He just didn't fit in. I didn't know why, but for some reason, he seemed to stick out like a pole-vaulter in a marathon. He was sitting at the same table as the rest of them, but he seemed somehow separated. Alone. Maybe it was the position he was sitting in, or the expression on his face. Maybe it was the fact that he had his ankles buckled into a pair of stirrups, like he was about to have a child. I just don't know.
He was drinking the same beer as the rest of them. Oh, sure, he was drinking it by pouring the entire glass over his head and then rubbing the liquid obscenely into his face and hair, but he's from Holland. I hear they do that there. The point is, he was drinking Ex, just like the rest of them, sitting there at that table, watching the ballgame and casually conversing. Something odd did strike me about his style of conversation. It was sort of subliminal, but he seemed to be screaming everything he said. And when someone would ask him about his day, or what he thought of the Jays', he would grab their head, look them straight in the eye, and recite the Greek alphabet (skipping vowels, needless to say), and then sort of collapse in his chair. But I think I'm nitpicking.
I dunno, maybe I'm crazy, but it seems strange that he would have fangs and wings which folded into his back, and he had this slab of stone balanced on the top of his head. I mean, maybe where he comes from, fangs and wings and slabs are very fasionable. In a year, everyone over here will probably be wearing the same thing.
I wasn't really following the conversation and such, so there's probably a perfectly logical explanation for this, but it seemed to me that he had killed the person next to him and drank their blood screaming, "Here is your goat, Dionysus! Enjoy, enjoy, ENJOY!!!" But, I think he's taking a theatre course, so they were probably rehearsing for a play. I suppose, in retrospect, I should have approached the them and asked if everything was okay, but I'm kind of shy. And, to be honest, that guy with th kind of disconcerted me.
Maybe it was his mannerisms. The way he swung that broadsword around, or the way he spit acid and breathed fire. The way his laughter subtly rocked the foundations of the pub and caused plaster to fall from the ceiling in a fine dust. And, y'know, just when I was telling myself I was imagining things, just when I was going to put the whole incident behind me, a pit opened up under the guy, and he was swallowed by the very fires of Hades.
I dunno. I think I'm under too much stress...