Just This Once [Kadri]

After over three months of successfully staying away, Gilbert had finally folded. He wasn’t sure if it was because of how much colder the weather was tonight, if it was because of the recent dispute he had in gotten in with his editor, or if it was because of some weird compound in the air that he suddenly wanted to go out and have a smoke. So there he was, leaning on the front wall of the apartment building and all bundled up in dark multiple layers of shirts and sweaters, gloves, a hat, and a scarf. A lit cigarette was pressed between his lips, just bummed from one of the tenants he had passed on the stairwells.

There was something much more satisfying about smoking outdoors, Gilbert had discovered years ago (thus why he was bearing with the cold, just this once). And doing it in a chilly, dreary London night was nothing short of awesome. A small part of him wondered why he had attempted to quit, since the feel of the smoke entering his throat and exiting in soft, wispy tendrils was just great and seemed worth the coughing and raspy voice that resulted with too much of it.

He shook his head, feeling embarrassed. It’s not a good sign when he’s starting to wax poetic over smoking of all things. This is a one-time thing, he told himself. He didn’t need a potential Nicotine Anonymous membership on top of everything. Not that he was going to get that hooked to that point and all.

The sound of approaching footsteps cut off that weird train of thought, and Gilbert couldn’t help but tense up, akin to how a high schooler would react if caught by one of his teachers.

Gilbert noticeably calmed down once he had gotten a good look at the newcomer, and he shifted to lean more comfortably against the wall. “It’s alright,” he replied, though he wasn’t even sure what the other was apologizing for. He tried to manage a smile despite the cigarette still in his mouth. “What’s someone like you doing out so late? Wanted a nocturnal change in scenery?”

He knew it wasn’t his business and he shouldn’t pry, but it was his curious attempt at striking up a conversation. Even though he usually kept himself locked up in his apartment either writing, drinking or just vegetating, he doesn’t pass on opportunities to meet new people. Possible acquaintances, friends, the occasional sexual conquest...

...or sometimes, a muse.

Perhaps ‘muse’ wasn’t the right term for it, but there have been times where certain people Gilbert had met had somehow wormed themselves into his thoughts, and after some transforming and developing, re-emerged as a character for a project he hadn’t gotten into or even thought of yet. It didn’t happen a lot, though on the rare occasions that it did, Gilbert had always ended up with a gem of a character that always greatly improved his story. (In one special yet recent instance, his muse had been, amusingly after Gilbert had engaged in long, deep talks with him, his very own Gilbird who had inspired the main protagonist of his latest, though still unfinished, novel.)

And as he watched as the girl--or young woman? she was a tiny little thing so he wasn’t sure--seemed to ponder something, he knew he had found himself a new muse. He couldn’t explain it, but the familiar bubble of inspiration was there even though he had only gotten a quick glimpse of the girl’s face (which was pretty, dark, and exotic; maybe she was Indian? Turkish?) and a brief line so far.

So with a drag of his cigarette, he waited, hopefully, for the girl to respond and not walk away.

Happy with having gotten a response, Gilbert’s smile grew. It was dark out, and he already had to strain his eyes to see the girl clearly, so he didn’t notice her hands and figured she was only nervous...or something. Gilbert supposed that he did look pretty sketchy, smoking at midnight in front of the apartment building and all.

He laughed as he puffed out some smoke. “Are you serious? It’s already very cold inside, and it’s fucking freezing out here.” He finally took notice of how she was dressed--like she wasn’t currently experiencing London’s winter--and was admittedly impressed. But he was caught off-guard by the question that followed. He fell silent for a moment, pondering it and trying to think of a cool and meaningful answer, only to find that he had none. Why did Gilbert smoke?

“‘Cause it makes me feel good,” he finally said, deciding to make do with the typical smoker's reply. He couldn’t be bothered to get all philosophical over the purpose and reasoning of smoking. Right then, it was obvious that he didn’t give a damn about its long-term effects on his health, and he could have added that into his explanation, but he didn’t want to seem brash. The writing cogs in his mind were turning, so he didn’t want to potentially disgust or scare off his new muse just yet.

...Though he couldn’t resist to end with a curious “Is something wrong with it?” as he pulled the cigarette from his mouth to let settle between his fingers.

Gilbert let out another laugh at that. “Good point.” He could sense that the girl was not pleased with him, so he let the conversation lapse into a while of silence, not wanting to say anything else that could deter her from staying.

He nodded in acknowledgement at her response, poising the cigarette back to his lips and watching as the girl leaned back on the wall. He still didn’t have a good grip on her personality-wise, but she gave off a certain mysterious impression. In his mind she was a Romani, fighting sedentism under Habsburg Monarchy and just wanting to keep on traveling and dancing. He smiled a little at the thought of her in gypsy clothes and swaying her hips to whatever kind of music the Romani people were fond of during that time period.

Then, for some reason as Gilbert was in the midst of his fantasizing, an answer popped up for the girl’s earlier question. “It’s an escape,” he started as he took a drag. “Well... That was my reason in the past when I couldn't get enough of it, at least. It’s kind of like how other people would do drugs or drink until they’re wasted and forget real life for a moment.” He deliberately didn’t mention how he was also fond of doing the latter activity.

Kadri hummed vaguely at his response, leaning her head back against the wall and running her fingers over her hands. The needles had gone away - receded or simply vanished, she didn't know or care which was the truth - and so she relaxed, pleased that she wouldn't have to hide that secret for now. Except, now that the needles were gone, so was the unbearable heat.

Shivering a little and hunching into her hoodie, Kadri pulled her arms inside the hoodie so she could tuck them in warm places. She did have her gloves, but this was so much easier and warmer than the gloves would ever be. Plus, if the needles did come back, she would rather get stabbed with them then have to buy new gloves. The needles never really hurt her after all.

Her head jerked a little when he started talking, blinking at him blankly before processing his words. "Ah. Well... I guess that makes sense. Wouldn't it be better to find healthier escapes though? After all, an escape is meant to help you, not harm you." Or so she thought. Kadri thought back to her own escape, the languages she so loved to learn. That was a healthy escape. This man's smoke was not.