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The Deal

A Faust Legend

You've heard about those sunsets where gold, yellow, and pale pink and blue paint the sky. Where you can see the sun's last pure golden rays piercing through the clouds. You've probably actually seen a few yourself.

I wasn't watching one of those. Oh sure, I'd seen plenty like that. But this one was simple. No clouds, no complicated color schemes. Just the yellow sun sinking behind the mountains and leaving a wash of pale watercolor-blue in it's wake.

I liked to come here sometimes when I was feeling down. Or sometimes just when I felt thoughtful. It wasn't a lonely feeling, not really. I'm sure it came across as one most of the time, but it just felt... calming. It was comfortable.

I'm not sure what the road behind me is called, though I know it branches off of Fifth Street. I didn't really care, but I supposed I could ask my dad when I got home. I looked down, not able to keep myself from appreciating the white and blue glitter of the Kootenai River from up high. Part of me wished I had my sketchbook and pastels with me, but of course, I'd left my backpack at home for once. The one time I actually wished I had it, I didn't.

I shifted into a more comfortable position on my rock, taking a deep breath of the evening air and wishing that I could just sit till the stars came out. Maybe even longer.

Unfortunately, I had to be home by six, and I couldn't ignore the Autumn chill for long anyway.

"Peaceful. Isn't it?"

I nearly jumped halfway up the mountain, turning to stare with not just a little shock at the man behind me. He was tall. Very, very tall. Taller than most basketball players. I'd guess he was maybe seven-foot something-or-other. Though maybe my perceptions were a little off considering he was standing a little above me, and closer to the road.

His hair was neatly slicked back, it's black color reminding me of cloudy nights when the moon wasn't shining, and there were no streetlights to be had for miles around. Pure unadulterated black, save for one streak of startlingly-white silver on the side a few inches above his ear.

His features were hard and cold. He had muscle, but it was subtle. It was the kind that didn't speak of going to the gym every day, this was muscle that was earned through hard back-breaking labor. Lots of it. Yet the way he held himself was almost cat-like, lazy but with enough power and grace to leap into action before any threat was even established.

His skin was so pale I wondered if he'd ever seen the sun before now, and it was emphasized by his eyes, which were an unidentifiable color so pale that the irises were almost invisible against the whites; his pupils a glittering stark and unsettling contrast.

His overall demeanor was somewhat at odds with the clothing he wore. An open red plaid shirt, showing the black tee beneath, and tattered-beyond-repair jeans. But his shoes were nice, and, I assumed, expensive. Black, shiny, maybe even Italian, though I never was fond enough of shoes to learn the difference.

In my head I could hear Forrest Gump commenting on how you could tell a lot about a person by their shoes.

"Geez, man," I complained, placing one hand over my racing heart, "You scared the living shit out of me!"

"I know." He murmured, his voice a low bass that came out smooth as silk yet with a dark promise in his tone. He smirked knowingly at me, an expression I would normally have found presumptuous. But for some reason it just made me feel... outclassed.

Outclassed and very naive.

"So... what?" I asked, irked that he could make me feel so inferior, "You meant to do that?"