IMDb flu straggler

[i_am_your_host]

The last thing Dr. Dylan Reinhart remembers, at least vaguely so, is going to his room to sleep off an oncoming cold.

When he wakes up, he feels worse. Ugh.

Groggy and miserable, he changes out of his pajamas and into the tailored suit that's been laid out. Shirt, tie, sweater vest. None of the patterns or colors match, but oddly enough he makes it work in an elegantly offbeat way. Italian leather oxfords round out the ensemble.

He comes downstairs into the main bar, adjusting his pocket handkerchief (he has a feeling he'll be needing it as the sniffles, sneezing, and coughing persist). After ordering some tea and chicken soup, he tucks a cloth napkin into the collar of his vest, and settles down to eat.

As demure as he is, as engrossed in his meal as he is, and even as ill as he is, he still keeps his wits about him, observing who is in the room and where, the exits and windows (including the really Big Window). He can't exactly recall why he's like this. His memory is rather muddled at the moment. Which is annoying. And it's making him feel more ill than necessary.

[OOC: Have Emcee thinking he's Dylan Reinhart from Instinct.]

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[the_cupbearer]

Well, even if he doesn't know that smile, or the subject, right now something in Ganymede's body language certainly doesn't hide the fact that he'd like to know Dylan. In many ways.

"Are you now? And what about you is apparently contradictory?" Ganymede asks, focused on nothing and no one else in this conversation. It's not hyperfocus by any stretch, but he has his whole attention on Dylan: he find it polite to pay attention to people when they're talking.

Assuming he cares for what they have to say. "Or shall I venture to make a guess?"

[i_am_your_host]

He takes a sip of his tea and dabs at thee corner of his lips before shifting in his seat to face Ganymede a little more fully.

"You can take a guess if you like," he says with an interested little smile.

[the_cupbearer]

It takes a good long minute of quiet contemplation before Ganymede says anything.

"Whatever you did before teaching was dangerous--maybe not directly for you, but enough that it made you practice being aware of your surroundings. You know where the exits are and where the people are in the room with you," he murmurs, eyes tracking over the man's posture and clothing in what seem to be random little darts. "But you're very consciously making yourself seem harmless now."

Ganymede very much doubts he is harmless, in the same way he knows he himself isn't. But neither of them show that much.

[i_am_your_host]

In that good long minute, the man who seems to be Dylan Reinhart takes another sip of tea, outwardly nonchalant but eagerly curious about what Ganymede has to say. And when he does begin to describe him, a little bit of that polished veneer not so much cracks but dissolves away with a pleasantly surprised flutter of dark eyelashes and a soft dimpling of cheeks.

"Impressive," he says, raising his teacup in a salute. "That's quite astute of you. Especially the part about the danger thing. I'm ex-CIA, actually." He waggles his eyebrows in a playful gesture as he turns back to his soup. "I mean, it's not really a secret, but it's not something I talk about in great detail."

[the_cupbearer]

"Not so impressive when you're raised around military," Ganymede refutes, shoulders moving in a fluid shrug, graceful as ever. "They behaved much the same way." Of course, when he says military he means a very different sort than Dylan is most likely used to, but there's no need to bring that up. Palace guards and standing armies have many of the same trademarks.

"What made you leave it?" he asks. What made him choose said career is probably a more common question, but even Ganymede can figure that out. He's never been stupid, despite the artists' portrayals. The thrill of figuring out the puzzle, enjoying the adrenaline rush, is a hard lure to ignore.

[i_am_your_host]

"Ah, yes," he says with a knowing nod, reminded by brief but vivid flashbacks to his own upbringing under a strict father who was also a government agent.

(There is this nagging sensation that these flashbacks aren't actually his.)

"Well, there really isn't much room in the CIA for a personal life," he then admits, shrugging. "It got the point where I didn't want to sacrifice my relationship with Andy, so I decided to make a change."

[the_cupbearer]

Ganymede shrugs, good-natured. He barely remembers his own father.

"You must quite love him, your Andy. It sounds like it." He likes the sentiment, and loves hearing it from others: it gives him a pleasant feeling, if oddly detached personally. "Must have upset someone when you left. I assume you were good at what you did."

[i_am_your_host]

"Of course I do, it's why I married him," he says with that sort of bright, cheerful conviction that anything otherwise would be absurd.

"And-- well-- yeah," he adds, modestly rolling his eyes. "I was considered one of their top agents, so it did cause kind of a shake-up, but it's not like they couldn't do the work without me--"

He abruptly turns his head and sneezes into a handkerchief. "Ugh, excuse me. This cold is so annoying..."

[the_cupbearer]

He laughs brightly, happily at that, shaking his head. "Of course you were. You don't stroke me as a man to do his work badly," Ganymede says.

"By all means. Would you like tea? There's black elderberry and echinacea that will help." (Or it would, if it were actually a cold.)

[i_am_your_host]

"Oh, I never half-ass anything, that's for sure," he chuckles. And for some reason a dirty pun is at the tip of his tongue, which he bites back because it's so unlike him. (Unless he's had too much to drink.)

Couple that weird feeling with the general malaise of this illness and it's making his head spin a little. He dabs at his nose and rubs his brow.

"Yes, I- I think I could do with a fresh cup. Thank you for the recommendation."

[the_cupbearer]

"Of course. It will make you feel a little better," he says, bringing a teacup back from visiting the bar.

[i_am_your_host]

"Danke, darling-- I mean--"

Emcee shakes his head as if to clear it, blinking groggily through the steam wafting off the hot tea.

"Ganymede," he murmurs, his Berliner accent returning, "I'm sorry, I seem to have-- lost myself for a moment-- well, fuck, not again." With an irritated grunt, he roughly loosens the perfect knot of his necktie.

[the_cupbearer]

"Come here," Ganymede laughs gently, leaning in and finessing the knot loose, slipping the tie out of Emcee's collar and winding it around his fingers. "I wondered when you'd come back."

He smiles and sits back, ankles crossed lazily. "Don't apologize. It happens."

[i_am_your_host]

As soon as Ganymede gets the tie off of him, Emcee undoes as many buttons on his shirt as he can before the sweater vest stops him from going any further.

"And it is fucking annoying every time," he grumbles, squirming out of the jacket. But he can tell it's a very nice suit so he doesn't just chuck it away, but resignedly hangs it on the back of his chair.

"What have I said? Did I do anything stupid? I can never remember clearly."

[the_cupbearer]

"Other than turning down an offer to sleep with me, no, nothing overly foolish," he chuckles, keeping the tie loosely draped around his neck. "You've been amazingly yourself, for being someone else entirely."

Ganymede swings his legs, letting Emcee peel away layers as he wishes. "Oh, you thought you were married, that's an interesting point."

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee shoots Ganymede an astonished glance when he says he turned him down, but outright utters a "What ohgod no" in one breath at the mention of being married. He checks his fingers for a wedding ring and heaves a chuckling sigh when there isn't one.

"How completely ridiculous," he moans, rubbing his face in his hands and raking his fingers through his hair.

[the_cupbearer]

Ganymede cackles at that, ducking his head in laughter. "Don't fret, I know it isn't permanent. You were married to a man, though. Andy, I believe."

He shouldn't be laughing, but he really can't help it.

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee doesn't mind the laughter; in fact he catches some of the giggles, though not wholeheartedly since he's still feeling a bit congested and wheezy.

"Being married to a man doesn't make the idea any better, but yes, it's an interesting detail," he concedes as he takes a sip of his tea.

[the_cupbearer]

"Considering it's only been legal for the last handful of years?" Ganymede adds, waving a hand lightly. "It's a very interesting detail. You were quite a bit more modern than usual. Former CIA, even, which means you're somewhere around my time."

But he still is very glad Emcee is himself again for a while. He rather enjoys the real person. "I'm awfully glad you remember who we are now, though. It's difficult to have to explain again and again."

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee holds the teacup at his lips to inhale the warmth and fragrance.

"CIA? What is that, exactly...? I seem to recall that I was-- American, again." He shakes his head, massaging his brow.

"What did you say to explain who we were to each other?"

[the_cupbearer]

"Central Intelligence Agency. It's a particular group from the American government, which is far less informed than the name would have you believe," Ganymede says lightly, lifting a shoulder.

"I didn't. I said you looked like someone I knew, that's all. It seemed rather pointless to convince you we knew each other when you believed you were someone different." Ganymede very, very rarely insists he knows anyone if they don't or choose not to recognize him in public. He's had experience with that. "I gave you my current legal name in my own world, and we started to talk, that's all."

[i_am_your_host]

"Ah, that sounds reasonable," he says. "The insistence that I am, in fact, me, and not who I believe myself to be, has led to some, er, awkward situations in the past. And there was that one time I woke up in Sinric's bed thinking I was someone else."

[the_cupbearer]

"I've had a few too many instances of people purposefully wanting nothing to do with me in public to insist I know anyone, unless it's for a good reason," Ganymede says. "At least every time we've fooled around we've recognized reach other? Or so I hope."

[i_am_your_host]

"Oh, yes, I am quite sure of that, darling," he chuckles and sighs, before taking a sip of tea. "Now comes the time when I try to strip myself of everything about the invading personality. Starting with the fucking clothes," he huffs, and he sits back and pulls the argyle sweater vest off over his head.

[the_cupbearer]

"Would you like me to help you?" he asks, chuckling. "A shower and your usual eyeliner would likely help."