Logfile from M3

The Plague Rat [TPR](#615Ten)

The inside of the Plague Rat is not nearly so intimidating as the outside might be. It's a warm, slightly smoky place, and it looks a lot smaller than it actually is. Quite cozy, too.

Like the typical 20th century English pub, the Rat seems to have a central theme of dark-stained wood and brass railings. The bar itself is a deep mahogany color, with stools of the same color lined up in front of it. Tables leave not so much room on the center floor, and what wallspace there is is taken up by semi-private booths.

All in all, it's very comfortable, if not a bit hazy. The walls are covered with different portraits and artifacts of Ye Olde England. The food is typical pub-grub, with a few odd additions. The bar is fully-stocked, the staff is relatively friendly, and just ignore the one corner of the room filled with people brooding and wearing entirely black, and you should be fine.

Obvious exits:

Out [O] leads to London - Historical District.

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

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "[clunk] [suppressed curse] ... Feste."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "I ha-- not dropping things, are we?"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "[airily] Oh no. Of course not. What do you have for me?"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "A question. You had better not be dropping things without me, sirrah."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Would you be jealous if I -- ow! -- were?"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Highly. Evan won't let me drop things in here, but it's raining, and so... yes, yes I would be."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Anyway, I have a question. Or are you too busy hurting yourself?"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "[calmly] Is that all you have to -- hang on a second, will you -- no, I'm not hurting myself. [crash] -- intentionally."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Suuuure. And yes, it is all I have to tell you. *a beat* What /are/ you doing, sirrah?"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Cleaning up the kitchen. Melissa is helping. And I was going to ask if dropping things is all you have to concern yourself with right now. Anyway -- what's your question? [CRASH -- pause] ... well, I never did like those, anyway ..."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*laughs* Oh, do say hello for me, will you?"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "I have a better question, actually. I was thinking about something you'd said..."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "She says to tell you hello, Mr. Fruitcake, and asks if you've been stabbed lately. -- Hm?"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*chuckles merrily* You can tell her I... haven't, no, no. As for my question... I seem to recall you telling me that if I got killed, you'd have me brought back in the same manner /you/ were."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "I wanted to ask you what you meant by that."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Are you some sort of phoenix, sirrah? Or maybe Jesus? Or just Lazarus, peradventure?"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: " ... ah. Give me a moment. We need to dry the dishes and put them away, and this isn't the kind of story you tell lightly. I hope you understand."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "What? Oh. *mildly confused*"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "I'll wait, then. Should I order a stiff drink, hm?"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Depends on how squeamish you are, I'd suppose."

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

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Go ahead. Get your drink; we'll finish cleaning up over here."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "And I'll get her settled for the moment."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Alright... mind you, I didn't mean to disrupt your evening or anything of that sort."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Of course not. But you're bound to hear the story sooner or later, and I imagine that it's probably best if I tell you."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Oh, well... if you're alright with telling it, then."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Mm. All right isn't the word, but I'm getting better at it."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Adrian, seriously. If you don't want to tell it, then I don't have to hear it."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Andruw. Even if it makes me uncomfortable, it's a part of my history, and one you deserve to know. [thunk] ... so."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Heh! Don't say that; I'll feel obliged to share."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "[innocently] Nobody ever said I don't also have ulterior motives."

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

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "[satisfied] There. We got the dishes put away, and she has her markers and Euclid. I believe I owe you a story."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Euclid?"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "/Euclid/?"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*sigh* Alright, just start talking."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "... Yes, well. She named her stuffed dinosaur that. I had nothing to do with it."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "... oh. For a second I thought... never mind."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*laughs quietly* I was going to ask what you've been teaching that child."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "[mildly] Well, you're not that far off. Where do you think she got the name from?"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Tch! You just swore you had nothing to do with it."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Of course. She does her own research."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*murmurs* She's a better scholar than I am. If I were still in school I might ask her to do my math for me. Lord knows I need the help. *smirk*"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "I think she might be happy to. She's not testing the limits of my knowledge -yet-, but I'm sure she'll outstrip me soon enough. I was never good with numbers."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Get her to do your taxes, ha?"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Mmmm, no. That would be cruel and unusual. And I think it violates child labor laws."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "It doesn't if she enjoys it."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "[mildly] She's still not old enough to work legally. But maybe I'll let her doublecheck my work."

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

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "[dryly] I'm glad my little family dramas keep you happy."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "It's because my family scares the hell out of me. *smirk* Especially during Christmas."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Oh, that is coming up, isn't it. ... Should I ask?"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Oh God, no. *groan* They're just -awful- during the holidays..."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "... Hm. Then I won't."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Unlike myself. *smirk*"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Now, why do I have this sinking feeling something very bad is going to happen to me in the next week or two, hm?"

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

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "I have no idea."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Nope, none whatsoever."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Mmm, well. On the off chance that I'm going to die, I suppose I should tell you what I promised."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Oh, alright."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Wait, what's this?"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Did I find a way to kill YOUR curiosity?"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*slightly defensive* No, I just don't want to you to hurt yourself in the retelling!"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "... it's not like it's going to be a dramatic re-enactment. I think that would frighten Melissa."

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

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "You laugh now."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "I'm not laughing. It's hard to laugh when you're drinking something."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Alcoholic, I presume."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "I'm not an alcoholic! Don't you go randomly accusing me of things. It's a very simple, logical fact, sir, that you CAN'T LAUGH WHEN YOUR MOUTH'S FULL."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "[miffed] I wasn't accusing you of being alcoholic, dear Fool. I was accusing your drink."

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

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "I knew that! Most certainly I did."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "I won't blame you for being high strung lately."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Sure fooled you, didn't I... oh, well, heh..."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "[sighs and murmurs] Whatever am I going to do with you ..."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*grumpily* Tell me stories. Ow. Mf."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Oh, don't tell me you're dropping things too now."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "No. I hit something instead."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "But not very hard."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Hm. All right."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "The story -does- come in at some point, right?"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "The story is, as stories go, not incredibly interesting. Though you might remember pieces of it -- come to think ... do you remember that trial ... it would be almost three years ago now -- but two of the United Nations' Security Forces training officers were court-martialed for getting their entire platoon killed in a training accident?"

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

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Well, that makes it easier. I was one of the dead soldiers."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "You were what?"

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

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "How?"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Live explosive. It wasn't supposed to be."

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

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

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*he's just sort of-- saying it. sympathy, perhaps.* Adrian..."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "[quiet sigh] Mhm?"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "So...what happened next?"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "I was dead and in cryostasis for about a month, or maybe two. They eventually brought me back with a little cybernetic help."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*weakly* And that's what you'll have them to do to me, eh?"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "[whispered] ... well, I didn't exactly consent to it. And, I, I ..."

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

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made such a threat."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: " -- Even in jest."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "But it wasn't a threat."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Was it?"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "... Or a promise. Or anything of that nature."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*quietly* You think you're being selfish? Is that why?"

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

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*sigh, as he can't find the words. alas.*"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "[continues blithely] To the exclusion of my own ideals. I'm supposed to do better than this."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*after a pause* You... can't help it... maybe?"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "[bitter] Maybe."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "*mirthless chuckle* We are so screwed up."

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

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "And here I am, wishing fervently you were here. God damn it."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "I'd oblige, but I have a very sleepy child on my lap."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Maybe we should just form a dogpile."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Oh no, you don't. I break easily."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "By which I mean I -think- I offered to come to you. I hate English."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "I break easier than you. Shh."

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "Well then. As long as you don't actually intend to be piling on me, feel free to stop by."

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Really?"

[Radio] Abernathy sends you a tightbeam radio transmission: "I just said it, didn't I?"

[Radio] You send Abernathy a direct message: "Well, yes, you did."

The Seraph's Roost [TSR]

An entirely unostentatious three-and-a-half room apartment. Kitchen, living room, bedroom, and half-bath -- there's nothing much to recommend it beyond a bachelor's pad for a particularly well-off bachelor. Sure, it's neater than one would usually expect for a bachelor -- no socks tossed on top of the television, no decaying food in the sink, no anomalous stains on the carpet -- but nevertheless shows some of the telltale signs of occupation by a single male human, primarily in the spartan (easy to clean!) furnishings. The only remotely 'odd' item in the entire place -- beyond the healthy fistfuls of magnetic poetry words tacked to the refrigerator -- is one of the end-tables, an odd affair made of a triangular piece of what looks like black glass. Except there's never been a piece of glass *cut* that thin in all of humanity's existence.

Recently, however, the apartment has begun to show signs of occupation by a second human. A younger one, at that, as indicated by the various items distinctly 'out of place' for a human bachelor. Like the occasional crayon between the couch cushions, the stuffed triceratops on the bed, and one lone surreal crayon-drawing posted on the fridge, held up with magnetic words.

Abernathy [Dies Irae] [C]

Melissa [C]

Obvious exits:

Out [O] leads to San Angeles - Northern Residential

Melissa has left.

Abernathy takes Melissa by the hand.

Having experienced another one of those absolutely dreadful moments in conversation where it seems like if he doesn't go cheer Abernathy (and indirectly himself) up he'll explode, Feste comes running. Or knocking, really. Knock knock. But quietly, so he won't wake Melissa up.

Much as he had said, Abernathy is currently curled up on his couch, a sleeping Melissa curled up with Euclid the stuff triceratops on his lap. He glances over at the knock on the door, and, throwing caution to the wind, calls quietly: "It's unlocked."

Feste the serial killer opens the door and steps inside, looking almost painfully concerned. He shuts the door quietly and thus slowly behind him. "Evening, stranger," he whispers.

Good thing Abernathy has his knife. He looks up, raising a hand to tip Feste an analyst's salute. "Evening," he replies, also in a whisper.

Andruw-Feste moves forward to hover by the end of the couch, hands resting on the arm of it. He manages a half-smile, mostly genuine. "I just, ah..."

" ... Wanted to check if you noticed anything new about me, knowing that I've been dead?" Abernathy replies, voice supremely dry -- and very quiet.

Andruw-Feste frowns, wincing mildly. "No, that's not why. I just wanted to see you, I think." Make sure you're still alive and whole, that sort of thing, maybe. Or just... see you. And he, of course, is equally quiet.

Abernathy looks down, a hint of a smile on his face as he strokes Melissa's hair fondly. She curls up a little tighter with Euclid. "Understandably, I guess." He glances up at his friend, the smile gone to be replaced by his usual impassive expression. "So. Here I am."

Andruw-Feste looks on quietly for a moment more. "Yes, there you are," he replies, suddenly feeling awfully silly. He's invaded Abby's apartment again for his own selfish reasons, and just after Abby was all hatin' on himself for being selfish, too. Tsk!

"I suppose I'll just go now," he offers uneasily, looking away.

"So soon?" Abby muses, arching a white brow curiously. "A long way to come running just to make sure I hadn't keeled over, Andruw."

"Yes, well," he answers. "I'm definitely not the most sensible of creatures." Did we mention that it was raining in London, and as a result, he's also somewhat damp? An even longer way to come through the rain... He shrugs, half-smiling, as he brushes a limp bang out of his face and tucks it behind his ear.

"And you look like a drowned rat. Sit down." Abernathy shifts slightly, gathering Melissa up in his arms. She stirs a little, and he pauses until she settles again. Then he gets up. "Let me put her to bed. I could make some tea. We'll talk." Yes. It was all very sensible, and that said, Abby immediately heads off to put Melissa to bed. See? He expects to be obeyed.

Andruw-Feste simply blinks and remains standing as Abby picks Melissa up and starts ordering him around. He's unaccustomed to just being told what to do-- no, wait. never mind. He's unaccustomed to -Abby- ordering him around.

Quirking an eyebrow at the albino's retreating back, he removes his slightly wet jacket, puts it somewhere appropriate (maybe there's a coatrack thing! yeah!) and sits down. And then he waits.

Abernathy has been in a curiously commanding mood lately. Perhaps it's the job getting to him. Either way, he returns in short order, making his way back to the couch. He tilts his head to one side, considering F for a moment -- before simply sitting down himself in the remaining space, sprawling just a little. " ... so perhaps the tea will have to wait a moment."

Andruw can't help but chuckle a little at that, looking over at the other man sitting next to him. "That's alright. I'll live without, I think."

"Oh, right. You're only English by habit." Abby smiles faintly. "So ... " He glances sidelong at Andruw. "Talk, or just companionable silence?"

"Adopted," Andruw offers, smiling faintly back. "Either is fine with me, really, but talking is what I do best. And you said we would talk..."

Abby nods, leaning back into the couch a little more. "So I did. I suppose I was trying to imply, that if you had any more questions -- now would be the time to ask them. While I can talk about it rationally." Implying ... that he usually can't?

Curious, that. "I'm not sure I really had any," Andruw admits. The first part kind of blew away any questions he had from before. (no pun intended please don't hurt me) "Except, maybe... are you alright?"

Good question. Is Abby all right? He thinks about this question for a long moment, before replying: "No, not really."

"Me neither." Andruw looks down in the general direction of his knees. It's a rare moment when this man doesn't know what to say. Funny how all of these moments seem to come around Abby.

Abby is just good that way. He watches Andruw in silence for a moment, before looking away, gazing off at nothing. "Well, that's certainly helpful," he remarks, sardonically.

Andruw closes his eyes, running a hand over his hair. Still wet, hn. "You know me," he murmurs. "I'm-- really not that helpful. I'm sorry." He really sounds like he is, too. Aw.

" ... Do you want a towel?" Abby, never having had long hair, is a little bemused by this whole 'hair is still damp' phenomenon. But, having Andruw catch a cold from being damp, which is something Abby has heard is a consequence of long hair, would be really bad.

Oh, he's not -that- wet. Or maybe he just thinks he isn't.

Andruw's hand continues down the length of his ponytail, pulling it over his shoulder. Hmmm. "You know, that might be a good idea," he replies, mildly amused. "It was raining at home. But I think I might've already said that."

Obediently, Abby gets up, disappearing into one of the other rooms briefly. When he returns, it's with a towel. A beach towel, with a pretty design of moons and stars on an indigo background. "It's Melissa's," he explains, offering it. "But I don't think she'll mind."

Feste takes it and sets it on his lap temporarily. See, the drying of hair is a tricky business. First he reaches up and removes the tie that keeps his ponytail up, allowing his slightly-wet hair to come tumbling back down onto his shoulders. Then he takes the towel and starts drying off a little. "Thanks."

Abernathy pauses, watching this entire procedure with evident interest. Perhaps a little too much interest -- but then, he has a thing about long hair. A thing he has to beat down actively, before resuming his seat on the couch. "Not a problem."

There's not much Andruw can really do to get his hair dry; it's just a fact of nature. It's better than being really wet, though. Once he's done, he makes some attempt at refolding it, and sets in on his lap, half-successful. And he leaves his hair down, too. Fancy that. "So... where were we?" He's managed to drift so far off topic.

Meanwhile, Abby forcibly restrains himself from touching Andruw's hair. Perhaps Andruw should use some +method. Fortunately, Abby has a great deal of self-control. "Ah. General unhelpfulness of the fact we are both not all right," he supplies.

Yes. He should. There's been a rise in the number of strange women attempting to touch his hair lately. And Abby's pretty strange.

Andruw shrugs helplessly -- yeah, right, like he knows what to do about that. "Indeed. Damn the Fates." How weak.

Abernathy is a strange woman indeed. Perhaps the strangest of all, because he is actually a MAN. Who looks like a woman. A manly woman. "I doubt it's their fault, if they even exist," he remarks, dryly. "I seem to have made myself 'not all right' by my own hand."

"Oh, really now," Andruw sighs, still smiling. Optimistic, just a little. "How is that, now?"

Abby leans back, stretching almost languidly and staring up at the ceiling. "Oh," he says, lightly. "Over the past year, I've only systematically betrayed every ideal I thought I stood for. In the name of expediency and diplomacy, or course."

Mm, relaxing. Good idea. Andruw leans back and stares with Abby. It's a rather nice ceiling. "Poor you," he whispers, idly wondering if maybe he'll have to share now. Hmmm.

"No need for pity. I did do this to myself," Abby replies, softly -- and bitterly. That's about the only clue that he's at all unhappy with this state of affairs.

"And you?"

Damn. But we all knew that was coming.

"Me?" says Andruw. "Oh, you know. I stuck to my guns, and the world betrayed me instead. As it turns out, people hate to see other people living happily despite extenuating circumstances. Surprise."

"You were counting on the world to deliver something?" Abby asks, rhetorically. "More the fool you, Andruw. That never happens. Ever." He states it not jokingly, but as truth. "And how could they? All the sentient races are jealous beings."

Andruw smiles, utterly lacking in any joy whatsoever. "No, I was mostly counting on the world to leave me alone. Or at least content itself with occasionally bothering me instead of driving me completely off of my rocker," he mutters. "So I'm learning."

"To deliver something," Abby concludes. He glances over at his friend again. "Painful lesson, isn't it?" Adrian learned it a long time ago. It involved a bomb.

Feste's involved tasers and bats!

Andruw smirks despite himself, looking over at Abby once he realizes Abby's looking at him. "In truth," he sighs.

" ... so what happened to you?" Now, of course, Abby's sense of morbid curiosity has caught up with him.

Andruw keeps on a-smiling. Baaagh, it's an -awful- memory and it makes him want to curl up in a ball and hide, so why is he smiling? Argh! "Well... Once upon a time, I had green eyes, and I was a TA at Oxford," he begins, as if telling a lovely story that has a happy ending with princesses and possibly lumberjacks and small children. But not small children being baked. Happy small children.

Damn.

Abby gives him a slight nod. Green eyes, hm? That would've been attractive. "Go on."

"And my professor liked to let me teach, because I was more enthusiastic than he was, and so I faced down hordes of young English majors, many of them English and therefore superior to me, and life was mostly good, even though I'd been in a really awful car accident a few years prior and had several pieces of metal in various places." Andruw puts his hands behind his head, and resumes staring up at the ceiling. It's easier if he doesn't have to look at Abby.

Car accident? Abby files this away. This was not in his files -- well, a part of it was, but not much detail. "Mhm?" he prompts, noting the way Andruw's looked away from him. Never a good sign.

"And nobody knew, except Evan, and nobody cared, including Evan, because it wasn't particularly important," Andruw continues, still in the same Official Storytelling Tone. "Including my students as well. Now, most of them hated the TAs anyway, because we were vindictive bastards all, and we liked to get back at them for all the stupid questions they asked by grading them in a fashion that would make Hitler proud. But some of them, you see, were particularly stupid and hateful."

"Mmm." Evan again. Abby will need to ask about her, too, when it won't interrupt the flow of the story. Later, of course -- even though he can see where this might be leading.

"It just so happened that those self-same Neanderthals happened to subscribe to a particular philosophy that you might be familiar with. I believe there's a senator who advocates it. Anyhow," he pauses, swallowing, "I was talking to someone, I don't remember who, but somehow it came up that I had been in an accident a few years back, and you know, I would've died were it not for the miracles of modern science. And the walls at Oxford were always fairly thin..."

Abernathy has to resist the impulse to lay a steadying hand on Andruw's shoulder, or hand. No; that wouldn't help. Instead, he waits silently, pink eyes fixed on the other man.

"So people who shouldn't have known did, and they told all their friends." A pause. For dramatic effect? No. "And I was minding my own business, on my way to-- I don't remember where, somewhere, and I turned around, and..." He flinches involuntarily, removing his hands from behind his head so he can rub his face.

"Go on."

It's very cruel of Abernathy to do this, but in his mind, it's a necessary cruelty. He needs to know.

Andruw, grimacing, looks over at Abby almost incredulously. "What do you mean, go on?"

"I mean, continue your account," Abby says, mildly. "Finish the story, Andruw."

Very cruel indeed. Andruw frowns deeply, and returns to staring at the ceiling. Thanks for nothing, you -jerk-. (just kidding.) He continues in the same tone as before, as if he had never been interrupted. Except now he's taken a turn for the bitter and sarcastic.

"I turned around, and there were my dear friends and students. They helpfully suggested a change of location, and so we vacated the area in favor of a sufficiently dark alleyway. And once there, they attempted to convince me to change my opinion on certain topics. Forcibly. /Too bad/ it was /impossible/ for me not to be what I was, and thus they had to continue /convincing/ me until-- ah--..."

"Until?" Abernathy prompts once more, unflinching--without so much as a change of expression.

"Well, I wouldn't know," Andruw continues, bitter as wormwood. "I wasn't exactly -conscious- at the time. I'm told that someone stopped them and... took me to the hospital, or some such. I don't know."

"I see." And that's Abby's only verbal reaction for a very long time. He looks away from Andruw, leaning back against the couch and folding his hands behind his head. He trains his eyes on some far-off, neutral point, and gives every indication of thinking about this.

Andruw, for his part, is caught up in one of his little spurts of emotion. Abby's utter silence is kind of riding on him, you see, even though he reacted the same way to Abby's little story. The only indication of this, however, is a quiet, exasperated gasp as Andruw continues staring at the ceiling. Except his eyes are shut tight.

Abernathy shifts slightly, but it's only to fold his arms across his chest, as he actually begins to frown slightly. He still says nothing -- in truth, because he's not quite sure how to feel or respond about this. But instead of confusion -- or trying to be comforting -- he'll settle for simple silence, even if it does wear on Andruw's nerves. Abby is not an empath.

The Norwegian simply leans forward, silently shifting the weight of his upper body forward as he buries his face in his hands. augh.

"You know," Abby says, thoughtfully, as Andruw goes into that paroxysm of -- agony? Discomfort? whatever. "I have seen some of the worst humankind can do to each other. Very little surprises me after knowing Xiang as a nemesis." He pauses. And yet ...

"That's very comforting, Abernathy," comes the muffled, almost anguished response.

"You're comforted by the most perverse things, Andruw, I swear," Abby snaps back, not really meaning to -- but there it was.

Sarcasm! It was sarcasm! Of course, Andruw might say that, but instead he just stays quiet, expression unreadable. Having your hands over your face will do that.

Abernathy gives a frustrated sigh, and looks away from Andruw. "Do you want me to apologize?" he asks.

Andruw murmurs -something- in his mother tongue, none of which is 'ja' or 'nei'. He sighs, still into his hands, before replying in English. "I don't -know-, do I? Will it really make things better?"

By the last question, he's sat up and is looking straight at Abby. Pissed? No, not really. Anguished is a good word. But the anger's there. Poor Andruw, so angry. He's also begun to raise his voice, and by the time he hits the last word, he realizes it and stops. Crap. Of course, it's too late to take it back.

Abernathy stares at Andruw, his expression not budging an inch from that icy mask. He's getting really good at this -- nothing, not even a hint of rage or frustration, shows through. "Keep your voice down," he rebukes, quietly. Then: "I can't tell you that, Andruw. I can't even tell you what I feel I should apologize to you FOR. So figure it out for yourself, then tell me."

"I'm sorry," he whispers, half a second after Abby tells him to hush up. "I forgot where I was." His gaze turns downward once more, this time analyzing the weave of the couch.

"I know you can't, but... oh, sod it, Adrian, I'm awful at this. I never should've come, I shouldn't've, I think I made a mistake..."

A weird little smirk plays on Abby's face for a moment. "I could tell. You're forgiven." Melissa hadn't woken up, after all, so everything was still okay. "And why do you say that?"

"Because it hurts," he says simply. Cheesy but true. It hurts and I would so very much like to lean on you again, but I refuse to allow myself that luxury for a multitude of reasons. "And I doubt we've accomplished anything other than -- raking each other over the coals. Why..." ...hey...

"Life hurts," Abby says, frankly, though with a note of -- it's not bitterness, and it's not resign. More like he's come to that conclusion just now, as much as he dislikes it. "And be that as it may, it was information we probably both needed to know about each other." He pauses, then, waiting for Andruw to continue.

The latter was a conclusion Andruw was just coming to himself. He'd already known for years that life hurts. It hurts like-- something that hurts a whole lot. (use your imagination.)

"Why?" asks Andruw, "so we'll know where to hit each other where it hurts the most, then?"

It's less that he's afraid Abby will hurt him -- probably something he should be more afraid of than he is -- and more the opposite. Abernathy, you're exposing your vulnerabilities. What the porn!

"How much do you trust me, Andruw?"

It seemed like a non-sequitor, but in the context of the question Andruw had asked -- perhaps it really wasn't. Certainly wasn't; Abernathy doesn't work with non-sequitors. Just the occasional abstract aside.

And maybe Abernathy told that story as frankly as he did because he no longer considered it a vulnerability.

And Andruw, as we well know, is stupid, at least when it comes to things like this.

"Too much," Andruw answers, red eyes strangely retaining a peculiar look of sadness. It's almost comical, the way they look. Like a sad clown. "Implicitly."

"Then why did you ask me such a stupid question?" Abby says, very quietly. His tone isn't necessarily chiding, but it is -- disappointed, in some ways. Like he except a different answer to his question.

"Be-- because-- because I..." Andruw sighs, flustered, shaking his head. "It's not...necessarily... -you- I'm worried about..."

It's the fact that after all he's seen of Abby's inner defenses, he's being let in. (or he just thinks he is) Which wasn't one of his goals -- it was one of Feste's goals. He's uncomfortable.

Leaning forward, Abernathy laces his fingers together, resting his forearms on his knees. "Then what is it? Are you afraid for yourself, Andruw?" He pauses, glancing sidelong at his friend and smiling quirkily. "For an English major, you're surprisingly bad at articulating yourself."

"Yes." He sounds almost embarrassed at that. Yes, I'm a coward. Yes, I run away from things. Yes, I'm afraid.

"...see, that's the thing," Andruw answers, after a moment. "I'm really more of an actor than a scholar of any sort. It was just that more than anything else I wanted to study the Bard's works..." He pauses, tone almost wistful. "...plus, you know, it's not my native language and all... oh, you sound terribly disappointed in me..."

"Andruw ... " The name is spoken as more of a sigh than anything, as Abby doesn't connect it to the rest of a sentence. Instead, he finally gets up off the couch, headed toward the kitchen and that abandoned promise of making tea. " ... it's not so much that I'm disappointed, just that I'm not sure what to make of you -- or myself -- any longer."

Andruw quietly massages his temples and face with the heels of his hands. It would seem that he's gained at least a bit of his composure and dignity back. Let's see. "God, me neither. This is so much harder than I always thought it would be... isn't it just lovely, the way we muck everything up for each other?"

There's a rustling and a rattling for the kitchen as Abernathy rummages around for a teapot and tea itself, though it's not quite loud enough that he can't hear over it. "'Always thought'? How old are you anyway, Andruw?" There's a click as he closes a cabinet, then the quiet sound of running water.

He can't help but chuckle a little at that. "Older than you, boy. Twenty-eight."

"Boy?" Abernathy's tone is somewhere between arch and incredulous. "Ooo, by a whole five years, too. And you mean to tell me you've never been in a permanent relationship before ... ?" There's a quiet *clunk*, and Abby hisses under his breath.

Andruw continues chuckling quietly. It's just-- amusing. "Yes, a whole five years. And-- see, there's this question of the word 'permanent'... not dropping things again, are we?"

"No; I set it down," comes the blithe reply. Abernathy can be heard shifting around a little more, before there's another quiet *clunk*. " -- Oh? Well, enlighten me." He returns to the couch shortly thereafter. "How do we see the word 'permanent' as it applies to relationships, hm?"

"Oh." Andruw half-shrugs. "Uh... ah-hmmm..." Awkward question. "Th-- ah... how to explain..." He coughs quietly, presumably into his hand. "I wasn't, say, with anyone I particularly wanted to... settle down with, you know?" If only you were in the other room to seem him blush like a pasty child at the beach. Tsk.

Actually, Abernathy steps in just in time, and arches a brow at Andruw's obvious embarassment. He doesn't go to sit back down on the couch, instead folding his arms across his chest and leaning against one of the walls facing the couch. "What an interesting way to put it," he says, voice perfectly deadpan. "Were you ever 'with' anyone at all, Andruw?"

Well, good thing it's rather dark, then. Assuming the lights are at least dim...

Abernathy's calm, cool demeanor does nothing but further Andruw's embarrassment. "Uh. Er. Yes, in fact, I -was-, thank you very much," he mutters, and then, suddenly, he blinks. "... wait! What do you mean, permanent relationship?" he asks, at once bewildered and mildly alarmed.

"Who was she?" Abernathy presses, now obviously curious. Couldn't let Andruw get away that easily, even if he was horribly embarassed. (and, ha ha ha! it wouldn't matter, given that lovely little quirk of vision that lets Abby see into the infrared) " -- Something longer than a one-night stand?" ... You could see that his values were a little warped.

Andruw half-winces, squinting one eye shut and making a definite face. "That's-- not-- what-- answer me! What are you talking about, 'permanent relationship'? Don't make me raise my voice, man!"

Of course, the fact that he's practically pleading is really not helping his case.

"You're not answering ME," Abernathy replies, not exactly testy. More amused by how frustrated Andruw appears to be getting with him. "I asked a question too, you know. And you know exactly what I meant -- if it's not just some lust-driven fling ... "

"Lust-driven fling?" Andruw echoes, incredulous. "I'm Norwegian! We don't even know what lust-driven flings are!" He sighs, or tries to; it ends up coming out as a kind of breathy laugh. "Besides, one-night stands are so... impersonal... Ah, well, /fine/, since you're asking...

"Her name was Daphne." He crosses his arms over his chest and closes his eyes, nose in the air. GO ON. Ask me to tell you more! "And it's really not important, you know, it was all a past life anyhow..."

Abernathy shakes his head at that. "You can't tell me that. It's just as cold in Mother Russia and WE carry on the proud tradition of lust-driven flings," he quips back. "Impersonal. Hm. You would say that -- Daphne. What was she like?"

Andruw laughs quietly, facepalming. "No, no, no! It's not because it's cold, it's because we're /Calvinists/. Or maybe just because we're all scared of each other when it comes down to it." He laughs into his hand, presumably at some secret, private joke. Silly Andruw.

"Wonderful," he answers to the second question, in an almost hushed, reverent tone. "Beautiful, smart, eloquent... she used to call me Apollo," he continues, smirking. Evidently it's a fond memory.

"Wait, wait," Abernathy says. "I thought Calvin said you're either elect or you're damned. Spiders in the hands of an angry god, and all that." He gestures grandly to emphasize his point. "Or am I totally off-base, dirty Papist that I am?"

Then he pauses, losing a little of his merriment and leaning back against the wall. "I see," he murmurs. "Still fond of her?"

"That was Edwards, actually," Andruw corrects, staring off into space. He may be back on the subject of religion, but his mind is still elsewhere. "I should've just said Lutheran, I think. But yes, you are entirely off-base, you dirty Papist." He smiles. "I'm sure you get the general idea..."

He shrugs vaguely, looking at Abernathy now instead of the wall. "A bit. You see, she called me that as a joke, but it came true."

[Global News Network] News! NEWS! This just in! Its Royal Yaksman reporting! YEAH! "This just in! Its him! Its really him! HE DOES EXIST! Wily Claus has been spotted in San Angeles!" Blip. What the hell was that?

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man, in a hushed, awed tone: "I knew it! I knew it all along!"

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

[Radio: (F) Public] Blues transmits, "Don't make me hit you."

[Radio: (F) Public] Tengu Man transmits, "Aww, Protoman, it's /Christmas/!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Enker transmits, "Tengu Man. It's /Protoman/."

Frequency f is now gagged.

"Hmm. I'll need to brush up on my theology." Say it like you mean it, Abernathy. "When I'm a little less concerned about its practical application." He stretches a little, eyes narrowing at Andruw. "And how do you mean it came true, hm?"

"Tsk, tsk," Andruw replies, grinning. Or is it FESTE?! We'll never know. Well, we might. But we digress. The grin wanes slightly as he continues on. This is a slightly less fond memory.

"Well, she fled from me, and I stupidly followed after her anyway. Then she got turned into a tree, and I cursed Eros, got over it, and moved on to Hyacinth," he replies, smiling thinly.

"I wasn't aware that happened in the real world," Abernathy replies, dryly. "Unless that's some kind of new-fangled metaphor for cybernetics. What really happened?" He tilts his head slightly to one side, listening for the teapot--it isn't boiling quite yet, so he relaxes once more.

"Just a plain metaphor, actually." Andruw idly scratches at a spot above his ear, a process that involves mild fluffing of now-dry hair. "Oh, you know. I guess she just got tired of me." Said plainly and simply, with no garnish whatsoever.

"I see. Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, girl eventually gets bored with boy." Abby pauses, considering Andruw for a long moment. "And it wasn't as difficult as this, then?" Whatever 'this' they've been dancing around for the last half an hour or so.

Andruw just laughs. "Well, /I'll/ say." Considering 'this' -- assuming 'this' is what he thinks it is -- pretty much goes against everything he's been inculcated with since childhood? Yep. Daphne was a piece of cake. "And yes, it was something like that."

"That explains it, then. I was wondering how you could be nearly thirty and so naive -- " Abby's cut off by the first little whistle of a boiling teapot, and immediately ducks back into the kitchen to attend to it. Hum hum hum. No sense in letting it wake Melissa up.

Pfft, naive. Andruw does, in fact, make a little 'pfft' noise. But then... he really is naive. How else could he have become Feste? If he hadn't been naive, he'd've never even believed it possible. But then, he also wouldn't have the problems he has now. Or the relationships...

Chuckling quietly, Andruw leans back against the couch and waits for Abby to come back with tea. mmmm.

In short order, Abby returns with two cups of tea, the teapot, and a hotpad. Somehow he's managing to juggle it all with easy grace. Teapot and hotpad go on the Starhaven shard endtable, and one of the cups of tea is offered to Andruw.

Andruw takes it with a nod and a murmured 'takk', immediately sipping away at it. Shortly after that he quirks an eyebrow at the teacup. He will have to buy this man some *proper* tea. Oh yes. This simply will not do. But Andruw'll drink it anyway. Just you watch.

Could it really be helped that Abernathy had weird tastes in tea, even if he DID steal Andruw's chai? He settles down on the couch next to Andruw, taking a sip of his own tea rather reflectively. " ... so," he mutters, after a moment, not looking Andruw's way.

"So?" Andruw replies, slightly muffled by the presence of a teacup in front of his face. He'd thought they'd said all they could on the prior topic, but maybe not.

" ... never mind. I suppose it's unkind of me to go digging around in a past you'd rather forget." Abernathy takes another sip of his tea, pink eyes gone particularly unfocused. He looks almost as if he's going to say something more, then shakes his head, and resumes nursing his tea.

Andruw just shrugs, sipping his tea. He doesn't seem -too- anxious about it all, so evidently it isn't a big deal, like, say, the other parts of his past. And it's odd, too, how his admitting that Daphne ran off on him didn't really bother him either -- he showed only fondness for her. Hm. So he just shrugs, and gives no other answer.

" ... So." Once more. Abernathy takes another sip of his tea, gazing off at nothing. "Any boyfriends?" Well, it bore asking. He had an inkling the answer was probably 'no' from the way Andruw acted around him, but ... it still bore asking.

There's that 'so' again. "No," says Andruw, shaking his head just slightly. "Except f...aheh." That slipped out by accident, or at least it's meant to seem like it did. Andruw is determined to find the truth about that 'permanent relationship' and 'this' business. Determined. Let's see if he can draw an answer out of Abernathy. Yeeeees.

"Except for?" Abernathy, of course, takes the bait, being predictably curious. And predictably clueless right now; it's probably the tea, or Andruw's pretty looks, or something similarly distracting that made him not quite as mentally acute as he's wont to be. ... Probably the tea. He takes another sip of it.

"Except for what?" Andruw asks, the very image of innocence. "Did I say something? Oh, dear me." Siiiip. He cracks an eye open to peer at Abby, so he'll be able to see his reaction.

"Don't be coy with me," Abby rebukes, quietly. He swirls the dregs of his tea, peering into the cup as if it might tell him something. Augery ... well, maybe not. "You intended to say something, whether it was a slip of the tongue or intentional. What was it?"

"Oh, fine," he replies, setting the cup of tea down in his hand and looking straight at Abby. "Except for, perhaps..." But he DOES NOT FINISH.

Well, Feste had to inherit the 'incorrigible tease/flirt' portion of his personality from /somewhere/...

"I think this tea is cold enough now that if I dumped it on you, it would only leave first-degree burns," Abernathy muses, not looking up. "Please finish what you were saying, Andruw."

Failure! Damn. At least he's got Abby under his thumb now. Sort of.

Trying hard not to smile, Andruw fixes his eyes on Abby, even though the albino's not looking back, and continues to stall. He sits there, mouth twitching, for a whole thirty seconds more. Then he loses his fine-tuned self-control, bowing his head in a wave of quiet snickering.

But wait! Before that snickering, was that a word Abby heard? Was it a 'you'? Why yes! It was! See, he's not just trying to torture you.

Abernathy pauses for a long moment -- before knocking back the remainder of his tea and setting the cup aside. He folds his hands in his lap, staring at the floor and toes of his boots. "Ahhh," he finally says, dimly amused. "Well. That explains the coyness, doesn't it?"

"It would, I should think," says Andruw, sipping at his tea after recovering from his snickerfit, eyes smiling on behalf of his hidden lips. It strikes him as odd, however, that Abby should direct his gaze downward. So he puts his cup down somewhere convenient, and reaches over to very gently cup Abernathy's chin in his hand and redirect it so that, ideally, Abby'll be looking at him. The Norwegian is smiling, to be sure, but he seems somewhere in between happiness and uncertainty...

Abernathy certainly doesn't resist the touch, though the smile he gives Andruw on locking eyes with the other man is likewise somewhere between happy and despondent. Just a little quirky, much like his moods. "Well then. I'm not quite sure what to make of that," he replies, struggling for impassivity.

Its job finished for the moment, Andruw's hand returns to its proper place. Which is not, unfortunately, on Abby's face. Oh well. Andruw's smile gets even quirkier itself as he bites his lip. "Me neither, really, but you made me do it," he quips.

Abernathy reaches up, covering his eyes with a hand briefly as he looks away from Andruw. "Oh, I did, did I?" He pauses a moment, to think about this -- then gives a sigh and shakes his head. " ... I suppose I did. Well -- in that case -- I'm terribly sorry."

Andruw's brow wrinkles in growing concern as he notes Abby's apparent discomfiture. His eyes, however, do not leave Abby for a second. "Well-- I wouldn't've said it if I hadn't wanted to," he murmurs, words tinged with dismay.

A quiet chuckle escapes Abby. "Oh, I know that. Believe me, I know. I'm just a mess right now, Andruw, as I'm sure you understand." And even if you don't, you'd better pretend you do.

"Of course," Andruw replies, more and more concerned as the seconds tick by. Damn he messed up he messed up, didn't he? Oh hells...

What's going on here probably isn't any of Andruw's fault. It's Abernathy struggling with himself, as he sits there with his hands folded in his lap, his head bowed. At last, he looks over at his friend again, eyes narrowed just slightly. " ... You don't deserve this, you know. I'm sorry."

The corner of Andruw's lips twitch upward in the briefest of smiles, but it's a disappointed smile. A very blatantly forced one. So... maybe it's not him, but... still... he's gone and done the wrong thing, hasn't he?

"I forgive you," he whispers back, unsure if he really means it or not.

"And don't blame yourself for it, either," Abernathy says abruptly, sitting up a little straighter. "Since that seems to be what you're about to do." He gives a shake of his head, adopting a more confident smirk. "But thank you. I promise -- at some point -- I'll get this sorted out. Things will be better."

"I wasn't going to," Andruw lies, backing off a little more. "And-- you're welcome." At some point. Some day. Eventually. Not a satisfactory answer, but...

Abernathy looks away from Andruw, busying himself with getting another cup of tea. He leans back then, curling his hands around it to leech warmth from the liquid. " ... somehow, I doubt we're being completely truthful with each other here," he muses. "Which means this is only going to get worse, from experience."

Stupid Seraphim. Why must they always-- ahem.

"Probably not," Andruw laments, quietly, ignoring the 'from experience' tagged on there. Ooh, more tea. What a novel idea. After Abby gets his new cup, Andruw picks up the pot and pours himself some, inhaling the nascent scent of fresh-brewed tea. Well, sort of fresh. Mm. "Shall we, ah, declare a moment of honesty or something?" He'd rather it not get worse.

Abernathy has to think about this a moment, even with his particular emphasis on the truth. At last, he says: " ... Yes, I believe we probably should." He takes a sip of his fresh cup of tea, savoring it to keep from opening his mouth and saying anything unfortunate.

Oh, well, good. Time to be /honest/, then. Andruw levels his gaze via slouching in his seat. This makes him look very miserable. We are sure that it tugs at the heartstrings.

"Well, I was joking, sort of... the thing with me is, the jokes always seem to come true." He still sounds so sad, convinced he's gone and screwed up. Spoke wrong. Alack.

"Joking about what?" Oh no. Andruw is getting unhappy, which means Abby is going to pry until the other man explains himself. And, moreover, he can sip his tea and look positively inscrutable while doing this. *sip*

"About the whole boyfriend thing." His gaze drifts down again. "I mean, I-- wasn't really serious, I was just playing with you. Couldn't help it. You were on the very edge of your seat." He smirks, or tries to.

"I see." Abby ... apparently doesn't know what to think of THAT, as he goes dead quiet. He looks down at the tea cup, as if hoping to read something in the dregs, then looks back up, staring across the room. Another sip of tea, and no inspiration comes. He'll be halfway through this cup before he finds something to say, it appears.

Ack! Also the wrong thing.

"Oh! Well-- just the whole-- I wasn't exactly aware we were an item, that's all I meant," Andruw finally manages, desperately trying to make that last save. Oh no... "If--" Oh no, he's just going to make it worse.

"I wasn't aware we were, either," Abby says, distantly. "Which is, I suppose, what got us both into this mess in the first place." Another little sip of tea. At last, he pauses, raising a finger and running it around the rim of his teacup absently.

Andruw takes a breath, about to say something, and just delays doing so. There's relief there... sort of. Abby understands, okay. "...yes."

He sighs again. This is not working too well.

Abby shifts a little on the couch, getting a little more comfortable. Without looking at Andruw. "Well. That appears to be the root of our problems. What are we, if not an item, Andruw?"

Interesting, that it should be the root of their problems. "Friends?" Andruw offers, trying hard not to frown, and failing for most of it. Good thing Abby's not looking.

Some of them, anyway. Maybe in Abby's very literal-minded world. Then again, he'd proven time again to be very bad at guessing what was going on in Andruw's head. " ... Fair enough. Are you content with that, Andruw?" He glances sidelong, catches that frown, and looks away once more.

Honesty time. Andruw sighs a preparatory, almost musical little sigh, readying himself for the admission of something that's been burdening for... how long now? Too long.

The man who would be a Fool fixes his gaze on his patron, ignoring the fluttering in his stomach. That's so annoying. Ugh. And out come the words a part of him's been dying to say for the longest time.

"Not... really." And as soon as they're out, he winces mildly.

Abernathy had been expecting that -- and so nods, as Andruw says those words. He curls his hands around his teacup, no longer drinking -- just trying to capture a little of the remaining warmth. "Then what shall I be for you, Andruw?"

"I don't know," Andruw replies, the words coming out in one fluid, entangled mass of syllables. Three syllables. Yeah, whatever. "All I know is that..." What? It's hard to say. So hard to say, because when you actually say something out loud, it makes the feeling that much more concrete, that much more real. It's an admission of guilt, if you will, in this particular case. Even if he'd been thinking it all along... he never said it... until now.

"All I can seem to figure out is that I want it. But I'm afraid to... to find out what it is."

Abernathy's hands clench on that cup, and the quiet *crick* of porcelain gaining a compression crack or two can be heard. As ever, though, his face is impassive. "Then how much longer do you want me to wait for you to sort out your own feelings?" he whispers.

Andruw goes quiet, mouth still slightly open. That's kind of a heavy question, there. And hard to answer, at that... but. honesty time, Andruw! Honesty time! And yet all through it, he keeps asking himself: if this were supposed to be, wouldn't it be easy? Wouldn't it not hurt his much?

"If you waited," he answers, slowly, "it would never happen."

A sudden flicker in his expression, and it's almost as if the Fool has popped out from behind the couch to offer his opinion on the matter. Andruw's voice firms, growing more confident and sure. "Do you know why they say gentlemen prefer blondes, Abernathy?"

Damn. Abernathy winces, his grip tightening a little more on the teacup. He'd pushed too hard, he KNEW it, but -- well, it had to be said. He couldn't -- and wouldn't -- keep dancing around the point much longer. "And why is that, dear Fool?"

"Because blondes! are! /fickle/!" Feste replies, punctuating each word with a firm wag of his finger. But after that, he replaces his hand in his lap, and sips his tea quietly. Is he just lying low, or has Andruw put him back where he belongs or...what?

"Apparently." Don't break the teacup, Abby. It'll be bloody hands in the morning, and then you'll need to replace the thing. Very carefully, he leans over to place it on the end table, folding his hands in his lap and bowing his head.

Andruw-Feste shuts his eyes, blindly setting his own teacup on the table. Okay. You said what you wanted to, now go away, Feste. Shoo.

"I'm finished," the Fool announces, and then Andruw leans against the back cushions of the couch. "Sorry."

"Mmm." Abby shrugs slightly. " ... So, as you were saying, before we were so rudely interrupted." Time to begin maneuvering Andruw back into a corner.

Andruw mildly rolls his eyes at that. It wasn't a rude interruption, th-- /he/ did it on purpose. Tch. "Well, what was I saying? I think I said it already."

Maybe it's just a sign of Abby's growing frustration. He can't keep up this game of half-truths and evasions; it's too much like, like ... like work. "That waiting for an answer on what you want will never get me anywhere, but nor, apparently, will asking."

Heh. Andruw smirks in the half-audible way he always has, not quite understanding exactly why that was funny. It just was.

"That isn't quite what I meant, I think... I... have a particular conflict between what I want and what I've always been told I should want, and so..."

"Tell me in words, Andruw, not implications." Abernathy says it bluntly. Let's see if THIS gets us somewhere! Somehow, though, he's not sure it will.

"I do... want... ugh. Words fail me, but... I..." He hesitates. "I do want to be with you, Adrian, I do, I do..." An awkward, crooked smile plays across his face. "But I'm holding myself back, because I'm stupid, and I listened to everything I was told when I was a child." No! That was an implication! You FAIL!

"Because liking other boys is wrong," Adrian finishes. Then he glances sidelong, and gives Andruw a crooked smile in return. "Is that it?"

"Yes," Andruw answers sheepishly.

"That makes two of us."

The Norwegian makes a concerted attempt at a smirk again. "Heh. Well. That... certainly doesn't make it any easier." It's a unique conflict of interests. Going to Hell vs. being with someone you are convinced you love very much. How did this unique brand of torment ever come to be?

Just another part of being human, really. Abby leans over now, resting his head on Andruw's shoulder rather impulsively. " ... no, it really doesn't," he reflects, thoughtfully. "But I've never been particularly concerned with making things easy for people."

"Me neither, really." Andruw smiles, looking down at the head on his shoulder.

" ... you know, I'm beginning to realize that God must have a sense of humor." Abby looks up at Andruw, rather slantwise.

"Only just now?" asks Andruw, still looking back.

Abernathy gives a little nod. "I'm stupid," he says, with a hint of a grin. "It takes me a while to realize even the most obvious of facts. I mean -- the platypus. Obviously, God must have a sense of humor, if He created that. But no, it needs to turn into a lovely interpersonal problem before I actually stop and think. 'Oh,' it finally dawns on me. 'The Almighty must be laughing Himself sick at this.' Provided, of course, the Almighty would do such a thing."

That, again, makes two of them. "I'll bet He would. After all, people like me and Daryn and God knows who else have to exist for a reason." Said with only the slightest sarcasm.

"To serve as a warning for others," Abby replies, gently. Then he pauses, and makes a little 'hmm' noise. "Or perhaps I'm getting them mixed up. Oh well." Is he ... drunk?

"But I haven't got the bright coloring or anything like that," Andruw pouts. "I feel so gypped." Maybe he's drunk on LURV.

o nos, teh adrian is drunk on lurv

"Look at it this way. You COULD be a platypus."

And high on life? Like Snoop Dogg?

"Maybe I'm just a platypus in a human suit," Andy muses. "That would be quite the shock for you, now wouldn't it?"

Adrian is not Snoop Dogg.

"Hm. Yes, I think so. Being in love with another man pales in comparison to being in love with a platypus, I should think." Adrian sighs quietly, closing his eyes. "Besides. I'd have to wonder how a platypus figured out Shakespeare."

Andruw actually does have bright coloring, though. Hm. That hair, you know.

"Magic!" says Andruw, because 'magic' is a wonderful way of answering every question that begins with the word 'how'. "And lots of practice. Daphne was actually a marine biologist, you know. Studying platypi." He chuckles quietly, though it's somewhere closer to a giggle.

"A wizard did it," Adrian murmurs in reply. Actually, it's good Andy's not a platypus; they have nasty little ankle spurs with STINGING POISON. " ... platypi are marine animals? I thought they were monotremes. Lived in Australia. Swam in rivers." He snuggles up to Andy, almost reflexively. Hm. " ... though it all begins to make sense now. You were just a humble platypus, living in the Norwegian fjords, and feeling horribly misplaced. Along came Daphne, the beautiful princess of a marine biologist, and kissed you on the beak. Naturally, you transformed into a rather awkward English major, and proceeded to have a very exciting academic career. Then, being a platypi in a human world, you promptly had a nervous breakdown, and now here you are, plotting to lay eggs in my couch." ... "They do lay eggs, right?"

Andruw slips his arm around Adrian's shoulders as he snuggles up, drawing him a little closer. Supposedly also reflexively. Right. Uhuh. As Abby comes to the end of his monologue, Andy begins cracking up, as silently as he can manage. "Yes, it was EXACTLY like that," he manages, in between breaths.

Feste adds, "And yes, I will, if you're not careful."

Adrian nods contentedly. "Of course. I'm psychic. I know these things about people," he says, contentedly. Then he pauses, and grumps. "Like hell you're laying eggs in my couch. It's bad enough you claimed it for that heathen nation of NORWAY." Pff. Yeah. What kind of name is Norway, anyway? A FUNNY ONE.

"Psychic? I thought you were Eastern Orthodox." A puckish smile. "And hey! I think I'll lay a few right now, just for that, you damned Papist!" All the while giggling quietly. This is too funny.

And hey! What kind of people end words in '-ski'? EH? FUNNY ONES.

Adrian doesn't know how to answer that one, so he gives Andy a very odd look. "Excuse me?" he says, dryly. "I think not. I can only let my couch be violated so much before I must act." Where act = tickle.

Perfectly decent ones! You and your vauge Germany language are the ones in the wrong! Silly Norway ... ers.

"Oooh, is that a threat?" Andy closes his eyes and holds up his chin in typical Fool fashion. "And how shall you act? Hm? Put your money where your mouth is!"

Nor-we-gians. NORWEGIANS

NORWAYERS. Or norvyezhkij, if we are using Russian, which is the ONE TRUE LANGUAGE. Not like Norwegian. It sucks.

"Yes. It is. The traditional course is, naturally, to allow you to invade my couch and let you freeze to death after cutting your supply lines, but I don't know how low temperatures need to be for norvyezkhi platypi to freeze. So, instead," he sits up a little straighter, grabbing Andy's chin and angling his head so he can kiss the other man square on the mouth.

Pffft no way.

"Oh, okay. That sounds like a sound strategmmf." Abby is playing dirty again. Tsk tsk! And Andy, despite all of that before, is finding his self-imposed controls fading away. They've just been melting like Dalí clocks over the last... oh... fifteen minutes? When did they start getting all buddy-buddy again? Whatever. But he puts up absolutely no resistance to that kiss. Oh no.

Apparently, when someone snuck crack into Adrian's teacup. He keeps up the kiss for a good five seconds, before letting Andruw go. " ... now. Do I need to stick you outside to freeze, or will that be sufficient?"

Well, that would explain the melting clocks. TRIPPY.

Andruw opens his eyes a second afterward - aha! he'd closed them! - and hmms thoughtfully. "Depends. Are you going to be outside with me?"

"That would defeat the purpose. So would the usual treatment for hypothermia, and since I am trying to get you to freeze to death so you will not violate my couch with eggs, moj norvyezhkij platypus, that just won't do. At all."

"Tch! Well, maybe I'll just go lay my eggs somewhere else. Besides..." Andruw looks upward, off to the right, a seemingly random direction. Checking the time. "...it's late."

"Oh really? I hadn't noticed," Adrian says dryly. "Will you be staying here and keeping the couch, or returning to the fjords, moj platypus?"

"The fog, I'm afraid. The fjords are lost to me." The last sounds so awfully wistful... ah well. Andy shrugs it off. "I would so like to stay, but...I should probably go." Tell me to stay, Andruw thinks. Maybe Adrian really is psychic. Or maybe Andruw's psychic! Either way!

"At this hour of night?" Yes. Adrian is psychic. And his Mary Sue name is Sunbeam Delight Joy Fluffykins omgwtf. "Why not stay? I'd rather not have you get assaulted by Mavericks on the way home." Also: Andruw is warm.

Yes. Andruw is warm. Which makes him all the more attractive to VEGETARIAN VAMPIRES LIKE ABERNATHY. "Well, I... I guess you have a point." Wow, he sounds far too happy about that. Tsk!

Adrian is like Bunnicula, only he hasn't gotten around to leaving drained carrots on Andruw's doorstep. "Good, we're agreed." Mu ha ha, he wins. FATALITY

Oh nos! But it was far from a flawless victory, alas. Maybe it'll be better next time. "Apparently," Andy replies with a grin.

FRAWRESS BICTOLY! RING OUT! -- No, is that when they fall off the couch? Hm. Maybe if he'd guard impacted and gone with the back bk com --

...

Moving on. "Oh, well. If you object to me making your decisions for you, by all means, tell me. At least I haven't asked you to marry me yet."

"I'll let you know," Andruw smirks. Sometimes, he's so indecisive he needs someone to make them for him. Maybe he'll grow out of that. Hmm.

The second part gives him pause, however. "Can we even do that?"

Adrian smirks back. "It IS legal in most places now."

"Really now? That's curious. I-- suppose I knew that, just never paid attention."

Adrian chuckles. "I'm hardly surprised. It's not the sort of thing a boy from Norway would know, now is it?"

Andruw says, "Not a proper one, no. But considering... oh, never mind considering." He sighs -- contentedly this time -- and leans his head against Adrian's. Presuming it's still on his shoulder, of course. Player ought to pay more attention.

"I'd never be able to explain it to Misha, anyway," Adrian murmurs, softly. "Or the rest of Interpol, for that matter. Better to call it off."

"Mm. Who says you'd have to tell them?-- oh, hmph." Andruw shrugs lightly.

"We could elope," Adrian suggests.

"That could be fun," Andruw agrees.

"Are you ready for that kind of commitment?" Adrian replies.

"Mm. Are you?" Oo, slick. See, it's because he doesn't actually know the answer to that question.

"Hm. I have a daughter already. I'm not sure what that says about me." Adrian closes his eyes.

"Me neither." Andruw gives a little sigh. "But I don't think it's worth worrying over."

"Nor I. Sleep is more my speed." With that, Adrian goes quite silent.

[TEH ENDAGE]