milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Autor has his feet up on the couch today, taking notes on Schak's German translation of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.

A medical textbook is on his lap, with detailed entries about dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins earmarked. Dog-eared copies of The Princess Bride, Pride and Prejudice, and The Great Gatsby form a stack on the floor against the couch. On the stack is a plate of dumplings, cold and untouched.

Unfortunately, none of it seems to help with his ultimate goal: falling out of love. There's a dearth of classics that teach what he wants to know. Love drives all the great stories, Rae had said, and Autor finds that her words are true, even though he doesn't think his great story is written that way.

There's still a blush on his face. The Rubaiyat is a bit mushy.

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Joly strolls by on his way to the Bar, and notices the stack of books, and the abandoned food of a student at work. He's not intending to interrupt, but he stops long enough to tilt his head and read the title on the spine of the medical textbook.

The book is The Central Nervous System: Structure and Function, Fourth Edition.

Autor notices him immediately--how could he not?--and sits up, scooping up the medical textbook in his free hand. "Joly! Hello, hello, and come speak with me, would you? How are you?"

He is still blushing horribly, but the Rubaiyat is tucked under his arm now.

Joly raises an eyebrow at the flustering, but doesn't question the blushing. "I'm doing quite well, thank you. How are you? I saw you last with that broken arm, is it really all healed?"

Autor shakes his arm out for Joly's benefit. "It is," he says warmly and setting the books aside. "Rae healed it for me with her magic. She had to study anatomy for it, and I'm really quite proud of her for advancing as much as she has. Did you get to use the bone fuser? I apologize for being indisposed."

Joly raises his eyebrows in admiration, and in frank envy. "Magic! A talent I didn't realize she had. It must be wonderful, to be able to do so much without even needing the tools of the infirmary-- which I did get to use, and thank you, though I hope you won't be giving me too many more opportunities."

He frowns a little. "About the arm- you said you wanted no questions, and I won't insist, but Autor-- if you're in any sort of trouble, you might tell me. I can keep a secret, if needed."

"Believe me when I say I am full of envy as well, but she has worked hard to cultivate her talents. And I'm happy that you had that introduction!"

Autor cocks his head, sobering up. "A-Ah. I'm not in trouble, I promise," he says, ducking his head. He drops his voice. "I stayed up too many nights obsessed with a project, and wore myself out. Then I went flying, and crashed."

Joly smiles in sympathy. "I don't know many students who can't say the same. But be careful?"

He jolts back in realization, then puts a hand to his forehead and starts laughing. "You went flying? Oh, noooo, I'm doomed." Although not very doomed, if you go by the laughing. "Oh, of all the bets for him to win--! Well, I deserve it. But never mind! Is this reading for the same project?"

"I will be," Autor says gently, quickly followed by a, "wait, what? You took bets on me? What for? And who wit--no, it's Bossuet, isn't it. What did you lose?"

Autor's face travels from soft to shocked to incredulous to amused in the space of his speaking. "And no, this is for something different."

He badly feigns stabbing himself in the heart. "Consider yourself avenged for any slight, for I am to pay with-- well, I would say I stand to lose my life, my liberty, and my sacred honor, except that I've lost one already and my honor is strictly mundane, you know." He's grinning again. "I'm to play a certain joke on a certain friend, that's all. But what of your new project?"

The boy snorts, clearly amused. "I am not slighted in the slightest, believe me. You bet that the loser would have to prank someone else? Ha! Do let me know how that goes if you will!"

His smile flickers into a shade more embarrassed at the question. "Ah, um, it is merely the curiosity of a fool interested in finding out the chemical compositions of certain emotions. I'm sure you know, but when happy, our brains release endorphins and dopamine and so on, and I wanted to, um, see if I could give that a practical application? Er."

Joly leans forward, all interest. "Please, don't assume my knowledge-- I've only begun studying neurochemistry, and it's so complicated. What sort of practical application were you considering?"

"Well, not so much practical--applying chemicals to my body is a bad idea, as untrained as I am--as my trying to understand the process so that I can, um, circumvent it via willpower. Truthfully its a silly project and I should probably just abandon the chemical aspect right now."

"Well, if you think that's an unproductive angle, certainly, set it aside. But-- if I understand, you're trying to subvert your own emotions?" He blinks. "Autor, why? I know there are...well, many theories about alienism-- I'm sorry, that's what we called it, there have been so many shifts-- but...well, if that's it, surely there are some proven therapies?" He smiles a little. "And if that's not it, you will have to tell me-- as I said, don't assume my knowledge. But whatever it is, I won't call it silly."

Autor shakes his head and holds up a hand. "That's not it, I'm pretty sure. I'm trying to... There's one aspect of emotion I'd rather not have right now. For reasons."

He swallows, and laces his fingers under his chin, regarding his friend seriously. He leans forward, glances furtively around, and whispers. "I have found that I am rather... affectionate. To a certain person. And I'd rather--I should be their friend instead. I think they'd rather I'd be their friend."

"Ah." Joly considers, head tilted. "Very true, if she's made her wishes clear than that's the path to take."

He rubs his nose with his cane, considering. "Yes, I don't think chemical manipulation is the way to go,then. You're talking about a much finer degree of change." He smiles a little wryly. "And I'm really not the one to tell you how to change your feelings for someone. But- is it even necessary? You know you can be her friend, anyway, even if your feelings don't change. That's about how you act, more than anything."

Autor may be saying their, but the French language is unkind with neutral-gendered terms-- and Autor's crush has not been very subtle.

Autor notes that Joly has picked up on the particular who in the conversation with some consternation. He brushes it off on the grounds that Joly is an intelligent person; of course he'd pick up on it.

"We haven't exactly talked about it," Autor admits, rubbing the back of his burning neck. "Someone else told her that I liked her, acting out of cruelty to me, and I haven't confirmed that yet. But she knows. And she said what I feel is my business until I say so otherwise, and I have a strong feeling that she'd prefer that my business not become hers, yet. If ever."

The boy blinks at Joly's suggestion. "I... hadn't thought about that, no. But it feels as if it will be impossible. It will be easier to fall out of love, I suspect."

"I'm not sure whether I should entirely wish you success."

For a moment Joly looks almost serious, then his smile broadens. "But I hear people do it quite often; most writers seem to think the fastest method is to get married. Since that doesn't seem to be one of your options here, perhaps a distraction would help? We still need to scout out a theater, if you're up to it. I'd meant to ask you sooner, but then there was the arrest-- did I tell you?--and your arm, and everything's been rather lively."

He catches himself on that, and laughs. "Death is not proving the restful state I'd been promised at all, I should complain."

Autor smiles back, amused at the marriage comment and grateful to Joly for offering a distraction. "Yes, we absolutely should! And arrest? Joly, have you had a run-in with Security? That doesn't seem like you."

That's funny, given the circumstances,and Joly laughs. "No, you're right, I'm quite the innocent in this. It's Bossuet who's the hardened criminal, now. I'm sure you marked his criminal look from the first." He becomes a little more serious, but only a little. "It was Bossuet who got arrested, along with Bahorel. Both of them very nearly take sole credit for the event, though I'm more inclined to believe Bahorel. Really I suspect it was mostly the arresting officer's fault-- a fellow named Gene Hunt." He frowns. " Forgive me if he's a dear friend of yours, but he left no fond impression on any of us."

At Joly's mention of Gene, Autor adopts an expression similar to a hissing cat without sound. It merges into one that's similar to his biting into a lemon, pursed lips and all. "I am not fond of Gene Hunt, nor is he fond of the French," the boy says curtly, though that's not meant for Joly. "But good heavens, Bossuet arrested! And Bahorel. What on earth did they do?"

Joly knew Autor was a good fellow.

"Indeed, Officer Hunt seems to object to a great deal about us all. As far as I can gather, he was asking Bossuet some unpleasant questions, Bahorel joined the conversation, and then Officer Hunt decided to, ah--"Joly's smile gets very thin for a moment knock Bossuet into the bar. "Bahorel then became involved in that, and he and Officer Hunt broke each others' noses, and the Bossuet and Bahorel were put in jail for a day. Which seems like a nice jail, as these things go, though I don't really know, since we were all thrown out in short order when I went to check up on them." Joly huffs out a breath of air and throws his hands up. It's not Autor he's upset with.

He laughs a little. " I wouldn't be too surprised about him arresting Bahorel, mind. I really need to see if there's any sort of visiting rules, I expect we shall rather need them."

Autor shakes his head. "Ah. That, unfortunately, sounds like Gene Hunt. Poor Bossuet, that must have hurt," the boy says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But good heavens, they broke each others' noses? Were they allowed medical treatment in the cells? And throwing you out is ridiculous. I think visiting hours are determined by the arresting officer. Someone should be told about that, but I don't know anyone who would curb the authority of Gene Hunt."

"Ah-- no, no, sorry, Bahorel and Officer Hunt broke each others' noses. Officer Hunt did manage to land a few punches on Bossuet, though--though Bahorel says Bossuet didn't do anything in the way of fighting. And I was allowed to look at them, barely--long enough to set Bahorel's nose and hand over some painkillers, but not as long as I'd like to have done for head injuries."

He sighs. "But then Officer Hunt didn't seem to believe in medical treatment for himself, so... No, I don't know that there's anyone to talk to about it either. We're trying to figure that out right now." He looks down at the top of his cane. "So there's a little bit of home for all of us, I suppose."

He smiles a little bitterly, then laughs outright. "Though that may put us in violation of the rule against outside business."

Edited 2014-12-02 01:19 (UTC)

Autor laughs with him. "Oh, Joly," the boy says, shaking his head. "Not allowing Bahorel medical treatment at all would be some sort of ethics violation, though Gene Hunt doesn't care about that. I am glad that you were at least able to set Bahorel's nose, though since you weren't allowed to observe him... Well, I hope that there's something to be done. Maybe drafting a letter to Melaka Fray? Though if she's able to get wrangle Mr. Hunt into a respectable man, I'll eat my socks."

"I'm afraid in our experience guards don't generally care about violating ethics. Honestly, I'm glad they weren't hurt worse, or kept longer-- which I know is a wretched thing to be glad over, but it's true. We are hoping there's someone we can just talk to-- have you met Madam- ah, Officer Fray?"