nonscriptum | { inbox } meadowlark

See--

[ His face is one of naked delight, far brighter and less tempered than he ever is sober. ]

--loosen up a little, baby brother. It's a festival. We used to do this all the time, right? C'mon, let's get some of that creamed salmon.

[ Nate gets caught up in it; he always has. Distractable and an easy target for getting too immersed in his work, Nate's evenings in bars as a younger man were usually spent nursing a single beer while trying to puzzle out something by himself, barely engaging the people next to him even when someone tried to finagle their way into his darting attentions.

He's gotten better with time, with age, but the candor and interest persists, naive only in his excitement and the possibilities of what he might find. ]

Yeah. Yeah, why didn't I think of that?

[ Stupid, slightly stubborn, already dragged elsewhere by his own imagination being reminded of the beyul near Everest. This is different, but close enough. Nate holds out his hand, palm and expression open.

When Ian takes it there's a gut-wrenching jerk, the kind of lurch in your stomach when going up the stairs at night and missing a step. The sudden pull of falling from a great height and then the realizing the floor was there beneath you the whole time. Exhilaration and freedom, the pulse of adrenaline a steady beat under the view of a long-forgotten place.

Borneo, dripping humidity and massive tree trunks blanketed with vines. The climate is sweltering and oppressive but the occasional breeze from the ocean pushes through, salty and sharp, a dark pit in the rich, black earth supported by carved columns. It breathes, washing dank air back that reeks of death and curiosity. A temple - a forbidden place - set high into the mountain in Tibet, yawning chasms chipped and draped in ice. Monstrous bells and prayer wheels creak along with the shifting of ancient gears, dread edging in on wonder.

Nate drags out before it delves too deep beyond the surface and pushes a memory of Shambhala as the trees spread and the city emerges from a blanket of mist, greenery bursting over every building, the remains of a civilization that never truly left. The air is dense and rich, heavy floral and damp stone and an undercurrent of gun smoke, a winnowing thread of fear and anticipation. The structures are intact and the foliage is thick, enormous roots spreading from the base of the central temple and burying themselves in the surrounding foundations without thought or mercy, reclaimed by nature.

Then he releases his grip, returns his hand to his lap, and the memories are gone. ]

[ It doesn't take an empathy bond for Nate to pick up on his startlement; not but a second after he takes that hand a swiftly tugged falling feeling pulls a stuttered gasp through him that hitches quietly in his chest. A little bit of momentary mental vertigo as his mind tries to reconcile the feeling and what it's seeing with the realization that he's actually still sitting on a couch. A few swimming but determined seconds pass and then he orients himself, discomfort dismissed easily in favor of curiosity.

He was definitely wrong about those mental images; blurry and indistinct yes, but aside from that even if they'd been crystal clear they wouldn't stack up to the actual sight Nate pushes into him. Courtesy of the skin to skin contact Nate gets a very up close front row seat to Ian's reaction — namely, the transference of a suitable amount of awe and wonderment. An appreciation that maybe can't ever stack up to the kind Nate has for it, but a not insignificant one all the same. They're equal parts beautiful and magical, and they're both heightened by the color Nate's emotion gives them. Some of his excitement bleeds through the memories, bleeds into Ian's skin, becomes Ian's excitement by proxy.

Then all at once they're gone, and it takes Ian a second or two to blink back to reality. His reaction, while small, is completely genuine. ]

Wow.

[ Seriously, what else can you say about that? They're once in a lifetime sights, except-- well, more than once for Nate, and now they've been duplicated against all laws of nature. ]

That's crazy. Sucks about the shooting still, but wow.

[ Holy shit, not the reaction he intended to garner at all. Maybe he overdid the sincerity, or the honesty, or something that tripped whatever warning bells Ian is currently hearing, and the only reason Nate can hear them too is because he's been in this exact position: pushed too far by someone's candor and apparent generosity in a way that made him feel like he couldn't possibly have done anything to deserve it. It always forced him into the awkward split between too serious and not serious enough, with no middle ground.

Jesus, did he become that person? Since when? ]

Hey, hey-

[ Quick to interject as soon as Ian starts losing a little steam Nate lifts his hands, placating, understanding. He should have given him an easier out. ]

I get it. Don't worry, I get it. Been there before. Consider me your repository for crappy jokes for the next week.

[ It's really, genuinely not a reflection on what kind of person Nate's become. It's just the kind of stupid Ian is when afforded even the mildest kind of evidence that he might be getting attached to someone, that it's like. Mutual. Before he got here he'd have long since erected some walls at the least, probably ghosted entirely at the worst.

But now he's on a bridge probably oversharing, or undersharing, honestly he's bouncing back and forth trying to determine which of the two it is. There's got to be an exact right numerical value, but for the damn life of him he can't estimate it.

The only thing really for it is to glide smoothly toward literally any other topic, thanks for the assist with that Nate. His reply is a dry: ]

Knock knock.

[ And only a single beat before he follows up. ]

Don't actually ask, I don't have anything to follow that up.

[ Which is to say... thanks. ]

[ This is what he likes.

Showing people the things he's seen, giving them experiences they wouldn't otherwise have. Travel is never just for him, it's the enjoyment of the person he's with and the expression on their face when a vista stretches out before them and into the horizon. The thrill of discovery and the unknown, and Nate can't contain the bright grin on his face after the fact. He tips his head to one side in acknowledgement, reveling in Ian's reaction. ]

Occupational hazard. But yeah. Amazing, right?

[ He misses it - the adventure, and the people with whom he shared it - and it's evident in the crooked bent to his smile, the way his eyes scrunch at the edges. ]

I could show you Tibet without a memory, too. [ He adds, leaning back into the sofa again. ] The major cities have changed but the villages are the same. Kinda nice to know something's how I remembered it.

[ He's pleased by the expression on Nate's face, the size and shape of his smile is appealing as hell. He hasn't had much exposure to Nate being excited; a few brief bits here and there at the bar or — weirdly — sixty stories off the fucking ground on a crane. This is a little bit more than what he's seen so far, and damn if it doesn't catch his attention. He kind of wants to press somehow, find out what ratchets it up to an even higher level — though Nate may have just answered that question himself. ]

You wanna go, like, hang out in tibet?

[ Just to be clear, because it sounds like a spontaneous offer. Granted it's not the kind of trip that people balk at so much anymore, particularly not the displaced with their gates positioned all over the world. They could do it, actually, and they could do it pretty easily.

He's not hating the idea at all. ]

Important deciding question: can I preemptively opt out of bullets?

[ He's teasing just a little, wry, before dipping in for a second hit finally. ]

Ha ha, cute.

[ Someone's got jokes. Nate smacks Ian's bicep with the back of his hand, carefully not to upset the treasured bong before he inhales, and it's possible he may have made the offer without thinking, but that doesn't make it any less sincere. He's been itching to get out of New Amsterdam for weeks, needs a little breathing space, wants to diversify his socialization before he lovingly strangles his brother.

It is a big thing, he realizes, for some people. Traveling with another person. He doesn't know if Ian has been there before, or even has a remote interest, but it's worth asking. Might be nice to share something he misses with somebody who could appreciate it. ]

No bullets. And yes, Tibet. Not like- not today, but- I dunno, soon? See some old monasteries? I think your whole- [ Nate gestures at Ian vaguely. ] -everything would dig it. I think you'd like it.

[ See an out, take it without question. Simpler still when someone shows you the way, hands you a piece of paper with a giant red X drawn over the spot. Nate used to follow the same roadmap, until it was worn and crinkled at the edges and he started to question whether or not the damn thing was out of date, because the routes started to change and he couldn't keep up anymore.

At some point, you just have to break down and ask for directions.

He sucks a sharp, disappointed breath in between his teeth at the non-starter, shaking his head and amicably leaning over to briefly bump shoulders. ]

We'll work on your stand-up.

[ You're welcome. ]

Oh, my whole everything, huh?

[ He echoes, something gently challenging in his tone. It shifts quickly into his rendition of typical Californian stoner meets Tommy Chong, which is... terrible, actually. He's god awful at accents and impressions of anyone other than Matthew McConaughey. ]

Like, listen, man. I invited you into my casa to partake, I refuse to be type-casted. That's, like, a real negative energy or whatever.

[ Punctuated by gently plunking a bong down onto his coffee table.

But anyway-- ]

I'll forgive you this transgression in a Tibetan monastery only, and nowhere else.

[ Ian feels like the kind of person with whom a Buddhist monastery would resonate, not for his generally chill demeanor, but for his approach to so many things - engineering included. Faith-based pilgrimages aren't something that Nate can personally get behind, but there's a spirituality in art and architecture.

Elbow pressed into the back cushion of the sofa, chin pressed into the palm of his hand, his smile widens delightedly behind his fingers. The act is horrific and probably an affront to many God-fearing Californians and Nate would maybe nominate the performance for a Razzie, at best. The effects of the weed are starting to creep in at the edges and it may contribute to his poorly-hidden glee. ]

I love how flexible you are in absolving me of my stereotyping crimes.

That's one of the many ways I'm flexible, but unfortunately the rest of them probably won't absolve the other things on your rap sheet.

[ Matter-of-factly, and just a touch apologetic. Sorry, mister black market acquisition pick pocketing troubled youth.

The song changes, he pauses, then shoots an accusatory look at his MP3 player for a second. Okay, listen- ]

Shut up, shh, don't even say anything, that doesn't count.

[ He is a victim of fate and circumstance here, okay. Fingers crossed this is one of those random pop culture black holes in Nate's resume. Lots of places like that band. ]

[ Nate hums sagaciously, as though the statement were fraught with all sorts of wisdom and not the slightly suggestive implications he is almost certain Ian is implying. Fortunately Nate doesn’t have to linger for very long, because the music changes and Ian’s sudden mild panic becomes an utterly encompassing preoccupation.

Eyebrows climbing toward his hairline Nate’s teeth dig into his lower lip, a poor excuse for masking the satisfaction at Ian’s expense. He shouldn’t look pleased, but- ]

Wow. Red Hot Chili Peppers, deep cut. Should I ask what “counts?”

No. Actually. No, you shouldn't.

[ He answers brightly, conversationally, because in the three seconds he has to think about it nothing clever comes to mind.

Though, honestly, it's hard to be anything but amused when Nate's wearing that expression. Even at his own expense. He settles his side comfortably against the back couch cushion, weed finally starting to creep into the edges of everything. It brings with it a smile he's having a hard time trying to suppress. ]

Let's go back to the magical... ancient ruins part, or better yet, you do something unflattering for once. You're, like, six weeks overdue. Bring some balance back into the universe.

Um. Unflattering, okay.

[ There's a lot of unflattering information he could share. His tendency to avoid emotional confrontations, the overprotectiveness of friends and loved ones he's still learning to curb, his marital fuck-ups, his ignominious death. His body count, somewhere in the low thousands at this point. His arrogance and overconfidence when he knows he's right. ]

I've never read any Shakespeare unless under duress?

[ Nate stymies and reaches for the bong again, thumbs drumming the glass before he takes another hit and exhales with a heavy sigh.

He's pretty sure it's high school when you start getting overexposed to some of the "classics," so he follows the thread to the next logical point. ]

I...didn't finish school? Dropped out in the sixth grade.

Edited 2020-10-06 15:44 (UTC)

[ Ian pulls a kind of flat, disbelieving expression at Shakespeare — not because he doubts Nate's inexperience, but because... I mean, come on man? The most unflattering thing about you is you can't quote Macbeth? Get the fuck out of here.

Except it tangents off into an actual suitably surprising fact that Ian finds genuinely mindblowing. ]

Wait-- what? Seriously? Are you fucking with me?

[ Maybe he shouldn't be so surprised, he thinks Luke dropped out of high school — or maybe it was his first semester of college? Whatever the case, he knows from a place of logic that intelligence has nothing to do with formal education.

But.

Still. ]

Nope.

[ He replaces the equipment on the table and casts his arm back over the couch, thumbing at the joint of his ring finger for a moment while he decides how he wants to explain it. He could have easily gotten his GED if they settled somewhere stable, Sam taking a job while Nate got increasingly frustrated with classes. He doesn't remember the last lesson he got. English class, maybe? Something about The Odyssey?

Nate turns his attention back to Ian and the smile he wears is a little softer. Nothing regretful, but neither is it something to be especially proud of. ]

When we left the orphanage, I just...didn't go back to school. And then we were traveling, which made it harder. So I never finished.

[ Common Core would hate him. ]

[ He's been unashamedly, unsubtly curious as hell about Nate's life and his history. That attentiveness is written pretty clearly in his expression, with a subtle knit to his brow and a kind of quiet contemplativeness hovering around his mouth.

It makes sense, really. It lines up with all of the snippets of Nate's life he's gotten so far — slowly but surely filling in those blanks. ]

Huh.

[ Is what he ultimately settles on, and-- ]

That's kind of crazy, you're insanely smart, I wouldn't have guessed. I don't know if I'd count that as unflattering, though.

[ Just kind of a life thing. Then again, it's possible he's a little biased in Nate's favor. The weed isn't helping. ]

[ Nate's shoulders lift and fall, a grudging agreement accompanied with a quiet I read a lot of books, because that's really what it came down to. Sam would dig out a bunch of cheap stuff at a thrift store and inundate Nate with reading material, and Nate would in turn chase leads he enjoyed to their natural ends, branching off in dozens of directions. He liked the detective work of it, the immersion. Because of that, though, he missed out on chemistry and ended up having to teach himself a lot of stuff when it came to getting certified for scuba.

It's not unflattering enough, though. Nate opens his mouth, closes it again, thinks. Most of his stock isn't embarrassing or unflattering so much as it is sad, which isn't the kind of olive oil you want to start dipping your metaphorical bread into when you're high. ]

Oh, wait-

[ He visibly brightens, holding one finger up in a "hold, please" sort of gesture, pushes up his sleeves that he has already pushed up, and shakes his shoulders out as though preparing for an act. In one palm he presents the lighter between them, and then proceeds to wave his other hand over it - gone. Hands up, no lighter. He deftly reaches behind Ian's head and withdraws it again, visible, before twisting another gesture and presenting nothing.

Hands down, followed by a small wave at Ian's shirt. ]

Check your pocket.

[ Color him, like, instantly entertained the second Nate starts pushing up sleeves that aren't even down in the first place. He settles in visibly, a little wiggle in his seat like he's getting comfortable for whatever bullshit this is about to be.

Poof, lighter gone.

Oh shit. Is this some actual legitimate close up magic? He's fucking delighted. Absurdly, ridiculously giddy over it, too enthusiastically shoving his hand in his pocket to pull out the lighter. ]

No fucking way—

[ And if, when, he finds it he straight up throws his head back and laughs. ]

Oh my god, this is-- I am... so happy right now. This is the greatest thing that could have come from this conversation. I'm... wow.

[ Sometimes he gets an eyeroll, or a golf clap, but it's the enthusiastic sincerity that surprises him. Ian is delighted, and it's a really, really nice laugh. Way less restrained than the usual, like he's missing that polite filter from conversations past and Nate feels a little thrill of vindication for it.

It's been a while since he did any actual sleight of hand, and he tends to run the risk of an "ugh, stage magic?" ]

Are you sure? [ He teases with a mischievous grin, ] 'Cause I dunno, I'm gonna treasure your Californication album coming on right after you got all hinky about being stereotyped. Lock that one away in my special memories box.

No idea what you're talking about. Never happened. Doesn't ring a bell.

[ Brightly, despite the fact that Otherside is still clearly playing on the table in front of them.

And just to really seal in the absurdity: ]

I'm from Minnesota.

[ He's never even been to Minnesota. He does try and put a little Minnesota flair on the pronunciation though, with... debatable amounts of success. ]

You-

[ Nate grapples with the impossible for a moment, torn between righteous indignation and the immaturity of a twelve year old. So he opts for the latter, seeing as it's apropos with his lack of formal education after the sixth grade.

Turning, he grabs one of the throw pillows and lobs it at Ian's chest. ]

Name one Minnesota city that isn't the capital.

[ He catches that pillow with all the offense he can manage to plaster on his face, curls it in on himself defensively. Hugs it for support.

And in his own home--

The order seems to freeze him for a second, eyes lifting up to the ceiling, teeth sinking into lower lip. ]

Fffff....

[ No no just wait give him a second here he....

can do this...

He blows out a slow breath. ]

...Mil ...wuakee?

[ Wow. Truly a Herculean effort, watching the master at work. With one leg crooked, knee pulled up on the couch, Nate observes the struggle with the air of a rich person watching a particularly interesting game of doubles tennis. ]

Amazing.

[ Nate says almost reverently, leaning in and lowering his voice in a decidedly conspiratorial manner. Sucks to be the bearer of bad news. ]

That's Wisconsin.

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