Don Juan's bloodshot eyes wandered aimlessly from left to right, confused and unable to focus on anything for long. Samuel let go of his face and leaned back. It was not surprising that he did not want to tell him where he lived, it was likely at the Dempsey Estate. He had hoped that he kept a private apartment in the city, but apparently that was not the case.
Sam slowly took a cigarette out of the étui he kept in the inner pocket of his jacket and lit it. While he put the case back into the pocket, he felt the small vials he kept in there—his original reason for seeking out the Orchid.
Don Juan was a problem. He could not be trusted, Samuel did not want to be seen with him, and he did not want to leave him here, for whatever reason. The reason, chided him a small voice, is because he reminds you of him.
"You are difficult," he informed Don Juan, whom he had left sitting under the table while he smoked and pondered his predicament. Not difficult because of his suggestion, that was a possibility. He put a hand in his curls. "What am I going to do with you?"
If he had a place to take him where he did not have to worry about being discovered, he could sort him out in peace. It was a bit tricky, but he was not an Alchemist for nothing. Take him down from the opium and ply him with what he had in the vials. That would stave off the sickness for a while. Get him a little more lucid. Keep him comfortable. And then. Then what? He would recognize him and be an ass about it. Don Juan did not want to be helped. All of this was none of Sam's business. This was another ruse to torment himself and to meddle with other people's lives.
Just stay here and take advantage of the situation, said a voice in his head. You like him better like this, don't you? He is begging you. At least you'll get something out of wasting your time.
Samuel closed his eyes. Starting to argue with himself was a sign that his integrity was fraying. A decision needed to be made about where this would be going. He could ask Mr. Disaster himself. Samuel took one of the vials out of his pocket and dangled it in front of Don Juan's face by a silver thread. "Do you want this?" he asked. "It will tide you over until tomorrow, stave off the sickness. Make you less of a mess than you are right now. But if you do, we go somewhere else. " He would need to figure out the place himself.
Sam slowly took a cigarette out of the étui he kept in the inner pocket of his jacket and lit it. While he put the case back into the pocket, he felt the small vials he kept in there—his original reason for seeking out the Orchid.
Don Juan was a problem. He could not be trusted, Samuel did not want to be seen with him, and he did not want to leave him here, for whatever reason. The reason, chided him a small voice, is because he reminds you of him.
"You are difficult," he informed Don Juan, whom he had left sitting under the table while he smoked and pondered his predicament. Not difficult because of his suggestion, that was a possibility. He put a hand in his curls. "What am I going to do with you?"
If he had a place to take him where he did not have to worry about being discovered, he could sort him out in peace. It was a bit tricky, but he was not an Alchemist for nothing. Take him down from the opium and ply him with what he had in the vials. That would stave off the sickness for a while. Get him a little more lucid. Keep him comfortable. And then. Then what? He would recognize him and be an ass about it. Don Juan did not want to be helped. All of this was none of Sam's business. This was another ruse to torment himself and to meddle with other people's lives.
Just stay here and take advantage of the situation, said a voice in his head. You like him better like this, don't you? He is begging you. At least you'll get something out of wasting your time.
Samuel closed his eyes. Starting to argue with himself was a sign that his integrity was fraying. A decision needed to be made about where this would be going. He could ask Mr. Disaster himself. Samuel took one of the vials out of his pocket and dangled it in front of Don Juan's face by a silver thread. "Do you want this?" he asked. "It will tide you over until tomorrow, stave off the sickness. Make you less of a mess than you are right now. But if you do, we go somewhere else. " He would need to figure out the place himself.
