milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Autor leaves a delectable, fist-sized peach with the bar for the Emcee, writing a note: Vielen Dank für die Beratung. -A.

Later he curls up on the couch, adding length to a navy blue knitting project shorter than his forearm in one dimension but longer than he is tall in the other. Due to Margolotta's instruction, the boy's stitches are loose and even, for the most part. His hands are gentle as he absently moves the needles; he no longer stabs himself in the left index finger with every other purl. Nor does he get that odd, occasional dent in his rows.

But the project draped across his legs doesn't get near as much attention as the book propped up on his knees. The boy is consumed by the well-loved text, Fairy Tale: The Life of Herr Drosselemyer.

It might be difficult to interrupt him.

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Ava frowns.

"The first time we met, you told me gossip was enough to get somebody in trouble. Will things be okay for you if I do tell you?"

"I'm... I think I can handle myself," Autor says, blinking. "I should be okay. And it's not gossip as far as I know, but your opinion on someone. Right?"

"Hard to know what counts around here," Ava says ruefully.

She swallows another spoonful of soup. Glances away.

Then, softer: "Okay. Yeah. I mean-- I think you guys are right that he's a bad guy. I don't think you could all be making it up."

"Good point," Autor says, just as rueful. He straightens his shoulders when she tells him her opinion, though, and nods slowly.

"And what will you do with this information?"

"What can I do?"

Ava's lips quirk, mostly down.

"We have a rule about violence, not about messing with people."

"Has he messed with you since the cupcake incident?" Autor asks, furrowing his brow. "And you can try to avoid him. Maybe. That's tough to do."

Ava shrugs.

"I haven't seen him since then. Maybe he got bored."

"That is highly unlikely," Autor says, wrinkling his nose. "If he got bored, he'd probably find some other poor soul to torment. He's stuck in the bar at the moment, as far as I know, so he can't have gone far."

The boy purses his lips, resting his hand on his cheek. "Have you figured out why he's so interested in you?"

Stuck in the bar.

That'd explain what Lecter told her about sanctuary.

She frowns.

"If he's just gonna find somebody else, maybe I should try to stay interesting as long as possible."

"He'll always have more than one person to torment," Autor says, shaking his head. "Antler-shaped plans. The best you can do is try to take care of yourself, and not give him ammunition. You do not want the brunt of his attention on you."

"You seem okay," Ava points out.

"Do I?" Autor asks quietly. "Dramatically warning people and blowing up on them afterwards is not exactly how I'd like to spend my days. I've devoted a ridiculous amount of time trying to avoid him and untangling his abuse when I couldn't."

He closes his eyes, breathing through his nose. "I don't know how else to tell you, Miss Ava. Don't mess with him, for your own safety and sanity."

Wow.

Ava's almost starting to feel sorry for the guy. She wonders if there's a way to tell him without blowing her cover.

... But there isn't. Not that she can think of right now.

"Okay," she sighs. "I don't know how I'm going to avoid him if he decides he's not bored, but-- okay. Maybe there's nothing else to do."

Autor feels, absurdly, that he should take her hand. He doesn't. "Having a flying carpet helps. Or, y'know, some sort of magical smoke screen with which you can make your escape."

Ava frowns.

"I guess that'd help," she admits.

"You don't have any magic, do you Miss Ava?" the boy asks, blinking and guileless.

"Uh ... no." Her frown deepens. "Though it'd be handy if I did."

Autor hesitates. "A-Are you sure?" he asks quietly, blinking again.

Then he drops all pretense, folding his arms. "Because I saw you systematically dismantling a tree with it. Also? Dr. Lecter mentioned it to me as well," the boy says, adjusting his glasses. "Why did you lie about it?"

Ava's eyes widen.

"Nobody," she says, serious, "was supposed to see that."

She shakes her head, one hand coming up to rub her temple. (Who exactly was that witness of Gene Hunt's, anyway?)

"Did he-- talk to you, about me?"

"You never look up," Autor says, as casually as she's serious. "I wasn't kidding about the flying carpet."

The boy cocks his head. "Dr. Lecter told me that you're a, 'very intelligent and independent young woman,' with some sort of magic. He also said I have no grounds in telling you what to do, which is correct."

Ava's hand lingers by her temple, and her shoulders have tensed.

Maybe failure to look up is what got her into trouble here, but she doesn't look up now.

"Fine," she says, low. "Neither of you was supposed to know."

"I am sorry," he says stiffly, his hands at his sides "For what it's worth, I still have no idea what you were doing."

Ava sighs.

"Will you understand if I don't tell you? Because ..."

She hesitates.

The boy pauses for a moment, watching her.

"Yes," Autor says, waving a hand. "We all have secrets that we keep for some reason or other. Frankly, I shouldn't have stopped when I spotted you."

"Well," rueful, "I didn't look up."