taxonomites | [location: Central, Transverto tram line or Speares

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

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.

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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."

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?"

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?"

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."

A gizmo, thought Wyatt to himself, of course it's a gizmo.

Funny how even such a seemingly insignificant thing as speech patterns could be reassuring. He nodded, had a sip of his own and approached the thingamajig. Crouching in front of it, he almost gave in to the urge of poking it, instead looking over his shoulder at the man responsible.

"Accuracy?" He asked, not immediately connecting the dots. "Accuracy for what?"

Glitch positively beamed and waggled his fingers. "Flip the switch on the left and find out."

When activated, the whatsit would project a holographic representation of the midwinter Ozian night sky. The stars and moons would appear to hang amid the criss-crossing steel rafters, definitely brightening the still-gloomy ware hosue they'd appropriated.

It was with a healthy dose of skepticism and anticipation both that Cain did as suggested. Once the device came live with the faintest smattering of whatever made up its insides, his eyes grew wide; he'd never thought he would see the night skies of his distant memories again.

It was only fitting that he didn't know what to say, nor how to mask how taken he was by the elaborate detail. So rather than using words, he inclined his head, and plucked his hat from its perch to press it instead to his chest.

Glitch looked as well, studying the illusion, hoping for some jolt of memory. He recalled a couple of the constellations - the Slippers, Ozma's Chariot - and twin moons with their swift-orbiting little brother Cruithne, but that was all. The charts had helped, and by Cain's reaction he'd gotten the programming right.

Maybe too right. He moved to stand beside his friend and studied him with curious concern for a few moments. "I just...I thought it'd be nice to have a little bit more of the O.Z. And I sorta remember the parties I went to were outside since it's always warm in Finaqua and-- is it okay?"

Taking a deep breath, Wyatt pushed off the floor and stood beside his friend in a moment's silence. Just looking up at the skies made him feel incredibly homesick, but it was good just the same. Already he could see himself distracting Paul from the horrors of going to anything resembling a party with stories of how the constellations got their names...

Or something along those lines.

Clearing his throat, he turned his head with a small smile. "You did good, Glitch. Real good."

That brought the smile back, and Glitch bumped his shoulder against Cain's in solidarity.

"Good, glad it came out right, I was hoping for more time but--" He stopped and made a startled noise in his throat, then quickly moved on. "So that's just a little pretty, I got some more lights rigged up and as you can tell the heater's working fine. That just leaves...other decorations, refreshments, tables, chairs, Fitz'll be in to do sound, and I think we're okay. Okay?"

"Okay," said Wyatt, and refrained from going anywhere near the subject of Glitch's untimely demise and resurrection.

"Well, last I checked, all kinds of foodstuffs were free of charge, so that won't set us back too much." Always practical, this one.

"How about you take care of the decorating, food and drink, and I can haul furniture? We can figure out the rest as we go. Dress codes, gifts...do we want to do that? It is tradition."

Excellent: a strategy of deep denial is only effective if everyone involved shuts up about it.

"Right, decorating: yellow, blue, red, purple, and green and...shinies. Glitter." He nods to himself. "DG'll help me get some comfy chairs down to the main hall and I'm sure there's some Extra moving company...we can set up s quiet room in the office."

At gifts, he tilted his head. "I...I suppose? I don't wanna pressure folks since they seem to do all the presents with this Christmas thing but we can still suggest it." Pause. "I did have some stuff to give out that wasn't slippers too so it works."

He nods along to the color scheme, going so far as to admitting that an Annual's End celebration would be a touch dull without something sparkly.

Add to that a slight grunt, a shift where he stands. "Me too." A beat. "...I have no idea what to give Paul."

Between the letter thing and Glitch's-- return, it had seemingly slipped through the cracks of his broken heart. But now that it was right there, out in the open and they were doing this, he wanted to get it just right. No matter what came of his need to put his thoughts and feelings to paper.

Glitch's head tilted back the other way and he sipped his coffee.

"Huh." He frowned up the the ceiling a bit, giving it some genuine thought, then shrugged. "I wouldn't worry about it too much, it'll come to you, I'm sure of it."

Cue slightly non-committal, annoyed noise at the back of his throat. Then he too sipped his coffee, trying his very best not to fidget where he stood.

"We need party favors. I'm not even sure what constitutes party favors."

Cue casual side-eye.

"Silly pointy hats and noisemakers, if I remember right from last year.I'll manage those too. Think you'll be able to get him into a silly hat?"

Silly pointy hat... He wondered what kind of lengths he'd have to go for Paul to wear any such thing - and part of him didn't really feel like trying. Not until he was absolutely sure he hadn't overstepped a line somewhere--

Suddenly his palms were hot and damp again. "Maybe. If he's coming to the party."

"Oh, he'll come. I mean, he should come, right? It-" He gestured to Cain, then in some vague other direction, then back and forth again a few times. "Why wouldn't he?"

Fabulous question, that.

He wanted desperately to say 'no reason', but he didn't like lying, and especially not to his best of friends. Instead he shrugged, had another sip of coffee, and looked at the littlest moon. He'd always liked it, but he could only remember vague fragments of reasons why. Maybe his sister had said something about it being the baby brother of the trio, and he'd felt a kinship. He wasn't sure.

Not that it mattered right now. "He didn't come to Dr. Magnus' party, and he didn't enjoy himself at the bonfire... And--"

To tell or not to tell when the only other time he told Glitch about Paul left him slack jawed and things awkward between them?

"I did something today that might tip the scale either way. I don't know yet."

The bit about the parties got a shrug - accepting, not dismissive, but that last part...Glitch blinked in confusion, crouched down to switch off the projector, and when he rose again the perplexity was joined by worry.

Yes, last time the subject had come up there'd been horrors, but then Glitch had been possibly at his most unstable and the result was messy and irrational. In the intervening months he'd gotten the hell over it and constructed a scenario in which two very independent and private people were engaged in an extremely private relationship and all was progressing well and normally toward some sort of fiercely independent and intensely private happily-ever-after-or-until-the-city-does-something-horrible. And none of it was any of his godsdamned business and that was totally okay.

The fact that Glitch chose to dismiss the variable of exactly how fundamentally screwed up the parties involved are shows the depths of his optimism. So yes: concerned confusion.

"Why? I mean...how?" Pause "Or maybe what?" Or maybe it really wasn't any of his business and no number of interrogatives would be useful or welcome.

Chin tilting up and down, this way and that, mouth moving wordlessly in a series of attempts at finding something to say; something as simple as a place to start would be good.

He didn't have a clue how to explain the why, and ended up thumbing the edge of the screwed on lid of his thermo cup. He could feel his ears starting to burn. He'd learned the hard way to value privacy and secrecy, but this went beyond that. This tapped right into his own underlying fears of commitment - or not commitment as such, but the very real risk of losing someone once they'd gotten too close and he'd gotten too attached and started taking them (him) for granted.

"I, uh," he started, cleared his throat almost immediately after. "I haven't-- We don't really talk about..." Vague gesture goes here, to indicate the intangible thing between him and Paul.

"And I don't even think I could, so I've been writing things down here and there, and I just thought--"

Pushing air out through his nose, pressing his lips together. "I wrote him a letter. This morning. Gave it to him a few hours ago, and I'm not sure I'm coping too well."

Right. Some folding chairs and a table had already been hauled in, better make the most of them. Glitch jerked his chin in their direction and started walking over to the convenient sit-and-chat spot.

"And I'm guessing this letter was...some sort of statement of emotional intent?" He sat down carefully and sipped his coffee, nonchalant as possible. On the one hand he was hoping to help his friend, on the other he knew the wrong word would immediately slam more doors shut and this was really a subject none of them talked about, like...

What was that line from a few movie nights ago in DG's room? Brawl Meeting's first law is that no one discusses Brawl Meeting. Apparently this was a significant part of Otherside pop culture and he'd committed it to memory on the walk back to his own room and focus, headcase.

"--sorry, I'm presuming. I just hope it goes well for you, for both of you."

Wyatt followed, teeth gritted and jaw set and ears on metaphorical fire. He'd rather not sit down, but it was the right and proper thing to do when one's friend wanted to help. He was the one who eased the door open to begin with, and now he couldn't blame Glitch for wanting to let in some light.

He sat down, cup resting on one knee, his hat on the other, and gave Glitch's query a stiff nod. Statement of emotional intent, yeah, that sure covers it.

"Three pages." This was followed swiftly by a slightly incredulous groan, and his left hand went from his hat to rub at his brow. He felt slightly dizzy again.

"I can't believe I wrote three whole pages."

Glitch let himself get preoccupied with his coffee, giving Cain a moment if he needed it. No sudden moves aside from a wry, sympathetic smile.

"Other than being a little dazzled that you managed to come up with so many words--" Because Cain's taciturn-ness has to be remarked upon. "--I'm...not that surprised. You don't do things halfway."

Not with the heart, not with anything that mattered. And if he needed a well-timed (and metaphorical) optimisic kick in the pants, well, that was Glitch's job.

The remark about his tendency for silence got a slight glare and a tightening of his mouth, but he had to give Glitch a fair bit of credit. He didn't really talk much. With one very obvious exception that Glitch naturally wasn't privy to.

The second half earned him a slightly softer expression, and again - credit, Glitch.

"Rationally, I know I'm working myself up. I know it's nerves. But knowing doesn't help the palpitations." And come to think of it, neither is coffee, which he sets down beside his chair.

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

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