The commercial flight from Praxed to Osiris takes the better part of two days. Simon's got a berth to himself -- a small one, as these things go, but private
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Because Jordie's always kept his place spotless. Editors for Better Homes and Gardens might want to make adjustments (too many books of different sizes! not enough knick-knacks! so functional! so lived-in!), but as often as he ever joked about slapping a kerchief on his hair and an apron around his waist and going to town with a toothbrush on the kitchen floor -- it's not exactly a lie, either.
He likes things neat and tidy, everything in its proper place, and if dust dares accumulate, it's not for long.
There's no dust (should Simon want to take his finger to the doorframes or the fan blades), and the baseboards are scrubbed.
But on every available surface, there are stacks upon stacks of fat books and clipped sheaves of digital paper.
"Sorry about the mess -- " Over his shoulder, as he heads for the guest room. "You remember where stuff is?"
"Reading material," he says shortly, as he opens the door to the guest-room-slash-theoretical-office, where a sock monkey holds court in the armchair. "I made some space in the closet."
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He likes things neat and tidy, everything in its proper place, and if dust dares accumulate, it's not for long.
There's no dust (should Simon want to take his finger to the doorframes or the fan blades), and the baseboards are scrubbed.
But on every available surface, there are stacks upon stacks of fat books and clipped sheaves of digital paper.
"Sorry about the mess -- " Over his shoulder, as he heads for the guest room. "You remember where stuff is?"
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Simon's looking around in some bewilderment as he follows Jordie.
"...what is all this?"
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He sets down his suitcase on the bed, preparatory to unpacking, and starts to take off his coat.
He's still looking the question at Jordie.
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