The Winding Road Approaches

I Turned Him To Gold

Ugh. I wanted this to be longer and better, but it wasn't. And the ending sucks. I'm sorry guys. The song for this one is 'Pardon Me' by He Is We. Look out for another fic coming soon. Hopefully, this one will be long, but it will definitely be darker, so fair warning. Also, please consider the Actor AU 'scraped' for now, as I really like the plot and don't know if I want to put it in a fin or make it an original novel. Sorry. Anyways, please enjoy this crap. The title is from 'Roses' by The Chainsmokers. Oh! This is an AU (the modern one the other two have been in) where most of the Exorcists are Policemen.  

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Pardon me for my lack of excitement,
But I'm not entirely thrilled

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Allen lingered against one of the walls, content to watch the interactions but not join them. It was not often that he followed Cross to these monthly dinners; Allen preferred to stay home and marathon horror movies with Anita. But on the occasions when he did come, it wasn't like he found them unpleasant.

He looked around the room, trying to catch a familiar face. To the left of the room his god-father seemed to be having a pleasant enough conversation with the Head of Forensics department. Allen grabbed a flute of champagne from a waiter passing by and took a sip. He laughed quietly at the fact that he was, even at sixteen, more responsible with drinking than his guardian was. With that thought passing through his head, Allen continued his survey of the room.

Near the door stood Head General Hevlaska. Allen got along well with her and she tended to have a soft spot for kids; from what he heard she had a child of her own. The Head General was an imposing woman with dark skin and a warm smile. Allen mused over what it would be like to have her as a mother.

"Isn't it illegal for you to be drinking that?" a voice said to his right as he took another sip from his glass, causing Allen to jump and choke on the drink.

"What?" he coughed out, and turned to see who addressed him. He was caught off guard by bright eyes and blue hair. Oh , Allen thought belatedly. He took the person in: a white, button-down blouse that looked to be made of silk, dark slacks, three inch high-heels, the butterfly hair clip made up of white and pale green gemstones. They were dressed very nicely, that was for sure. Allen blinked and the other person - who he would guess was probably the same age as Allen - laughed, high and clear.

They pointed to Allen's glass, and said, "I'm pretty sure you're underage and you're drinking."

"So?" Allen asked, thoroughly confused. His conversation partner just smiled.

"You're drinking. In a room full of cops." Ah . Yes, Allen could see how that might be humorous. He shrugged slightly and quietly cleared his throat. Allen spun the cool glass in his hand, trying to tell himself that forming any sort of attachment to someone he'd probably never see again, no matter how pretty said person was, was a stupid idea.

"Well, no one's ever seemed to mind," he said, getting a warm laugh in return.

"I'm Alma," they said, as though every syllable they said didn't send Allen's heart thudding. At least he knew he was an idiot.

"Allen," he said, as he shook the offered hand. Yes, he mused, that smile was certainly dangerous.

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St-st-stutter as I talk
Flail around as I walk
Yeah, the moment's been killed

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As the night wound down, Allen fled to the well-landscaped, benched area on the east side of the restaurant. It was quiet and away from the chatter of the private room. He decided he would let Cross' argument with Colonel Nyne drag on just a little longer before Allen would pull the red-headed man away and back home. But until then, Allen found himself furiously typing into his phone, locked in an intense dispute about the ethics of killing honeybees with a friend.