(no subject)

[mr_gaeta]

It occurred to Gaeta some hours ago that -- if he wanted -- he could go to the infirmary right now and probably walk out with a new prosthesis. The original amputation was seven or eight months ago (gods, has it really been that long?), and by now he's spent at least five months walking on nothing but his crutches. The motherfrakker's probably as healed as it's going to get.

Who knows. Considering the other wounds that disappeared when he got dropped on his ass by the front door, maybe his stump's been fully healed the whole time.

If he goes, though, he's going to have to ask for something else, too. If he asks, he's going to be told no. Maybe if he found anybody but Dr. Tam, and if they didn't check the note in his records that surely says something like beware, godsdamn morpha addict, maybe he could get lucky. But Gaeta knows his numbers, and how excruciatingly poor they render the odds; he can't deal with another crushing disappointment right now.

So, for now, he's opted for other poisons: a bottle of ambrosia (just the bottle, no glass, thank you -- it's already a quarter empty), a pack of cigarettes (plus an ashtray with three stubbed-out smokes in its center), a table by the fireplace to keep warm. Idly, he examines the marks on the inside of his elbow. They're mostly gone by now -- you'd have to look closely to notice the scar tissue.

Gaeta's close enough to see it just fine.




[ooc: off to bed! post open until it scrolls; all tags will be picked up tomorrow.]

Comments

[makesthings]

(OOC: They haven't talked in a bit and Sam can do prostheses if needed.)

Sam enters Milliways with a sigh, people and politics are confusing and he always feels on the edge of saying the wrong words. Today though it seemed to work, the Southerlings are settling in and he's shown them that he will follow through with what he says.

When he enters, its in his surcoat with his sword at his side and he nods to Gaeta and then shakes his head. He didn't remember him being Dead but its been a while, "Hello."

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta blinks up at him. There's a blankness to his look, in contrast to the recognition in Sameth's, that makes it clear he's wracking his brains to put a name to the face.

"Evening," he ventures at last.

[makesthings]

"I'm Sameth, I think we talked a while ago,"

He runs a hand awkwardly through his hair as he wonders if maybe he should just move on.

[mr_gaeta]

"Oh." He hasn't reached full-on recognition yet, but the name and face have been nudged a little closer together. Genuinely contrite: "Sorry, I've, ah -- it's been a long couple of weeks."

(More than weeks, if he's being honest.)

He nods to the chair opposite. "Want to sit?"

[makesthings]

"No, its fine. Time has a way of moving strangely here. Thank you,"

His feet do hurt since part of being prince means being on display and he sits down. He's not going to ask about when Gaeta died because that never goes over well just wonder for now.

[mr_gaeta]

His mouth twists a little at that. "Yeah."

While he and Louis have kept up an occasional back-and-forth over T-minus, it can't quite substitute for the weeks -- and months -- they've been going without seeing one another.

"How long's it been for you?"

[makesthings]

"Not too long this time but I get deep into my work and don't realize how much time has passed here,"

Though he does know how many months its been since he saw Kait but he tries not to think about that.

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta nods, taking another drag on the cigarette. "I've done that before," he says after he's exhaled. "Um. Not as much lately, but..."

At least, it's not because of work that the days have been blurring together for a while now.

[makesthings]

Sam opens his mouth and closes it with a quick nod,

"Yes, I mean I know I probably shouldn't but no one waits up for me."

[street_sparrow]

"Mind if I join you?" Gavroche asks easily. "It's warmest here."

(Gavroche has an instinct for people who shouldn't be alone.)

[mr_gaeta]

Hesitation flickers across Gaeta's face as he looks up. The only reasons to say no, though, are eminently selfish ones: chiefly, not wanting to share his table with a stranger. He forces it back.

(How would he feel, after all, if someone relegated him to a colder spot?)

"Sure," he says, kneading the inside of his elbow one last time as he nods to a free chair. "It's all yours."

[street_sparrow]

"Thanks." He settles comfortably in the chair. "I'm Gavroche."

[mr_gaeta]

"Felix Gaeta."

It's taken five months, but finally -- finally -- he can say his name without the hitch where Lieutenant should be.

"Um." Not sure what else to say, he settles on, "How's your evening going?"

[street_sparrow]

"Nice to meet you, Felix. My evening's not too bad, all things considered - and yours?"

[mr_gaeta]

A lopsided shrug. "Can't complain," he says.

(Especially not to a stranger.)

He takes a drag on his cigarette before leaning it atop the ashtray.

[street_sparrow]

"I hear those things'll kill you", Gavroche says lightly, making a joke of it because he doesn't want to make it a lecture to someone he's only known five minutes.

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta's mouth quirks; it's not exactly a smile. "Not if you're already dead," he says.

It almost matches Gavroche for lightness, but there's a decidedly morbid streak beneath it.

[simon_doctor]

Someone else is passing by close enough to see him, albeit not close enough to get a good look at the scar tissue.

Simon hesitates mid-step as he recognizes Gaeta.

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta's too preoccupied to notice Simon right away. Cigarette pinched between his index and middle finger, he rubs the pad of his thumb over the track marks.

Maybe if he waits until they're one hundred percent gone, that'll help his argument. See, it's not as bad as it was.

[simon_doctor]

It's been some months; he hasn't seen or heard from Gaeta since treating him for opioid withdrawal.

(The good news is: Gaeta doesn't look like he's found another source for opioids.)

"Felix?"

[mr_gaeta]

Automatically, he glances up; his gaze focuses half a second later as he parses the voice and the face. Gaeta lifts his hand away from his arm to give Simon a small wave hello, smoke trailing in the air behind his cigarette.

"Hey, Simon."

Hell of a coincidence.

[simon_doctor]

Rutting Milliways.

"It's been a while." He offers a cautious smile. "How have you been?"

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta makes a noncommittal noise, following it with a shrug and a drag on the cigarette. He likes Dr. Tam a little too much to lie and say I'm fine; he doesn't like him quite enough to admit just how much time he's spent drinking in his room lately.

"You?"

[simon_doctor]

The not-quite-answer isn't lost on him.

"Fine, xiexie," he says, and ... isn't sure what to say next.

[mr_gaeta]

He nods.

And, after a moment, offers the bottle to Simon. "Want any?"

It's only polite.