dourdetective:

“Why, no, I haven’t,” you say. “You keep very much to yourself, Mr. Innovator. You’re quite the enigma.”

You’re similarly discomforted, but you can handle it, keep it under wraps. You’re very much surprised that he hasn’t reprimanded you for your bad behavior, but when you consider it, you realize that he is treating you like a guest. A new one, someone that he is attempting to treat politely as a normal person. And Innovator, for all his brilliance and abilities, does not do well with new, normal people. He might not actually want you around.

If it was this easy, you should have attempted something like this much sooner. You might end up bored out of your skull without someone like Innovator to give you the run around, but you reassure yourself that boredom is far better than finding that your normal paranoia has become a justified norm.

You take a large sip of tea. “If you like, I could leave. I’d simply hate to intrude, seeing as how you seem to be rather preoccupied tonight.”

You’re being a brat as well, but more in the direction of a child viciously celebrating his victory by kicking sand in his opponents face.

Why not. Why not just let him leave? You’re not going to get what you’d hoped for in inviting him here. You never get what you want. You didn’t get Scofflaw. You didn’t get to keep Life. You’ll never have Deadeye. It is evidently a universal constant that you never get to be anyone’s Most Important.

You can’t even get pleasant conversation out of Deadeye, let alone some form of stability. 

You close your puzzle book and drum your fingertips on the cover, until it ignites in a puff of flame and smoke that burns itself out, the pages along with it.

“You were right about one thing,” you say, in that low, bitter tone that usually precedes what is, to you, days of mental anguish, and to him, just the annoyance of you being needy. “You’re not my Deadeye. Given the same situation, he wouldn’t pull this shit.”

You do want to attack him. You could. You could have him incapacitated and hidden, or even dead, before anyone began to suspect he was anywhere but his office.

But you don’t attack him. You just leave him. You retreat to your bedroom with a slam of the door, and sit with your back to the wall, head in your hands.

dourdetective:

Hunh.

You… weren’t really expecting this. Anger, yes. Happiness, a distant probability. Tears, a near certainty. Nothing? You feel almost… nonplussed.

You gather your cards and put them back in your pocket, watching Innovator carefully. It cannot be this easy. Your refuse to believe so.

You pick up your gyro and begin eating again. You remind yourself not to stare at Innovator, but he is your dining partner. And he’s ignoring you. For once. You’re pleased. Of course. Very pleased. At being ignored.

Innovator is probably panicking, you decide. He panics over a lot of things. The puzzles are a form of displacement and something to soothe his mind. He’s thinking too much, so he needs something else to focus on. If he were to attempt to argue with you now, he would likely fall into his usual pattern of overly-emotional displays and leaps of logic that leave the both of you angry at the other. And possibly injured, because Innovator retaliates to emotional pain by trying to restrain you and shove fire and ice down your throat, which you very rationally and logically respond to by trying to break his arms.

(It’s a terrible system, but it left you satisfied.)

You finish your gyro. Your tea is still fairly warm to the touch, so you gingerly pick up the cup and take a tentative sip. You aren’t familiar with the brew, but you don’t taste anything sharply chemical, so you decide that’s safe enough. You take a second sip, slurping slightly.

“The tea taste quite good,” you say.

It’s his slurping, and not his voice, that grabs your attention. It just irks you. Not enough to call attention to it, but enough to actually stop doing your puzzles and look up.

“Thank you,” you say, because you have to. Etiquette demands it.

You are simultaneously staring at a stranger in your home and a rival you’ve known for ages. You’re not sure where to progress from here. You know where he wants to progress from here and you know where you want to progress from here, but your desires lead in exact opposite directions.

So you sort of cut through the middle.

“I have s-something of a skill for brewing tea,” you say, as if he doesn’t know, and you say it somewhat bitterly. “Perhaps you’ve heard.”

You’re being a brat right now. A child throwing a fit because he’s not getting his way. However, it’s hard to care about appearances when you’ve given up.

crownedcrime:

perniciousinnovator started following you
beatifection started following you

 My word, is there no end to you Dersites?

Welcome to my blog, please don’t break anything during your stay.

Oh, no. Breaking something would be terribly rude.

dourdetective:

“Oh, no, I understand quite well,” you say. “I promised to come back. To make up for the fact that when you kidnapped me, you drugged me to the point of illness. That tends to leave a sour taste in one’s mouth.”

“Some of your first words were thanking me for not breaking your legs. You asked me here expecting physical harm, and yet you are furious with me for being impolite.” You tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing. “I was stating the facts of the matter, Innovator, the baseline of how I currently view our relationship so that you would neither over nor underestimate it. What you choose to take offense to is your own prerogative, of course. I shouldn’t fault you for that. But if you continue to try to force me into your own fantasies of how the world should work, I will cheerfully choose my method of self-destruction rather than allow you that control.”

You set your gyro down and draw your deck from your pocket. You fan it out on the table, selecting one card in particular. It glitches back into the puzzle book, and you push it across the table to Innovator.

“I said we are not enemies currently,” you say evenly. “I told you that I am naturally predisposed to dislike you, and you have not helped my perceptions in the slightest due to your treatment of me. But. I am not entirely unreasonable, and an open enmity with you would be undesirable for the both of us. I am not proposing to be your friend, your confidant, or your lover. I am proposing a tabula rasa- a blank slate. We stop treating each other as if we are known entities, because we are not. We are variables on apparent universal constants, and I refuse to believe that we are the same as every other version of ourselves. Do not approach me as a known figure, someone that you understand intimately and immediately, and I will return to you the favor. We have already written things on this slate, but there is still more room. What is written next will be up to you.”

You don’t know how much you believe in your little spiel, but more important is Innovator’s reaction to it. While you might have just insulted him even more, you also explained away some of your earlier statements, if not their delivery, and you are offering him something that he most likely wants very badly. The next part is entirely his choice. Should he accept, you will at least attempt to hold by your words, even if they seem mildly impossible. Should he refuse, well. You have no problem flinging his refusal for truce in his face at a later date.

“You… want us t-to be strangers.”

That… does not work for you.

On paper, it sounds great, sure. But the reality is that you are suddenly sitting across the table from somebody you don’t know even though your every instinct screams that you do know him. And what’s worse, not knowing him makes him one of the people that you can’t deal with.

And he’s inside of your home. At your table. Staring at you. Focused on you.

Your become aware that your heart is beating a mile a minute, and you’re not sure when it started, or if it will ever stop.

“Fine, I-I guess.”

No. No, not fine. No no no no.

You look down at your puzzle book, flipping it open and fishing a pen out of your pocket. It’s something to focus on that isn’t him. You don’t fill it out with the intent to impress him, as was the original plan. You do it because it’s the easiest thing you can do, the best distraction.

You invited over an old friend and rival, and instead got somebody you can’t bring yourself to talk to. You sit there at the table with Deadeye Detective and feel more alone than you did before. He’s not your friend, your confidant, or your lover. Nor is he your enemy. So what is he?

You don’t eat and you don’t talk and you don’t look up. You just fill out puzzles. Puzzles are easy. Puzzles won’t make you panic.

dourdetective:

“The tea should be fine,” you say. You are not entirely sure you will drink it anyways. He poured both cups from the same pot, but something could have been inside the cups themselves. You almost would have preferred to simply pass a bottle of wine around. You probably could have managed to drink a decent amount before it had any noticeable affect on you.

You take your gyro out of a bag and shove the remainder over to Innovator, tapping the box that contains the baklava meaningfully before pulling your hand back. One of the reasons that you like the gyros from that particular restaurant is because they are served in pocket pita bread, making consumption much easier and neater.

You take a bite and chew it thoughtfully, enjoying the tang of the pickles. You don’t mind leaving Innovator to stew in silence and his own inadequacies for a bit. It’s been a long day for you, so watching him squirm could almost be considered prime entertainment. This Innovator isn’t precisely yours, and while you have met and taunted each other before, this is your first serious face-to-face conversation. Since you suspect the evening will go up in flames no matter what you do, you are mildly curious as to what you can get away with before he snaps.

“Well,” you say finally, “As wonderful as that sounds, I do try not to assault random strangers. Even the ones that kidnap me.” You merrily skip over the fact that when he let you go you were so unsteady on your feet that you were not even sure you could hit him properly. “You are an Innovator, and that does not endear you to me in any way. But. You are not mine, specifically, unless I am greatly mistaken. Unless you continue to aggravate me, I have little reason to pick a fight with you. I may have a dubious list of crimes against you, but I suspect that prosecuting you would be a procedural nightmare due to your inter-universal status, not to mention the Scoundrels’ usual talent for upsetting the criminal justice process. You simply aren’t worth any effort I would expend.”

You extract an onion from your gyro and crunch it between your teeth. There is a slight quirk to your lips and an amused slant to your eyes. “Quite frankly, I am entirely willing to completely ignore you for the time being. I have more important things to worry about, and you probably do as well. If you disagree with my assessment, then I would be quite happy to provide the previously mentioned broken legs, as well as seeing if they would be of any help in a long walk off of a short pier.”

You’ve got your gyro in your hands when his speech turns sour. You intended to eat it, or at least try to, because he bought it for you and it was expected. Except now you can’t. He’s already spoiled the whole evening, and he’s only been here for five minutes.

You put your gyro down, and wait for him to stop talking. Then, you shove it back in the bag, pushing it back towards him. Then, you prop your head on your hand, leaning on the table, and glare at him.

“Clearly you misunderstood,” you say, quietly. Not meek like usual, but controlled and low. “I didn’t call you here so you could explain to me that I’m doubly unimportant to you because I’m not your Innovator, as if you ever gave yours the time of day, anyway.”

You don’t really need to feel any less important to the multiverse at large than you already do. It’s not as if you’re a part of it willingly.

“When you promised to come back, I thought it was implied that you wouldn’t act like an asshole for the occasion.” You thought it was obvious that you needed the exact opposite, but obviously not.

Whatever. It’s not even shocking. You also thought it was implied that your boyfriend wouldn’t grind on your enemy, and that it was implied that drinking poison or shooting yourself in the brain would actually kill you. You thought a lot of things that were obviously silly.

dourdetective:

He seems so happy to see you, but you can read the slight strain in his body. He’s nervous, as usual. He can most likely read the tension in your own body as well. You allow him to take the bags, trying not to let your fingers touch.

You close the door behind you, checking the type of locking mechanisms it uses as well as if they are active. You discover the coat hooks and have already hung up your coat and hat by the time Innovator returns. Your deck remains in your pants pocket.

You look at Innovator, keeping your face carefully blank. He seems relatively presentable, as does the apartment. Largely unfurnished, no little details to suggest a current inhabitant. He probably set this aside as a meeting place for the two of you as soon as you left last time and has been preparing it since then.

That thought makes you want to walk right out of there. You only promised to meet Innovator after all. You didn’t say anything about how long or what you would be doing. But Innovator also has your dinner and would probably fly into wrath of biblical proportions if you try to leave right now. So instead you gesture at the table, encouraging him to sit down first as you pick your way over to the chair closest to the door, memorizing the position the position of windows relative to you as you go.

“I hope you have something to drink,” you say. “I’m afraid I didn’t get anything of the sort.”

“I, ah. I made a blend of… of green tea and jasmine. I hope that’s a-alright for gyros?” You still have no idea how to consume a gyro, much less what drink to provide with it. You probably should’ve gotten a bottle of wine, except he’d have declined, wanting to keep his wits, of course. 

You’ve got your flask in your pocket, and you’ve drunk most of it already. You’re itching to refill it, but it’s too damn late now.

You move the tea pot and its matching cups to the table, and then sit, as he requested. You pour him his tea, and you pour your own, and then you fold your hands on the table and smile at him.

And realize that you have absolutely nothing to talk about.

You pointedly leave dealing out the food in his hands, since he’s the one who bought it, he’s the one who wants it, and he’s the one who knows which is his. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be eating today at all, by your choice.

“So, ah…” Great start, very eloquent. “I, uh. Thank you, f-for coming, and f-for d-dinner, and… and for… for n-not b-breaking my legs?”

Because, honestly, you expected him to beat you into the dirt the last time you had him captive. You expected to be hospitalized. Or, well, fake hospitalized, with a street doctor looking after you.

dourdetective:

You sigh quietly as he hangs up abruptly. The downside of pleasing Innovator is that now he is working himself into a tizzy, meaning that if he is disappointed at all by tonight’s events, he is going to crash through his mild happiness straight into a very volatile mixture of anger, hatred, despair, and self-loathing. Tonight is going to be simply marvelous, you can tell.

You stand up slowly, stretching your muscles, purposefully ignoring the paperwork that litters you desk. It will keep. You grab your hat and coat, check your deck in your pocket, and head out.

The restaurant isn’t too far out of your way, and you come here enough that at least one person behind the counter recognizes you somewhat. You make easy small talk as you order, getting a very  basic pork gyro for Innovator with the tzatziki sauce left in a small container on the side in case he finds it unpalatable. Your own gyro contains diced pickles and mayonnaise, which is something of an acquired taste. You debate getting the baklava. Innovator would likely enjoy the sweet taste, but it truly grates on your nerves to spend more than you have to on someone you don’t even like and who probably won’t even eat. You finally decide to buy it because you don’t know if he’ll be expecting you to bring it or not since you mentioned it. The fact that he seems to be unfamiliar with this cuisine makes it tempting to add foul tasting things to his food, but you refrain from such childish pranks.

You stroll the rest of the way to the meeting place. You’re not in any particular hurry to make this meeting, but you are very much aware that you should not dawdle. You hope Innovator’s foresight or compulsive tea-making tendencies will provide the both of you with something to drink.

When you reach his door you tap it with your foot, as your hands are technically full and therefore you cannot perform the more polite knock. An observer might be able to see you subtly set your shoulders, preparing for whatever awaits inside.

You’re already there. You’ve been there. You teleported over right away. Maybe you did have a small anxiety attack, and maybe it’s still evident in the look on your face, but you still smile when you open the door and find him standing there.

He promised, and he showed up. You don’t have to spent the evening alone, for once.

The place is small. It’s meant to be a full apartment, but the bedrooms are empty, and therefore locked. The only rooms he’ll have access to are the kitchen, living room, and bathroom. (If he chooses to force his way into the others he’ll only be greeted with blank walls.)

“Detective, I’m s-so glad you could come,” you say. “Please, come in, sit.”

You relieve him of the bags, leaving them in the kitchen. There’s a table with two chairs and a plain sky-blue cloth, and the faint smell of jasmine that may be tea and may be the air freshener you have stashed under the sink.

You then return to relieve him of his hat and coat. There are hooks behind the door. 

dourdetective:

You nod to yourself, placing a victorious mental pin in yet another known criminal location. You used to keep actual physical pins until you discovered how easy it was to gaslight someone that way. You quickly run through various routes from here to there, weighing the merits of each and the various restaurant along the way. A good deal of strain left his voice after you mentioned the puzzle book. You take that as a positive sign of bribery working and shamelessly attempt some more. A happy Innovator is much less dangerous. Possibly more annoying in that he is more likely to show affection physically, but you can deal with that. You will.

“I don’t suppose you like gyros?” you ask, unsurprised by Innovator’s hesitance in regards to preparing or acquiring the meal. “I know a very good place that I could stop by. I suppose I could pick up some baklava as well.”

Eating a meal with him might foster his sense of companionship with you and may force you to stay a longer time, but it will also give you something of a set time frame. It isn’t unusual to eat a meal with someone and then leave afterwards. Eating something will temper your annoyance and if Innovator does eat he will be too polite to speak with his mouth full, effectively silencing him for a time. A meal is also a more formal setting, something with observable rules. Rules that Innovator can grasp on to if he begins to panic. You’ll have to abide by those rules as well to keep him calm, but you believe you can stay relatively civil for at least a short time.

“I should be there shortly,” you tell him, “Unless, of course, something should go wrong. I will contact you if I am held back for too long.” You keep your voice level, let him know you’re just covering your bases. If he is calming down you want to keep him that way.

You don’t know if you like gyros. You don’t eat food, and when you do eat food, it’s usually not as well thought-out as ‘let’s have gyros tonight’. It’s closer to ‘oh, that’s probably why I feel sick, better hurry up and boil that packet of noodles’.

A gyro could be an interesting experience.

Not that you’ll actually eat it.

“I could certainly try one,” you say.

You’re not immediately concerned with how to behave at dinner. You will be, when he arrives. You have other concerns, which keep you from even realizing that Deadeye will expect you to behave later on. 

For instance, you are concerned with having to burn the location you’ve directed him to after you’ve used it. Maybe not literally burn it, but you certainly will never be able to use it for business again. You can still keep it. Rent out the property, an easy, steady income which you will most likely never have a use for. Deadeye will be angry when he gets nothing out of it. Angry, but not surprised, you’d hope. If it surprised him, it would mean he didn’t truly understand you.

You are also concerned with not having a panic attack between your house and the meeting spot. Which would be impressive, considering your mode of travel is instantaneous, but isn’t impossible.

You’re concerned with the place, and yourself, being presentable, but you’ve already set everything up and decorated. You’ve also dressed yourself, but you’ve done it five separate times, and probably will again before you leave.

You almost say ‘this needs to be perfect’ out loud. Instead, you say, “I’ll be waiting,” and hang up quickly, before the conversation can turn awkward.