taxonomites | 053 ± [text / location: wilde] and it's not like there was warning

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053 ± [text / location: wilde] and it's not like there was warning

For a while Glitch simply sits on the shore of Lake Whitman, staring out at a tiny island with a small stone tower which has taken the place of the massive ice-encased palace. There's a foot bridge leading out to it, a mockery of the old grand causeway.

Gone. It's gone, she's gone, over two and a half annuals of his life is gone, the memories entrusted to his ever-fallible brain and not marble and ice, brass and crystal. No more ballroom, no more kitchen, no more parlor, no more--

Hanging on tight as the city flew past them, the engine's roar and his pounding heart all he can hear. A ringing laugh, eyes an impossible blue, cold feet, a map of faint freckles. Bravery beyond reason, patience beyond endurance, and finally hurt beyond bearing.

They'd needed time, just a little time for themselves, but the aliens had taken him away and taken the memory of her (again) and now they've taken her completely. Which...now leaves him in a state of guilty, bewildered shock.

Glitch remembers goading the witch by telling her nothing that happens in Taxon matters since they'll all forget it one day, knowing DG could hear it too but not caring because his revenge meant more. He hadn't been sure then how much of that was bluff and how much truth, but now at least he's certain: of course it all matters, or else this pain wouldn't have struck him dumb and devastated at the lakeside.

"Right," he breathes. Time to try and optimism his way out of this. DG's gone...back to the O.Z. She's with her mother and father and she can begin healing with her sister properly. And Raw's there, and Cain, and himself, the flighty, bubbly headcase she'd fallen in love with. They'll be working together to heal the realm, it's what they'd both longed for all this time, it's a happy day.

His eyes close, and he sighs softly. "Good luck, doll."

Eventually he crosses the bridge and enters the tower, because he's curious, and is astounded to discover some of his own belongings which had been left in the palace there. The gramophone and records from the ballroom, his notebooks, a few gadgets...and the massive portrait of himself and the Queen.

He laughs, shakes his head, wipes his eyes, and steels himself to share the news via text.

DG has gone home. The palace has gone with her, but some of my things were left behind. I'd like some help.

That can be interpreted however one likes.

[ooc: mostly a placeholder for when I get back from vacation, but feel free to tag in/log post it up! ]

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Glitch listens, expression soft, and when a little rosy hue comes to his cheeks he glances away briefly. Modest, yes, that was one way to describe his behavior when complimented. Flustered and mildly doubtful were two more but...no, no guile here, no reason for it.

So his eyes fall briefly on his free hand and he studies it a moment before bringing it to rest lightly on Bagoas' forearm, and he smiles as their eyes meet again.

"I can't help smiling at you," he begins. "Out of happiness or pride or...or wonder, it can't be helped. Still, I'm happy to dance with you for as long as I can keep up."

And then where is some hesitation, a conclusion reached and words sought to convey it. The hand goes up to his own hair, tugging one curl straight before letting it spring back again.

"I-it's been a loss, yeah, but...Bagoas so much has been taken from me, if I start pushing away I won't-- I don't wanna lose anything else, anyone else, before I get the chance to know--" Oh words are failing, and he's reaching to pluck gently at a turquoise sleeve. "Losing things just makes me hold everything else tighter, so...my time, my house, my shop, you're always welcome a-and I want. I'd like. I enjoy your company too."

Pause. "Okay next time I'm just saying 'ditto'."

As Glitch responds in kind, as he begins to speak, Bagoas keeps watching him; him and his somewhat uneven features that make a lovely face; humbled and nothing short of awed. Then Glitch goes on, and though his eloquence is rather lacking, he more than makes up for it with something even more important. He speaks from the heart, and no amount of eloquence or poetry could ever hope to compare.

His throat begins to hurt, closing off as happy tears begin to well up in his eyes. He looks away at ditto, breathing audibly through a smile, then meets Glitch's eyes again.

"Never, Glitch. Never censure yourself with me. We shall always speak plainly with one another."

The brightness in Bagoas' eyes causes a widening of Glitch's own, and for a moment he's afraid he's said something wrong but...no, there's a smile and gentle encouragement. Right.

"...okay," he says with one of those little nods and some crow's feet crinkling. "That's doable."

He commands himself to relax again, come back to the moment and not whatever uncertain past or future his mind had run to. A sip of coffee for his suddenly dry throat, a gentle lacing together of fingers to create an anchor. He's getting distracted: a patch of sunlight shimmers bluely on Bagoas' hair and how does he do that?

"I'd like to have one of those berries," he continues with a brief, darting glance toward the basket. His eyebrows flick up. "They look lovely, and...well, it'd be a shame for them to go to waste while I'm here prattling on."

There's another huff of air, a wider grin, and though Bagoas' eyes are bright there comes a spark from their very depths. Flexing his fingers around Glitch's, he ducks his head and clears his throat as he slides the basket precisely between them. To the left, a few rows of Palmier biscuits covered by slick, nearly see-through greaseproof paper, and to the right a bright blue plastic bag, its handles and sides neatly rolled down to reveal a mound of the strangest berries Bagoas has ever seen: clusters of easily a dozen minuscule berries, clinging to each other to create a dome of vibrant, matted pink. Though matted, they catch the sunlight like tiny precious stones.

Glancing at his friend, he picks out one of the small berry clusters delicately between thumb and forefinger, holding it up for closer scrutiny. Deeming it good enough, he brings it before Glitch's lips. There for the taking, as it were.

Oh, this is nice. Glitch sits up straight and watches, the smile curving his lips the one of wonder. It somehow feels like everything Bagoas does has an air of ritual and he pays close attention. The selection, the study, the...offering.

He looks at the berry, imagines taste and texture, thinks of getting exactly what he wants. Then he glances up again, eyes meeting his friends', and he plucks the berry free with his lips.

Then his eyelids fall: tart, sweet, little bursts of flavor and he nods softly.

"Perfect," he says with a blink and a smile. "Thank you. Would you like one? I can give you a fact to go with it."

He was trained at a very young age (too young some would say) to be pleasing in all ways, even just to look at; always in his proper place, never asking to be noticed, but wordlessly commanding attention when warranted.

This isn't too different. It is worlds apart, but as he has come to learn in Taxon, different worlds can nestle very closely together sometimes. This display, this aim to please, he does of his own volition and willing. Not because he wants to, but because he himself wants to. And therein lies the difference.

The offer of reciprocation, though, is both a surprise and a small shock. He needs remind himself to raise himself up, to lessen the distance rather than increase it. So he sits up a touch straighter, turning where he sits to better face his friend (and if he should brush his blue toned hair back to reveal the length of his neck, well, that's just another way of being pleasing to the eye). "Yes. I would love that."

It's all about balance in this case, one of Glitch's laws of hosipitality and friendship: any action that could answered in kind should be. Besides which, now more than ever he wants Bagoas to understand that they're equals.

And besides that, the act of feeding each other is both simple and intimate, playful and demonstrative of trust and caring. Food is still a wonderous luxury for him, sharing it a treasure, and...and...

Berries. Someting about berries and names, not sun and shade and skin.

"Well," he begins and tears his eyes away long enough to rummage in the bag. "Y'know I don't remembed much of my life but there was a time when I remembered even less-- and I'll tell you what I can about that eventually."

He selects a berry and, as Bagoas had, inspects it. "For a long while I didn't even remember my name, so...I gave myself a new one. Glitch." A rueful little shrug as he looks up again. "I've learned - I remember more now, though.

"And the name my mother gave me--" He holds out the berry, know full well he's being theatrical and not caring. "--was Ambrose."

The light in Bagoas' eyes warms up by degrees watching Glitch put on a show all of his own, and by the end of it he finds himself smiling in anticipation of both the sharing of food and learning something previously unknown.

The fact trumps the promise of food, and for a moment the berry is forgotten in favour of the name. Ambrose. Relative to the food of the gods of Greece, perhaps. Regardless, it brings to mind something rare and precious, something exclusive: a sign from the gods to treasure the time given, and not take it for granted.

He leans in, catching the berry between tongue and teeth, lips closing very briefly over Glitch's finger-ends.

At first, nothing but texture offset by the taste of skin; like tiny globes covered in velvet. The first burst of flavour brings his hand up to cover an involuntary grin. Soft and sweet, and completely unlike anything he's ever tasted.

The thought of ambrosia enters his mind again, and he can't help but see Glitch in a new light. Yes, he decides. He is a rare and precious gift.

"Ambrose," he says in appreciation, understanding on some base level that the revelation of the name is as unique as the man himself; leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek, for an unapologetic nuzzle of his beard.

Glitch inhales sharply, then grins at Bagoas' obvious enjoyment of the fruit. It's thrilling to see the genuine delight there, and to hear that voice say his given name...

He puts an arm around his (dear, remarkable) friend, ostensibly to steady them but also because closer is better and he makes a tiny, happy noise at the nuzzling. Yes, this is all right, more than all right because he's pretty sure he needs the affection and to answer it in kind.

So he kisses his cheek, the corner of his lips, not wanting to pull away.

"That's me," he murmurs, grinning. "Hi."

There's no need for pulling back, nor a place for it, as Bagoas more than happily disentangles their hands and instead returns the embrace. He sinks towards Glitch, hip to hip and side to side and long legs sharing the space between. More soft nuzzles, mirrored grins until they are cheek to cheek and nose to nose and Bagoas' cheek heats up where it was kissed.

Glitch's beard of course rasps, but it couldn't be farther from his mind. "What a lovely name," he whispers, breath ghosting over Ambrose's mouth.

"Thank you."

"You can use it, if you like," he offers. He's remained Glitch - and would continue to do so - for DG reasons and Cain reasons and his own reasons because it was simple, genuine. The time may have come, though, to hear his real name from a few.

His fingers weave into the hair at the nape of Bagoas' neck, and he's happy and cozy and...a little hesitant. A touch of guilt and uncertainty and the old instinct which told him no. It's a tangle of anxiety and contentment, and he needs to navigate it carefully so the one isn't ignored and the other isn't lost.

A long ol' talk, that's still happening, even if he does steal a brief kiss in the meantime.

"Be patient with me," he says softly, bumping noses. "And tell me if I do anything wrong or...anything."

Stolen kisses freely given, sunshine and the smell of nearby herbs and fruit and sweetened coffee...

It could be worse, thinks Bagoas with a wry, secret little smile at his own expense. Yes, it could certainly be much worse.

Keeping his eyes closed one moment longer, he breathes deep of the perfumed air to more easily imprint this moment onto the canvas of his collected memories.

"I shall never keep anything from you," he promises, fully intending to make good on it despite knowing circumstances may force his hand in other directions. In his experience, it is not so much the result that matters, but the intent and vision. Vision more so than anything else.

He opens his eyes to meet Glitch's gaze, feeling pulled in another direction for having made such a vow. Candour is imperative.

"Before you set your mind on this course, you should know I am not..." 'equipped' falls short, as do 'inclined' and 'of the persuasion', and he isn't usually one to get tongue-tied. It would seem navigating the many paths of the heart, through uncharted territory no less, is cumbersome.

"I've had two loves in my life, Ambrose," he says instead, brushing his right hand over Glitch's cheek. "The first was named Oromedon, who was some ten years my senior; neither one of us free to pursue the other. The second was Alexander, whom I loved for eight years. Though I was never considered his slave...I was never truly free.

"I am my own now. Perhaps I've yet to fully understand the scope of freedom, but I know I can't make a willing slave of anyone, least of all you. We have both loved and lost, but...all I ask is to have a place in your heart; not the whole of it. DG will always hold the larger part of it, but if you could spare me a corner...I would give you the same, in full."

Yes, things could be much, much worse. It's more than Glitch feels he should have, but he's not pushing back. He'll bask now in the promise of honesty, in the kindness and respect and quiet peace that Bagoas offers.

His brow furrows for a moment at I am not but there's suitable distraction and more to concentrate on, like the base of a thumb to softly press lips to thanks to proximity and inclination. And those words which need to tumble around his mind for a bit.

When he thinks of his life and his loves there's giggles and auburn curls, lilac on the air and a rich, deep voice in his ear, the clack of heels and the swish of silk. And yes, of the girl who'd helped him through this absurd existence in this nonsense city. He didn't want to discount that but all they'd had was each other, all that had made sense was each other and it had been complex and simple, something fallen into rather than sought. That's how he's understood it for a long time now, but it was a knowledge he kept to himself. Some secrets are worth keeping.

"Bagoas, you've had a portion since I carried you home," he points out with a little smile. "I don't, I can't quantify it how but: I've wanted to protect you from the start and...seeing you learn, seeing you flourish, and helping with that has been-- I can't tell you how happy it makes me, every day. And that's..."

He shakes his head. "That means more. To me. Who you are and what you do and I hope that's okay, that it's not just how you look."

Because yes he is gorgeous and Glitch knows it and admires it thoroughly, he just can't bear thinking that it's where all Baogas' self worth is tied up.

There's a moment where his mind runs away with him and he thinks Glitch is going to decline, or worse yet: make demands. But the soft press of lips holds promise, and there's no pretence in Glitch's eyes when he looks at him. There's only acceptance and affection, and that combination is more already than he could have expected.

He might've known. Glitch has always had a way of surprising him, right from the first time they met; when his world was made of fear and pain, and Glitch reminded him of home. A hand outstretched was all it took back then, and not once has Glitch disappointed or failed him since.

He places the tips of his fingers to Glitch's lips, softly, gently, to forestall any more words. "I know. I would not offer a place in my heart to someone who only sees what I choose to present to the world. We all have masks to wear, but one such as I have two very distinct ones. When we are together..."

Averting his eyes for the length and breadth of a heartbeat and a lungful of air, he gathers his thoughts and tries shaping them into words that come close to explaining.

"I've rarely felt the need to wear either one, and the longer I know you, the less I want to."

And that coaxes forth a proper grin and a soft sigh. It speaks volumes, that degree of trust and level of comfort, and Glitch won't take it for granted.

"I...I'm glad, thank you. Or you're welcome." Pause. "That's just more incentive to spend time together, you know."

Not that he needed additional incentive but, well. He does disentangle himself (with some gratuitous hair-petting) and resettles, his gaze at Bagoas open and fond, a hint of a spark in his eyes.

"Like now. We'll have more raspberries, get to work on those cookies..." And make more coffee and maybe grab a few plums and-- "...and we'll just be ourselves. Oh, and then we can listen to music!"

Yes, definitely a spark, all excitement and anticipation of sharing and learning and being.

One ought bake while the oven is hot; yes, Glitch is right. They ought spend time together, while there is still time.

"Yes." He smiles, trailing his hands fondly, affectionately down the front of Glitch's shirt to smooth the fabric; then he reaches for one of the heart-shaped cookies (though he himself does not recognize them as being heart-shaped), snaps it in half-- Or fully intends to, though the cookie has other ideas. It crumbles rather fretfully into a heap on Bagoas' lap.

"Oh, no," he giggles. "Oh, well." Finding the biggest morsel, he offers it out to Glitch. To Ambrose.

"Do you know... I was named Bagoas, which in itself is not an uncommon name in Persia. However, it is a diminutive."

The last of the tightness in Glitch's chest dissipates, and he can't tell if it's from the touch or his own laughter. He'll chalk it up to both and just be glad he feels better.

"Oh?" he says and leans in slightly, the better to accept the food and the better to be attentive. "What's it a diminutive of?"

Smiling and pleased even to be sharing crumbs, Bagoas gives a slight shrug. He would lick the crumbs off his fingers if he didn't think it too distracting a thing to do, and with DG's disappearance so fresh in both their minds, it simply wouldn't do.

"There are two names, actually. First, there's Bagadata, which means 'made by God'. Ba-ga-da-tah."

He smiles, gathering the crumbs before they stain his kaftan. "The other is akin to the first and shares the same meaning. Bagrat. Bah-g-raaht. So you see, my parents had me aspiring to greatness even before I could walk."

Despite effots to be un-distracting Glitch is still enthralled, head tilted and eyes wide as he absorbs the new information. A little time and some (but not too much) patience, and Bagoas can be as distracting as he likes.

"Bagadata Bagrat," he repeats, tongue tripping lightly before he corrects himself with a nod and tries it again, cements it in his memory. "That's got a beautiful rhythm, you know. Thank you for sharing."

"No, thank you," responds Bagoas, rasping a finger down the center of Glitch's bearded chin. "Ambrose."

Bagoas may have stepped over the threshold, but Glitch was the one who opened the door ajar. He lifts his forgotten glass of iced coffee, raises it slightly between them.

"How about we raise our glasses, to the many winding paths of life?"

He lifts his chin at the gesture, grinning, and can't help a little shiver. New and different, in ways he doens't want to get used to.

Glitch raises his own glass and nods, curls bouncing. "Every single one of them," he agrees, touching his glass to Bagoas' and taking a sip. Bitter and sweet, cold and invigorating, it's all balance and beauty and he's at peace.

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053 ± [text / location: wilde] and it's not like there was warning

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