OCTOBER 3, Y109To be perfectly fair, Oz knew that this was probably a bad idea. It was, in fact, one of those bad ideas that was more accurately described, after the fact, as a horrible idea. It was the kind of idea that common, mortal people would remember for a lifetime, and cringe whenever it traipsed cross their memory.
He knew that, but he was doing it anyway, because he wanted a distraction that was familiar and not Salem before his mind ran itself completely off the track and something worse than the worst outcome of his current bad idea happened. Besides, he wasn't being stupid. He was making an educated decision, and that was why he'd picked one of the worst taverns in Blackhaven - he knew as soon as he walked in that there wasn't likely to be a single person in the building that wasn't responsible for some horrible, barbaric deed. Therefore, if there was an incident with his bad idea, Oz wasn't going to hurt anyone who didn't already deserve it.
The bad idea was sex, of course. It was the only thing he could really think of that carried the same comforting familiarity he got from Salem, with none of the... Salem. Even moreso, with his new-old memories of his first life to accompany his body. Sex was something he had grown up around, and it wasn't anything altogether special or magical or whatever else people liked to attribute to it.
It was just an act, but it had always been good for providing a relatively safe and easy outlet for the energy Oz had pent up. Safe really was a relative term, in this case, because he wasn't sure how it was going to end.
He didn't exactly get off to the best start. Finding someone willing and attractive and generally foul of personality wasn't hard, nor was getting a room above the bar. Making their way to the room was also smooth-going, and by the time the door closed, it was getting easier to drop the confused, conflicting thoughts in his mind. He focused more on the task at hand, discarding his shirt first, working on hers, then easily hitting the bed and falling back.
That was when the trouble began. His heartrate increased immediately at the familiar weight of another person on top of him. His fingers clenched against her hips, which wasn't actually that bad at all. Then, with a shower of sparks, the light on the ceiling suddenly burst and Oz flinched as the room plunged into darkness and he lost track of forgot-her-name-already's face in the shadows.
Automatically, he tried to push himself upright, only to be pushed back down. For a few moments, Oz panicked in the dark, then grudgingly settled into compliance. Then eagerly settled into compliance. Nevertheless, there was lingering tension in the darkness, and in not being able to see as well as he would have liked. He reminded himself, as he lathed his tongue against seriously-should-have-asked-a-name's neck, that he could force himself up any time he wanted. Whoever she was, she had magic, but not nearly as much as him. Staying where he was and pouring attention over her was entirely his own choice. It was fine.
But there was tension, and that tension was going to be a problem. It was already becoming a problem as he absently hooked a finger in the belt of her pants and started to work them down. There was an ominous rattle from the windowpane, and the bedside table, and a distant thumping coming up the stairs...
The door burst open at the same time that Oz shot upright, spilling whatsername onto the end of the bed. She scrambled to get up, fell flat on her face on the floor with her pants awkwardly loosened, and Oz sprang forward. She might have been a conquest for the night, but he wasn't going to get in the way of justice for whatever the hell she'd done.
"Go to sleep!" He pressed a hand against still-not-sure-of-a-name's head, and her eyes immediately rolled back and she dropped onto her side on the floor. Then, turning his attention to whoever had just managed to absolutely ruin his evening, Oz froze.
Then he blinked.
Then his face crumpled into disbelieving offense at the cruel joke his life had become.
"Hello." He wasn't going to say anything familiar. With any luck, maybe Toby wouldn't actually know it was him. Maybe he could claim to be his own twin. A clone. A conveniently similar stranger.