[Much better. The honesty doesn't make this more comfortable, but Charles isn't holding his breath for that. Raw vulnerability never feels good, when it only ever leaves him feeling fragile, and the same seems to be true for Magpie. It's a step forward, though, and confirmation of what he felt between them on the beach. That's better than dodging the truth that was always going to come for them, one way or another.
It's the only thing that could happen, when they connected the way they did. Those kinds of moments between people don't happen by chance - not for him. It means there's something between him and this man, even if it's only a mutual care, or a fulfilling of unspoken needs.
Even if it was just a flicker of their souls aligning for a moment, if that's the truth, he needs to know.]
It was different because it was personal and caring, [he supposes.] It mattered to me that you took your time with me, when whatever magics that occurred didn't require it. [The only necessity seemed to be that they had sex.] In the moment, it felt like you wanted me, for me. [Which was what made it feel so powerful.]
I don't know what 'to do' with that either, [he confesses] but I think it's enough that we acknowledge it was something good in this place, and that we both got something significant out of it.
I'd like for us to continue being friends, [as he sees it] so if there's anything that would stand in the way of that because of the beach, I'd see us try to work through it now. [It's asking a lot of Magpie when he already sounds at a loss, but he's hopeful that putting a path before them both will help with allowing questions to crystallize. Questions, awkwardness, or issues between them that he can make some attempt at addressing.]
( If all this was supposed to help, it's not. It's so fucking not. He is not a caring person. He's also not someone who gives a single fuck about anyone-- except himself and Rosita on a very good day. Hearing a description of himself that's so fucking untrue makes him itch and start to panic. Before he can stop it he's breathing faster and all but tearing at his hair.
Fuck fuck fuuuck he needs to not pass out or faint or spiral here. Nope. Can't do that. Not here or with this guy. FUCK
It sure does feel like there's no one else in this fucking bar except him and Charles all of a sudden. Nothing but them and the stools and their little section of bar. Fuck fuck this is so bad and he's so completely fucked because this-- vampire just called them friends and it's so blatantly wrong he almost screams about it.
Almost. He can hold that in. For now.
He swallows hard - and audibly - as he pulls a shaky hand through his hair and then turns to the bar. Right. Elbows down. Something to focus on. The bar top is good. Look at all those grains in the wood. )
W-we're not-- friends. We never were? I don't-- don't know where you got that idea. I'm just an asshole-- who wants t-to be left alone. ( So just do that already.
Fuckity fuck this is not a private spot. Why did he do this here? Why did he fucking think this was a good idea?! )
Can-- go to private room? Now? Please. ( The last word is small and it's sure coming with him getting up off his stool even though his legs are shaking. Yup. Just gonna get up and go to a private room to play this panic attack out, because that sure as fuck is happening right now. UGH fuck this is so bad. )
[By now, it's become second nature to shrug off Magpie's denials and attempts to fight him when the man seems to be reacting from emotion. How are they not friends, as loosely-defined as the word may be in this case, after the ways they've each helped each other? After how they've connected now? No, it feels clear to Charles that this man is, at the very least, his ally, even if Magpie can't, or won't, accept that he considers the human a friend.
So he lets what, coming from someone else, could be a rejection, slide without reacting to it. In this man's case, he just seems... afraid. Overwhelmed. Charles can smell the panic and uncertainty sloughing off Magpie's skin in waves, and it's those feelings that he turns his attention to, instead.]
Of course. [He picks up the other man's drink, and gestures for Magpie to lead the way to wherever it is he needs to go right now. When the man inevitably chooses a private room among the collection towards the back of the lounge, Charles follows, closing the door quietly behind them both once they're inside.
He knows the signs of both pending and present panic attacks, and luckily, their room has a dimmer switch. Turning it to dim the bright lighting in the room, Charles places Magpie's drink down, and then regards the other man with a thoughtful frown. Grounding exercises are the best resource he knows for assisting someone with easing a panic response.]
Take several deep breaths, counting five seconds on the inhale. Hold each one for seven seconds, and then release it slowly. Focus on the sensation of your chest expanding as you draw air, and do the best you can to clear your mind. [He keeps his distance, and his voice quiet, but deliberately steady.] Imagining roots growing from the soles of your feet into the ground is helpful, but if you can't get there right now, simply focus on your breathing. [And then, his clinical demeanour softening slightly, Charles adds,] If you can do that, it should help, I promise.
( "Don't tell me what to do. You don't fucking know me. I can take care of myself without your fucking help!"
There's too much panic for him to fight back and say all the shit he wants to. And fuck, he wants to tell Charles to take his care and shove it so far up his ass nothing else will ever fit. All he has to do is wait it out. Put himself somewhere quiet and away from everything and he'll be fine. Eventually.
The dark helps. Ignoring everything about "visualizing" shit so he can instead sit on the floor helps more. Knees to his chest and hands gripping his curls is less-- good, but they're effective at keeping his attention inward. They let him take a few deeper breaths until he's-- sort of doing what Charles suggested. He's short a few seconds all the way through and he's sure as fuck not thinking about his chest or how it moves or-- whatever, but he's breathing-- normally...ish after a couple of minutes. )
Fuck. ( He's damp with sweat and cold now that it's starting to work its way out of his system. He rubs his forehead with the back of a hand then drops his head between his knees to keep breathing. Getting home is gonna be a fucking nightmare.
Now that he's hearing everything again and seeing more than the floor beneath his feet, it's too quiet. He feels the need to fill the silence with-- something. Anything. Probably something really fucking stupid, but he can't just sit here and let things be like this, so... )
Thanks. For-- coming back here. With me. ( Ugh. Gross. Painful. It hurts to be vulnerable like that. ) Gonna need so many drinks after that.
( How is he supposed to bike back to Creekside if he's wasted fuck. )
[He wants to step forward and put a hand on Magpie's shoulder, to offer some kind of reassurance of his presence, but with the man just coming down from a panic attack, he trusts it won't help. This is a terrible foot to keep having this conversation on - pushing harder may only mean forcing Magpie to suffer and struggle more to no meaningful end, and he doesn't want that. Everything on the tail end of a panic attack is going to be tinged with either exhaustion or emotion, and he doesn't see a good reason to force through that. Not right now. Magpie was patient with him when he needed it, so he's fine with leaving this where it is now, if that's what's best. He can be patient.]
You don't need to thank me for that; When you need help, I want to be there for you. I'd like to think you'd do the same for me, eventually. [It seems far from a good idea for Magpie to stay here and drink himself into a stupor, but he's an adult. He's not going to stop him. Crouching, he meets Magpie's gaze steadily.] Do you want to go home?
[Of course the man does, Charles expects, but he wants him to know that he's not going to try to keep him against his will after everything that just happened.]
( Oh for fuck's sake. ) Just-- let me. ( He's fucking trying so let him thank you for your help, Charles. Fucking fuck why is this so hard?
Going home is considerably more difficult when he lives in the equivalent of "the middle of fucking nowhere" in Duplicity. He has to get across miles and miles of non-paved roads and barely-there dirt paths on a bike. Doing it in the dark is fine, but it's-- it's almost impossible when he's been set off like this. He couldn't do it after his meltdown with Rosita the first time they went to renew their contract. He fucking doubts he can do it now when this is-- at least as bad. Maybe worse. He doesn't know. )
Can't make it that far. It's a long-- way out. ( Could he call Rosita and ask to crash at the Hollow for the night? ...probably, but Jesus spends a lot of nights there and fuck if he's spending time with anyone else right now. Especially someone who's friendly as fuck and would fret over him like Charles is. He sighs and shakes his head. )
I'll grab a cheap room-- somewhere. Close. Sleep the last of it off. ( Maybe shower in his clothes so they're not so bad when he has to put them on again in a few hours and bike out to Creekside. ) I'll be fine. ( He'll be in trouble with Rosita if she ever finds out, so he's just-- not-- gonna tell her. Nope. Fuck that. )
[The answer leaves Charles feeling conflicted. It sounds like Magpie intends on staying, despite his condition, but he still doubts the wisdom of trying to have this conversation after a full-blown panic attack. He's clearly trying, though, even going as far as thanking him, so is the right choice to trust that Magpie knows his limits, regardless of whether he's planning on pushing through them or not?
Trying to help isn't having much effect, so he reasons that he doesn't have much of a choice, here.]
Here. [The vampire rises, and offers Magpie a hand to help him up. Whether it's accepted or not, Charles parts from him after, and then moves to the door to their room to flag down an attendant to request a drink of his own. Nothing's happened to Magpie after quaffing his own, and he could use the smallest amount of something, himself.
When his order's placed, Charles settles himself onto one of the couches in the room.]
Allow me to ask you something. What's the fear in the idea that we are, or could be, friends? What do you think I'm going to do if you allow yourself to trust me, or someone else? [Because, without a shadow of a doubt, this isn't about him. It has to be about everyone.] I won't say anything about your reasoning if you prefer, but I want to understand.
( Fucking fuck he should have just told Charles to get out. Sure, the vampire's getting him another drink and that will help but... fuck he doesn't want to deal with this right now. He should just say why he's not up for this and why he's never touching this conversation again and just-- just move on and keep it all at arm's length for the rest of their time here. Or his life. Whichever comes last.
He scrubs his face with his hands and sighs heavily as he tries really hard to think of what to say. It's so hard when he's drenched in a cold sweat and all his instincts are telling him to get away from everyone right now. This is worse than touching some of this with Rosita, because at least with her they have a relationship. They know each other, and even though he's a fucking asshole and pain in the ass, he can trust her to tell the truth. And to get a lot of shit he's dealt with when she's been through similar. He doesn't fucking know Charles. This guy's got nothing but a single good fuck on a beach with him and their scrap in the Down together.
Why is he bothering? Why the fuck does Charles even care enough to try? His head hurts trying to puzzle it out even a little. Uggggggh. )
I don't do-- friends. With anyone. Not-- not just you. ( He takes a breath and shakes his head. ) Doesn't fucking matter why. I just don't.
( It does, but no fucking way he pulls himself together for someone he doesn't trust to explain his past and why his way is the only realistic way of living his life. )
[It's not an answer to his questions, and is the same wall this man's kept around himself since they met. It's not frustrating, exactly, because it isn't a new response, but it twigs Charles to thinking his approach might not be the right one. Pursing his lips pensively, he watches Magpie for a long, quiet moment as he works his way through his thoughts.
He's asking for this man to give him something without his ever having offered anything in return but help. That would be enough for some people to trust his intentions. With this man, it isn't. Whatever the reason behind that, it doesn't matter, or change the fact that it's true.
What it means is that he might need to be the one to bend first.]
You've told me that before, and I did hear it. [It just felt like such an obviously fearful response that it was hard not to respond to it like one.] If you don't want to talk about yourself, perhaps you'll let me tell you about myself, instead. [Not something he relishes, but it's the only thing he can think to do that he hasn't already tried.] Are you willing to hear that?
( Should he hear all this? So he can maybe understand Charles a little better? Yes. Is he in any state where he can hold onto it or do anything with it if he does manage to retain it? Abso-fucking-lutely not. Some distant part of him realizes he's jerking Charles around if he says no now, but it's the only-- option that seems good right now?
If he agrees and knows fuck all about what the guy said later, he's just a douche. If he rejects him now, he may get kicked to the curb and finally be left alone. Which-- fuck, that should be a relief, but it's not. All this shit is swirling around in his fucking head and all he wants is to get drunk and forget any of it happened. He wants to do what he did back home and just stop being in places Charles might ever possibly be. An impossible feat when they're both stuck in oppressive fuck city and end up running into each other despite efforts put in to do the opposite.
Fucking fuck. He should've left that fucking message on read. He shouldn't've answered. He drops his head further between his legs and shakes his head. )
I can't-- now. I-- I just can't. ( He's anxious. He's spiraling. He's going to fucking spiral again unless he gets smashed - with alcohol or sex, he doesn't fucking care which - as soon as fucking possible. He shakes his head again. )
( Best to just stop trying at this point. His leg's so far down his throat he doubts he could walk even if he was sure the other could support his weight right now. )
[That's it, then. This was the last card he could think to play, and it's too much right now. Magpie can't help it, so Charles decides to hold onto the idea for later, but to let it go for now. In the wake of ramping himself up to try and tell this man about something that's always a struggle to pull from himself, he isn't left feeling much, beyond sympathy and fatigue.
He can't help but think that this is why he's never felt tempted by psychiatry or counselling. His patience isn't lacking, but both are full of moments like these: where there isn't a perfect cure he can call to mind, and administer to heal someone. The mind is more layered than that, and helping someone is usually a team effort. It's not something he'll pretend to understand anywhere near as well as he does traditional medicine. It's frustrating, to feel like his hands are tied behind his back, but it's something he has to accept.
Sitting down beside Magpie, he lays a solid hand on the man's shoulder.]
When you can, go to the room you're planning on staying in, and try to rest. [That's obvious, he's sure, but it still feels like it needs to be said.] I can help you there if you need it.
( This'll all be easier later, when he's not so amped up on-- adrenaline and anxiety and so much care in his direction that he could literally tear his hair out. He tried. He really fucking did. But he pushed himself too hard and now he wants to run along the beach until he's done several laps without turning around.
He feels-- bad for this. Really fucking bad. He shouldn't have done this today. He should've asked for another day. Another time. More time. Anything else to prepare himself. Or something. Fuck, he doesn't know what he needs, but he just-- needs something.
Why did the city force this? Why?
He looks up briefly when Charles touches his shoulder, then drops his head again. Right. Can't just leave him like this (even though he absolutely can) after all this. Another sigh and he drags his hand up the back of his head and shrugs. )
Sure. Don't think-- could get a room right now anyway. ( Speech is hard, and the last thing most of these motels want is to rent out a room to a lone Sub. At least if he goes in with another guy, one who can still speak clearly at that, clerks are less likely to turn him away on sight. )
Very well. Let's find you something you'll be able to get a decent night's rest in. [Aka, not one of the known motels that rent out for the purposes of whatever BDSM activity of the day people are doing. Nobody needs that kind of noise, even if they aren't at the tail end of a panic attack.
Charles gives Magpie's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and then rises, offering the man a hand to pull himself up. Whether he accepts or not, Charles gestures to the door to start them on their way.]
I doubt anyone will be keen to see to either one of us, but a Dominant's name should be enough. [Hopefully.] The rest may come down to money. [It's criminal, but it wouldn't be the first time that more money than expected has been able to get him something a shopkeeper was initially reluctant to let him have.]
( They're all decent enough for him when he sleeps like rock, but he's not in any state to tell Charles that. Fuck, he's not in a state to say anything right now, and he's kicking himself internally for even trying. This was the worst fucking idea, and now Charles is finally gonna figure out that it's time to ditch him and move the fuck on.
Hopefully. No, not-- not hopefully. That's-- it's bad. He doesn't want that? But also...
Fuck. His head aches and he needs that fucking whiskey Charles ordered for him. He groans as he gets to his feet with the vampire's help and nods. Right. Name. He can use Rosita's name. Hopefully she won't find out. )
Got enough for a night. ( It may wipe out all his cash, but whatever. That's just how it's got to be. He pushes down on his temple before stepping toward the door with a small amount of sway to his steps. Fuck fuck fuuuucking fuck everything is working against him right now.
He slams the whiskey as soon as they grab it at the bar and pulls out the cash needed to cover their drinks. Okay. Fuck. That's-- more money than he thought it would be, but whatever. Whatever because he fucking needed it. He'll steal something later to make up for it. Once he's slept.
With a sigh, he heads for the door. ) Come on. Need close-- place. Sure there's a few.
[Charles notes that swaying, but it doesn't look to him like the reeling of drunken ruin - not yet, anyway. It looks more like exhaustion, which means they're better off finding somewhere for the man sooner, rather than later. Charles follows Magpie out into the crisp and chill night, and starts them on their way to a part of the Up he doesn't know for being devoted to love hotels.
He says nothing as they walk, because he's ready for this evening to be over, too. There's so much to process, and it's all thinking that a good day's sleep will only help. He knows he doesn't want to abandon this man, and he trusts that he made his feelings clear tonight, but Magpie's still a brick wall. How much can he offer, without a path forward?
Not that the man didn't try. That much is painfully clear - he can see that Magpie tried in every heavy footfall and rough brush of fingers through dark curls. He appreciates it. It makes it feel worth it to give the man the time he seems to need to offer more.
It takes some searching and one misfire, but eventually the two men find a hotel that's at least not obviously a party zone. A short discussion with the concierge, and dropping of Rosita's and Thomas' names, are enough to persuade the reluctant native woman to accept their request, although she charges them double price. Charles surveys her critically, frowning severely. They aren't going to find better anywhere else in the Up, but it grates.
Charles presents a card, and instructs the woman to put half of it on him.]
You can pay me back when you're able. [Because, beyond not liking a kind gesture done for him, what he suspects Magpie likes even less, is being in anyone's debt.]
( Fucking natives. The overcharge nearly has Caden flipping the concierge out of her chair, and it's only Charles stepping in to pay half the cost of the room that stops him.
What the fuck. What the fuck??? He's not at all prepared for this. Ever, but especially not now when he's completely wrung out and on edge. Fuck fuck fuuuck he's gonna have to pick up an extra shift for that. Which-- is for the best because he's gonna be in the city when the place opens tomorrow anyway. It's (not) fine, so whatever. He'll make it work. He always fucking does. )
...yeah. I can do that. ( Eventually. He sighs as he throws cash at the concierge and then holds a hand out for his key. The woman seems reluctant to give it to him, but the card and the cash cover the cost and there's no one else around asking for rooms, so Magpie gets it after only a little bit of delay. The telekinetic doesn't bother thanking her as he steps away from the desk and waits for Charles to follow until they're out of earshot of the woman. Because she's gonna be nosy if they stay close, he fucking knows it. )
Gonna go up now. Get sleep. Maybe shower. ( ...fuck, he's gonna need to steal clothes tomorrow. Great. Just fucking--
whatever. That's tomorrow's problem. He sighs again and nods to the vampire. ) Thanks. For coming. ( Not to the hotel, but out to talk to him. He's too tired to make that clear. He's not sure he would even if he wasn't so fucking exhausted. There's no point in trying to figure it out right now anyway. )
We'll chat-- later, finish all this then. ( Whatever "this" even is between them. He frowns and then waves Charles off. ) I'll see you when I see you.
( It's the best and most polite "I'm going the fuck to sleep now" he can manage before he turns and heads to his room. Part of him hopes Charles isn't so offended that he doesn't answer his texts if he ever works up the courage to try this conversation again in the future. Another hopes this is the last time they ever see each other. With how this place keeps tossing him at people he already knows, seems more likely it'll be the first.
Fuck. He hopes he sleeps enough for this in the months it's gonna take him to be ready for Round 2. )
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mattersofscience) wrote2016-05-31 10:57 pm
no subject
It's the only thing that could happen, when they connected the way they did. Those kinds of moments between people don't happen by chance - not for him. It means there's something between him and this man, even if it's only a mutual care, or a fulfilling of unspoken needs.
Even if it was just a flicker of their souls aligning for a moment, if that's the truth, he needs to know.]
It was different because it was personal and caring, [he supposes.] It mattered to me that you took your time with me, when whatever magics that occurred didn't require it. [The only necessity seemed to be that they had sex.] In the moment, it felt like you wanted me, for me. [Which was what made it feel so powerful.]
I don't know what 'to do' with that either, [he confesses] but I think it's enough that we acknowledge it was something good in this place, and that we both got something significant out of it.
I'd like for us to continue being friends, [as he sees it] so if there's anything that would stand in the way of that because of the beach, I'd see us try to work through it now. [It's asking a lot of Magpie when he already sounds at a loss, but he's hopeful that putting a path before them both will help with allowing questions to crystallize. Questions, awkwardness, or issues between them that he can make some attempt at addressing.]
cw: panic attack
Fuck fuck fuuuck he needs to not pass out or faint or spiral here. Nope. Can't do that. Not here or with this guy. FUCK
It sure does feel like there's no one else in this fucking bar except him and Charles all of a sudden. Nothing but them and the stools and their little section of bar. Fuck fuck this is so bad and he's so completely fucked because this-- vampire just called them friends and it's so blatantly wrong he almost screams about it.
Almost. He can hold that in. For now.
He swallows hard - and audibly - as he pulls a shaky hand through his hair and then turns to the bar. Right. Elbows down. Something to focus on. The bar top is good. Look at all those grains in the wood. )
W-we're not-- friends. We never were? I don't-- don't know where you got that idea. I'm just an asshole-- who wants t-to be left alone. ( So just do that already.
Fuckity fuck this is not a private spot. Why did he do this here? Why did he fucking think this was a good idea?! )
Can-- go to private room? Now? Please. ( The last word is small and it's sure coming with him getting up off his stool even though his legs are shaking. Yup. Just gonna get up and go to a private room to play this panic attack out, because that sure as fuck is happening right now. UGH fuck this is so bad. )
no subject
So he lets what, coming from someone else, could be a rejection, slide without reacting to it. In this man's case, he just seems... afraid. Overwhelmed. Charles can smell the panic and uncertainty sloughing off Magpie's skin in waves, and it's those feelings that he turns his attention to, instead.]
Of course. [He picks up the other man's drink, and gestures for Magpie to lead the way to wherever it is he needs to go right now. When the man inevitably chooses a private room among the collection towards the back of the lounge, Charles follows, closing the door quietly behind them both once they're inside.
He knows the signs of both pending and present panic attacks, and luckily, their room has a dimmer switch. Turning it to dim the bright lighting in the room, Charles places Magpie's drink down, and then regards the other man with a thoughtful frown. Grounding exercises are the best resource he knows for assisting someone with easing a panic response.]
Take several deep breaths, counting five seconds on the inhale. Hold each one for seven seconds, and then release it slowly. Focus on the sensation of your chest expanding as you draw air, and do the best you can to clear your mind. [He keeps his distance, and his voice quiet, but deliberately steady.] Imagining roots growing from the soles of your feet into the ground is helpful, but if you can't get there right now, simply focus on your breathing. [And then, his clinical demeanour softening slightly, Charles adds,] If you can do that, it should help, I promise.
no subject
There's too much panic for him to fight back and say all the shit he wants to. And fuck, he wants to tell Charles to take his care and shove it so far up his ass nothing else will ever fit. All he has to do is wait it out. Put himself somewhere quiet and away from everything and he'll be fine. Eventually.
The dark helps. Ignoring everything about "visualizing" shit so he can instead sit on the floor helps more. Knees to his chest and hands gripping his curls is less-- good, but they're effective at keeping his attention inward. They let him take a few deeper breaths until he's-- sort of doing what Charles suggested. He's short a few seconds all the way through and he's sure as fuck not thinking about his chest or how it moves or-- whatever, but he's breathing-- normally...ish after a couple of minutes. )
Fuck. ( He's damp with sweat and cold now that it's starting to work its way out of his system. He rubs his forehead with the back of a hand then drops his head between his knees to keep breathing. Getting home is gonna be a fucking nightmare.
Now that he's hearing everything again and seeing more than the floor beneath his feet, it's too quiet. He feels the need to fill the silence with-- something. Anything. Probably something really fucking stupid, but he can't just sit here and let things be like this, so... )
Thanks. For-- coming back here. With me. ( Ugh. Gross. Painful. It hurts to be vulnerable like that. ) Gonna need so many drinks after that.
( How is he supposed to bike back to Creekside if he's wasted fuck. )
no subject
You don't need to thank me for that; When you need help, I want to be there for you. I'd like to think you'd do the same for me, eventually. [It seems far from a good idea for Magpie to stay here and drink himself into a stupor, but he's an adult. He's not going to stop him. Crouching, he meets Magpie's gaze steadily.] Do you want to go home?
[Of course the man does, Charles expects, but he wants him to know that he's not going to try to keep him against his will after everything that just happened.]
no subject
Going home is considerably more difficult when he lives in the equivalent of "the middle of fucking nowhere" in Duplicity. He has to get across miles and miles of non-paved roads and barely-there dirt paths on a bike. Doing it in the dark is fine, but it's-- it's almost impossible when he's been set off like this. He couldn't do it after his meltdown with Rosita the first time they went to renew their contract. He fucking doubts he can do it now when this is-- at least as bad. Maybe worse. He doesn't know. )
Can't make it that far. It's a long-- way out. ( Could he call Rosita and ask to crash at the Hollow for the night? ...probably, but Jesus spends a lot of nights there and fuck if he's spending time with anyone else right now. Especially someone who's friendly as fuck and would fret over him like Charles is. He sighs and shakes his head. )
I'll grab a cheap room-- somewhere. Close. Sleep the last of it off. ( Maybe shower in his clothes so they're not so bad when he has to put them on again in a few hours and bike out to Creekside. ) I'll be fine. ( He'll be in trouble with Rosita if she ever finds out, so he's just-- not-- gonna tell her. Nope. Fuck that. )
no subject
Trying to help isn't having much effect, so he reasons that he doesn't have much of a choice, here.]
Here. [The vampire rises, and offers Magpie a hand to help him up. Whether it's accepted or not, Charles parts from him after, and then moves to the door to their room to flag down an attendant to request a drink of his own. Nothing's happened to Magpie after quaffing his own, and he could use the smallest amount of something, himself.
When his order's placed, Charles settles himself onto one of the couches in the room.]
Allow me to ask you something. What's the fear in the idea that we are, or could be, friends? What do you think I'm going to do if you allow yourself to trust me, or someone else? [Because, without a shadow of a doubt, this isn't about him. It has to be about everyone.] I won't say anything about your reasoning if you prefer, but I want to understand.
no subject
He scrubs his face with his hands and sighs heavily as he tries really hard to think of what to say. It's so hard when he's drenched in a cold sweat and all his instincts are telling him to get away from everyone right now. This is worse than touching some of this with Rosita, because at least with her they have a relationship. They know each other, and even though he's a fucking asshole and pain in the ass, he can trust her to tell the truth. And to get a lot of shit he's dealt with when she's been through similar. He doesn't fucking know Charles. This guy's got nothing but a single good fuck on a beach with him and their scrap in the Down together.
Why is he bothering? Why the fuck does Charles even care enough to try? His head hurts trying to puzzle it out even a little. Uggggggh. )
I don't do-- friends. With anyone. Not-- not just you. ( He takes a breath and shakes his head. ) Doesn't fucking matter why. I just don't.
( It does, but no fucking way he pulls himself together for someone he doesn't trust to explain his past and why his way is the only realistic way of living his life. )
no subject
He's asking for this man to give him something without his ever having offered anything in return but help. That would be enough for some people to trust his intentions. With this man, it isn't. Whatever the reason behind that, it doesn't matter, or change the fact that it's true.
What it means is that he might need to be the one to bend first.]
You've told me that before, and I did hear it. [It just felt like such an obviously fearful response that it was hard not to respond to it like one.] If you don't want to talk about yourself, perhaps you'll let me tell you about myself, instead. [Not something he relishes, but it's the only thing he can think to do that he hasn't already tried.] Are you willing to hear that?
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If he agrees and knows fuck all about what the guy said later, he's just a douche. If he rejects him now, he may get kicked to the curb and finally be left alone. Which-- fuck, that should be a relief, but it's not. All this shit is swirling around in his fucking head and all he wants is to get drunk and forget any of it happened. He wants to do what he did back home and just stop being in places Charles might ever possibly be. An impossible feat when they're both stuck in oppressive fuck city and end up running into each other despite efforts put in to do the opposite.
Fucking fuck. He should've left that fucking message on read. He shouldn't've answered. He drops his head further between his legs and shakes his head. )
I can't-- now. I-- I just can't. ( He's anxious. He's spiraling. He's going to fucking spiral again unless he gets smashed - with alcohol or sex, he doesn't fucking care which - as soon as fucking possible. He shakes his head again. )
Later. Drink now. ( Distraction now. ) Can't-- anything clearly right now.
( Best to just stop trying at this point. His leg's so far down his throat he doubts he could walk even if he was sure the other could support his weight right now. )
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He can't help but think that this is why he's never felt tempted by psychiatry or counselling. His patience isn't lacking, but both are full of moments like these: where there isn't a perfect cure he can call to mind, and administer to heal someone. The mind is more layered than that, and helping someone is usually a team effort. It's not something he'll pretend to understand anywhere near as well as he does traditional medicine. It's frustrating, to feel like his hands are tied behind his back, but it's something he has to accept.
Sitting down beside Magpie, he lays a solid hand on the man's shoulder.]
When you can, go to the room you're planning on staying in, and try to rest. [That's obvious, he's sure, but it still feels like it needs to be said.] I can help you there if you need it.
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He feels-- bad for this. Really fucking bad. He shouldn't have done this today. He should've asked for another day. Another time. More time. Anything else to prepare himself. Or something. Fuck, he doesn't know what he needs, but he just-- needs something.
Why did the city force this? Why?
He looks up briefly when Charles touches his shoulder, then drops his head again. Right. Can't just leave him like this (even though he absolutely can) after all this. Another sigh and he drags his hand up the back of his head and shrugs. )
Sure. Don't think-- could get a room right now anyway. ( Speech is hard, and the last thing most of these motels want is to rent out a room to a lone Sub. At least if he goes in with another guy, one who can still speak clearly at that, clerks are less likely to turn him away on sight. )
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Charles gives Magpie's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and then rises, offering the man a hand to pull himself up. Whether he accepts or not, Charles gestures to the door to start them on their way.]
I doubt anyone will be keen to see to either one of us, but a Dominant's name should be enough. [Hopefully.] The rest may come down to money. [It's criminal, but it wouldn't be the first time that more money than expected has been able to get him something a shopkeeper was initially reluctant to let him have.]
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Hopefully. No, not-- not hopefully. That's-- it's bad. He doesn't want that? But also...
Fuck. His head aches and he needs that fucking whiskey Charles ordered for him. He groans as he gets to his feet with the vampire's help and nods. Right. Name. He can use Rosita's name. Hopefully she won't find out. )
Got enough for a night. ( It may wipe out all his cash, but whatever. That's just how it's got to be. He pushes down on his temple before stepping toward the door with a small amount of sway to his steps. Fuck fuck fuuuucking fuck everything is working against him right now.
He slams the whiskey as soon as they grab it at the bar and pulls out the cash needed to cover their drinks. Okay. Fuck. That's-- more money than he thought it would be, but whatever. Whatever because he fucking needed it. He'll steal something later to make up for it. Once he's slept.
With a sigh, he heads for the door. ) Come on. Need close-- place. Sure there's a few.
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He says nothing as they walk, because he's ready for this evening to be over, too. There's so much to process, and it's all thinking that a good day's sleep will only help. He knows he doesn't want to abandon this man, and he trusts that he made his feelings clear tonight, but Magpie's still a brick wall. How much can he offer, without a path forward?
Not that the man didn't try. That much is painfully clear - he can see that Magpie tried in every heavy footfall and rough brush of fingers through dark curls. He appreciates it. It makes it feel worth it to give the man the time he seems to need to offer more.
It takes some searching and one misfire, but eventually the two men find a hotel that's at least not obviously a party zone. A short discussion with the concierge, and dropping of Rosita's and Thomas' names, are enough to persuade the reluctant native woman to accept their request, although she charges them double price. Charles surveys her critically, frowning severely. They aren't going to find better anywhere else in the Up, but it grates.
Charles presents a card, and instructs the woman to put half of it on him.]
You can pay me back when you're able. [Because, beyond not liking a kind gesture done for him, what he suspects Magpie likes even less, is being in anyone's debt.]
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What the fuck. What the fuck??? He's not at all prepared for this. Ever, but especially not now when he's completely wrung out and on edge. Fuck fuck fuuuck he's gonna have to pick up an extra shift for that. Which-- is for the best because he's gonna be in the city when the place opens tomorrow anyway. It's (not) fine, so whatever. He'll make it work. He always fucking does. )
...yeah. I can do that. ( Eventually. He sighs as he throws cash at the concierge and then holds a hand out for his key. The woman seems reluctant to give it to him, but the card and the cash cover the cost and there's no one else around asking for rooms, so Magpie gets it after only a little bit of delay. The telekinetic doesn't bother thanking her as he steps away from the desk and waits for Charles to follow until they're out of earshot of the woman. Because she's gonna be nosy if they stay close, he fucking knows it. )
Gonna go up now. Get sleep. Maybe shower. ( ...fuck, he's gonna need to steal clothes tomorrow. Great. Just fucking--
whatever. That's tomorrow's problem. He sighs again and nods to the vampire. ) Thanks. For coming. ( Not to the hotel, but out to talk to him. He's too tired to make that clear. He's not sure he would even if he wasn't so fucking exhausted. There's no point in trying to figure it out right now anyway. )
We'll chat-- later, finish all this then. ( Whatever "this" even is between them. He frowns and then waves Charles off. ) I'll see you when I see you.
( It's the best and most polite "I'm going the fuck to sleep now" he can manage before he turns and heads to his room. Part of him hopes Charles isn't so offended that he doesn't answer his texts if he ever works up the courage to try this conversation again in the future. Another hopes this is the last time they ever see each other. With how this place keeps tossing him at people he already knows, seems more likely it'll be the first.
Fuck. He hopes he sleeps enough for this in the months it's gonna take him to be ready for Round 2. )