the young man with the dark curls who had been so terribly out of it, on some concoction or the other; or more likely, a mixture of many. Samuel had sat down next to him and on seeing in what a state the man was, he had stayed around and kept watch and listened to the things he had said in his delirium; With wide eyes and a racing heart and twitching muscles in his face he had told things that made no sense and some that were poetic. Those had stayed with him enough that Samuel thought he had likely written them down in one of the countless notebooks he kept. He could go back through them and look, but he would not. They had talked a bit when the man came to, but he would be unsurprised if that memory did not survive the night.
Maybe that had not been Don Juan at all. Maybe the night he remembered had instead ended with the dark-haired Englishman that had followed him home. They had walked along the Seine quite drunk and Samuel had made a very morbid comment about the dead in the river and passive thoughts of dying, which he had regretted burdening a stranger with. He was not proud of that time of his life. Maybe it was for the better to let the matter rest.
So he smiled slightly at Don Juan and said: "It was likely not an interaction of note. If you are worried about sitting back at the table with me—I am done being unpleasant to you. I will behave and stay out of your head and your business, you have my word."
