[location: Central, Transverto tram line or Speares - choose your own adventure!]

[hasaheart]

The past three weeks, Wyatt hasn't slept much at all. It's a known fact, broadcast loud and clear by the dark circles under his eyes for all to see. It's only now, roughly a week after Glitch's return from the dead, that he's well and truly succumbed to his own limitations. He's okay. He's alive and well, and real, and somewhere between putting on another pot of coffee and sending DG or Glitch another message to double check they don't need anything, Cain crashes on the couch. It'll only be a nap, he tells himself, he'll just close his eyes for a moment and it is terribly cold. He sleeps, the deep sleep so similar to death but for the steady rise and fall of his shoulders. He sleeps through the night and well into the day, and finally, there are no more nightmares. He dreams of distant memories, of his life before Taxon, before things took a turn for the decidedly more bleak. Dreams of the once Great and Terrible, the Powerful, One and Only Mystic Man, illuminated by the warm flickering glow of his fireplace. He can smell the dark liquor swishing in the tumbler cupped in the older man's palm, can almost hear the knowing grin curling his white mustache and feel the glint in his eyes.

Cain. Will you relax, just this once? With you as my head of security, I'm as safe as a babe in a cot. Sit down, for pity's sake.

In his dream, Cain sits down; and even in this dreamlike state, he can feel the tension painting his every feature with hard unforgiving lines.

Drink? No. Of course not - never on the job, never on duty. The Mystic Man shoots him a grin, the flash of white teeth almost blinding in the mellow light of his dressing room. Everything as opulent as ever, as decadent and luring of the senses as ever - only the finest fabrics and décor and all of it arranged to create a world of its own. It draws you in, adds to the image. There Cain sits, watching his boss watching him with open intrigue.

You know what your problem is? says the other man, wrapped up in his robe like the cat who got the cream and the canary and a whole basket full of yarn. He never did hesitate to speak his mind, or to tell things as he saw them. And I'm not talking about your hangups, my dear boy, I'm talking about the big picture. The Before and After, and the possibility for Happy to enter into things somewhere along the line.

Cain frowned, both in the dream and out of it. Sir?

You're halfway to worrying yourself into an early grave, just look at you. More silver than blond, and it's only been an annual, tut-tut.

I have my reasons, Cain replies, and for a heartbeat or two he feels apprehensive, as if his friend is gearing up to something (and friends they were, right to the very end; mentor and student, brothers, cynical observers of human nature).

Yes, you do. After a sip of his drink, he moves on. Your friend, the curly haired one, Doe-eyes, he's fine. In one piece, just let him thaw a bit and he'll be right as rainbows, hm?

His name's Glitch.

And that problem you think you're having isn't all that much of a problem, right?

...right. What else can he possibly say to that?

Brothers-in-arms, fellow Ozites born and bred, two sides of a coin, and you love him to bits, nothing you wouldn't do for him?

In the dream, Cain shrugs, still trying to figure out what kind of point the showman is moving towards. Yes.

And then there's Blondie. Tough as nails, sees right to the core of you, says the most outrageous things, trust him with your life, makes you giggle like a little boy?

In the dream, Cain blushes. In his sleep, one word's mumbled into the silence. "Paul."

Terrified of driving him away, of saying too much or too little, Ozma in a frilly underskirt, it's Adorable all over again. Don't tell me it isn't.

Cain says nothing, but the Mystic Man leans forward in his armchair and taps his temple twice. The thing is, you know what you need to do - you've been scribbling down notes for how long, now? The stakes are high, but it wouldn't be worth the gamble if they weren't. Have a bit of faith. Trust him, he says. You already do.

~*~

When Wyatt wakes up, the one thing ringing in his ears well into his second cup of coffee is 'You already do'. Trust him. It's not such a big stretch when you put it like that, and he hasn't had such a vivid dream in his entire life. He gets out his notebook and sits down by the kitchen table and starts writing with a calm that overshadows everything else.

By the time he steps off the Transverto tram in Speares, the calm starts evaporating. The fact he finds himself two stops further down the line than intended doesn't help matters. Nonetheless he starts walking, gloved hands crammed into his pockets, scarf wrapped over his nose and mouth and an envelope tucked safely next to his heart under the peacoat.

Now all he needs to figure out is how not to have a major freak out on Paul's doorstep.

Comments

[text]

[aintnoconvict]

[ and at some point there will be this: ]

Letting you know all's well. If in-person confirmation would be more valid for you I'm fine with that. Besides, I think we still have party stuff to finalize. Just give me day/time/place/etc.

-G

[text]

[hasaheart]

Anytime. Better get moving and finish early than the other way around.

[text]

[aintnoconvict]

Prior preparation prevents piss-poor performance, as several of my old project notes say. Four o' clock?

[text]

[hasaheart]

I'll be there. W/coffee?

[text / location: undisclosed!]

[aintnoconvict]

Coffee's always good. I've got things to test so might I get there early.

And so at precisely some time around four in the pitch dark of night afternoon Glitch could be found at the venue which would be hosting the Annual's End party. In his hand was a clipboard, attached to which was a schematic and...a star chart. Every now and then he'd crouch to adjust the position of the device at his feet just so, but he wasn't prepared to turn it on just yet.

That'd wait until he had an audience to show off his ingenuity to.

[text / location: undisclosed!]

[hasaheart]

The venue, which was spacious and airy and currently looking rather bland - nothing that a lick of this or that wouldn't fix - despite the dash of color and wild hair courtesy of Wyatt's best friend and ally.

All of the above made him smile, and chased some of the nervous jitters away. It was entirely good to get to spend some time with the sometimes mad, always brilliant scientist and inventor. So good was it that he feared it was too good to be true.

"Coffee's here, sweetheart."

[location: undisclosed!]

[aintnoconvict]

It was all most certainly true, and the soft, thoroughly charmed smile at the endearment was the same as always.

"Thanks," Glitch said with a nod and set his clipboard down beside the device - a smallish, boxy-ish wood and brass thing - then stepped over to meet his friend. "One's got cream and sugar, right?"

[location: undisclosed!]

[hasaheart]

Cain nodded, handed over one of the thermo mugs (as home made coffee always tasted better, even back when nothing tasted quite right to begin with, and it felt like such a waste to buy cup after cup that you just threw away) and gave his friend a one-armed, wholehearted hug.

"What's that you're working on?"

[location: undisclosed!]

[aintnoconvict]

He took the coffee and returned the hug tightly, taking a moment to prove he was there and strong and all right, perfectly all right.

"It's a gizmo," Glitch replied, and his eyebrows quirked as he stepped back. He took a sip of his drink and gestured to the ceiling. "Okay, it's a projector, just a little something to add some flash and sparkle. I think I've got it programmed right, but...well, you're the only one who can vouch for the accuracy."

[Location: Speares]

[tothelightshown.livejournal.com]

DG was building a snowman in a quiet park a short distance from the tram stop in Speares. She wasn't alone. The ghost that visited her most frequently was her sister and, more often than not, it was the younger version of Azkadellia – from the days when they’d been happy and everything had been simple – rather than the older version. The version that wanted to build snowmen and play games rather than take over the O.Z. She hadn’t been able to ignore her and she hadn’t been able to evade her. In the end, she’d decided to try and give her what she wanted.

[Location: Speares]

[hasaheart]

At first, Cain mistook the two girls playing in the snow for Extras, so focused on staying on his feet on the slippery sidewalk. The weather seemed to hover indecisively between the rainy end of Fall and an actual, cold-to-the-bone wintertime. One day it snowed, the next it would rain, leaving the streets slick and shiny like black tar and deceptively dangerous. The whole town seemed striped black and white, and what drew his eyes to the playing ground was the soft peach of a young girl's dress.

Her laughter rang through the air like soft bells, but all he could think about was - Extra or not - a young girl like that shouldn't be out in this weather without a proper coat.

Imagine his surprise as he recognized the older girl as none other than his friend and fellow Ozian. "DG?"

Re: [Location: Speares]

[tothelightshown.livejournal.com]

"Cain!" DG stopped in her tracks, surprised and embarrassed. She dropped her armful of snow, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear with a sheepish smile. “Hey.”

The ghost of her sister hovered behind her for a moment, impervious to the cold but not to the arrival of a stranger. After a moment, she disappeared as quickly as she’d arrived.

“We were building a snowman.”

Which was true, though there was still a lot that her explanation didn’t cover.

[Location: Speares]

[hasaheart]

"So I see," said Cain with what passed for a smile on his face - and even if it was a slight one as far as anyone else would say, for him it was a big improvement from when he first came here. Of course, it did nothing to explain what he was doing in Speares of all places.

"Nothing wrong with building snowmen." Especially not after the living death she'd been through.

[tothelightshown.livejournal.com]

"There is when I'm building them with the ghost of my sister."

Or was it a ghost? Azkadellia was still alive, after all, and a lot older than the child in the peach dress. Maybe it was an echo of her sister, drawn from DG’s patchy memories of her childhood.

"What are you doing out here, anyway?"

[hasaheart]

Wyatt tilted his head, gave a nod of fair enough, and was just about to say something to the effect of Az not being dead, surely, when DG went right for the million dollar question.

He shrugged, feeling the sting not only of the cold weather on his cheeks, but that of a not quite creeping blush. Clearing his throat, he tilted his head the other way. "I was going to see Paul. Guess I lost track of the tram stations."

[tothelightshown]

Azkadellia wasn't dead, but the carefree little girl that she had once been was long gone. Perhaps that was enough for the city?

DG tried not to smile when she spotted the blush and, although she had to hide behind patting down a bit of the snowman, she was mostly successful. When she looked up again, it was with a straight face.

"I don't want to keep you if you're busy, Cain."

[hasaheart]

She was completely successful, in part due to the fact Cain had a real hard time lifting his eyes from the snow covered tips of his boots. But when she spoke again, he looked up, giving her a silent shrug in response.

He wasn't technically busy, so it wasn't as though she was keeping him, as such. And sure he had somewhere to go, someplace to be, preferably before he completely lost his nerve and decided to save this whole thing for a rainy day instead of a borderline snowy one.

"You..." He said, trailing off with a frown. Then he walked on over to the snowman and his friend. Maybe if he helped build it, he wouldn't seem like such a nervous fool.

"Do you think-- With your experience of the Other Side, how soon is too soon to tell someone how you...feel?"

[Location] Birdhouse In Central

[smecker.livejournal.com]

Paul doesn't come to the door for Cain, but that may be because he's on the third story and it's a bit of a hike. Not like Wyatt doesn't have handkeyed access to the whole building now anyway.

When he hears a familiar tread on the stairs, Paul barely glances up from the inside of the oven, which he is scrubbing out with a steel wool pad.

"C'mon down, cowboy, there's coffee if you want it. Cold like an undertaker's dick out there."

[Location] Birdhouse In Central

[hasaheart]

So much for his faint hope of just...making his delivery, get the damned well out of there and pretending like he never did.

He'll swear on all three moons that he had a better, actually well thought out plan when he left his place, but for the life of him he can't remember what it was.

Go there, hand over the letter (that has started to actually, physically burn into his skin - and he knows it's an illusion, knows it's just nerves, but he can't ignore it), give Paul a great deal of space and some kind of... Something. Like reassurance.

But all he can think of right now is how dry his throat has gone, and how it's entirely too warm in here after hiking through twelve blocks of icy washboards underfoot in too many layers.

"I'll have to take your word for it," he says, mouth quirking in involuntary amusement. Coffee, or no coffee.

Aw, hell. He might as well. They're both adults, and more to the point, Cain's never been one to run and hide. "Should I get you some too?"

[Location] Birdhouse In Central

[smecker.livejournal.com]

"Sure," Paul grunts from inside the oven. "I'm going to need something to get the goddamned taste of charcoal out from my mouth, I keep getting little particles in it."

Maybe if you didn't talk so much, Paul.

There's a few more seconds of concerted scrubbing and then Paul emerges. He is wearing... swim goggles, over his eyes, which he pulls up to his forehead. Then he strips off the yellow rubber gloves he's got on.

"Fun fact: the coroners in New-- the coroners in one of the cities I did some of my training in, we used to pull shit on the other cops, like stretch out on the slabs under sheets and then jump on them when they came down for autopsy reports. Ah, to be young again. How's you?"

[Location] Birdhouse In Central

[hasaheart]

Me? Oh, good. About ready to crawl out of my own skin. You?

But no, can't say that or there'll be questions, and he just can't handle questions right now. Apart from the easy ones, the mundane, day-to-day ones. "Freezing," he says with a grin, coming over with two cups.

Heart beating like I'm about to have a coronary event - and you know, that's not too far from the truth.

Can't say that either, so instead he ducks in for a quick kiss. "And that's just mean. Really? You're not just jerking my chain, are you."

[Location] Birdhouse In Central

[smecker.livejournal.com]

Paul takes the coffee and gets in a sip at least before Wyatt gives him a kiss, which he permits. There's another, more deliberate sip, as he looks Wyatt over. It must really be fuck-all cold out there, almost looks like the other man's shivering.

"Really, scout's honor," he says, holding up the fingers of the hand in what he thinks is probably the scout salute, but not having been a Cub or an Eagle or what the fuckever he couldn't swear to it. "I was technically a cop, but I had a lot more in common with the Corpse Corps and I didn't get squeamish. We brought this one lieutenant a cow heart once in a doughnut box. Good days."

Paul gets to his feet, little flickering measure-glances at Wyatt. He's still more than conscious of Wyatt after the 'woodsman' crap, halfway to frostbitten and all, as well as like he had been when Paul had been new to the city.

"You are appropriately layered, yes?" he says with a severe brow arch.

[Location] Birdhouse In Central

[hasaheart]

In the privacy of his own mind, Wyatt curses at the damn agent to stop sending him looks. He's jittery enough now he's actually here, he doesn't need further incentive to hover where he stands.

A barely there shake to his head at the end of that little anecdote, and he can't think of anything to say to it. His mind's a completely blank sheet of paper, he's tongue tied, and his throat feels about ready to stick together.

"Yes, I'm appropriately clothed. This is me you're talking to." He sips his coffee, which is nice and warm and just strong enough that it has a bite.

"I ...accidentally got off at the wrong stop. Walked for a few blocks." Or ten, but he sure wasn't counting at the time.

Re: [Location] Birdhouse In Central

[smecker.livejournal.com]

That tiny pause-hesitation makes Paul's gaze sharpen, but he purses his lips and moves to stand by one of the 'windows', such as they are, in the Birdhouse and survey his ugly-concrete domain outside it.

"You too? I was heading out to Speares and ended up in Osten, don't ask me how, you'd think I'd know the trams by now," he grunts.

[Location] Birdhouse In Central

[hasaheart]

That's actually a kind of relief, knowing he isn't yet so...head-up-in-the-clouds, over-the-moon that he can't think straight.

For a given value of the word, as used in Paul's world.

"Yeah."

Another sip, before he decides against it; with determination comes a burst of queasiness, and he doesn't want to tempt fate by ignoring his gut.

"Listen, Paul... This isn't, isn't technically what you'd term a social call."