[Setting: A Side Street Café in the Late Afternoon]
The café sat at the edge of forgetfulness, as if it had been placed on the map by accident and never fully welcomed. Its sign—“Caffé del Tempo”—had lost a few letters to time, and the windows fogged over as though they preferred not to see the world outside. It was the sort of place where everything creaked and no one rushed, as though the hours hung heavier here.
Elliot sat at a table near the window, swirling his coffee with the grim determination of someone trying to make something happen in a place where nothing ever did. Across from him, Sable, God of Irony, lounged with the studied ease of a man who was never out of place. His black coat stretched comfortably across the back of the chair, and on his wrist, an antique watch ticked like a whisper against the quiet.
Elliot glanced at it again. He couldn’t help himself.
“Is that… new?”
Sable tilted his head, almost amused, as if Elliot had asked a question with an answer only he knew. “This? No. It’s been with me for… long enough.”
“‘Long enough?’” Elliot echoed. “You make it sound like it’s alive.”
Sable smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn’t give away anything at all. “Everything keeps time, Elliot. Some things just do it better than others.”
Elliot frowned. There was always something about Sable—something beneath the surface of his words that refused to be pinned down, like a ripple disturbing still water. Today, it felt heavier. More deliberate.
“Okay, cryptic,” Elliot muttered, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table. “It’s a nice watch. You don’t have to make it sound mystical.”
Sable didn’t answer. He just turned his wrist slightly, letting the light catch the glass face. The second hand swept gently around, steady and unhurried. Tick, tick, tick.
Elliot tore his gaze away, irritated by the strange pull of the moment. “What are we even doing here?”
“Having coffee,” Sable replied. “And waiting.”
“For what?”
Sable shrugged, but his eyes lingered on Elliot, and for half a second, it felt like Sable was waiting for him.
[The Old Man and the Watch]
The door jingled, and Elliot turned, relieved by the distraction. An old man shuffled inside, small and worn, the kind of figure the world forgot as soon as it passed him. He carried a cardboard box close to his chest, his hands shaking with the weight of it—or perhaps with age.
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Elliot groaned quietly. “Oh no. He’s going to try and sell us something, isn’t he?”
Sable didn’t answer. He just watched as the man approached, his sharp eyes glinting faintly, as though he’d been expecting this exact moment.
The man stopped at their table. “Excuse me,” he rasped, his voice soft as paper. “Would you care to buy a watch?”
Elliot opened his mouth to protest, but Sable leaned forward, his interest sudden and unshakable. “A watch, you say?”
Elliot shot him a look. “You’re not serious.”
The old man carefully set the box on the table and, with slow, deliberate movements, pulled out the watch. It was a monstrosity. Too shiny, too bulky, and too pleased with itself. The hands twitched unnaturally, red against an over-polished face that seemed embarrassed to exist.
Sable, however, looked delighted. “How much?”
The old man hesitated. “For you… twenty dollars.”
Elliot spluttered. “Twenty dollars? That thing looks like it came out of a claw machine!”
Sable ignored him, already pulling a crisp bill from the inside of his coat. “Done.”
Elliot gawked as the money exchanged hands. “You’re actually buying that?”
“It’s mine now,” Sable said, cradling the hideous thing like it was fragile.
The old man nodded, tucking the bill away as he shuffled back out the door. For just a moment, the light through the window caught the edge of his coat. It shimmered faintly—almost impossibly—before disappearing into the shadows of the street.
Elliot stared at Sable, incredulous. “What is wrong with you? You already have a perfectly good watch.”
Sable slid the ugly watch onto his wrist, right next to the elegant antique. The two timepieces sat side by side, utterly mismatched, their ticking now slightly out of sync. Sable tilted his wrist, admiring the absurd pairing like a man who’d just solved a riddle no one else could see.
“Why would you do that?” Elliot pressed.
“Because sometimes, Elliot, it’s not about the thing itself. It’s about what it replaces.”
Elliot frowned. “What does that even mean?”
Sable looked up, his expression unreadable, but there was something sharp in his gaze now—something deliberate. “You hold onto what you need until it’s time to let it go. Then you replace it with whatever you happen to find.” He glanced back at the watches. “Doesn’t matter if it’s better. Doesn’t even matter if it works. You just need to have it.”
Elliot stared at him, unsure how to respond. “You’re… very weird.”
Sable laughed softly, shaking his wrist so the two watches ticked louder, competing for dominance. “And you’re very predictable.”
Elliot muttered something under his breath, taking a sip of his now-cold coffee. “You could’ve at least haggled him down to ten.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Sable replied, but there was something about the way he said it—something just under the surface.
For a while, they sat in silence. Sable leaned back in his chair, content, as if all the answers to the universe had been handed to him for twenty dollars in a box. Elliot, on the other hand, stared at the watches—one beautiful, one ugly—and wondered if maybe he was missing something important.
Outside, the light had started to dim, and the café grew quieter, like the world was holding its breath. Sable’s voice broke the silence, soft and thoughtful.
“Careful, Elliot. You get too attached to things that shine, and you might forget the ones that tick.”
Elliot blinked. “What?”
But Sable was already smiling faintly, watching the old watch face as it twitched and ticked, half a second too late.
Somewhere far away, a distant sound—like laughter, like bells—broke against the edges of the afternoon.
[End Scene]
[retcon:1]