[Nightmares]
Dice: 4 d10 TN7 (2, 3, 5, 6) ( fail )
ElijahLive, live you bastard for tomorrow you die and it all begins anew.
Something to take up to every morning.
Something that stuck in his head while he was making copies and getting ready for classes and buying his textbooks as though buying something would make the walls stop rumbling. He considers seeing Eleanor to talk, to talk about anything really because her presence is calming but he determines that reliving the sensation of drowning, sinking, sundering ending (beginning) ending was too much today. There really only one thing that Elijah could think of to do to shake the impending feeling of dread that came when his dreams were too much.
Elijah Poirot was going to get himself completely trashed until he forgot the night was ever anything at all to worry about. He'd stoke his courage with coke and pepsi and rum and whatever else he could throw at his system and dance until the world stopped spinning and everything came down to a crawl. He would move and touch and taste until he was fairly certain that he could count the heartbeats of whomever he was closest to in hopes of recapturing that moment where he could feel everything breathing, beating, breaking alive because he needed alive today.
He'd had enough dying.
For now, he had to prepare. This was a ritual, and he needed more damned carbs in his system than a marathon runner because what he was about to do to himself was damnably exhausting and he needed fuel for that fire. Besides, he'd heard this place had some damn fine hot sauce, and quesadillas were looking fan-fucking-tastic. He took a cab here, would take a cab wherever it was he was going, and if he played his cards right it wouldn't be home tonight. He had a button down shirt on that was undone just enough that his collarbones were visible at the right angle. . He had pants that matched his vest and one could say he looked sharp, looked poised. He even had a damn tie on that was ever so obviously eskew. Business formal gone ever so awry.
He had a seat at the bar. It was immediate service, which was precisely what he wanted.
SidElijah isn't the only one who arrives at the restaurant sans motorized vehicle. Sid's reason is less about her later plans for the evening and more about the fact she lives a mere four blocks to the south. That doesn't mean she comes with no wheels at all.
She opens the door to the establishment, dressed in new jeans, a pair of sneakers, and a gauzy navy blue blouse with sleeves rolled to her elbows. There is a messenger bag slung across her torso, and a skateboard carried beneath her right arm. Her long red hair has been plaited into a thick braid that drapes over her shoulder.
As soon as she walks in, sees a vaguely familiar figure leaned over at the bar - ah, her destination, thwarted! - her brow tightens and her mouth firms not quite into a line. Her tension comes from wariness, though not the sort some might expect.
Regardless, or perhaps deliberately in spite of that wariness, Sid weaves her way through to take up a place at the bar herself. Two seats away, of course, giving the kid his space in case...well she's not really sure what to expect from Elijah. She leans her skateboard against the wall of the bar, removes her bag to hold it more securely in place, then slides into one of the stools.
ElijahElijah smiles a smile at Sid that is not unlike the awkward smile of finding out your one-nighter was also your new supervisor. Awkward, yes, but mostly embarrassed. Then again, the only sleeping done on anyone's part in this equation was Elijah in Sid's truck in a completely platonic out-like-a-light fashion. Come to think of it, it hadn't been the worst sleep he's had.
So, very carefully, he scooted himself one barstool over.
"Hey, I ordered too many quesadillas," lies, he ordered as many as he had intended on ordering, "do you wanna split some with me?"
HawksleyHawksley comes out of the bathroom.
Hawksley is wearing a tank top that is striped thin and thick and thin and thin and thin and thick again, an ombre of yellow and green and blue. Hawksley is wearing Ray Bans with black frames, neon yellow arms. His hair is a mess. His skin is tanned to a particularly rich shade of gold. He is in knee-length tailored linen shorts that are wrinkled half to death, and he is wearing bright blue top-siders with gleaming white soles and laces. In one hand is a yellow hoodie. In his other hand is a paper towel he forgot he was holding.
For a moment he's standing there in the arch between bathrooms and restaurant, hands to each side, like he's willing the room to stop wobbling.
Then he lowers his arms, straightens his back, shakes his hair back, and struts like the room isn't fucking wobbling because his will is greater than the room, fills the room with sunlight, saturates everyone's skin with warmth and light and glowing, glowing glory. The building shakes off its moorings and lifts, slowly and then all at once, soaring into the air. Now everyone can feel a bit wobbly,
at least those who are scared of flying.
--
He has not seen Sid in the last year.
Almost to the day. Actually plus a few days. But it's been a year since the night in the park that ripped Pan to shreds and left Sera a sobbing mess, the night when he and Sid were the ones who laid down beside her and held her until it was morning, and the terrors of the night were a little easier to release back to their shadows.
And it's entirely possible that a thing or two has happened in the past year, but try telling Hawksley that. No one tells him anything because it is useless to tell him anything. Not really, but he tries to make it very clear how little he cares about anyone, anything, so no one thinks it's worth it to involve him. He's a selfish, narcissistic hedonist. Not someone you call when you're sick. Not someone you call when shit is going down. Not someone you call for anything but partying.
So this is probably why, upon seeing Sid who went to a crazy woman's house with him and knows stuff about science and shit and comforted the person who is ostensibly His Only Friend That Is Not Also On His Payroll, Hawksley thinks of nothing but to lift his Ray Bans in shock, stare at Sid, and say,
loudly:
"Oh. My. God. Becky. Look... at her butt."
SidSid watches the movement from her left. Watches as it resolves into Elijah sitting a stool closer to her. Watches that with the quiet stillness of a...one wants to say deer but that doesn't quite describe it. A wild animal, though, or one that has been smacked too often for doing the wrong thing. That's how she watches Elijah as he moves closer.
A thing or two has happened in the last year. Sid didn't think to contact Hawksley about any of it. Sid doesn't think to reach out to someone unless that someone is Someone and these days there are hardly any Someones in her life. None of them are in Illegal Pete's tonight. So. Hawksley won't know about the trials or tribulations that have shaped and changed the quiet redhead, the one who tried to defend someone she considered a friend after he left the building, the one who filled Sera's bed with a warmth and vibrancy that felt like spring even before her resonance turned green and verdant.
She does not have much butt to speak of, not anymore. She is thinner than she was a year and a handful of days ago, cheeks less round, it makes the dark eyes behind her glasses seem sunken. There are splashes of freckles everywhere on her fair skin, signs that she's seen the sun but still seems shadowed.
Elijah lies about quesadillas and Sid opens her mouth, but before she can say anything someone is quoting a Sir Mix-A-Lot video. Sid wouldn't turn - she doesn't recognize the voice or realize that it's directed at her and not someone else in the restaurant - except for that feeling. That sensation of sunlight warming her already warmed skin despite being indoors and away from the sun. Twisting on her seat, Sid looks over her shoulder. There is a moment of confusion followed by recognition and a slight shifting of her mouth that hints at a smile.
"Hawksley."
ElijahHawksley had a feeling that was hard to ignore, followed by a presence that was incredibly fun to look at because jesus that man was made of sun kissed gloriousness. Elijah wasn't the type to be jealous, but he was the type to unabashedly give him a look (because it was hard not to look because oh my gawd) His attention was drawn between the two; Elijah did not approach any closer to Sid than their current distance. That seemed comfortable. That seemed to be about as close as he could possibly get with Sid, noting her tension. Noting her posture, not ing their history, he didn't want to press. He didn't want to invoke a retreat.
"Holy shit, Hawksley, you know everybody," he said with no small amount of surprise.
SerafíneThe doors open and Illegal Pete's doesn't have fucking chimes, thank you know, or if they do they are shaped like cacti and slightly mad and slightly absurd and someone ripped the clappers out of them because the actual bell part is fucking annoying but regardless:
- a door somewhere opens and maybe it is the door to the restroom and maybe it is a front door, maybe it is a door that you don't quite remember being there in the first place. One that leads away from something you were, toward something you may be becoming and -
Fuck it.
Sera walks in.
She is wearing these tiny little leather short-shorts and fishnets and an unbuttoned men's sportcoat with apparently nothing underneath it except for a wholly transparent black lace bra, handmade, French, these amazing fucking little scallops probably hand-stitched by the most elfin little hands in the most elegant atelier in all Paris, and despite the absolute beautiful sheerness of her underthings, some semblance of modesty is maintained because that suitjacket, more or less covers her breasts but wouldn't, you know, if she lifted her arms overhead or stretched or did anything active whatsoever.
She: walks in, and puts her arms Hawksley from behind and looks like she's about to set her teeth in his shoulder because why the fuck not when:
"Sid, fuck. Hey. Long time no see. You look - " the sunken eyes, you know? The tension; that edged glance, Sera cannot say that Sid looks Good because, well, dark circles and what-all, " - fuck, it's good to see you."
HawksleyThe redhead, to Hawksley, is just that. Not quiet nor sad, certainly not shy or retreating, and Amelia Who. He's never seen an iota of that person, even if it was the bulk of her personality at one given point or another. So he doesn't compare that one to this one, and to be honest:
he doesn't notice if she's thinner or not. He has a vague picture of her in his head from a year ago. Mostly it's red hair, warm hands. Mostly, right now, he's inhaling deeply as though he can smell resonance and noticing something else about her that has not diminished, but increased.
"Why you sly dog," he calls her, coming over and putting his hands on her shoulders, giving her a raucous shake like ARMAND YOU OLD SO-AND-SO. He is not that rough, though. He is super drunk. But cheerfully so. He smells a bit like limes and tequila. And even without the alcohol, fear of Sid being dismayed or angered by the touch does not occur to him. Fear of making her retreat would bewilder him. Fear of accidentally vomiting on her because she's so wobbly all of a sudden: that is something Hawksley attends to, and so he stops jiggling her and drops his hands.
This is after he has dropped the paper towel he forgot he was holding onto the floor. He does not drop his hoodie, but the muscles in his arms and his shoulders are pretty and nice to look at. The watch on his wrist that cost as much as some people's cars glints in the fading daylight, or is lit from within by his own never-fading light.
He notices Elijah! His sunglasses are atop his head now. He blinks. He stares. Then he's tries really hard to remember meeting Elijah. He decides to fake it, and grins. "I so do. How you been, man?" And is clapping his hand against Elijah's, pulling him in for a back-patting bro-hug.
Hawksley[I TOTALLY KNOW WHO YOU ARE. -1 for drunk.]
Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (6, 9) ( success x 2 )
HawksleyAnd then Sera is there, glomping him from behind while he's bro-glomping Elijah, and Hawksley just grins. He chuckles and twists, wrapping one arm around Sera, patting her back. And Elijah's. Patting. Rubbing slow circles on their backs. Massaging slightly. Laughing.
Everyone is his friend right now. Tequila is his BEST friend, though.
Sid[feelings what are feelings i certainly don't have those: manip+subt (hidden emotions)]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 10) ( success x 1 ) Re-rolls: 1
SerafíneWHAT ARE YOU HIDING SID. (Perception + Awarempathy.)
Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (4, 5, 6, 9, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 6 )
Hawksley[perception + awarempathy -1 TEQUILA]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (7, 7, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 5 )
Elijah[I wanna roll things! -1]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )
SidThe tension in her increases as Hawksley draws nearer. It's been over a year since she last saw him, since they laid together in Sera's bed in Sera's house, Sera sandwiched between them. Back then she thought he was warm, that he gave good goods. He is more a stranger to her now than he ever was a year ago (they'd met before, see, in some other place in some Before time). She turns on the stool to face him, so that he's not coming up behind her, all drunk and smiles and smelling of tequila. Sid leans back when his hands reach for her shoulders and she frowns. That frown deepens when he has hold of her and starts to shake her and then Sid is shifting, "Don't," there is not even a note of pleading there is simply Don't. Then she's sliding off the stool, shaking his hands from her shoulders in the process as she bends to gather up her belongings.
Rising, she lifts her bag strap up and over her head and that's when she sees a familiar figure making her way from somewhere to there, to stand behind Hawksley. Sera greets her like nothing at all lies between them and Sid looks at her, all the warmth - both perceived and magically pulsing in her skin - drains away.
"Is it," she says, adjusting the weight of her bag's strap on her shoulder. "That's a surprise." She cannot keep a cold distance from her voice, from the way she looks at the Ecstatic.
Without another word, Sid darts around Sera and Hawksley. Hefting her skateboard under her arm, she makes for the exit. She'll get her quesadillas somewhere else tonight.
Sid[Things:
Sid is very uncomfortable about strange drunk men approaching her and trying to touch her unexpectedly. She isn't afraid of Hawksley, at least, only upset and annoyed.
And then Sera. This is a vast gulf between Sid and Sera now. There is genuine surprise that Sera thinks it's good to see her, but she also genuinely doesn't want to be around her.]
ElijahHe totally buys it, laughs because laughter comes easily and perks up because Sera is there and as it turns out? Tonight seems to be pretty fucking fantabulous, and maybe that was what he needed to remember. The living part of things, but he isn't thinking about much because he's mostly caught in mid bro-glomp and then there's an arm over his shoulders and Elijah peeeeered over at Sera, and his attention swung over- all over the place because damned if there wasn't a lot of sensory input and he couldn't wipe the damned grin off his face.
But, of course, then this happens. there is shift in the air and he is perceptive enough to notice that… something isn't right here. Sid gets up, leaves, takes her things, and Elijah can't do much of anything except sit there with a dumbfounded expression on his face. He… he doesn't have context. He doesn't understand precisely what is going on, but for once he knows that it wasn't his fault that Sid was fleeing.
"…"
At about that time, Elijah was really hoping for an inordinate number of quesadillas.
"… I have no idea what just happened."
HawksleyWhatever it's worth, even drunk Hawksley doesn't come up behind women and grab them. He approached Sid from her side, and saw the frown but didn't process it. Then he's like HEY YOU, all happy and such. That doesn't last long. Sid shifts away and isn't just shaking him off but taking her ball and going home. And Hawksley is left at a loss. He does not end up calling her a sly dog. He still smells like limes and tequila. It still does not occur to him that Sid might be dismayed by someone she knows giving her a playful greeting, and for a moment there his brain just spins, trying to figure out what else it might be that makes her snap that Don't at him and decide to leave.
He still drops the paper towel. He still does not drop his hoodie. His muscles are, as ever, quite pleasant to look at. His wristwatch is very expensive, but it always has been, and actually appreciates value over time because it's a work of art, as long as he takes care of it.
Which, perhaps surprisingly, he does.
Hawksley forgets quickly. Sid is in some kind of funk, he decides, and there's Elijah, so he's faking it, and EVERYONE IS TOTALLY BUYING IT and this delights him. He still, when he can, glomps on to two very attractive people and rubs their backs with a bit too much familiarity.
Tequila is still his best friend. But it hasn't always been, and later? Probably won't be.
--
He is not insensate, though he is drunk. He feels it when the room gets so cold all of a sudden that his balls just about shrivel up. He notices the way that Sid looks at Sera like she's about to claw her fucking eyes out. And he is now wondering WHAT THE SHIT was in that tequila because none of this makes sense to him.
Elijah has no idea what just happened. Hawksley is watching Sid storm out for a few seconds, a stitch between his brows, then he shakes his head. "Chalk it up to redheads, man, I don't know," he says. He doesn't try to get her to stop. 'Fleeing Sid' is not an animal in his journals, which makes it all the more confusing, but the reason he doesn't bother is because he wouldn't. For just about anyone.
For literally anyone but one person, who is not here, who made him hate chasing after anyone so much that he has taught himself to forget how to do it.
ElijahThere is a glorious, relief-giving moment when Elijah's quesadillas finally get there. Not in time for anyone else to eat them, but there is enough food there for a marathon runner (or for a recently-not-a-teenager) to sate themselves on. Perhaps he went a little overboard. Perhaps it would have been a good call, but the smell of tequila and the scent of food had his stomach rumbling and something reminded Elijah that it was cheaper to pre-party here than it was to go to the club and actually get toasted.
Knowing, of course, that tequila makes his clothes come off, Elijah decided to dress in layers.
"Lady and gentleman, I am too fucking sober right now," and with that, he ordered a shot of tequila. Gotta start somewhere.
SerafíneSera is half-smiling and muttering, happily you understand, "God you're so drunk," to Hawksley and she wrinkles her nose and kinda waves this TWEE LITTLE WAVE to Elijah and allows herself to be twisted 'round so that Hawksley can slip an arm around her waist and settle a hand on her spine, and her head slants so that she can rest her ear against Hawksley's shoulder or maybe his chest and absorb the beating drum of his heart into her body. She inhales. Breathing like she takes pleasure from even so simple an act because she does take pleasure from so simple an act except -
- her eyes are dark, the liner perfect though the shadow is smuged a bit and she has so much breath in her lungs and she's smiling at Sid, not precisely benevolently mind and not without some degree of awareness that it has been awhile but the pleasure she voices is so genuine, written all over her face and lambent in her eyes and tangled with a different sort of awareness, a certain specificity that she also cannot help breathing in.
That first is it has Sera so goddamned startled that she hardly understands what the pain in her chest is, and so she's balanced against Hawksley, her golden head all aslant, looking not wholly unlike a golden retriever with an ear infection, an animal who has just heard one of those sounds, like a dog whistle, and she doesn't precisely understand where it is coming from, just that it is in the air all around her.
Sera's breath is coming harder than she realizes and she just stands there, breating hard, and she doesn't quite hear Elijah's comment that he doesn't know what happened and more or less ignores Hawksley's redheads, man, her brows all drawn together.
Then she is: squaring her shoulders and rising to her tiptoes to kiss Hawksley quite precisely on his temple with an admonishment to Elijah and Hawksley that sounds like "You boys have fun tonight," and disentangling herself from Hawksley in a way that naturally makes the suitjacket swing open and lo, her lovely, transparent bra beneath, the brief suggestion of yet-another-tattoo on her ribs beneath her right breast and unlikely Hawksley she is following Sid out of the goddamned diner and she's not exactly chasing Sid or even trying to stop her and you must understand that the hang-time between that
stutterstep
of reaction and the actual action is both endless and infinitessimal because she is a Disciple of Time, because she is liminal and magickal and there is that space and then there is this one.
Sid walks out of the diner. Sera walks out after her, stepping out of her heels half-way because they are ridiculous and Sid is taller and what the fuck, it feels like a night to be barefoot on warm pavement in the fading daylight.
--
Outside: "Sid. SID."
And this is either pointlessly poured into the darkness or who knows what but: whatever. Sera says it. "I don't know what the fuck that was - but if you can't stand to be around me, then I'm gonna go.
"And I think you should turn around and go back inside and try to be happy to see people who are happy to see you. Be nice. Make fucking friends. Say, I'm fucking sorry, you guys, I overreacted. Bad day. Let me buy you another fucking tequila - because these walls are bullshit. They're fucking bullshit - "
Whatever else Sera was going to say, well. She inhales that too. Swallows it back and - yeah.
She genuinely does not understand what the fuck that was, or where it came from. She really was happy to see Sid. She really was astonished, hurt, in pain in the aftermath, and she really does actually give a fuck and genuinely thinks that Sid should turn around, go be social, do something with strangers.
Serafíne(okay guys, it is my bedtime!)
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