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

[aintnoconvict]

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! ]

Comments

[aintnoconvict]

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.

[thepersianyouth]

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."

[aintnoconvict]

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.

[thepersianyouth]

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."

[aintnoconvict]

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?"

[thepersianyouth]

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."

[aintnoconvict]

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."

[thepersianyouth]

"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?"

[aintnoconvict]

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.