loggage
Finn and Juilliard talk, which goes about as well as you'd expect.
(Apologies for the repost; we realised the loggage wasn't in correct order of events. It is now.)
Juilliard recognised Finn, when he saw the boy, from the cafeteria. Finn had not been, however, unconscious and so clearly beautiful at the time. For a while, Juilliard stood in the doorway, experiencing odd double vision, remembering Theirn dying and Alden's words. He's sleeping, Vichy. He was sleeping again, reaching silently for Alden even unmoving and undreaming in his sleep. One hand open and outstretched. He was sleeping. Juilliard moved closer into the room and knelt by Finn's side, and Finn stirred.
He whimpered sleepily, like a child waking after a nightmare, the open hand curling closed as his eyes flickered open.
Juilliard smiled, or half-smiled. "Finn. We're here."
Finn sucked in his breath and sat up, staring at Juilliard in wide-eyed and rather dishevelled amazement. He stared for almost a full minute before raising his eyes and glancing around the room.
Juilliard laughed, and leant against the wall for support. It was only the fatigue, of course. He needed to watch himself more. "He's not here, here." he said softly. "In the medical wing, recovering from fun activities involving switched around molecules. He's fine."
Finn looked back at him. "And you?" he asked softly. "How are you?"
"I am fine," Juilliard said, and remembered to breathe again halfway through the third word. "I haven't been hurt. Merely a scratch on my leg, a valiant battle wound. Do you approve?--Are you all right?"
Finn smiled a little painfully. "Well, I'm not at my best." He looked away. "Thank you," he whispered. "God. I thought you were both--"
"--Dead?" said Juilliard, softly. "No. No, not at all. I promised I would bring him back, Finn."
"Yeah, I know." Finn swallowed hard. "And thank you." He shot Juilliard a trembling little smile.
Juilliard pressed his eyes shut. It was only because he was so tired. "Anything, of course, dear Finnegan. Anything at all."
"I know that, too," Finn murmured. "I'm sorry."
"Nonsense, Finn," said Juilliard as dryly as he could manage just then, and raised his hands. "What can you be speaking of?"
Finn gave him a look which belied his sluggish movements and shaky smiles.
"Finn," Juilliard said. "Do you do this on purpose?"
"Only when you're exasperating." Finn smiled ruefully. "Which is always. I like you, though."
"Well, thank you for that concession," Juilliard murmured, and did not stroke Finn's hair. "I rather think my exasperating powers lend me charm."
"That may be so." Finn curled his legs up on the couch, propping his chin on one hand. "Of course, between you and Alden I may have lost my ability to tell when someone's being exasperating."
"I find life much easier without one. After all, the line is so thin between exasperating and amusing." He waved a lazy hand. "As to Alden, I find him a much more personable human being than I previously gave him credit for. His ideas involving creative uses for a pen and two tangerines passed many an otherwise unremarkable hour."
Finn blinked. "I'm going to have to ask you to expound on that."
Juilliard smiled glitteringly. "Do you want me to? It included, for example, locations in which to lodge them should we encounter our fine friends who were following us. Did you know you could fit two tangerines up the average person's--"
"Don't." Finn rubbed his temples. "I should have expected that."
"Well, I confess our conversation was limited.--This does not mean, mind, that a beautiful and dazzling friendship has opened up between us. He is tolerable, however, Finn." Juilliard hunched in on himself for a moment, extending the silence, and then uncurled, looking Finn gently in the unfocused eye. "He might even deserve you."
There was another silence. Then Finn said softly, "It might sound a little stupid, but I really am glad that you think so."
Juilliard did not wince. It would have been incredibly inelegant, it would have been pointless, and it really would have only intensified the pain. Instead he continued smiling and redirected his attention at the ceiling. "I am glad my opinion means so much to you, dear Finn," he told the light fixture.
"Are you really?"
"Of course," he said, all earnestness, and wondered if the light fixture was listening. "I value your friendship."
"And you want me to stop talking."
"There is nothing I would rather have you do less." He looked back down at Finn, and had to look away. His eyes closed because his chest hurt. Because of the scrapes. Nothing more. Difficulty in breathing was only his imagination.
"Then you want me to stop talking about this." It was more of a question than a statement, and Finn's voice was sad.
"Finn," Juilliard said, again, and was horrified to hear his voice sound ragged. Best to not say anything, to not hear that tone again, to not look at Finn's pleading eyes-
"You look miserable," Finn murmured disconsolately. "Why do I do this to you?"
"You do nothing to me that I do not do to myself." Juilliard stood, back to Finn. "Go to sleep, Finn. Please? You should be happy. We are both well. As well as could be expected."
"You should sleep," Finn said. "Ask Mabit for some tea." He laughed ruefully and leaned back on the couch. "I should have realised sooner what she was doing."
"...Yes." Juilliard sighed. "I find myself contemplating what exactly to do to Mêlée. Do you think acid on her photo books should do the trick?"
"I like her photos. Really you should attempt to find her stash of blackmail photographs, but I'm afraid you'd use them for your own nefarious purposes."
"You know me entirely too well, considering this is the first we've met, boy." Juilliard grinned, and leaned against the doorjamb. "Were you spying on our gossip councils? Come, now, you can tell me."
"Not in the slightest. I was probably playing air hockey. Which makes me rather regret the crater in the rec room floor where the table used to be." Finn grinned mirthlessly at the ceiling.
"Ah, yes. Deprivation is a horrible thing. Did I ever tell you about the time that I set fire to my room?--No, I wouldn't have, that was last week or so."
"I hope you didn't cause too much damage," Finn murmured.
"Well, the other person in the room was a little surprised at the time, but she chose not to press charges when I saved her clothes." He raised an eyebrow. "Did you really blow up the rec room? I rather liked the rec room."
"Not all of it. I just imploded the pool and air hockey tables, and then Mabit gave me more tea."
Juilliard winced. "How much did you have, over the past few days? I ask only out of curiosity."
"I think she knocked me out four times, but my count might be off." Finn shrugged.
"It was really probably for the best."
"--For the best? Four doses in four days?" Juilliard stared at him. "It's amazing you're able to stay awake at all, Finn. The mild poison she uses is cumulative."
"Well, I won't be taking any more, and most of them were small doses."
"Small doses." He snorted. "Meligot never does things by halves. How long were you out the first time?"
"I'm not sure. You'll have to ask her. I was, as you say, out of it. And then she knocked me out again."
"I think I shall." He shook his head to clear it. What was this? He knew Mêlée well enough that this paranoia was ridiculous. "Tell me that you are all right and I will believe you, Finn."
"I'm all right," Finn said softly. "Honest I am, now that you and Alden are back."
Juilliard laughed, a little. "Well, then. How can I contradict you." He pulled himself up on the doorjamb, and stretched in the doorway. "I need to sleep myself, I think." He turned around, to face Finn completely, and--did not touch him, did not smile, did not do anything but look at him, once. Because that was all he had the right to. "The instant he's awake you will see him.--Goodnight, Finn."
"Goodnight," Finn whispered.
Juilliard paused, then left the room and closed the door behind him. Silently.
(Apologies for the repost; we realised the loggage wasn't in correct order of events. It is now.)
Juilliard recognised Finn, when he saw the boy, from the cafeteria. Finn had not been, however, unconscious and so clearly beautiful at the time. For a while, Juilliard stood in the doorway, experiencing odd double vision, remembering Theirn dying and Alden's words. He's sleeping, Vichy. He was sleeping again, reaching silently for Alden even unmoving and undreaming in his sleep. One hand open and outstretched. He was sleeping. Juilliard moved closer into the room and knelt by Finn's side, and Finn stirred.
He whimpered sleepily, like a child waking after a nightmare, the open hand curling closed as his eyes flickered open.
Juilliard smiled, or half-smiled. "Finn. We're here."
Finn sucked in his breath and sat up, staring at Juilliard in wide-eyed and rather dishevelled amazement. He stared for almost a full minute before raising his eyes and glancing around the room.
Juilliard laughed, and leant against the wall for support. It was only the fatigue, of course. He needed to watch himself more. "He's not here, here." he said softly. "In the medical wing, recovering from fun activities involving switched around molecules. He's fine."
Finn looked back at him. "And you?" he asked softly. "How are you?"
"I am fine," Juilliard said, and remembered to breathe again halfway through the third word. "I haven't been hurt. Merely a scratch on my leg, a valiant battle wound. Do you approve?--Are you all right?"
Finn smiled a little painfully. "Well, I'm not at my best." He looked away. "Thank you," he whispered. "God. I thought you were both--"
"--Dead?" said Juilliard, softly. "No. No, not at all. I promised I would bring him back, Finn."
"Yeah, I know." Finn swallowed hard. "And thank you." He shot Juilliard a trembling little smile.
Juilliard pressed his eyes shut. It was only because he was so tired. "Anything, of course, dear Finnegan. Anything at all."
"I know that, too," Finn murmured. "I'm sorry."
"Nonsense, Finn," said Juilliard as dryly as he could manage just then, and raised his hands. "What can you be speaking of?"
Finn gave him a look which belied his sluggish movements and shaky smiles.
"Finn," Juilliard said. "Do you do this on purpose?"
"Only when you're exasperating." Finn smiled ruefully. "Which is always. I like you, though."
"Well, thank you for that concession," Juilliard murmured, and did not stroke Finn's hair. "I rather think my exasperating powers lend me charm."
"That may be so." Finn curled his legs up on the couch, propping his chin on one hand. "Of course, between you and Alden I may have lost my ability to tell when someone's being exasperating."
"I find life much easier without one. After all, the line is so thin between exasperating and amusing." He waved a lazy hand. "As to Alden, I find him a much more personable human being than I previously gave him credit for. His ideas involving creative uses for a pen and two tangerines passed many an otherwise unremarkable hour."
Finn blinked. "I'm going to have to ask you to expound on that."
Juilliard smiled glitteringly. "Do you want me to? It included, for example, locations in which to lodge them should we encounter our fine friends who were following us. Did you know you could fit two tangerines up the average person's--"
"Don't." Finn rubbed his temples. "I should have expected that."
"Well, I confess our conversation was limited.--This does not mean, mind, that a beautiful and dazzling friendship has opened up between us. He is tolerable, however, Finn." Juilliard hunched in on himself for a moment, extending the silence, and then uncurled, looking Finn gently in the unfocused eye. "He might even deserve you."
There was another silence. Then Finn said softly, "It might sound a little stupid, but I really am glad that you think so."
Juilliard did not wince. It would have been incredibly inelegant, it would have been pointless, and it really would have only intensified the pain. Instead he continued smiling and redirected his attention at the ceiling. "I am glad my opinion means so much to you, dear Finn," he told the light fixture.
"Are you really?"
"Of course," he said, all earnestness, and wondered if the light fixture was listening. "I value your friendship."
"And you want me to stop talking."
"There is nothing I would rather have you do less." He looked back down at Finn, and had to look away. His eyes closed because his chest hurt. Because of the scrapes. Nothing more. Difficulty in breathing was only his imagination.
"Then you want me to stop talking about this." It was more of a question than a statement, and Finn's voice was sad.
"Finn," Juilliard said, again, and was horrified to hear his voice sound ragged. Best to not say anything, to not hear that tone again, to not look at Finn's pleading eyes-
"You look miserable," Finn murmured disconsolately. "Why do I do this to you?"
"You do nothing to me that I do not do to myself." Juilliard stood, back to Finn. "Go to sleep, Finn. Please? You should be happy. We are both well. As well as could be expected."
"You should sleep," Finn said. "Ask Mabit for some tea." He laughed ruefully and leaned back on the couch. "I should have realised sooner what she was doing."
"...Yes." Juilliard sighed. "I find myself contemplating what exactly to do to Mêlée. Do you think acid on her photo books should do the trick?"
"I like her photos. Really you should attempt to find her stash of blackmail photographs, but I'm afraid you'd use them for your own nefarious purposes."
"You know me entirely too well, considering this is the first we've met, boy." Juilliard grinned, and leaned against the doorjamb. "Were you spying on our gossip councils? Come, now, you can tell me."
"Not in the slightest. I was probably playing air hockey. Which makes me rather regret the crater in the rec room floor where the table used to be." Finn grinned mirthlessly at the ceiling.
"Ah, yes. Deprivation is a horrible thing. Did I ever tell you about the time that I set fire to my room?--No, I wouldn't have, that was last week or so."
"I hope you didn't cause too much damage," Finn murmured.
"Well, the other person in the room was a little surprised at the time, but she chose not to press charges when I saved her clothes." He raised an eyebrow. "Did you really blow up the rec room? I rather liked the rec room."
"Not all of it. I just imploded the pool and air hockey tables, and then Mabit gave me more tea."
Juilliard winced. "How much did you have, over the past few days? I ask only out of curiosity."
"I think she knocked me out four times, but my count might be off." Finn shrugged.
"It was really probably for the best."
"--For the best? Four doses in four days?" Juilliard stared at him. "It's amazing you're able to stay awake at all, Finn. The mild poison she uses is cumulative."
"Well, I won't be taking any more, and most of them were small doses."
"Small doses." He snorted. "Meligot never does things by halves. How long were you out the first time?"
"I'm not sure. You'll have to ask her. I was, as you say, out of it. And then she knocked me out again."
"I think I shall." He shook his head to clear it. What was this? He knew Mêlée well enough that this paranoia was ridiculous. "Tell me that you are all right and I will believe you, Finn."
"I'm all right," Finn said softly. "Honest I am, now that you and Alden are back."
Juilliard laughed, a little. "Well, then. How can I contradict you." He pulled himself up on the doorjamb, and stretched in the doorway. "I need to sleep myself, I think." He turned around, to face Finn completely, and--did not touch him, did not smile, did not do anything but look at him, once. Because that was all he had the right to. "The instant he's awake you will see him.--Goodnight, Finn."
"Goodnight," Finn whispered.
Juilliard paused, then left the room and closed the door behind him. Silently.