milliways_bar | (no subject)

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.)

The sigh's a lot more explosive this time. Get it the fuck together. Come on.

"It's fine," he says. "You're good."

Maybe Curtis ought to be the one leaving. He might, if he doesn't get this emotional knot untangled in the next couple minutes.

This time Dejah glances at Edgar before touching Curtis's shoulder again, a silent gesture of support.

And then she squats down to look at Nitwit, who has been watching the entire proceeding with wide, dark eyes. It's noisy in here, it smells funny, and someone is mad at her helper person. Which is making her helper person anxious. Which makes Nitwit anxious.

"Hey you," Dejah says, her voice quiet and low. She rests a hand on Nitwit's cheek. Her hand skims down to look at the red, raw marks around the thoatling's neck. She hisses under her breath. "Looks like you've been on quite the adventure, too."

Nitwit grumbles and presses closer to Edgar's side.

"Look," Edgar says in an undertone to Curtis, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of this to happen, it just ..."

"Yeah, whatever, I know," he mutters, eyes fixed firmly on the baby thoat. "Look, I'm gonna go upstairs. Figure out where the fuck you're putting that thing."

He turns to walk away.

"Curtis --"

There doesn't seem to be anything to follow that; just a cry of protest.

Dejah frowns and steps after him, catching his hand, just enough to halt his retreat. Her voice drops to a gentle whisper.

"Hey. You're doing that -- thing. That thing we talked about? Where I'm supposed to remind you, you're not on the train anymore?"

He stops. Shuts his eyes. Forces himself to breathe: in, out, in again.

A few more beats pass before he can make himself turn around, hand still loosely clasped in Dejah's.

"Look, I thought you'd fucking died, okay?" he snaps. "Again. I know it's not your fault, I just thought -- "

He runs out of steam there, grip tightening on Dejah's fingers.

"I didn't have any way to tell you."

His throat's tight, with a combination of confusion and hurt.

Dejah laces her fingers through Curtis's and holds tight to him. She knows that fear, knows how it can consume everything else.

"Edgar, it's okay. We were just afraid. We had Woola track you and he couldn't find you anywhere. It's -- more than a little disconcerting to realize this place not only brings people in, it sends them out to other worlds as well. And Curtis, you've been thinking about Barsoom a lot, I know. Worrying about it. To think of Edgar there without you, it's a whole other world of nightmares. But he's here. He's back and he brought a friend."

Nitwit wonks pitifully behind Edgar, really confused by the whole situation. She's tried to make herself as small as possible, but it doesn't seem to be working very well.

"Why don't we all walk down to the stables and see if they have room for her there? We can talk on the way."

She may put a little more emphasis on the word 'talk' than is necessary, but sweet holy mother, he's going to have an aneurysm if he tries to swallow all of this instead of facing it.

We? he almost snarls, like Edgar means just as much to Dejah as he does to Curtis, but (thank god) clamps his jaw down on the word before it can escape.

This is it, he realizes. This is the catch. The magical goddamn bar gives you everything you want without asking for anything back -- except sometimes it comes, like Claude with her measuring tape, to snatch away the people who mean the most to you. Not even under some feeble excuse to keep the rest of humanity alive, either. Just because.

The anger rides high enough that he can taste bile. He doesn't dare say anything; just nods, quick and curt, and lets himself be led like a second thoat to the stables.

Edgar trails behind Curtis and Dejah, resting one hand on Nitwit's back.

When she looks up at him with one more pitiful wonk, he scratches gently behind her horn-nubs. "It's okay, pieface," he murmurs to her. "I promise, everything's okay. He's just mad."

Dejah leans her shoulder hard against Curtis's and whispers to him. "Not on the train anymore."

The moment they set foot outside, there's a distant rumble of footfalls. Woola comes charging up the path and circles them, wagging his entire stubby body. He stops before Edgar and snuffles him thoroughly. The thoat barely gets a second glance. He knows what a thoat is. He makes a short, gruff sound that might be described as a bark and turns to check on Dejah and Curtis.

Dejah lowers a hand to his head. "It's all right. Thank you, Woola. Go back to the forge and wait for me there, please."

Woola looks up at Curtis with a decidedly worried look.

He's not on the train. Edgar's safe. Dejah's next to him. Curtis' whole body is still coiled taut, but he manages to jerk his chin in the direction of the forge, silently echoing Dejah's command.

"We found him," he says, low.

(They found him, and he's okay. If he could just fucking focus on that instead of everything else tangling up his brain -- )