8/11 - Percy, Bahir
8/11/2009
Within the exclusive luxury of the Hellfire Club, members scattered to the winds may always return and find a room, a bed and a selection of fine wines available for their use. The familiarity of these lushly appointed halls makes it a homecoming of ironic humor and quiet melancholy to go with the simpler pleasures of being simply spoiled for a night or two.
At the close of a fine repast, brandy and cigars are a longstanding tradition; Percy is for the moment foregoing the smoke, and lingering over well-aged single malt instead. Sleekly dressed in elegantly tailored dark fabric, he drapes in the three-piece suit as though it were loungewear, rumpling its clean, smooth lines with a careless indolence that's nearly a trademark. The lounge itself has been presently depeopled of other members, either as happenstance or because when the Queen wants a room within her demesne, she gets it.
Cigars are a vice rarely indulged in, but never let it be said that Emma is not a respecter of tradition. It may be thought, but not said. In fact, said tradition is actually wafting its incense from the side of an ashtray, rather than her lip. But it is present, and tradition is nine-tenths the trappings of ceremony and only one-tenth substance. Neat and white in contrast to Percy's dark and rumpled, she is enthroned opposite, one knee crossed over the other, and the bowl of a brandy glass curls in her hand as she narrows bright blue eyes at the faint air of melancholy before slipping her gaze to the third of their trio.
With Percy and Emma so /uncharacteristically/ silent, we'll have Bahir talking, leaning up against the arm of his chair, body language angled toward Percy. "--glanced in at the Shaw center," he says, a glass held loosely in his hand. He's lost both jacket and tie, shirt collar open at the throat, with the rest thrown over the back of his chair. "It was annoying to see someone else in my lab space. Even if it isn't mine. This place seems ever-unchanging, though."
Percy draws his fingertip lightly in a circle around the mouth of his glass, the look slanted across at Bahir from beneath his lashes lit warmly whiskeyed gold. "Yes, I'm glad to see the ceiling didn't fall down without me around holding it up," he says lightly. "I've half a mind to break into my old office before we leave," he adds in a musing tone, exchanging fingers to circle the pad of his thumb counterclockwise over the mouth of the glass, "leave Oliver a few sticky notes on his desk." He licks his thumb, thoughtfully.
"Full of twelve year old humor, I hope?" Emma murmurs before sipping at the expensive liquid inside the finely cut crystal. "That is the point of this place, isn't it? A monolith to all things decadent and rapacious. I did at least put all your things into a closet." She smiles around the lip of the glass and flicks a teasing glance at Bahir. "A small one."
Bahir wrinkles his nose at Emma. "Such care. Such concern." He tips his glass, watching the cling of liquid to the side, then glances over at Percy with a smile. "Layer them in knock-knock jokes. Top one says knock-knock, then so and so forth. I'm sure he'd appreciate it. It is about your level of humor."
"Genius," Percy says blandly, "utter genius." He tips his glass against his mouth, teeth clicking against crystal with the flash of his smile. He shifts in his seat, angling towards Bahir's seat with the brace of his weight on his elbow. "If I didn't know better," he says, arching his dark brows across the brief distance to Emma, "I would think Bahir had some /complaints/ about my hilarious sense of humor."
"But of course you know better," Emma replies, tone almost parched. She slides her hand up to the top of the glass and transfers it to the table at her elbow, next to the aromatic cigar, and laces her fingers back in her lap. "And I'm sure Bahir /never/ complains."
"Aloud," mutters Bahir, under his breath.
Emma snorts and lifts a hand to cover her mouth as she shifts her weight to a lean on the chair arm.
Angled towards Bahir in the seat, Percy swings his leg outward in a kick at Bahir's leg, although there's little enough force behind it. It's more of a nudge. "Knock knock jokes," he says, and snorts. "I think you'll rue giving me that idea. I'll have to think of some now."
"I don't see why /I/ will rue it. It is your brother who will have to suffer them." Percy surely knows better than to do that around their place, right? RIGHT? Bahir slouches in his seat, shifting away from Percy's kicking feet, and glances toward Emma. "Have things been quiet here?"
Emma straightens a little and makes a dismissive gesture with her hand before curling it against her temple as she watches the pair of them. "Relatively. I have... retreated on a few fronts, and others are well-managed." She purses her lips and flicks her eyes up and over their heads for a moment before continuing with a quiet admission absent of maudlin things like regret or self-pity, "It is lonely at times."
Whatever dire threats Percy might make as to what ridiculous things he might do around their place die aborning on his tongue with Bahir's redirection. (Maybe he will pull a Deathstrike and put post-its everywhere, including on the cat.) He takes a small sip of the scotch, rolling the liquid around on his tongue and letting it melt into strong fumes for a moment's silence. Soft voice roughed with a whiskey edge, he says, "I don't suppose there is much we could do to alleviate that. -- Well, I /could/ send you weekly singing telegrams..."
"It still seems strange, being there. Without -- this." Bahir gestures vaguely, the turn of two fingers taking in the lounge, and the Hellfire Club and its secret basement beyond that. He looks over at Percy with a crooked smile. "Stranger still for you, I suppose." He looks back at Emma, expression solemn. "He doubtless means it about the telegrams. Think before you answer."
Emma does, for about three seconds. Then she looks squarely at Percy and replies with bright menace, "And I could make you fascinated by the smell of your own feet."
"It is /bizarre/," Percy says. He sits up straight abruptly, shinily shod feet hitting the floor with paired thunks. "Do you mind? My feet are perfectly clean. Anyway, bizarre. All these people I have no authority over at all. Many of them ex-military with chips on their shoulder, might I add. And all these cameras everywhere and I never end up watching the feed!"
"He misses being the hub of gossip," Bahir says to Emma, as in an aside. "Please don't make him fascinated by the smell of his feet. That only leads to bizarre fetishes."
"And I'm sure you have enough of those already." Emma bares a grin and subsides, settling back into her chair in a near-lounge. "Unfortunately, the gossip anymore revolves around who is stealing the silverware and which members are harrassing the staff." SIGH.
"Yes, well, the gossip we /are/ subjected to tends to be a lot of juvenile nonsense," grouses Percy, leaning back again and jiggling one of his heels against the lush carpet underfoot. "I am presently quite happy with the non-role that feet play in our sex life, thanks ever so."
"A bunch of adults with high hormones thrown into close confines." Bahir, superior to it all, wrinkles his nose. "It's terrible. Like being trapped with /undergrads/." He completely ignores the talk about their sex life, much less fetishes or feet. SO HOW IS THE WEATHER?
"Mmm. Sounds like one of our parties," Emma muses, smiling with almost girlish glee at the poor, put upon boys. "Though at least ours only last the night." THE WEATHER IS FINE.
"I've half a mind to start going around shutting everyone down just as I'm walking about," Percy confesses with a wiggle of his fingers, and slants a look across at Bahir as he punctuates his next announcement with a long inhalation. "It's a bit /rife/. -- And don't get me started, Emma, none of these people know how to party at all."
"They /do/ know how to drink," Bahir argues, and he /knows/ a thing or two about drinking. "Rather a lot of it. Somewhat terrible taste, here and there, but a few people to show some evidence of a discerning tongue."
Emma will not make a comment about discerning tongues. Really, she will not, though she looks a little pained for a moment. "Drinking and sex are rather defining characteristics of young professionals in a difficult environment. Percy, you sound like a perfect /fuddy-duddy/."
"Would I complain about drinking? Hardly! Just about the /dire/ excuses for parties that happen every so often on base," Percy points out with evidence of wounded dignity in the tilt of his chin. "I don't have a problem with sex. /Sex/ does not mandate people behaving like a pack of freshmen who've never seen condoms before." He flashes a bright grin at Emma. "I bet it's that there's too many women in too small a space."
"He is getting old." Of course, with Emma being older--! Bahir has a brief moment of a concern over further teasing of Percy, then says, 'Hell with it,' and adds, "Ancient. A certain level of fuddy-duddy is expected when you reach those lofty years."
Emma flashes Bahir a Look for his 'concern', then shrugs her shoulders and flickers her fingers in the air. "Years has nothing to do with it. I believe he's turning practically /prudish/. He obviously needs to get more culture in his life." You know. Instead of fiber.
"Why am I sitting here being attacked?" Percy demands in imperious tones. He spreads one hand in a broad gesture, and lifts his glass to his lips with the other, sitting up as he takes a slightly longer swallow of the scotch. "I am not prudish. Give me two minutes and I'll streak the Club."
"Because it is your birthday," Bahir says, shifting again in his chair to reach out and take Percy's hand as he gestures with it. He laces their fingers together and rubs his thumb along his knuckles. "Happy birthday, nothing like the two closest to you mercilessly savaging you. Please don't streak anyone. You're /above/ that."
Emma looks thoughtful before pishing at Bahir and beaming at Percy. "Feel free to streak the club, darling. We have had a lamentable lack of freshmen around here, and I do love a good serving of hypocrisy after dinner."
"I should have brought that ridiculous cock wear that Terry gave me," Percy tells Bahir, leaning in towards him as he tips his head to kiss Bahir's thumb, squeezing their entwined hands. "Did you hide that?" He arches a particularly well-faked insulted look in Emma's direction, brows arching high over amber eyes. "Honestly, dearest, you of all people should know that when /I/ do it, it is ironic and possibly very funny, whereas when other people do it, they are behaving like morons beneath contempt. Also, one of them tried to enlist my services in punishing some dope for breaking up with some other dope."
"Yes." Bahir glowers at Percy. "And I am not telling you where it is, and Emma is not going to tell you, either." He glances over at Emma, eyebrows arched. NO CHEATING. "Perhaps /you/ should streak, Emma."
Emma rolls her eyes and assumes an air of faint martyrdom. "I wouldn't want to incite any /more/ jealousy than I already endure," she replies loftily, then gives him a smugly challenging look. Maybe she WILL.
"And /I'm/ the prude?" Percy widens his eyes, although since he has yet to release Bahir's hand he can't lay it over his heart; he takes another swallow of scotch instead. "I think Emma streaking would be mildly redundant, considering the /statue/."
Bahir grins at Emma. "I would believe that," he says, and then laughs at Percy. "What a statue, too."
Emma groans and sinks back down in her chair, covering her face with her hand. "I hate you both, you know."
Voice warm with whiskeyed humor and long affection, Percy says, "Liar." He lightly draws the tip of his own thumb along the curve of Bahir's palm, and shifts forward to set down the amber-shimmering remnant of scotch in his glass on the nearest side-table.
"I am sure it is mutual," Bahir says, watching Emma sink with a smirk. "Perhaps you can get Percy a statue for his next birthday. Nothing so large, of course."
Emma blows Percy a kiss, then eyes him speculatively. "If I do, do you promise to put it somewhere special?"
"Bahir, really," Percy reproves, with a click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Which of us would be more embarrassed by a statue of me?"
Bahir thinks a moment, then shrugs an acknowledging answer. "Perhaps not a statue, then."
Emma laughs, and tucks that bit of information away with smug contentment as she pushes out of her chair and rises to traverse the short distance between their chairs. She leans over and grabs the arms of Percy's chair to give him an affectionate kiss on his forehead before heading off for the bar.
Percy gives a light swat to Emma's ass as she pulls away from him, and rolls a look after her as she slips off for the bar. Then he turns the curve of a slow smile on Bahir, leaning heavily on the brace of his elbow. "For all I know," he says lowly, "she's going to commission a fleet of garden gnomes for us both now."
Bahir gives Percy a sidelong glare and pulls his hand away to pinch his arm. "/That/ is for giving her ideas."
"As I recall it was /your/ idea!" Percy retorts. He nudges at Bahir's leg with his foot again.
"Golden ones," Emma calls back over her shoulder as she leans over the bar and fishes around for something. Having quiet asides around telepaths don't really work. "Do you have a garden to put them in, or will they litter your apartment instead?"
"They will all go into the trash." Bahir folds his arms over his chest and transfers his glower to Emma. "Golden garden gnomes. You are both appalling. And you have appalling taste."
Rue twisting at Percy's mouth, he slouches back into the seat again, drawing his knuckles along the curve of his jaw. "We have a garden at home," he says.
Emma finds whatever it is she was looking for and turns around with a triumphant flourish of her hand before sidling back to the sitting area. "Would you prefer those little butlers holding trays that stand so high? You could have one in each room," she asks sweetly.
"We do not have a /garden/. We have a series of plants." Half of them dying. Bahir glances at Emma. "Hanging from a potrack." No comment on butlers.
You should always comment on butlers! "I will get you the garden for your birthday then, and Percy the garden gnomes," Emma announces decidedly, turning on her heel and moving for the door in an attempt to get the last word.
"Well, that wasn't--" Percy starts to say, and closes his mouth on the expulsion of breath past his nose that answers Emma's exit. He looks after her for a moment. Then he rises in a fluid motion, and holds out both his hands to Bahir. He says, "The night is young, yet," with laughing eyes and a slow grin. "Plenty of time to prove how decrepit and prudish I'm not before the clock strikes twelve."
THE END.
Percy spends his birthday with old friends. Not mature ones, but old ones.