vor | Eighth Cream Cake: [Written/Action/Voice] FORWARD-DATED to the 9th

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Eighth Cream Cake: [Written/Action/Voice] FORWARD-DATED to the 9th

[A week of research was a questionable coping mechanism. It succeeded in keeping him from having to talk to anyone. Also, in keeping him busy. However, a week buried in information brings on a loneliness that makes unchecked depression go rampant.

That's the worst part about it, sometimes. Being so utterly incapable of breaking the ice, of visiting someone and drudging up polite conversation and leaving that loneliness behind. He can't conjure the energy to visit anyone or ask for a visit, but everything is so much worse when he's lonely. Walking that circle is worse than rummaging through page after page of data, wanting to find and yet terrified of finding. He hated it alone in the research rooms, but feared going back to the same cycle, the same circle, as before.

When he comes back, he puts off going back to the flat for as long as possible. He sees to the horses at the stable, introducing the new mare to the others. Horses don't require conversation, but they provide companionship. Gregor is faintly disturbed by that thought, as if working with the horses might be more harmful than therapeutic. He finds himself clutching Babushka's mane in both fists, his face buried in her shoulder, heart pounding with the sudden, dizzy speculation that the one thing that makes him feel happy in this place is poisoned by his own weakness. No. No, no, no, he's not about to start thinking that way. Working with the horses means working with the hands, and that's human interaction. He enjoys that part. There's a premise to it, nothing forced. It's okay. He's being ridiculous about this. Gradually, he releases Babushka's mane. Her placid temperament helps. It's as if she barely noticed.

He should go home and take a shower, but instead he sits in the stable and sends a written message out, filtering it only lazily since it's nothing important.]

[Filtered to Ivan Vorpatril, Buffy Summers, Adele LeBlanc, and everyone who works at the stable or takes lessons - 35% unhackable]

I've come back.
--GVB

[/Filtered.]

[Then, it's anything he can do to keep from going back to that apartment. He knows once he's there, he'll nest in his safe little area and be completely trapped, alone with his own thoughts. So he plunks himself into the coffee shop with a cup of coffee and a cream cake he brought over from the bakery. He should check up on Loki (he has his own problems). He should talk to Nephry (she shouldn't see me like this). Or Molly (neither should she). Or Buffy (no pretending no no no...). Or Adele (nothing she can do). The trouble is that he's not fit to be seen by anyone. There's really nowhere to go but home, is there? Like it or not, he's chained to that place. Heaven forbid he send out a message to any one of them, or even that idiot Ivan, saying, I need help, today is a bad day, I don't care what you do just make sure...

Make sure of what? That he doesn't topple off any more balconies? He knows where death leads here. Everyone does. It would sound so stupid to explain why having one week asleep, one week ushered painlessly by during the wait to go home would be worth a death penalty.

...He needs to talk himself out of thinking that way.

At last, he sends out a voice message.]

The public stables are open, with three horses available to anyone who needs them. Just check them out with the on-duty stable hand.

[After inquiries are responded to, there's nothing to do but go home. Once he is there, he is most likely to curl up on his couch and not answer the door or any messages.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Greg, 'tis good to see you.

[He knows now, of course that "Greg's" real name is Gregor. But he sees no reason to start calling him that unless he wishes.

He tilts his head eyebrow going up, and gestures with the wine bottle.]

Problem?

I'm...not allowed to drink. I'll get you a glass anyway. [He heads to a small cabinet he keeps with a personal store of dishes.] Please, sit down.

Ah, I see. [Loki smiles.] No need to be so hangdog, my friend. It's easily fixed. Fetch a glass for yourself as well.

[He sits and holds the bottle between his hands, staring at it intently. He slowly rolls it between his hands, tilts his head, then nods.]

All right now. My apologies. Had I known, I would have brought something more... benign from the start.

[Gregor turns, holding just the one glass, and blinks a bit.]

...What did you do?

Regressed it back to its original, non-alcoholic state.

[He sets to opening the bottle.]

I'm not joking, Loki. I gave my word. Besides, apparently it can kill me.

Neither am I joking. This? Not my joking face. While I am still smiling, I assure you there are subtle differences.

[He takes the glass from Gregor, fills it, hands it back.]

Give it a sniff if you doubt my word.

[He smells, then looks surprised--basically amounting to drawing back a little and widening his eyes. He takes a tentative sip.]

That's....very, very nice grape juice.

[Loki bows with a little flourish, as if accepting a great compliment.]

[He sets the glass down on the coffee table and goes to get another.] I admit I've never heard of turning wine into water.

That would take quite a bit more doing, I think. Too many other fiddly chemicals in the mix. Sugars, those are easy to rearrange.

[He pours himself a glass of the fine grape juice once Gregor gives him one.]

[Gregor flings himself into the chair and hooks a leg over one arm, picking up his glass and inhaling over it.]

So you're simply rearranging what's already there, not creating something out of something entirely different.

In this case, yes. It's... more efficient that way.

I could just grossly alter reality if I wished. But it takes a good deal more effort. And as it is here... efficiency is more important than ever.

[Loki is doing a great job at not sounding crazy. Gregor eyes him curiously.]

How do I know you're not exaggerating?

I suppose I could perform for you like some sort of dancing bear, but at some point you're going to just have to give up and believe me.

Magics are my first and only love, and I know them well.

[Yes, you and Molly both. Gregor takes a careful sip.]

I guess I'll have to believe you. Maybe it's some form of science I don't understand. My foster-mother would be trying to come up with some scientific explanation, I'm sure.

Magics are science you don't understand. [Loki grins.] It's all a way of interacting with and understanding the universe. Mine is just a bit more... personal. And doesn't require a technological intermediary since I can accomplish it all myself.

[Gregor absorbs this very carefully, then nods.] I suppose I can buy that explanation. How have you been?

[Loki turns the glass in his hand, then sighs.] Ghastly. Yourself?

Wretched. [He sips.] You go first.

[Loki laughs.] All right. But just this once.

I spent an entire day vomiting and clutching my head in agony when everyone's memories were returned. That was a bit shit. I made quite a few friends over the course of that humiliating week and now the majority of them loathe me once more. As does the... ah... lady friend that I made during that time.

Oh, and then an enormous orange person fell through my roof and tried to kill me a few days ago. That was fun.

I think you might win. [Spoken with a grim sort of humor, since Gregor knows this is anything but a competition.] How are you doing now?

How like losing this sort of winning feels.

[Loki shrugs.]

I put one foot in front of the other. I've had it far worse in the past.

[Gregor bobs his head slowly.]

Is it getting better?

[He stares meditatively into his glass.]

Experience tells me that eventually, it goes numb. Close enough.

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