Wyatt Cain (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hasaheart) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
taxonomites2011-12-27 01:07 am
hasaheart) wrote in taxonomites2011-12-27 01:07 am
Entry tags:
[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.
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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?"
no subject
"Help me build up the base?" she asked, moving over to make room for him and continuing to pile up and shape the snow even after Cain spoke. "That depends on who the someone is. And how you think they'll react."
no subject
It seemed these days he could remember more of his past, even if it were just faint glimmers of it.
And then DG spoke, and suddenly he wished he'd never asked her advice in the first place. It was just easier to be quiet, it seemed. Easier, a great deal less embarrassing, and maybe there were some books at the library that could help just as much as a friend.
Or maybe he was just skating the fine line between nerves and a nervous breakdown. Maybe he was just paranoid. Maybe she wasn't being evasive, and maybe she really was okay with the concept of him and Smecker; maybe it was an Other Side thing, something lost in translation.
And maybe he couldn't help his jaw settling into a line of defense. Just in case her Other Side was anything like Paul's, and something had rubbed off in the fifteen annuals spent there. He found himself bracing for a blow he couldn't understand, and he didn't like it one bit.
He shrugged, eyes on the snow. "I don't know, kiddo. Who do you think I'm talking about?"
no subject
"I think you're talking about Paul Smecker."
She was looked at him carefully when she spoke, watching him watching for her reaction. She wasn't aiming to be evasive, she just wanted to give him a chance to move through the conversation at his own pace. Despite spending most of her life in Kansas, she hadn't picked up their prejudices. There was no blow, just patience and a soft smile.
no subject
Then he glanced at her, the faint lines around his eyes gathering into a worried frown. Even if he couldn't hold her gaze for long, at least he was looking her in the face.
"It's been five months. Do you think it's too soon? I don't have any frame of reference..."
no subject
They weren't ordinary months. So many things had happened, good and bad, that it felt like it had been much longer.
"I don't think it's too soon."
Especially not if he felt so strongly about Paul that he couldn't meet her gaze for more than a moment.