[text | location: pool] dead winds' and spent waves' riot in doubtful dreams of dreams

[selfmadman]

It's an Olympic-size pool, water stretching on clear as glass for fifty meters—far enough, almost, to get lost swimming a lap. Gutters gouged into the sides slurp down the overflow; a faint, nearly subliminal buzz hangs in the muggy air. He plunges in and hacks his way down the lane, arms out of practice, lungs burning, legs kicking up a choppy wake. Sound recedes. He's robbed only of his gasps for air, the sporadic eruptions of coughing when he reaches a wall.

He fights through the first few laps and settles into a rhythm, keeping pace with the Extra a lane over until he lags behind (they never pull ahead—their strokes graceful or tortured, the Extras move implacably through the water). Thoughts come easier as he swims, easier and more fully formed than the shards he's usually tweezing out.

He flips onto his back and drifts, weightless.

When he climbs out it feels like he's still underwater. His eyes sting with chlorine. He towels off in the locker room, buttons his shirt and fastens his belt and straps his watch to his wrist. He taps out a message while slouched against the wall:

How have you been keeping busy?

Comments

[location]

[defenestration]

Adrian returns the handshake with the same firm grip, meets Don's gaze with the same confident manner. Then quirks the corner of his mouth into a bit of a smile at the silent invitation, and holds open the door for Don to precede him through it.

[location]

[selfmadman]

Don tosses his cigarette to the ground, scuffs it out with a twist of his shoe deft as any dance step. A nod of gratitude to Adrian and he steps back inside.

It's a high-ceilinged room, but the air still hangs thick and heavy. The scent of chlorine sharpens as Don walks past a desk attended by a vacant-eyed Extra working its mouth like a goldfish. Locker rooms are down the hall; Don gestures instead to a staircase winding upwards.

[location]

[defenestration]

It's been some time since Adrian had to bother with a public pool, but the smell of chlorine and mildew and the echoing of sound off cement and tile are universal constants that he finds welcome in this strange city. He inclines his head with a mild smile at Don's gesture, ignoring the Extra completely and making his way up the winding stairs.

He keeps a surreptitious eye on Don, not from mistrust, but rather curiosity. It's an unusual situation for a first meeting in person, and the man is handling it with admirable ease.