[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]

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.)

[hate_gettin_older]

"Or us." And he pats the sword's hilt.

[2goodarms]

He cocks his head, eyebrows quirked in agreement: damn right.

"Now I just gotta get one too." Realizing what that might sound like, Curtis picks up the book. "Or make one. Get a whole weapons rack up there."

[hate_gettin_older]

"Right," agrees Edgar. "Bet we could make all kinds of stuff out of what they just leave lying around here."

A pause, and a half-grin. "Unless you're thinking of going off to Barsoom and killing something there."

[2goodarms]

Curtis huffs out a breath. "Oh, yeah, that'll go great," he says. "First time my girlfriend takes me home to her parents and I end up killing something while I'm there."

Beat.

Even drier, "Maybe we'll all get attacked by a giant mutant octopus and I'll save their lives."

[hate_gettin_older]

"Don't laugh," Edgar says, very clearly Not Laughing himself, "it could happen."

... And there's the thought of what else could happen, according to Tars. He still doesn't know how, or even whether, to bring that up to Curtis.

Maybe he should ask Dejah about it, sometime before they go.

[2goodarms]

He cracks a smile. "It'd be a hell of a first impression."

The smile's kind of lopsided, though; he's tracing his fingers over the book like he rubbed his fingertips, an absent fidgeting that belies some of his stress.

Show me you are worthy of her, demanded the one other Martian he knows.

Yeah, he and Tars came to an understanding after the fight. Sort of. But shit like that tends to stick when you've been hearing it for eighteen years; when there's already a nice spot carved out for it, worn down by years of Wilford's rule.