Rain was a frequent occurrence in Auto Heaven. Though Philip does not remember if it had rained so much in the real world, it certainly does in the entities mirage of the place. It was almost comforting, the pattering of rain atop of cars and watching the way it pools inside of empty oil drums. But with rain, comes mud. Large patches of mud from workers treading between the garage and the gas station, back and forth until a path had been worn into the grass. These paths snaked and curved along the property, and from the roof, Philip can see every one of them. They hold their finger out, tracing the air along a path they remember taking to the garage each day. It’s the small memories, they suppose.
They are acutely aware of the other’s presence before he even steps foot inside the gas station, and Philip wonders if he saw them perched on the roof before they had entered. If he remembered to look at the moonlight and tilt his head the right way, He very well may have. They sit for a moment, wondering if he’ll leave as quick as he came. But he doesn’t, so they move from their spot with a groan. Sliding down the roof, they find the truck parked next to the station. From the roof, to the top of the truck, to its cargo bed, to the ground. A makeshift staircase that would be dangerous to any normal person. Walking around the side of the station, Philip raises their arms. They hit the bell once, twice, and have materialized into the waking world by the time they turn the corner into the station, flames still licking at their shawl.
“You’re here.” they reply, bluntly. “Have you come just to heckle me?”
Ji-Woon adjusted his grip on his bat, tilting his head to give a lazy grin at the materializing figure. “Pleasure to see you, too.” He hummed in that eerily optimistic voice he always used nowadays. The former idol had trashed a genuine personality in favor of The Trickster’s dazzling smile. It took that sacrifice to do that eldritch god’s bidding. To make that god’s music. In some bittersweet turn of events, it wouldn’t be too far of a stretch to say he’d traded one producer for another. Though, one was graciously preferred over the other, but their work together had long since met its end.
The star leaned against the gas station’s counter, a place that before his capture, would be considered crude and gauche, maybe even worthy of an upturned nose. “You wound me, believe me, if I’d come to heckle such a…” He paused a moment, searching for the appropriate word, clicking his tongue when it was found. “Marvelous venue, then consider me the fool.” A smirk quirked the corner of Ji-Woon’s lips before the glowing bat was placed on the counter. Using the now freed hand, he ran it through lilac hair, to brush at least some of the water out of it.
If the former idol were completely honest, he wasn’t sure why he so often came to Autohaven, be it an actually decent area, and modern enough to have recognizable qualities, or for the begrudging company of a less than desired person. Ji-Woon was appreciative though, he hadn’t received a Realm, no place of his own, but Philip allowed him to stop by every so often. It wasn’t an exactly awe-inspiring predicament by any means, but the notion was appreciated by the idol.
The rain that poured over the old car shop would have been a distant comfort if in another situation, but it was an accepted reminder of what he once had. Ji-Woon hummed for a moment before speaking up again. “Perhaps you should put out a few umbrellas.” He flashed a smile, motioning to the storm outside, brushing his hands over the fine jacket, his last treasure, to hopefully keep it from getting soaked beyond what air-drying could fix.
Despite the immediate accusation, It’s Philip who jumps headfirst into playful banter. “Shall I lay out a live laugh love sign too, While I am at it? Must I scrub the floors, even? Lay my shawl out for you to walk upon, Akin to a welcome mat?” Their mouth tugs into a small grin, before jabbing their finger at Ji-Woon's chest. “Must you consider me an Idiot? There’s no such place as awful as here. Sometimes I Leave it in such a sorry state to piss you off.” That was only a half truth. The decay of the gas station was far too advanced for Philip to clean it up if they had even wanted too. Still, sometimes they leave the floor muddy with a curt grin.
They set their weapon and the Wailing Bell on the counter, wet from the rain outside. Disappearing behind it, they produce a rag. It’s what they always did, when the Trickster came by. Clean the dried blood that has splattered across the Wailing Bell, even if they no longer bother to do the same to the scythe they also carried. They did it once when he had come, and then just kept doing it. If he asks, they say it’s just a habit, something to keep their hands busy while he drones on about unimportant matters. It was not their wailing bell, Just the wailing bell. Its hollow ring has always been an omen of death, yes, but something their father had made from his own hands being so violently vandalized left a heaviness in their heart. In their mind it did not deserve to be theirs, nor soaked in innocent blood.
Running the rag up the body of the bell, they snarl another comment at him. “Aren’t you frigid? To be soaked like that and still half bare? Why must you insist on walking around like that?” He looks like an idiot, or maybe some sort of clown or jester type, with the bright yellow jacket. It matches the reflectiveness of the knives. Bright, flashy, and purple… ugh. The trickster can do whatever he wants, and it’s probably for showmanship, they suppose, but it wouldn’t be their first choice of weaponry. They are more modest… like their fathers Ogene. Ugh, well, they didn’t choose that either.
“-and, if not to heckle, why have you come?” their mouth tugs into another grin.