[Milliways stables]

[2goodarms]

On the short list of Things Curtis Didn't Expect, "talking helped as much as fighting to ditch his bad mood" ranks right near the top.

...okay, yeah, so did the kissing. And the promise of more, even if that "more" isn't happening tonight. And just -- being around Dejah, watching her smile, listening to the warmth of her voice. It's like she thaws the coldest parts of him; melts the ice with a touch; sets the water moving again. She barely has to do anything except be, and all of a sudden he's feeling better than he has all day.

How the hell did this happen so fast?

He's still dressed for the gym -- undershirt, wrapped hand, and all -- as he makes his way out to the stables. If Edgar's not there, maybe he'll try to re-introduce himself to Nitwit before going back to room 1001. That baby thoat's probably had a pretty weird day.

Comments

[hate_gettin_older]

"I mean, if smaller means lower gravity, then ... lower gravity has to mean smaller?" Uncertain.

[2goodarms]

Curtis shrugs, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. "Maybe I'll ask Bar for a map or something."

Or...whatever a map of space is called. Star chart?

[hate_gettin_older]

It makes about as much sense as anything. Edgar shrugs in turn, and leans back against Nitwit's side.

"Anyway." Suppressing another yawn. "Pretty fuckin convenient, the being super strong thing. Otherwise the bastard probably would've eaten poor Nitwit. Maybe me too, I dunno."

[2goodarms]

Curtis nods, dropping his gaze to the scatter of hay around his feet. Somebody mended a hole in the knee of his pants the first time they came back from the laundry; he picks at the thread, scraping his nails along it as if to smooth out the spot -- or tear it loose.

"I'm glad you're okay," he says, quietly.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar nods, looking a little subdued.

"I kinda wished you were there."

[2goodarms]

"Me, too."

And yeah, some of that's pure selfishness: wanting to see Dejah's home, wanting to understand her life better. But maybe things would've gone a little smoother for Edgar if he'd been there.

Or maybe not. Seems like Edgar did okay on his own.

(And that sends up a whole other pang: Edgar did just fine without Curtis around.)

[hate_gettin_older]

The impulse is sudden and strong, to reach over and take hold of Curtis's hand for comfort, as though he were much younger. But there's too much distance between them to do that without getting up and moving closer, and for a moment he's actively annoyed at how unreasonably big this place always is, how much room it wastes.

He sighs, and behind him Nitwit heaves a sigh of her own without waking up.

"Maybe someday we'll go together, yeah?"

[2goodarms]

He crooks another lopsided smile. "Yeah," he agrees.

Beat.

"Maybe I'll bring home a friend for Nitwit too."

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar gives him a matching crooked grin.

"Just so long as it's not another fuckin Devil's Snare, I don't think they'd get along."

[2goodarms]

Curtis snorts out a tiny laugh. "Nah, I was thinking something smaller," he says. "Maybe a bug. They've gotta have bugs there, right?"

[hate_gettin_older]

"Yeah, Dejah says thoats eat em." Edgar makes a face.

[2goodarms]

"Oh, well in that case my pet Martian bug's staying in our room." Curtis stifles a yawn against the bend of his elbow. "I'll let it run around. Be free."

[hate_gettin_older]

"Good plan," murmurs Edgar, muffling yet another yawn of his own.

It's so quiet out here.

[2goodarms]

It's a comfortable kind of quiet: the breathing of large bodies, the hum of crickets, the occasional thump as a horse knocks its foot against the ground. Between that, the fresh air (well, as fresh as you can get in a stable), and Curtis' earlier exertion, the ground's starting to feel pretty cozy.

"You gonna spend the whole night out here?" he murmurs.

[hate_gettin_older]

"I dunno," he says. "Maybe. First night in a strange place, I don't want her to panic if she wakes up."

[2goodarms]

He nods, absently scrubbing at the back of his neck again.

"...Want me to stay out here, too?"

[hate_gettin_older]

His smile is smaller this time, but heartfelt.

"Wouldn't mind that at all."

[2goodarms]

A small, tense knot he didn't even notice unwinds under Curtis' breastbone. His own smile grows. "Okay."

He leans his head back against the wall, scooting down an inch to make himself more comfortable.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar shifts his shoulders against Nitwit's side, settling back down.

"Oh," he says after a moment, "did I show you the cup they gave me?"

[2goodarms]

Curtis' eyebrows rise.

"No. What cup?"

[hate_gettin_older]

He shifts again, squirming sideways to rummage in the makeshift inner pockets of his jacket until he comes up with it: the polished lower beak of the Devil's Snare, set in a holder of knotted and molded leather.

[2goodarms]

Damn. That is nice. Curtis purses his lips in a near-silent whistle.

"Hell of a party favor," he says.

[hate_gettin_older]

"It's part of the whatsit's mouth," he says, closing one hand over the top of the cup -- fingers spread wide, as it's a good deal bigger than his hand -- and flapping his hand up and down by way of illustration, as of a beak opening and closing. "The Devil's Snare. Iljat, that's what Tars's people call it."

[2goodarms]

He's trying to picture a spray of tentacles surrounding that mouth, sprawling nearly to the size of Nitwit -- like Julia Fruitnugget's younger cousin, but a hell of a lot meaner. It's...pretty unsettling.

Thank God for that super-strength.

"We're gonna have to make you a trophy case," he says, deadpan.

[hate_gettin_older]

"I was thinking maybe I might keep my rock collection in it," he says, a little dreamily.

(And maybe just a little smugly.)