milliways_bar | (no subject)

From his seat next to Dejah, Curtis looks up. His eyes widen. Tars, the thoatling, the dust -- he notices all of it, but it's very much secondary to --

"Edgar!"

It's...not exactly a joyous shout of greeting. There's a very particular, thunderous look some parents get when their child comes back from danger, right after the relief fades and right before the lecturing starts. And that's exactly the look on Curtis' face as he tears himself away from Dejah and storms over.

"Where the fuck have you been?"

(Barsoom. Obviously. He can see that. He means it more like how the fuck did you get there and who do I need to murder and what the fuck is wrong with you do you know how scared I was.)

Overlapping the second words, though, is Edgar's own voice: "Curtis!"

And while joyous is not quite the word for it, it's definitely a shout of greeting, underscored by Edgar more or less dive-glomping Curtis from a standing start.

-- okay, he was not expecting that. And it's definitely one way to get Curtis' anger to back off for a bit.

After the half-second it takes for Curtis to regain his bearings, he grabs Edgar in an equally fierce -- if more lopsided -- embrace. Muffled: "You fucking idiot."

"Look this was completely not my fault," he mumbles into Curtis's shoulder.

Nitwit nudges Edgar in the knees with her forehead, which is big enough that Curtis's knees get about half of the nudge.

Edited 2015-08-09 03:21 (UTC)

He could demand an explanation about how, exactly, this isn't Edgar's fault, but that gets superseded by wanting an explanation about just what the fuck this thing is that Edgar brought home with him.

Curtis pulls back a little, shoots a look at Nitwit, then shoots another one at Edgar. Very dry: "You gonna introduce us?"

"Oh, uh --"

He crouches a little and pats the creature's leathery back. "This is Nitwit. I sort of adopted her by accident? Nitwit, this is Curtis. He's a friend."

"She's a thoat," Dejah interjects, approaching Tars. He extends his right hand, and they touch each other's shoulders, heads dipped in a gesture of affection and respect.

"Edgar managed to follow her back to Barsoom. They spent the night in the Warhoon together." Tars leaned back, all four arms crossed over his chest in a gesture of supreme satisfaction.

"And they survived?" Dejah approached the thoatling and Edgar, a soft smile on her face. "Impressive."

So that's what a thoat looks like. A baby thoat, Curtis guesses, considering the way Dejah described their size.

"Survived and made a friend." Completely deadpan. "I'm so proud."

Tars's lips slide into a crooked grin. "He defended the thoatling against an iljat. And killed it with his bare hands."

Dejah's eyebrows soar. "A formidable warrior indeed. You did not gift him with metal?"

"I thought I would leave that to you, Dejah Thoris."

"I see. Well, I shall see he is outfitted accordingly, next time he walks among the clans. Thank you, old friend, for seeing him home safely."

"Thanks," Edgar echoes to Tars. "I mean that, man."

As Curtis watches Tars slip back through the door, he feels a weird pang of...he isn't even sure what. Jealousy? Christ, is he actually going to be that fucking petty?

(Edgar saw Barsoom first. Edgar got Tars' respect, and the metal the Thark kept going on about when he slammed Curtis against a wall. It's --

This is stupid, he snaps at himself, and forces the thoughts away.)

Dejah raises a hand in salute as Tars slips back through the door. She touches Edgar on the shoulder, studying his face.

"You're all right then? You gave us quite the fright. What happened?"

"I was out by the lake," Edgar says, half to Dejah and half to an unnervingly stony-faced Curtis, "and this little idiot came through -- she was following one of the bigger ones, Tars was riding it -- anyway, she wanders off course and winds up stuck in the mud at the edge of the lake, and I couldn't just let her sink, so I manage to haul her out but I don't know, I guess the mother thoat thought I was trying to eat her or something? She charged us, we ran, next thing I know we're both ... somewhere else."

Which explains why Woola lost the scent out there. Curtis glances down at Nitwit, who's still pressed close to Edgar's side.

"Always thought you couldn't leave unless you were going through the door," he mutters.

But, well. They both got here without going through a door. Maybe the whole fucking outside counts as their 'door.'

"I hesitate to put any such logical limitations on this place," Dejah says, moving to stand by Curtis, her hand resting in the small of his back.

"So you emerged in the desert we call the Warhoon wastes, if I understand Tars correctly. How did you find Tars?"

"Didn't so much find him as a bunch of his mates -- they were out hunting, and Nitwit here led us straight to em. And they were looking for us, so they took us back with them."

He glances at Curtis, apologetic. "And they kind of insisted on giving me dinner before I left, and I went along with it."

Curtis sighs. Still more at a mutter than not, "Well, as long as it wasn't a shitty dinner."

Edgar's okay. It was an accident. If Curtis wants to get angry at anything, he should get angry at how damn capricious Milliways can get. He fights it back the same way he fought back that bullshit burst of jealousy, tries to stuff it in another box to deal with later.

Maybe after Edgar's settled back in, Nitwit's stashed away...wherever, and they take care of Dejah's hand, he'll go back to the gym for a couple hours.

As always Dejah's watching Curtis, and her brow furrows. She's seen worry expressed as anger before, but it's been a long time.

"As long as you're home safe," she says, turning her attention back to Edgar. "And you discovered the gravity differences..." She cocks an eyebrow at the younger man.

"Gravity differences," he says, blankly, and then "-- Oh. The ...?"

And he gestures with one hand, describing a figure springing into the air.

Curtis' forehead wrinkles. "Yeah, what was that like?"

The corner of Dejah's lips curl up in a knowing smirk. "It lets you kill a Devil's Snare with your bare hands, among other things."

"Oh," he says again, in tones of relief, "that makes so much more sense now. Okay. Yeah."

To Curtis: "It's fuckin weird, is what. Kind of fun once you get the hang of it, but weird. You gotta try it."

"Yeah, maybe I will sometime."

That's...a lot flatter than he means it to be. Shit.

Curtis scrubs at the back of his neck as his gaze falls back to Nitwit. "So where're you gonna put that?"

Again, Dejah shoots a look at Curtis, her brow deeply furrowed now.

"Should I -- leave you two alone?"

Edgar's giving Curtis a faintly uncertain look, as if wondering whether that would be a good idea or a terrible one.

There's a glimmer of realization behind it, though.

(Which is to say: if it's a good idea, he knows why.)