redrighthanded | IC; Duplicity Inbox

[ Hellboy chases the pizza with a swallow of booze -- it tastes like he'll live to regret it, but he doesn't care -- and shrugs. ]

Helped out a few people. Even got paid instead of having someone trying to grab my ass.

Should I be jealous?

[ Jacob chuckles, picking up what appears to be a sandwich of some sort with a thick slab of baked meat, lettuce, tomato, and cheese. An odd mix, but... it's not bad. ]

[ Hellboy watches him negotiate that sandwich with slightly raised eyebrows. ]

Jealous you're not getting your ass grabbed?

Not normally many ass-grabbers on the rooftops.

[ He's grinning, taking another bite. It's a sandwich. Its filling between two slices of... very soft bread. With seeds on it. But that's a sandwich, where he comes from.

The modern world might call it a burger, but in the 1860s? They're not there yet.]

Should I be jealous that someone is grabbing your ass, and it's not me?

[ Hellboy snorts a laugh at that and drinks more whiskey. Heaving himself up from the bed again, he walks back over to his coat and starts feeling the pockets for his cigarettes. ]

I dunno. Are you jealous? [ He sounds, if anything, a little surprised at the idea. ]

[ Now isn't that a question and a half? He'd just been messing around but maybe there is something,
a little twisting jealousy that had inspired him to say it in the first
place. ]

I've got no right to be.

[ Which isn't a yes or a no, but is perhaps just as telling.]

[ It definitely feels like they've wandered sideways into a conversation neither of them are prepared to have just yet. Hellboy studies Jacob for a moment, then lets him off the hook with a vaguely thoughtful noise as he taps a cigarette out from a battered pack and lights it with a match struck off the back of his stone wrist. Shaking it out, he lowers himself into the chair rather than going back over to the bed, exhaling smoke as his tail waves back and forth. ]

You're a strange kinda guy. Anyone ever tell you that? [ Not that he makes it sound like a bad thing. ]

I've got an older sister, I've been told that every day of my life since she learnt how to talk.

[He finishes off the burger at that point, dusting his hands together and leaning back, crossing his feet at the ankles, hands behind his head.]

How do you reckon I'm strange then? Aside from inspecting roofs?

You think I'm.. [ He can't even make himself say it, just waves his stone hand vaguely. ]

You never even flinched looking at me.

[ A look of confusion flashes over his face, and then he gets it.]

Why would I flinch? You look different to me, that doesn't mean you aren't handsome.

[ Hellboy laughs a little at that, though there's not much humour in it, and scratches his bristly cheek. He picks up his bottle of whiskey off the table and swaps out his cigarette for a swallow, then leans over to offer the booze over to Jacob. ]

I oughta take you back with me. Keep you around when I need to feel good about myself.

I don't think I'd make a good ghost hunter. [But he takes the whiskey offered to him, taking a couple of good swigs.]

People give you shit back in the world?

Sometimes. [ He lifts a shoulder, not wanting to downplay how lucky he's been, really, with the B.P.R.D., his father and Kate, Liz and Abe and the others. He had a good family, for a while. Now.. he's not so sure. ]

I had a, uh.. relationship for a while. Twenty -- thirty? Years ago. She.. it was only for a couple of years. The press and the church groups, they gave her a lot of trouble for what she was doing with me. She didn't care, but.. [ He rubs his jaw with his fingertips. ] I did. Couldn't stand seeing what they did to her.

[Jacob had just assumed that Hellboy came from a place where everyone looked like he did- tall and red and tailed- he hadn't considered any other possibility. Nor had he considered at any point how old Hellboy might be- he hadn't even stopped to think about it, but somehow hearing that he was in a relationship three decades ago seems strange.

It's enough to make him realise how very little about Hellboy he knows, but he likes him, there's nothing about him that makes Jacob feel on edge, nothing about him that inspires fear. And because of that, Jacob moves silently off the bed to be closer to him.]

She sounds like a good woman. Like she would have stuck by you.

[ Hellboy looks over at Jacob, but doesn't move. If he knew the turn of his thoughts, he might advise there's a lot about him that he ought to feel on edge about. ]

Yeah, she was. Still is, somewhere. [ It's been a few years since the last time he and Anastasia saw each other. ] She woulda stayed with me if she could. [ He eyes the younger man thoughtfully. ]

She would've liked you. She's British, an archaeologist. Woulda enjoyed talking to a guy lost in time.

[There's very little he's scared of. He's certainly not scared of people, even ones that could probably kill him. Partly, that's being an assassin and knowing one day, someone will get you. You still run in, head first.]

You should have let her.

[He scoffs] I'm not lost in time. It's you lot who rushed ahead. There's nothing wrong with 1868.

[ Hellboy makes a vague noise at Jacob's assessment of his situation with Anastasia, unwilling to dig too deeply into that old scar. ]

Dunno about that. You ever meet a guy called Edward Grey?

[ And that change of subject is enough for Jacob to shy away from talking about past loves. It's probably for the best, if only because Hellboy seems morose already, and Jacob doesn't want to think about Roth. ]

No, not that I know of. Another time-traveling friend of yours?

[Jacob does know a few other interesting figures: Darwin, Marx, Dickens. But London has a population of three million in his time- he can't be expected to know them all.]

Nah. [ Hellboy taps ash onto the floor. ] He was a paranormal investigator in your time. Hunted the Ripper. Pretty intense guy. Probably hung out on a bunch of rooftops.

[ Jacob shakes his head again. ]

Never heard of him, or the Ripper.

[Not yet. It will be another twenty years before Jacob's adoptive son goes on his killing spree, and so for the time being, Jacob is blissfully ignorant. ]

What about Spring-Heeled Jack? He still scaring old ladies in your time, or did someone catch him?

[ Hellboy gives an amused grunt, enjoying the strange conversation they've drifted into. ]

Nah, he disappeared before my time. There are theories he was just a guy in a cape. That or a demon summoned up by some nobleman with a nasty temper to take the heat off his own crimes.

Having run after the bastard a couple of times, I can safely say that wasn't just a man in a cape. Had feet like yours, claws for fingers, and I don't know how he did it, but he could put me into a trance just by talking.

[It's so foggy in his mind, not because it happened a long time ago, but because the whole thing had felt like a strange opium dream.]

You ever... ever take something you probably shouldn't have, hallucinate some strange adventure? That's what it was like.

[ Hellboy makes an interested noise at having that particular theory confirmed. ]

Once or twice. [ To say the least. Though not always on purpose, and most of his strangest adventures haven't been hallucinations. At least not as far as he knows. ]

That part of your responsibilities running the gang? Seeing off guys like Jack?

[He pauses. He probably needs to face this sooner or later]

The gang work was part of something bigger. Not exactly a sideline. More... a means to an end. There was a group of people in London- the Templar Order- running the city into the ground. Forcing children to work in their factories all hours of the day, selling toxic potions as medicine, trading weapons, influencing Parliament for their own gain.

My job was to kill them.

[He gives a one-shouldered shrug] We thought Jack was part of one of their operations. I never did get to the bottom of it.

Templars, huh?

[ Hellboy doesn't seem phased, though he notes the slightly reluctant tone to Jacob's voice. He takes a final drag on his cigarette and stubs it out against the tabletop, dropping it into a chipped enamel mug that's become an impromptu ashtray, then leans forward over his knees, eyes on the younger man. ]

Those guys are always trouble. Something about doing the dirty work in the Crusades cooked their heads.

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