It's a Date... Right?
Idris takes Mithras on a date. You're welcome you miserable dork.
Mithras was the kind of crook that didn’t go out often and didn’t much mind. An older crook, having experienced banishment, he seemed to be exhausted with the effort of maintaining his existence. At least, that was Ludus’ thought process.
Ludus was what his fellows lovingly called a single brain-celled organism. Pretty, hunky, and good natured, he also happened to be about as sharp as a circle. Still, sometimes, he picked up on things that no one expected him to.
That was why, when Ludus suggested Idris take Mithras out, she turned to look at him, baffled and amused.
“What did you say, young one?”
Ludus shoved some of his drippy cream hair out of his face and grinned his beautiful, empty-headed grin. “I said, ol Mithras is looking ‘specially miserable. You should, like, totally go out. Like… I guess on a date, huh?”
She’d heard him the first time, and she knew he was silly enough to say it a second time.
Idris didn’t realize that Ludus paid the others, much less people she considered staff, much mind. Then again, that was why Ludus always surprised people. Sure, he was basically nothing but cotton between the ears, but he was still pretty perceptive (often at inopportune times) when he wanted to be. Idris had a sneaking theory about that, but she’d discuss it with Mithras… apparently over drinks.
She shooed Ludus out of her office after, of course, telling him what a sweet boy he was. Flattery always made Ludus more amiable, and he cheerily left her office without so much as a complaint. His absence allowed Idris to think about exactly how she would invite Mithras on this… well, this date.
“Mithras we’re going out for drinks.”
The old, battle-scarred crook lifted his massive horned-head from where it rested on his crossed arms, and swished his red-tassle tail, it’s spear-tip scraping across the ground. While he didn’t push himself up from where he lay, he did extend his neck and tilt his head up to look at Idris’s face.
“Are we?”
His voice was a deep bass, the kind that rumbled in other people’s chests.
“We are.”
“Alright then.”
There were several things to like about Mithras, but perhaps his best quality was the way he did as she asked with the barest, most token, of resistances. He seemed to implicitly trust her and was more than happy to leave her with her mantle of leader. He was also very, very good with the young ones.
“Good, get up, get dusted off and meet me outside. There’s this new bar open, Wrench told me about it. He had a good time there.”
“Wrench?” Mithras asked incredulously as he rose, his hair and fur slipping and sliding over his body to hang over his broad shoulders and down his back.
“I know, I have got to see it.”
Mithras’s gaze was fixed on Idris’s back as she led the way deep into Key. He found her red and blue coloration striking, and her scale knuckles kind of looked like hearts. Mithras was stupid for silly details like that. That he found her beautiful was not a secret, but getting him to tell her was another affair entirely.
Mithras and Idris had the kind of relationship where he didn’t have to say the obvious things. Besides, he let her boss him around. If he thought she didn’t know he liked her, then that was her business.
A more insightful crook who spent a lot of time around Mithras, like Jolyne, would have known that he was broken-hearted and didn’t want to be hurt again. He would never say how he felt freely.
Still, they made quite the pair as they neared the venue; a nondescript purple building with the most hideous neon signage (in Mithras’s opinion). Among the tallest of crooks, their height normally wouldn’t have turned heads, but it was also their bulk that made others give them a wide berth. Thankfully, the doors and halls of the venue were made for all Skireans, and so they didn’t have to duck, shimmy or turn sideways to get in: 1 point for the place.
The hall was dimly lit, allowing the faint glow from Idris’s prosthetics to light her path to Prohibition. She didn’t need to ask Mithras which side he’d prefer. Neither of them were of the condition that sought the press of bodies, loud music, and flashing lights.
As they entered the other half of the bar, Mithras and Idris instinctively ducked through the door, though they didn’t need to, which made them stop, look at each other and share an amused chuckle.
Idris led the way to a booth they didn’t have to squeeze into, and Mithras sat opposite her.
“I guess this place wants money from every hand,” Idris said as she raised one of her four hands to beckon a server.
“That was a terrible one,” Mithras grumbled, the corners of his mouth lifting despite his words.
They were given a menu, and each picked the least complicated thing to eat and drink.
Idris watched as one of Mithras’s ears flicked up, likely listening to the song being sung on stage. The other remained fixed in her direction, and his two unobscured eyes were trained on a fixed point in the bar, staring blankly.
Without thinking, she reached over and pushed a fallen lock of his red pompadour away from his third eye which was, as she thought, trained on her.
“Enjoying yourself?”
Knowing his reaction, she watched with delight as he moved his head to the side, tucked his ears and fixed his hair. It wasn’t easy to fluster Mithras. He was often quite cool under various circumstances. But Idris knew he was a big broken-hearted lovebug.
“I was.”
“You still are.”
His silence was telling, but she decided to let him gather his cool. Luckily, the server came back with their food and drinks, which gave Mithras more space to shake off his embarrassment.
They spent the rest of their time in Prohibition in companionable silence, eating and drinking, listening to the songs, simply enjoying the atmosphere. This was the way they often spent time together.
When it was finally time to be headed back, they paid up and exited. Neither Idris nor Mithras were the type to spend all night drinking, likely they had been at Prohibition for two hours at most. Still, it was a good time, like Wrench had said. Idris would have to send him a fruit basket or something.
“Thank you.”
Idris stopped mid-stride. “Hm?”
Mithras passed her, his red tassel tail swishing along after him. “For taking me out, I was miserable.”
She watched his back, half obscured by long fur resembling a cape, ripped and shredded on one side almost up to his elbow, the other side ragged on the ends near his ankles. He really did look like the kind of Crook that had been chewed up and spat out, but when he turned his head to look at her, she could see the quirk of his lips; a smile.
Now it was Idris’ turn to be flustered. How dare he be so casually cool? He was just a dork who didn’t tell people how he felt. Old bull-horned, white faced, pompadour-having dummy.
“You’re always miserable, but today was just unbearable. March on, back home now.”
Idris shooed him, and Mithras chuckled, moving along as he was bidden.