Forecast unknown

[dejah_thoris]

The weather had been less than suitable for a run earlier, so they'd opted for the gym instead.  She hated running on the treadmill, but with him, the time went quicker.  After a shower and a change, dinner was beginning to sound like a good idea. They made their way down the stairs to the main bar, Dejah chattering away as usual.

"I can't help but wonder how many days we have left before we can start building in earnest..  I love the planning part of a project, but once it gets to a certain point, I just want to put all the paper down and get my hands dirty."

She bumps her shoulder into his affectionately.  "And you still have to go over the last of those designs and pick the ones you like."


[plot-locked, thankee sai]

Comments

[dejah_thoris]

His laughter always washes over her and takes her breath away, still. She can't help but grin, but then he asks the question.

She stops, mid-stride, and looks off into the distance.

"I don't know."

Could it be done? She'd have to do more research.

[hate_gettin_older]

It's probably the laughter, quiet as it is, that snags Edgar's attention where he's sitting at a table near the bar. He glances in the direction of the sound --

(A quick calculation: there's only one exit that wouldn't require him to walk past them.)

-- shoves back his chair, grabs a paper napkin and wraps it around his half-finished sandwich as he gets to his feet, and makes for the back door without a second glance.

[2goodarms]

"We could find," Curtis starts, and trails off as the movement catches his eye.

He doesn't do anything for a beat; just watches Edgar go. Then Curtis sighs, audibly, and turns away from the door.

It's a big bar. Frankly, it's getting hard not to resent Edgar a little for being such a passive-aggressive little shit. Whatever. He's not going to let this ruin dinner, goddammit.

[dejah_thoris]

She feels the light in him dim and turns to see, knowing before she even lays eyes on him. It's hard to not be angry at the younger man when he acts like that. It's not like Edgar doesn't know the effect it has on Curtis. He's taken the Voice.

She looks back to Curtis, trying to swallow the emotion. She doesn't want to make it worse.

"I think coffee might be a little beyond a tiny roof garden. But don't worry, there are ways around that."

[2goodarms]

He can feel tiny eddies of her anger brush against his skin, like warmth radiating from a furnace. Briefly, Curtis reaches to touch her elbow: it's okay.

It'll have to be okay; he doesn't have much of a choice.

"We can start smaller. Maybe, I don't know, carrots or potatoes or some shit." Tipping his head toward the bar, and trying to get his smile back into place, "Get a salad for dinner and plant whatever's in it?"

[dejah_thoris]

"Yes, all right." She gives him an apologetic look. It's not okay and she knows it. And she promised him, she'd try to get them back to okay. She just doesn't know how.

"Perhaps ask her to make us a meal from ingredients we theoretically might grow here?"

[2goodarms]

The smile settles more comfortably into place. "Sure," he says, and plants a brief kiss in the center of her forehead before going to fetch their dinner.

Some minutes later, they're settled at a booth near the back door, digging into an array of fruits and salads.

[stilljustandrew]

Near enough to the back door, in fact, that they're likely to feel a draft when the door slams open.

... Wait, sorry, draft doesn't quite cut it. A better term might have been freezing blast of wind.

Which appears to be responsible for the slamming-open of the door, rather than any particular enthusiasm or recklessness on the part of the person who's just come in.

"Grife, it's brutal out there all of a sudden," Andrew complains to nobody in particular, brushing snow off his shoulders and out of his hair.

[2goodarms]

"Jesus," hisses Curtis, reflexively shying back from the blast of cold air. (He's going soft: that kind of cold wouldn't've bothered him a year ago.) A few droplets patter onto the table, starting as snow and quickly reduced to water. He looks up to find the source.

"...Andrew? What's going on?"

[stilljustandrew]

"Oh, hey Curtis," Andrew says, and rakes another clump of rapidly melting snow out of his hair. "Uh, freak blizzard or something? Just blew up out of nowhere. It was nice out till like two minutes ago, and then snow started coming down like a Christmas special."

[2goodarms]

Curtis twists again, this time to stare at the back door.

"You didn't see Edgar, did you?" A beat, as he realizes Andrew might not know Edgar; then Curtis clarifies, "He's nineteen or twenty, dressed kind of like me?"

Edgar grew up on a frozen planet. Edgar also grew up sheltered from that freeze. He won't know how to fucking handle himself out there, if the snow's blown in that fast.

[stilljustandrew]

"I don't think so ..."

Andrew frowns suddenly. "Is he out there now?"

[2goodarms]

Curtis nods, throwing another look toward the back door.

[dejah_thoris]

"Curtis, he's fine. He probably just went to the stables."

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew follows Curtis's glance.

"And if he didn't, he'll probably come back in soon," he offers. Uncertainly.

[2goodarms]

"He won't."

Curtis sounds utterly sure of this. A second later, he shoves himself to his feet with all intent to head for the back door.

[dejah_thoris]

"Curtis, where are you going? Curtis!"

[2goodarms]

"Dejah, he doesn't know what the fuck he's doing out there, I have to -- "

(It doesn't occur to Curtis that he barely knows what the fuck he's doing, either.)

[dejah_thoris]

"Fine, we can go get him. But let's at least get a coat on. Can you wait that long at least?"

Try to be a part of the solution, Curtis. Not part of the problem.

[2goodarms]

Sadly, Curtis has a knack for being a part of the problem.

If he hadn't been, he never would have made it out of the Tail.

All he can do is shake his head. "Look," he manages at least, "I promise I'll be back soon," and then he's sprinting away; without hesitation, and barely without breaking stride, he rams open the back door with his shoulder.



The cold slams into him. He remembers the whistling drafts that pierced the train like bullets through seams in the metal; the broken windows at the front, after the firefight, that let in full-on gusts of air. This is worse. There's no way to avoid it, no shelter to take from the unrelenting wind.

Is this what he sentenced Yona and Timmy to suffer?

Is this how the rest of the world died?

Curtis shakes it off, and plunges into the snow.