[Room 1001]

[2goodarms]

Exercise: done. Food: done. Brief walk outside so he can keep getting used to all that goddamn space: done.

Dare Curtis say he's settling into a routine?

Right now, part of that routine includes flipping through the book Dejah got him -- the Forge 101 stuff he keeps meaning to try again soon. If he props one leg up so he can rest the book against his thigh, he can even turn the pages one-handed without too much trouble.

Comments

[2goodarms]

"Yeah," he agrees, low, and punctuates it with a similar sigh.

If he's getting this irritated over a goddamn sword, is he going to survive his own trip to Barsoom? Will he blow whatever cover Dejah's working so hard to craft? He doesn't have much cause to doubt their relationship anymore -- those little flinches of she's Front, be careful faded long ago -- but sometimes, like now, the enormity of their differences looms so large that Curtis feels exhausted just thinking about how to deal with it.

[hate_gettin_older]

In a slightly lower voice: "Is this okay?"

[2goodarms]

Curtis shrugs. Whether he thinks it's okay or not seems pretty beside the point; it's already happened.

"Yeah," he says again. It's the sort of agreement that's more like I guess than of course.

[hate_gettin_older]

"'Cause, I mean, he knows --"

He grasps at the air with one hand, trying to pull together the words he wants.

"He knows he's not my Jeddak."

[2goodarms]

There's a funny crush of emotion in Curtis' chest. He looks down at his hand, working the pad of his thumb over each of his fingertips as if trying to untangle a knot.

So who's your Jeddak? Me?

God, he never wanted to lead, he never wanted Edgar to look up to him so goddamn much -- but when it's just the two of them in this bizarre-as-hell afterlife, when Edgar's the only one around who really gets what the Tail does to you...Curtis doesn't want him to follow somebody else who doesn't have the first fucking clue about the train. That thread winding through the old, exhausted frustration, prying it apart to give Curtis a little breathing room?

It's relief. Comfort in knowing neither of them will have to fend for themselves.

He nods, looks up, almost says good before stopping himself.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar might hear that unspoken good, though. Just might.




"Fuckin thing's way too big to carry anyway," he says, his tone starting to approach something lighter.

[2goodarms]

Curtis snorts. "I was gonna say. Where the hell are you gonna put that?"

It's a much bigger party favor than that cup they made out of the Devil Snare's beak.

[hate_gettin_older]

"No idea, man." Rueful.

"... Maybe the closet?"

[2goodarms]

"Yeah. Stuff it behind some towels. Slice off a finger when you try to get a washcloth."

Solemn.

[hate_gettin_older]

"Well obviously not behind stuff, that'd be stupid."

[2goodarms]

In tones of great enlightenment: "Oh, okay, so we'll attach it to the front door instead. Got it."

One corner of his mouth's starting to twitch again.

[hate_gettin_older]

"Or hey, maybe hang it over the door. Didn't all those mighty warrior types used to do that?"

[2goodarms]

"Maybe? I don't know. Sounds like a thing they'd do."

He shakes his head, the twitch growing to a full smile.

"But you come back with a fur coat next time and I'm setting it on fire."

[hate_gettin_older]

"Are you fuckin telling me you don't want a fur coat? I think you'd look sharp in one."

[2goodarms]

"What, and a big pair of glasses too?"

[hate_gettin_older]

"Like Mason's?" Edgar leans back and squints at Curtis in mock appraisal. "You could maybe carry it off. Not the purple suit, though."

[2goodarms]

Deadpan: "Nah, blue's more my color. Maybe a nice red."

[hate_gettin_older]

"Blue with red trimmings," he suggests brightly.

[2goodarms]

"Perfect," and the last half of the word dissolves into another snort of laughter. "Oh my god."

At least Barsoom'll be warm enough that he won't have to wear a suit? Probably?

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar grins, just a bit smug at his victory -- Curtis was the first to laugh aloud.

"Seriously, maybe I could hang it on the wall. Somewhere it won't fall on anyone's fuckin head if it comes loose."

[2goodarms]

He swallows down the last of the laughter, glancing around the walls for any potential spots.

"Maybe vertically next to the door?" he suggests. Curtis points to a spot about chest-high, sketching an invisible line down the side of the front door. "So if it falls, it won't have that far to go?"

(And so it'll be easier to grab in an emergency. Complicated shit about honor and Jeddaks and obligation aside, it's a damn solid weapon.)

[hate_gettin_older]

This time his appraising look is genuine, and followed by a nod.

"And handy if anyone needs to grab it in a hurry," he adds, echoing the unspoken thought.

[2goodarms]

"Yeah, s'what I was thinking."

So far, they haven't had to fight off -- or fight back against -- too many people here, but who knows when that'll change.

[hate_gettin_older]

"Course we're supposed to yell for Security," he says dryly, "but up here I don't figure that'll happen."

[2goodarms]

Perfectly placid: "What Security doesn't know won't hurt them."

(Sorry, X.)