milliways_bar | (no subject)

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 -- )

Woola's gaze flits between Dejah and Curtis several times, until Dejah gives a gentle nod and points the way to the forge. Woola blinks, utters a guttural sigh and trots off at a much slower pace.

Dejah watches Curtis, her gaze intent. Her other hand slips into the crook of his arm, giving a firm squeeze. "When we get them settled, you and I are going to the gym. I need a good solid workout with the staff, and you said you'd help."

He exhales another long breath. No louder: "Yeah, okay."

Curtis doesn't sound as surly about the prospect as he's sounded about...pretty much everything in the last ten minutes. It's an improvement. Sparring with a person instead of a punching bag: always the better choice.

Even if it means leaving Edgar alone again. But -- yeah, it's better for all of them if Curtis cools off first.

They start off again, toward the stables. Nitwit stretches her neck after Woola as though expecting to follow him, but stays at Edgar's side, grumbling fretfully.

Edgar watches the set of Curtis's shoulders as they walk, and chews his lower lip slowly.

Dejah hasn't been down to the stables before. She's seen them from a distance, but like coffee, horses are a bit of a soft spot for her.

She does know thoats, though. "So did you speak to the thoat master before you left?" She addresses the question over her shoulder. "Did he tell you how to care for a young thoat?"

"He didn't tell me a whole lot," Edgar says, with the slow realization that he really should have asked. "Uh -- I know they eat that yellow moss stuff?"

"I'm sure the Bar will have information for you. She needs water. And since she's so young, and she doesn't have a herd here, I think you might end up... They get very attached to their riders. Is that why Tars gave her to you?"

"Something like that, yeah," he mumbles. "Said I spoiled her for working."

Dejah smiles, shakes her head. "The Thark have a very different view of such things. In Helium, you would be considered blessed to have found such a creature so early in her life. You two will make a fine rider and mount pair. As soon as she's old enough to ride."

Dejah glances at Curtis again. "Can you imagine Edgar, riding a thoat?"

"You said they get bigger than horses, right?"

He chances a swift glance at the thoat (and Edgar, by extension).

"They're like twice the size of Tars and his people," Edgar says. "This one only came up to her mum's knee."

Nitwit wonks, very quietly.

"They're about four meters at the shoulder, it's true. And possibly twice that long at full growth. They can carry quite a lot of weight, and they can ride for many days over uneven terrain without rest. Even as advanced as Helium is, we rely on them for many things."

One corner of Curtis' mouth twitches, very slightly.

"How would you even get up on one of 'em if the gravity's normal?"

"Ladders?" Edgar suggests brightly.

Dejah chuckles, the tension not entirely gone, but eased a modicum.

"You climb them. You train them to offer a knee, and you put a foot on their leg. And you haul yourself up into the saddle. I can teach you, Edgar." She cuts a glance at Curtis. "Or you can come back and learn from a thoat master. Up to you."

"If you could teach me, that'd be a hell of a lot easier," he says. "What with us being a lot closer to the same size. Uh --" He glances down at Nitwit, briefly concerned. "Can you tell me what they're supposed to eat? Besides that moss stuff?"

"Ninety percent of their diet is 'that moss stuff' and foliage like it. They also eat small beetles, and you'll want to get her a clay block to chew on. That's how they get minerals in their diet."

Yes, Edgar, your new friend eats rocks as a part of a healthy diet.

"Oh." He sounds a little intimidated by that. "Right. I guess I'll ... get that from the bar, same as the regular food? Or do they have one for the animals, in the stable?"

"You'll have to ask," Dejah says, turning her gaze on the large wooden building they're approaching. "I -- haven't been down here before."

She grips Curtis's arm. "It's rather like coffee for me. I've heard so much about it, but never experienced it directly."

There's a heaviness in her voice Curtis might recognize. The weight of old memories.

Until now, he's only been half-following the conversation, too busy constructing the internal boxes he needs to finish shoving the anger away. The word coffee snags his attention; clearly startled, he looks over at Dejah.

Quiet -- and gentler now -- "You wanna meet me up in the gym?"

If she's not ready to come down here, she doesn't have to do it.

She meets his gaze, a soft, tired smile on her face. He knows. More important still, he hasn't retreated so much that he doesn't care.

"No, it's okay. I'd rather do it with you here, than try to come back later, by myself."

Edgar glances between the two of them, and doesn't say anything.

(If he had to guess, he'd guess it's the ghost of John Carter rearing his ugly head again.)