[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*cheerfully* Good evening!"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "My, a voice I haven't heard in a while. Good evening, dear Fool."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Indeed."

Comet picks option three; answer another, previous question as your response. "Dickens...No, I'm sorry. A lot of my life's been busy. It's why I usually try to find physical signs of the way things were, rather than deep reading. I've had more time lately, though. Industrial revolution...I wonder, do people see an all new steam engine in someone like me? It might explain a lot."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Not hearing voices tonight, are we?"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Just yours, among others."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "But none unwanted, I hope?"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*laughs*"

Feste merely nods silently, moving onward. Can't get stuck on cynicism. It's bad for the role. But... an all new steam engine? Interesting line of thought...

"Depends. Are you instituting major economic change, my lady? I'd thought you highly capable, but not quite that capable."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "You're walking right into my sights, sirrah."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Oh? Do tell."

Abernathy arrives from the London - Eastern Residential.

Abernathy has arrived.

Abernathy receives a radio transmission from Feste.

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Why, yes. Normally I have to actually think in order to do my work, when it comes to you."

Abernathy sends a radio transmission.

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "I've been at less than my best this week. Be patient."

Abernathy receives a radio transmission from Feste.

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Tsk, tsk."

Comet asks back, "Economic change, on my own? Probably not. But I meant as a general group. Robots. Could we be the new steam engine for this century? Could that be part of the reason for..." She changes topics abruptly, "But what did you mean on that, thinking me capable?"

The Fool merely listens patiently, red eyes flickering slightly as he...checks up on something for a moment.

"Oh, yes, I know, madonna," he responds, once again lazily. "Part of my job is to corrupt words, you see." He closes his eyes briefly and smiles. "As for capability... well. You are clearly a well-oiled machine." And...what could he mean by that, hm?

Abernathy sends a radio transmission.

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Oh, please. Yes. Chide me all you want. I will go back to my bitchiness and vitriol, because I like being nasty when I'm off-duty."

Abernathy receives a radio transmission.

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*taken aback* Now, now, what's this? I mean no harm, sirrah."

Abernathy receives a radio transmission.

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Be careful that you do not value my words above their true worth, yes?"

Comet now just seems confused. She doesn't have much to say in response to all this, and just...stares at Feste, puzzled expression all too obvious.

Abernathy sends a radio transmission.

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "<subdued> Of course not. I'm merely in a poor mood. No harm meant."

Go figure, Feste mentally mutters, distantly bothered about something.

"Confused you, have I? I beg your pardon, madonna. It's a compliment, you know -- I merely see you as a -- if I don't miss my guess -- fighting machine of high class." Or something like that -- he's mostly just going through the motions, now. His attention is momentarily elsewhere... repaying a debt.

Comet turns decidedly bitter at this. "Merely as a fighting machine...a weapon. Everything else I do really is invisible." Her thrusters activate, starting to propel her upward.

That, apparently...was not the right thing to say.

Feste's eyes track Comet's upward motion as he frowns. Crap, that wasn't supposed to happen.

"My lady," he says calmly, "I meant no harm. You ought to be proud of the prowess you display. I would dare not suppose that because you are like a weapon, you are one in spirit, as well." He sighs, quietly. What's with all this? He just can't seem to hit his mark, tonight...

Comet makes a backflip in midair, thrusters slowing and carrying her down to the ground once again. "To be honest, I'm not. Not proud of it at all, it doesn't seem to have much use..."

Abernathy receives a radio transmission from Feste.

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Of course not."

And an elegant save by Feste!

"We all have our God-given talents," Feste says, quietly. "But that doesn't mean we have to like them. Or even use them. This is true, no?"

Abernathy sends a radio transmission to Feste.

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Mm. Some people are touchy about that kind of thing."

Abernathy receives a radio transmission from Feste.

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "So I noticed."

Abernathy sends a radio transmission to Feste.

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: " ... Ah. Yes."

Abernathy receives a radio transmission from Feste.

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*audible smirk*"

Comet sits down on the ground now, still looking less than enthused. "Let's change the topic. I'm not interested in this. If you have some sort of fascination with the military, for that matter, there'd be a lot of better people to ask about it."

Abernathy sends a radio transmission to Feste.

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "<clears throat> Point taken."

The Fool remains standing, returning both hands to their former clasped position behind his back. "I apologize if I have offended you, madonna. It was not at all my intent." He pauses again, momentarily. "What would you rather talk about, then? The floor is yours."

Comet seems to have lost most of her thunder in this discussion, going largely 'quiet' in tone and expression. "Nothing. There's nothing on my mind. If you have questions, go ahead. Something else you want to point out, that's fine, too."

Feste quirks an eyebrow, suddenly struck with pity for this reploid before him. He struck a chord, and it... wasn't the right one. Oopsies.

"I am sorry to hear that," he says, continuing in that low, quiet tone. He really is sorry, see? "And I am sorry if I have caused it." He looks away momentarily. "Would you perhaps like coordinates back to the teleporters? I could get them for you."

Comet remarks, quietly but firmly, "It wouldn't help. Even following those doesn't seem to work. I just have to look around until I eventually find them. It's alright...I better go. Thanks for the history lesson, by the way. The perspective was very interesting." This last part sounds particularly honest, at least. She stands back up after speaking.

Feste nods once, slightly deeper than normal. "It was my pleasure, Lady Comet. Thank you for listening to a fool's babble; he could speak anyways, but it's more exciting if someone listens." He remains where he is, for the moment, and will presumably watch her leave.

Comet has little to say back to that. She returns the nod once Feste is done talking, then once more rises into the sky, probably to wander London for some time with a hideous sense of direction.

Meanwhile, Feste finds a spot on the fence to lean against, while he watches Comet fly away and ponders his recent lack of... tact. Goodness gracious, he must be losing his touch...

Comet goes home.

Comet has left.

Abernathy

=========================[love will keep me tethered]=========================

Human, rawboned, and youthful, this man doesn't look like much.

At an inch over six feet tall, with a distinctly ectomorphic build, he

seems like little more than bone and whipcord, though looks can be deceiving

-- there is a runner or a swimmer's tone to his frame, slight as it may be.

There's a slight unfinished air to him; a look of ranginess that most humans

outgrow at some point in their lives. Some people wear it as awkward; on him,

it seems practiced and polished, worn like a set of well-fitting clothes.

His face is thin and sharp-featured, with high cheekbones and a narrow

jaw that lend him an effeminate look. His hair has been cut short in a crisp

military buzz; it makes him seem harsh, and reveals the exposed metal of

cortical jacks at either of his temples. The look he wears is a cold one,

with a composed, emotionless set of thin lips and a slight, inquisitive

furrowing of his brow.

He is dressed darkly, the black and indigo shades of his clothing

accenting the phenotypic marks of albinism -- pale skin, white hair, pink eyes

-- he bears. Skintight black pants and an indigo tank-top form the basis of

the outfit; a black, long-sleeved shirt made of loose fishnet is worn over

this, the cuffs made of some stiffer black material. Thrown on over this is a

trenchcoat with the sleeves ripped off -- trenchvest? -- and the collar pulled

up high around his neck. Black fingerless gloves and boots buckled up to

midcalf complete the outfit. A glass pendant, round and no larger than a

quarter, hangs about his neck on a black catgut thong. It's primarily

transparent, with a thing layer of black and indigo backing, and an Egyptian

ankh worked in dichroic glass overlaying it. A pair of oval-framed sunglasses

rest on his nose, hiding his eyes.

As such outfits are designed to be, this one is particularly

revealing. A series of thin scars, random in their pattern, stand out against

his skin along his upper arms and forearms. The edges of a spiny tattoo can be

seen on his shoulders, and another tattoo -- a black barcode -- is visible on

his left deltoid.

====================[for my wings are stripped of flight]=====================

Feste is leaning on the fence around the Tyburn Tree, enjoying the leafy-tree-ness. It's a good thing. Yep...

Not so long after Comet goes flying off merrily -- or not so merrily -- to get lost, a rather incongruous figure can be seen making his way toward the Tyburn Tree. At a distance, under the sodium lights prevalent in the area, he might be mistaken for a wraith, a figure that's just a patchwork of dark and pale. As he gets closer to the fence, though, it becomes evident that he's -- well, somebody dressed *totally* *unlike* what one would expect out of the Director of Interpol. He glances up from the street as he gets a little closer to the tree, hands tucked in the pockets of his trenchvest, and arches a brow curiously at his surroundings. Hm. So this is the famous Tyburn Tree. Removing a hand from his pocket, he reaches up to adjust his sunglasses -- then starts walking again, stopping at the fence near Feste and leaning a shoulder against it, casually.

"Evening," he greets the Fool, voice kept purposefully low.

Such is Abernathy's incongruity that Feste doesn't even notice until Abby's right up close -- and oh, does he notice. The first thought to blaze through his mind is something along the lines of, 'What the hell?'. Feste subtly sneaks a look downward at those tight pants -- couldn't help it. Ackackack. Must not be caught looking. Oh crap, too late!

The Fool's gaze jerks back upward, and he proceeds to stare past, out at the street. Instead of returning the greeting with words, Feste opens his mouth and -- sings.

"Interesting... how you watch the night...

and look right through me

Facing the sky, when I ask you why --

You look right through me..."

A slight smirk creeps across Abernathy's face -- of course, this clothing was meant to draw such looks, so it's not that he's particularly surprised. More, the thought is, 'not so aloof, are you?', one of particular, almost forlorn, amusement. The singing comes as no particular surprise, either, and instead of responding -- immediately -- he sags back against the fence, bowing his head and narrowing his eyes behind his glasses. Staring off at nothing.

Feste takes a bit of liberty with this song, rearranging the lyrics and making small adjustments to the tune to compensate, all for his own purposes. Not like the musicians -- a century and a half dead -- were needing them, of course.

"I found out

You were

In a mess

You caught me playin' songs for you

And it's bending my mind again..."

At these words, Abernathy seems to sit up and take notice -- mentally, as it were. Physically, he's still leaning against the fence, expression still a sullen smirk as he watches nothing in particular. So here he is, listening, measuring. Is this a -- proposition? An offer of help? Or just somebody screwing with his emotions again? Maybe all three. He leans back a little further, running a hand through his hair distractedly.

Now to pull the next trick. Watch closely! Feste switches songs -- thankfully, by the same artist, and similar enough that he can switch smoothly from one to the other. It's fun. Like a lyrical game. He looks to Abernathy, expression thoughtful as he sings... as if asking a question, almost.

Look around you, do you see what you've got?

With something so beautiful

Afraid it would drop into a thousand regrets...

And I bet you were left there...

It's getting me down, and I can't understand

Why everyone stares when I crash at the landing

And around where they stand...

...everyone talks again...

Abernathy is getting better at this -- most peculiar of communications, to be sure. He glances over as he feels eyes upon him, reaching up to pull his sunglasses down slightly, regarding the Fool calmly over the top of them. That smirk's faded, but only because he's paying more consideration now, instead of dismissing it offhand as more strange behavior. Besides, if he's being asked a question, he needs to come up with some kind of answer.

"We try to say with confidence

that we're picking up oblivion

And I was trying to make some sense

Speaking to you...

"We try to say with confidence

That we're picking up oblivion

...inside of you..."

Feste continues singing, pointedly looking at Abernathy. Let's see what he makes of this song, hm? The question is: is there something wrong with you? Something I can fix? But the song... asks of other things. It is a game, after all.

But perhaps -- as music is the universal language -- there are some things that are perceptible beyond the mere structure of lyrical form. There's something more than words there, after all, and Abernathy is used to listening for more than words. And constructing responses out of more than merely words ... though, of course, his own predilection toward truth carries over. Naturally.

He takes a breath, looking away from Feste and biting his lower lip in a moment's thought. And then he begins his response, carefully chosen:

"Praying for myself, these thoughts I try to hide,

I have faith in me, and hope this will survive.

But it's tearing me apart; I can't hear the words by which I guide,

So I must ask again, who will carry me?"

Easy enough to understand. Feste nods slightly, switching songs again at a moment's notice. This one is very different from the last two, however. Oh well, it serves its purpose.

"Every now n' then when the world that we're livin' in's... c-razy,

You gladly hold me, and carry me through.

No one in the world's ever done what you did for me, and I'd be...

Sad and lonely, if there were no you..."

This elicits a pause from Abernathy, who simply -- listens for a moment, face unreadable as he does. It's impolite to interrupt, after all. And while the reply he gets is almost a surprise -- and perhaps more than that -- it doesn't seem to lift the almost palpable feel of ... low spirits. It's not quite severe enough for depression, but he's definitely more subdued than his wont.

When he does respond, it's as a plea. And it's skipping a verse, straight to the chorus, but what the hell:

"Tell me what to do, so I do nothing wrong.

Something I can hope for. Something real I can see.

So nothing falls apart. So it does not end.

"I cannot return. I can't start again."

He then pauses -- though the rest of the song is equally appropriate to the situation -- and looks Feste straight in the eyes. "Really?" The question is almost more thought than heard, just a whisper of shy sound and nothing more.

Despite the overwhelming urge to just sweep Abernathy off his feet and carry him off somewhere else -- anywhere but here -- Feste remains rooted to the spot. That's silly, he thinks, and I must not yield to temptations. Nope. Besides. It's unlikely that Abernathy, being Abernathy, would appreciate such theatrics.

He remains silent after Abby's song, eyes locked on Abernathy's. Red to pink.

"Really," he whispers back, going for that gentle and soothing sort of tone. "Will you let me repay the debt?"

Well, maybe. It certainly couldn't hurt things, the way Abernathy's life is currently going. He closes his eyes, bowing his head as Feste asks that question. Shame, maybe? Trying to hide his surprise? Hard to tell.

He remains quite silent for nearly a minute, tucking his hands in the pockets of his trenchvest, keeping his head bowed. When he does, at long last, look up once more, his expression is impassive -- except for a little shocked puzzlement in his eyes. Almost if he never expected things to get to this point. "As I heard," he says, keeping his voice very low, "I was the one who owed /you/, not the other way around."

"Close enough for me," Feste murmurs, moving closer as he speaks. He pauses momentarily, right in front of Abernathy, before moving in for the kill -- well, the kiss, actually, but...

He lingers, just for a few seconds, if allowed, before pulling back again.

"You stole, and I stole back," he reflects, softly. "Doesn't matter, does it?" A half-shrug, a hint of a smile. "Do you still owe me?"

It seems that today is a day full of surprises for Abernathy. If he wasn't expecting acceptance, he was certainly not expecting a *kiss* -- and so catches his breath in surprise, but doesn't pull away. In fact -- and not a surprise at all here -- he seems a little disappointed when Feste backs off.

Abby takes a moment to recover his senses, before tilting his head back -- and regarding the taller man thoughtfully. When he does reply, the answer is not in words -- not all of it.

With a little of that surprising alacrity he can occasionally muster, Abby steps forward ... and catches the Fool in a tight embrace. Seems someone's happy -- or just operating on the thought of 'any port in a storm'.

"I don't know," he mutters softly. "Will you do that again if I say yes?"

Hey, that's... kind of nice, actually.

Despite the small voice in the back of his head that screams bloody murder -- back off, back off, get away no no no STOP -- Feste...reciprocates. Well... Abernathy was there for him in his time of need, and...

"Do you want me to?" Feste mutters back, equally soft. Because he would, if Abby wanted him to? Or because... so complicated, this thing called love.

Quite complicated. Definitely to the point that Abby hasn't got it all sorted out in his mind, only that this is making the rest of his week not seem all that bad. He takes another careful breath before responding, measuring and weighing his choices -- and perhaps trying to extend the moment just a little longer. "Truthfully," he replies at last. "I would. But," he tilts his head back slightly; rather an odd position this puts him in, "it's your choice."

Then...

Feste similarly takes a breath, and asks himself in that half-second, 'why?' The overly whimsical nature of the Fool overrides it as a caprice... and you know what they say about caprices lasting longer than lifelong passions.

Feste waits for another painfully long second before granting Abernathy's request.

Perhaps that -- more than anything -- comes not as a surprise but as a confirmation of all the numerous other little surprises of the day. Which might be why he doesn't hesitate this time to kiss back, though there's nothing hungry about it. More shy, and almost happy.

Just for once.

How nice, despite that nagging -- well, screaming, more like -- voice in the back of Feste's head. Presumably his conscience, or maybe that's just the sound of Andruw's deep-conditioned inhibitions falling to pieces before the force of the Fool's whim.

He would look back on this, later, and remember the sacrifices for the role. Not that he would ever look upon this as a sacrifice.

Feste withdraws, slightly, from the kiss, though he stays in Abernathy's tight embrace. Softly, he composes his answer. Found a better song to sing, and all that.

"Lean on me... when you're not strong...

I'll be your friend... I'll help you carry on...

For... it won't be long... 'til I'm gonna need...

somebody to lean on..."

And so long as Abernathy didn't actually become aware of that little voice in the back of the Fool's head, he could be quite content to stay right here for -- a very long while. Of course, that was depending on the state of his own conscience, which was always a tricky thing.

He remains standing where he is for some moments, arms wrapped around the Fool, head now bowed and eyes closed. At last, though, he lets go and steps back -- tucking his hands in his pockets after a moment's confusion on where to put them. Only then does he look up at Feste again, a slight, sad half-smile on his face as he does.

"So ... " he begins, before trailing off.

Feste similarly takes a half-step back, though the smile has yet to fly from his face. Not grinning like a loon, of course, just smiling happily.

"So," he picks right back up from Abernathy's lead. "I'd thought about our little cultural exchange, if you remember..."

Well, that was reassuring. Abernathy's smile flickers a little wider, though it remains -- just a little sad. Considering his whole demeanor has brightened up considerably, though, that might be ... easy to miss. "I do. Have you come to any conclusions about it?" he inquires, softly.

The Fool's smile widens into an almost mischievous grin, and he nods once. "Indeed I have, at least for my portion of it. I, ah...here."

He idly reaches into a coat pocket, withdrawing... a box, no longer than six inches long and three inches across. Just a small, yellow and blue box. How odd. He holds it out for Abernathy to take at will.

"They're called Swedish Fish. I thought it might be a suitable vegetarian alternative..."

Abernathy peers curiously at the box as Feste produces it, glancing up from at as the Fool explains what it actually is. Then he reaches out to take it in hand, staring down at it as he turns it over to examine it thoroughly. Finally, the sad little smile becomes an outright grin of his own -- and he looks up from the box, chuckling quietly. It was /cute/, that was what it was.

It was cute, and he appreciated it. "Why, yes. They probably could be. Which means I have to live up to my part of the bargain, doesn't it?" he says, after a moment.

"Why yes," Feste replies, still grinning. He's good at that -- being cute. "Yes it does. I must say, I am looking forward to it." He pauses, idly looking off to the side. "I hate being left out of conversations due to silly things like the language barrier. Can't stand it, not one bit, yes?"

Abernathy tucks the little box away in one of his trenchvest's pockets, returning his hands to them as he does. Ahh, sort of a look but not touch scenario now -- it's no longer just Feste who wants to carry someone off to somewhere else. "Of course." He looks down at the ground, tapping a foot idly. "And I will look forward to teaching you -- I've never actually tried, so it should be an interesting experience all around, hm?" So long as it was just language lessons.

How cute, Feste thinks, somewhat bitterly. We have kissed him and hugged him and bought him candy. Shall we be leaving flowers on his doorstep next, Andruw? He might like that, Andruw replies, silently.

"Yes, of course," Feste answers, idly wondering what he's going to be doing next. It's a bit of a puzzle, really...

Better by far Abernathy is not party to any of Feste's thoughts on the matter. And vice-versa, though Adrian's are a lot less pleasant and involve a lot more swearing. Soldiers tended to be a little less -- open, than English majors, after all. Don't ask, don't tell.

Abruptly, Abernathy looks up from the ground and turns away from Feste, putting his back to the Tyburn Tree. He bites his lower lip -- and though it might be hard to tell in the dim light, even with his pale skin, he might be blushing.

Talk about awkward silences.

Obviously anything he could possibly say at this point would be unwelcome, so Feste remains silent, watching Abernathy's back. He'll be patient.

Yes.

Abernathy gazes off at the street for a long minute, collecting his thoughts and mulling over them as he does. It gives a moment for the blush to subside, too. And for him to school his expression back to the normal icy serpentine regard he approaches life with. Finally, he speaks up, turning his head back slightly -- but not looking over his shoulder. His tone is all smooth, businesslike and casually. Anything Feste saw before ... was just a fluke. A little slip of control. Yes, that's it. "So, what is it you want out of all this?"

Does that include that hug, or the kiss?

Feste cocks his head to the side -- such a typical Fool gesture it's become. He clasps his hands behind his back, seeing as there isn't much else to do with them. And...huh! What a question!

"What does anyone want out of all this?" Feste asks, as if proposing some great concept. "More importantly, what do *you* want out of this?"

Perhaps it does. It's hard to tell what Abernathy is thinking at any given time, or how he justifies any of this to himself. Sometimes it takes a lot of alcohol to do the latter. He looks straight forward again, blinking once at both questions -- and gritting his teeth slightly. Frustration, most likely.

Ignoring the first question, he answers the second quietly: "I wish I knew. I wish -- " He stops, reconsidering that. " ... No, that's not true."

He turns on one foot, pacing back to Feste with his hands clenched at his side. There's tension written in the way he's holding himself, under the usual layer of ice. He stops before the Fool, jerking his head up to look the taller man in the eye. "I want -- I need someone I can trust. Just a single -- solitary -- person, who isn't as caught up in this -- this madness as I am." He looks down, hands still clenched, still tense as a coiled spring -- and kicks at a stray rock, almost in retribution for his inability to verbalize this quite properly.

"Someone who doesn't /want/ something from me," he continues, in a half-heard murmur. "Someone who isn't in it for whatever he can grab."

A pause, and then he pivots on one foot and stalks away, anger inscribed in the set of his shoulders. "/I/ don't know," he continues, louder. "I don't know anymore! Whenever I end up getting what I *think* I want, it always works out in the worst damned way possible for me! Why the hell does it matter anymore what I want?!"

Somebody's upset.

Sometimes, the best -- and only -- option is just to listen.

Feste listens to the entire verbal onslaught without batting an eyebrow, and only because -- he knows. He knows exactly what Abernathy is talking about.

"So what am I to you?" Feste asks, softly, gently, after Abby's finished yelling. Must tread carefully, here.

"I can't give you the answers to those questions. In fact, the only thing I can do is corrupt the words given me. If you think, even for a moment, that you could find solace in the words of a Fool, I'm afraid you're wrong."

It isn't just about you, see? Feste idly looks away, back around at the Tyburn Tree. This one-time house of death, this... awful, horrid place...

Of course it would all boil down to that. It's not just about you, Adrian, and you can't be in this just to take whatever you can grab. Abernathy stops some feet away from Feste, still glaring off at the indistinct darkness beyond the Tree. And the people walking past. And the buildings. And whatever else is out there, right up to and including God.

What is Feste to him? He doesn't even have to think about the answer to that one. "Beautiful," he murmurs, almost below hearing. "Important. Worthwhile." A handful of little words, that all ad up to -- what? Confusion, principally, and a lot of guilt and anger, but all of it directed inward.

"As for the rest? Don't ask me." He pauses, taking a cautious breath. "That depends on what I am to /you/." He looks away from staring at nothing, glancing back over his shoulder. "And don't turn the question back on me again. I've answered."

Is that a note of petulance? No, merely expectant frustration.

If...only he knew what to say. The Fool is an expert at mocking people, not making them feel better. In fact, it's more often the opposite! And Andruw... but no. Andruw cannot -- must not -- surface. The Fool must handle this. It is his business.

How frightening to create a mask, and then be overpowered by it.

These words thrown out -- what do they mean? They make no sense, until Abby finishes his thought. Oh -- oh...

"A port in a storm. A patronless Fool is quite often a dead Fool," Feste murmurs quietly. Hey look, he gave a straight answer. "As for the wordplay: I'm trying." A smirk.

"I see. That explains some things, doesn't it?" Abernathy replies, his tone taking a turn for the hard. Though it's no less quiet, and no less icy, than usual. "Then what about the rest of this?" He gestures with one extended hand to his side, encompassing 'this' to mean ... everything they've discussed, likely, spoken or sung or implied.

"While I'm sure," he continues, voice gone slightly cruel, "that I pay you quite well enough, I certainly don't pay you for that, nor do I ask it. So why all the talk of debts, dear Fool? What does that have to do with finding yourself a patron?"

He pauses, and returns his hand to his pocket. As he does, his fingers brush against that little box -- and he bows his head, studying the ground once more.

"And whatever does /Andruw/ think of all this?"

Ouch.

Feste's expression darkens slightly, though the smile is long gone from it.

"You're not," he begins, tone hardening in self-defense, "paying me to be your Fool. You are paying me to keep my ears to the wind. Quite a bit of difference betwixt the two, mind you." Mind you! "And besides. Since when is it against the rules to give without being asked or expecting back? Hm?" Feste could be just as mean when he wanted to. Not that this is mean...

At that last, simple comment, Feste loses all momentum. Well, crap. What /does/ Andruw think about all of this?

Flustered, Andruw answers, but not before losing all composure in a deep, unhappy sigh.

"I must say it all makes me dreadfully unhappy," Andruw murmurs. "I'd rather *like* to throw myself at your feet and beg you not to hate me, but that would be 'out of character'." Another sigh. "I'm sorry... I really am. I'm not in this just to stab you in the back..."

Abernathy receives a radio transmission from Rumble Silverfish.

"Point taken," comes the concession, quiet as it may be. Abernathy falls silent after that, merely gazing off at nothing once more. "And I never said," he adds, finally, "that you couldn't give without expectation of being repaid. I only wonder what you mean by it." The question lurking below those words is, of course, 'are you stringing me along for nothing?'

But go on. Say something cruel to him. He had that effect on people, tempting them to say the worst things that were on their minds. It was refreshing, in a world of half-truths. "Or, barring meaning, if you really do want something out of me," he adds, tone hardening again for one last little vicious dig. Find someone to trust? Sure, he /wanted/ to. Be able to trust him? ... That was another thing again.

Even so, Andruw's words provide a partial answer to both questions. Partial, and heartbreaking, in its way. It was worth wondering, with two humans and twice that in actual 'persons' standing there, who felt what for whom and why. But ... but ... "Just?" Abernathy repeats, puzzled and injured. What did he mean by 'just'?

"Well, fine," says Andruw to the first. It was Feste's doing, and so... er. Awkward.

Andruw frowns, quietly. Hey, that kinda hurts, there. And as for the just... "Yes," he deadpans. "I'm actually in this to stab in you the back, the neck, and wherever else I can get a shot in. Repeatedly. Please." He lets out a short, nervous laugh.

"I meant -- and I'm sure you know what I meant -- that... well... I'm not trying to hurt you." He pauses again, lost in thought. "So you automatically expect that everyone's in it for themselves? Hm..."

[Radio: (F) Public] Wow! It's Dr. Wily transmits, "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHA! The time is near! AHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHA!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Hard Man transmits, "...uh?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Frost Man transmits, "The ice cream truck is right around the corner? After what someone did...that would be nice."

[Radio: (F) Public] Snake Man transmits, "What isss it, Massster?"

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... can't ... you yet. ... my children....

[Radio: (F) Public] Hard Man transmits, "Izzit time for pudding?"

Abernathy receives a radio transmission from Rumble Silverfish.

You intercept Rumble Silverfish's transmission to Abernathy: Something is up. Wily is...laughing and making indication that the 'time is near'

[Radio: (F) Public] Cyclops transmits, "The time is near? I wonder, what do you have planned /this/ time, Wily?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler transmits, "Unveiling your new femme-conversions already?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man transmits, "Oh s**t. I STILL don't want to be a girl..."

[Radio: (F) Public] Skull Man transmits, "Waitwaitwaitwait. A girl?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man transmits, "Um... yeah."

[Radio: (F) Public] Skull Man transmits, "....I must protest."

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man transmits, "Me too."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler transmits, "Your protestations are noted. But do they really matter?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Snake Man transmits, "A girl? My name isss Sssnake MAN."

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man transmits, "Exactly!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Metal Man transmits, "Gender is mood for a machine Dr Doppler"

[Radio: (F) Public] Rumble Silverfish transmits, "That doesn't seem to strenously effect Plant Man."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shield transmits, "The term Man can include females."

[Radio: (F) Public] Metal Man transmits, "Considering we don't have sex drives..."

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man transmits, "Which is why none of us -- none of us at all! -- should be female... um... what the hell?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Shield transmits, "Not even Crash Man?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man transmits, "The term 'man' does NOT include females. Look it up, dumbaft."

[Radio: (F) Public] Hard Man transmits, "Naw, Metal. You don't have a sex drive. 'cause you SUCK! HOO HAH! OWNED!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Metal Man transmits, "Tengu! We are not even males! We are machines... and Crash... I don't know..."

Abernathy tilts his head back at this, gazing up at the sky, and trying -- really trying -- not to immediately snap back with something arbitrarily, and perhaps unwarrantedly, cruel. It's really hard. It means -- overcoming literally years of conditioning to say what he was thinking, to tear people down so *he* felt safe. " ... I ... " He pauses, pivots on one foot to face Andruw, watch him, eyes searching.

"Yes," he finally answers. "Yes, I do. Doesn't everyone?" Adrian is a cynic, after all.

[Radio: (F) Public] Shield transmits, "Have you ever heard the term mankind?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man transmits, "Metal -- can I spell it out for you?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Snake Man transmits, "Shut up, all of you."

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man transmits, "I. am. not. female."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rumble Silverfish transmits, "You humans care too much about sex."

[Radio: (F) Public] Reverend Crash Man transmits, "... Metal. Don't go there."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rumble Silverfish transmits, "I mean, I don't spend most of my days thinking about females laying eggs all over the place that I need to fertilize, now do I?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Cut Man transmits, "...We're not human, you know."

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man transmits, "Um, yeah."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shield transmits, "I couldn't say, I don't know you well enough."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rumble Silverfish transmits, "You're all humans to me."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shield transmits, "Robots are humans to you?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Shield transmits, "What are you then, alien?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Hard Man transmits, "That's 'cause he's a moron."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rumble Silverfish transmits, "No, I'm an insect, shield."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rumble Silverfish transmits, "Albeit a mechanical one."

[Radio: (F) Public] Shield transmits, "Which is different from being a robot... how?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Snake Man transmits, "Though you ssseem to wish otherwissse."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rumble Silverfish transmits, "You're all patterned on humans. I'm not."

"You know, that's funny, because it's true," Andruw responds, but not with the dry, harsh tones of a fellow cynic. Rather, Andruw seems quite sad about it. Melancholy, even.

He idly cocks his head, gaze randomly pointing upward. "By the way. Since it's probably a good time to start doing my job -- something appears to be up. Something about chibification and mirrors, and... Wily. Something like that." Andruw gives an almost wistful sigh. "Can you make anything of that, because I can't..."

Hey. It's a welcome distraction.

<Global News Network> this just in! Massive energy build up detected in Africa! Masters coinverging on source! Wily sighted! We go live, NOW! *The view switches to a camera, zoomed in on Wily in the saucer. The desert below is twisted and blurred under massive amounts of energy coming from multiple chibi cannon arrays. "People of the world! I have had it with your sniveling. Your whining. Complaining. And your overall lack of a sense of humor. You all SUCK!" Wily cackles madly in the saucer, spinning around. "Which is why..." He holds up a button and waggles it at the camera. "I'm going to chibify you ALL! BWAAAAAAHAHHAHAHHAHAHA!" *CLICK* Wily presses the button. And every chibi cannon opens fire at once. "ENJOY MY CHIBI-FUKU-YATTA Bomb, citizens of earth!" The cannons fire, all the beams converging on one point- Wily - before scattering to the corners of the earth. Within seconds (40 to be exact), the entire globe is encompassed, Oddly, one beam twists strangely, right towards...Cut Man.....

[Radio: (F) Public] The voices of a thosand mets suddenly go 'Nerp...WAI!' in chorus.

[Radio: (F) Public] Magma Dragoon transmits, "Oh sweet mother of...WAAAAAAI!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Ballade transmits, "..."

[Radio: (F) Public] Ballade transmits, "..."

[Radio: (F) Public] Ballade transmits, "...Wai."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler says, in a voice an octive higher than usual, "Well, Albert, I hope you're happy now?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man laughs!

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man transmits, "Suckers!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Wow! It's Dr. Wily transmits, "WAAAHAHAHHAHHAHHA! Waiiii! I did it! YATTA! YATTA! WAIII! EEEHEHEHEHHE!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Bass is apparently unaffected. "Outer space. It's so ... quiet."

"It is," Adrian says, simply.

He'd say more, but he's getting caught crossways by radio traffic himself, and he *knows* what Wily means. "Yes, I do," Abernathy continues, torn between between outright laughter or running for the nearest teleporter, screaming.

-- Too late for /that/. With a *bamf*, a jingle, and a frightened -- yowl? -- where there was Abernathy, there is now a catboy dressed very much like Abby. And he's only about a foot tall.

"Nyah, goddammit," he declares, voice positively sour.

[Radio: (F) Public] Cut Man transmits, "WAAAAAAAAAI! ...What...what happened!?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Hard Man transmits, "OMGWTFWAIII!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Frost Man cries out, "Aaaayyeeeeiii....hoo...hooo hoooo....WOO HOO HOO!!!" That...definately is NOT chibi.

[Radio: (F) Public] Rumble Silverfish transmits, "Hrm, apparently shoddy hundred year old insulation has prevented the effects..."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler transmits, "I am in lederhosen. Lederhosen! Do you hear me, Albert? I haven't worn lederhosen since I was seven!!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Chibi Magma Dragoon transmits, "..YATTA!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Grenade Man transmits, "...WHERE ARE MY LEGS WAAAAAAAIIIIIIII!!!... and why can In talk... AND WHY AM I IN A DRESS!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Nathan Xiang sounds much... cuter than usual. "Well. My ponytail reaches my feet now. Although the skirt is a bit drafty." There's a long pause. "Odd. Chibifying doesn't make tentacle monsters any less horrifying."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rumble Silverfish transmits, "I imagine you are very cute, Mr. Doppler."

[Radio: (F) Public] Wow! It's Dr. Wily transmits, "My apologies Sigmund."

[Radio: (F) Public] Magic Man transmits, "This is truly the most horrifying invention you have ever created, father. Congratulations."

[Radio: (F) Public] Blues transmits, ".....yatta."

[Radio: (F) Public] Ballade transmits, "Wai. I feel...pretty."

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man just continues laughing his stupid head off.

[Radio: (F) Public] Skull Man still in his normal deep voice. "Someone will pay. Horribly. Wai."

[Radio: (F) Public] Metal Man transmits, "YATA! We are the chibi restiance if futile! You will be chibied and added to our own WAIIII!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Hard Man transmits, "What is going on with me? This isn't cool! WAIII! Now I'm like one of those crazy midget wrestlers! HEEHEEHEE! YATTA!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Big Bad Sword Man transmits, "This is quite embarrassing. Yatta."

[Radio: (F) Public] Ballade transmits, "Indeed. Hee. Hee."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Nathan Xiang transmits, "...Hm. The flying eyeballs are enourmously huge."

[Radio: (F) Public] Cut Man SQUEAKS! "I HATE YOU FAAAAAAAAATE! WAAAAAAI!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Hard Man transmits, "YATTA"

[Radio: (F) Public] Chibi Magma Dragoon seems to be fighting it. "I....Will..KILL...you...." Then he fails. "YATTAWAIWAIYATAYATTAWAAAAAAAIIIIIII!!!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler gives a long-suffering sigh.

[Radio: (F) Public] Rumble Silverfish transmits, "...I believe it would be prudent that I remain in here."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rumble Silverfish transmits, "So, Mr. Doppler, do you enjoy your leather pants?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Retro Packrat transmits, "Dammit, Wily! WAI!! Did you have to do this?! Now will I....oh no, yatta. Kurt...please don't look at me like that. Please, WAI! Aw, CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!! *sound of scuffling, plates breaking, and the yowling of a small cat*"

[Radio: (F) Public] Grenade Man transmits, "WAAIII!! WHERE ARE MY LEGS!!!".

[Radio: (F) Public] Chibi Magma Dragoon transmits, "You don't need legs! KAWAII!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Doppler transmits, "Laugh now, while you can, Albert. No streudel for you."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Nathan Xiang transmits, "Hm. I seem to be in a pigtail again. How traditional. If you'll excuse me, I need to take readings on this effect. And the Mets... well. Cute mets are... my eyes hurt."

[Radio: (F) Public] Rumble Silverfish transmits, "I do not know who suffers greater. The effected, or the unaffected."

"Oh, well then," Andruw says, trying to sound enthusiastic about this prospect. He continues looking upward, even as the energy wave washes over dear beloved...and now chibified... London.

With a similar *bamf*, Feste disappears, and in his place is left... a short, almost scrawny-looking figure, dressed rather like some old-fashioned noble, complete with red overcoat and hat with two green feathers tucked into the band. And the ponytail. We musn't forget the hair!

Upon sighting Catboy Abernathy, the chibified Amadaun throws back his head and laughs. It's a squeaky laugh, too. "Aww, you're cute! ...er... oh my."