A. T. Menelikov (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
amourtician) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bigapplesauce2014-12-16 11:49 am
amourtician) wrote in bigapplesauce2014-12-16 11:49 am
when visions in the final end must shatter like the glass [open to multiple]
When Jay opens his eyes, he stares into a white wall. Around him is the noise of a city, though the rumble of automobiles is so much louder than he's used to, merging into a sort of feral buzz, a cross between angry bees and static. The noise of the crowd is interwoven into this hum, a hideous counternote. Jay shudders and tries to figure out what sort of wall he's staring at. He reaches out to touch it, then thinks better of it and instead turns around.
He's standing under a marble arch that stands at the entrance to a park. He stumbles back into the inner wall of the arch, suddenly feeling dizzy. It's the noise, the hideous noise that's tunnelling down his ears to his brain, making him feel like his whole head is vibrating. He screws his eyes shut and leans against the wall, shaking. He wants to throw up, but he's very aware that he's in public and he does not want to be unseemly.
He has no idea what's going on. It feels like he's lost some time, for he cannot remember the last thing he was doing, only the distant morning, breakfast with his twin. And now this. He shudders. He wonders, briefly, if he's hallucinating and the idea makes him moan in dismay.
To anyone who may be passing by, it appears as though a lavishly dressed, young, black person of absolutely indeterminable gender just popped into existence of nowhere. He's wearing a suit that looks like a New Romantic gone distinctly Regency, with a floor-length, pleated black skirt rather than trousers. A fur stole drapes around his shoulders; his hands are bedecked with rings, his face is painted brightly. He's wearing boots with pointy toes and high heels, elevating him to a height of 5'8", rather than his natural 5'5".
And he looks so very overwhelmed and sick.
He's standing under a marble arch that stands at the entrance to a park. He stumbles back into the inner wall of the arch, suddenly feeling dizzy. It's the noise, the hideous noise that's tunnelling down his ears to his brain, making him feel like his whole head is vibrating. He screws his eyes shut and leans against the wall, shaking. He wants to throw up, but he's very aware that he's in public and he does not want to be unseemly.
He has no idea what's going on. It feels like he's lost some time, for he cannot remember the last thing he was doing, only the distant morning, breakfast with his twin. And now this. He shudders. He wonders, briefly, if he's hallucinating and the idea makes him moan in dismay.
To anyone who may be passing by, it appears as though a lavishly dressed, young, black person of absolutely indeterminable gender just popped into existence of nowhere. He's wearing a suit that looks like a New Romantic gone distinctly Regency, with a floor-length, pleated black skirt rather than trousers. A fur stole drapes around his shoulders; his hands are bedecked with rings, his face is painted brightly. He's wearing boots with pointy toes and high heels, elevating him to a height of 5'8", rather than his natural 5'5".
And he looks so very overwhelmed and sick.
Eliot is bad at appropriately polite conversation topics: the motion picture
Most of his attention, though, is on Jay, who seems to be just as flamboyant as his fashion suggests. "You poor thing," he murmurs, taking Jay's hand. He pauses for about half a second before kissing it; honestly, what the hell else is he supposed to do with a hand like that?
The contact gives Eliot a little jolt of energy, something exotic and unfamiliar, but power is power, and he begins to think that Jay might not just be a cosplay enthusiast. "So there's no polite way to ask this, but are you magic? You seem magic. What's going on with all this, here?" He waves his hand in a lazy circle indicating Jay's face and ears and whatnot.
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She catches the eye of a bleach-haired waiter and summons him over with a raised hand, keeping a casual eye on Eliot as he romances Jay. Wow, that was easy. Then again these two are rather peas in a pod, aren't they. This'll be good. She wishes she could order some popcorn.
"I'll take a double campari on the rocks," she says smoothly. "Jay, darling, what can I get you?"
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"Vodka to start, I think, darling," he says. "Something ... simple and strong." Then something occurs to him and he bites his lip in embarrassment. "Er, provided you know what that is," he adds, nervously. "We ... we have it back home, but I shouldn't assume this place would, should I? Er." He looks down, suddenly self-conscious. His face feels hot. His ears flutter, brief little movements almost exactly like a cat's.
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He swirls his glass of Chateau d'Yquem and leans closer. “I have to say,” he says, brushing a hand lightly over Jay’s arm, “I wouldn't think simple describes anything about you.” Which is true; the way Jay’s dressed makes Eliot look downright shabby in comparison, and that’s not a thing that happens often.
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"See?" she says to Jay. "Told you we look out for each other. It'll be fine - I promise."
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Jay smiles at him and flutters his eyelashes.
"Why, darling, thank you! I do try," he says.
He makes no comment to Iman, but he does toss her a cautious glance, not quite able to take her word for it.
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adamantly notdealing with it. But he nods in agreement anyway, because he gets the point."It takes a while to get used to this whole crazy business," he says gently. "I was actually from this same city, in my world, so I already know how to get around and all that, but I can't imagine how foreign it must be to you." He gives Jay's arm a pat. "And I'm not much of a joiner so I haven't registered for Romac or the other group--" he cringes a little at Iman. Shit, he hardly knows anything about her, she might be going great guns for either of the organisations. "No offense if you're with either of them, I just much prefer to be a free agent."
Maybe Eliot's said too much. This whole gathering feels a bit like a competition to be charming and outgoing, and he can't help playing that game; it's his best coping mechanism.
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She and Eliot are both savvy enough - and probably possessing of some specifically useful powers - to get their own places set up without faction aid, but she very much doubts Jay will have that same luck.
"Plus, it's not like you're stuck there forever," she adds. "It could just be a holdover until you figure something else out. Or until one of us figures out how to send us all home. Which, again, I am working on. Actively."
She smiles up at the waiter as he sets down their drinks. "Put this on my tab," she says, handing him a very defunct credit card which she has scienced up a little. She takes a sip of her glass of pure red bitters and glances back at Jay, trying to keep an eye on how he's taking all of this.
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When Eliot and Iman bring up being from places similar to here, to this impossibly loud hive with too-tall buildings, he can't help but shudder. He doesn't want to get used to this place, doesn't want to adjust to it. He wants to go home and hide under a blanket until his head stops ringing.
"I'd rather not tangle with anyone who's ... ah, too interested in my species," he says, slowly, when Iman brings up Romac and their alleged creepiness. "I have no desire to be a lab rat."
He leans forward and incidentally shifts his chair again, so he's even close to Eliot. The pointy toe of his boot lightly touches the side of Eliot's foot.
"I don't ... " he begins, when Iman starts talking about her intentions to get them all back home. But he cuts off, not quite sure what to say. He just looks at Iman, sadly. Eventually, he ventures, "darling, this doesn't ... seem to be a thing that can be easily undone."
casual touching intensifies
"Hmmn," he says, considering both the issue of leaving and the gentle scrape of Jay's boot against his loafer. Eliot smiles crookedly. "Well I hope you do figure something out, since this place sure as hell knocked me for a loop when I first came through. Took me weeks just to get my magic to work." He's probably safe talking about magic in front of the elf-creature, right? Right. And Iman doesn't seem easily thrown.
"I will say this though, it hasn't been boring." And it looks like it'll continue to be un-boring, if he's picking up what Jay's putting down. "Once you're not in shock I should take you out to some of the quieter places. Museums, botanical gardens, wine tastings..." He leans back and stretches an arm around Jay's shoulder. Cheesy, but sometimes cheesy is what's called for. "Like a culture date. It'll be fun and educational."
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"Not easily," she says to Jay, softening her tone some. "It's going to take some time, without a doubt. But I don't give up for anything. You're right, if you don't want to cling to some - distant hope, I mean, you'll need to let yourself adjust, let yourself live here. But don't think it's forever. It doesn't have to be."
She hopes Jay finds this as genuine as she means it. It's not often she gets this genuine. She's relieved Eliot is here to keep things light in the meantime.
"That," she adds, pointing at Eliot, "is a solid plan. Get out, see things, learn about the new world. And look, you've already got friends to help you." She smiles and raises her glass in a small toast.
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"Darling," he whispers, his voice a touch hoarse with nerves and the beginnings of terror. "Ah. Is it wise to be ... quite so open? Here?"
Not that Jay doesn't broadcast to all and sundry exactly what he is, of course, but with one's presentation there is still the chance of plausible deniability. With Eliot's arm around him, not so much.
He barely hears what Iman is saying. However, to Eliot's suggestions of culture dates and Iman's backing of such an idea, he says, "well, ah, that does sound good, darlings--"
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He suppresses his instinctual desire to smirk, feeling oddly protective of Jay now. "Oh no, sweetie," he says, giving him a reassuring pat, "this is the epicenter of queer culture in the country, or, whatever word you might use for 'queer' where you're from. The gay rights movement started literally three doors up the street from here, we are as safe as you can get." Eliot nods in the direction of Stonewall. "I mean we should go sometime, but maybe not on your first day. Things haven't been the best for, uh, people like us, but that was thirty, forty years ago, and there are still shitty places where you can't be open, but this isn't like, Nebraska."
or Oregon.Is Eliot rambling? He's rambling. He's drunk and wants to make this adorable guy feel at ease and he's talking too much, god, why is he getting all weird about it? He takes a gulp of syrupy wine, coughs, and tries to regain his cool demeanor. "Basically New York is amazing and it's crazy and busy and overwhelming but it's a city you fall in love with. It is iconic, and I'd love to show you around."
Wow, he sounds like somebody who cares about things. Janet would be so disappointed.
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"Yeah, you're safe here," she says. "And with us. We're both gay as hell."
Not that her preferences are going to matter much to Jay, as far as she can tell, but she figures it's nice to know people understand.