Misha Rose (scotsmanmoo) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2009-11-17 23:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2009-06-22 |
Cows and Poultry are Present
Who: Hamish and Hier
Where: Diner.
When: Noon
This was a lunch date. Engagement. A lunch engagement. He and Bruce had had a long argument over semantics and decided lunch engagement was the proper linguistic choice, but lunch was beyond questioning. And as such, a full evening suit would have been overkill. Besides, he'd just have to change out of it if Misha were to inflict those soulful cow eyes on him and actually induce him to turn up at that dance. He couldn't wear a three piece wool suit and tailcoat to a crowded nightclub, after all. And in the oppressive summer heat at noon, he was probably better off without it. He usually defaulted back to his old goth sensibilities in summer for that reason, but dressing like the emo brat he'd been in high school didn't quite answer to his purpose. So he'd gotten creative. A dark brown bowler with a red feather topped the ensemble, a scorpion in artificial amber gleaming on the band. He'd dredged out the matching socks and arm warmers he'd found somewhere years ago, striped red and brown as well, and roughly the right shade. He'd pulled his field clothes out and managed to assemble brown canvas pants and a vest covered in haphazard buttons and pockets, a red dress shirt with a high, proper collar, and a black string tie, just for emphasis. Over the lot he'd conceded to wear a light red duster and knee-boots with buckles up the sides. He didn't really know what he was going for, but it looked interesting. And he would make a point to look interesting for someone who could appreciate it.
He'd decided against bringing the candied flower petals just yet. While clearly the perfect treat for Misha, somehow they seemed more appropriate to their dinner date-engagement... meeting... thing. He did have a bit of a surprise up his sleeve, just for fun. Since Misha was just a fun person. Bruce waddled along at his side. There was just no way for a kiwi to look graceful. He was looking somewhat snazzy in a deep purple section of ribbon secured around his neck with an earring fashioned into a tiny cameo brooch. He wasn't going to let Hier show him up. Not when Misha found him so obviously charming.
Hier leaned on his cane (today's was a heavy, dark wood carved into a spiral) as he pushed the door open, holding it for Bruce to enter before him. It was, by his pocket-watch, two minutes to noon. He'd gotten caught up in the second chapter of his translation project and not noticed time going by, but he thought he'd gotten out the door just in time. And in honor of his completely enjoyment-based plans, he had only brought two projects with him, and intended to leave them safely in his briefcase. Just his German book and story notebook. He glanced around immediately for Misha. Meeting people in restaurants was always a slightly awkward affair.
Misha was already there, but more out of fear of being late than a desire to be early. He'd almost not come out of his walk-in-closet at all, the morning's meltdown over his emerald ball gown and the subsequent destruction of his makeup had nearly added the straw to the camel's back for the normally joyful were. After Madison had returned unexpectedly with a familiar that woke up a bunch of old fears, Misha had spent the early night cooking and tending to his long absent roommate, then cleaning up the disastrous test run of the glitter cannons. After all of that settled and he still had to finish the arrangements for the new employee and the party.
Still, eager to see his new fascination and friend, he'd pulled himself together, replaced the gown, and selected a new outfit for the party. A deep royal purple suit that seemed to have been already coated in glitter, with a dramatically large navy blue lapel and collar. The shirt under the jacket was a lighter blue, the V neck going low but remaining decent, ruffles breaking out of the sleeves and completely hiding his wrists. Worn loosely and untucked from his collars, a black bowtie rested on Misha's collarbone, and despite lacking a decent hat he'd pulled back the front hair into a half ponytail, three long purple and black feathers adorning a hairclip on one side of his head. The plan was to go from lunch to the workplace, trying his best to make sure everything was perfect before the party.
When Hier and Bruce entered he looked up, saw them, and sat up in the booth a bit straighter, his tired face lighting up. "Oh, you made it, wonderful," he laughed, taking in the others' dress. "And both so handsome!"
Bruce took a bow he imagined to be elegant and scampered happily over. It was nice to have someone around who appreciated how fantastically awesome he was at all times. Hier smiled at him, enjoying the colors particularly. Hier's own tastes tended toward earth tones and shades of gray, but his aunt Paquita had held onto her Cuban sensibilities. His childhood had been filled with color, and most of his early impressions were of big bursts of brightness. "That really makes your hair pop. I approve." He sat across from Misha and grinned. "And I see you're defying the tyranny of ties everywhere." He didn't think he'd ever seen anyone do that on purpose. "And the hair. Well, I hope you haven't been waiting long. I was translating children's stories into Spanish all morning. Eats time."
"No, not at all!" Misha promised. Grinning and reaching down to stroke his new little friend, then paused. "Och, sorry, your feathers look so soft and shiny I almost forgot my manners. May I feel?" he asked, holding out his hand as an offer to put him up on the table so he could be part of the conversation. Then he looked up, grinning. "I liked my green dress better, but I heard my daddy's voice fussing that if I made myself an even bigger target tonight it wouldn't be possible for me to make it home in one piece." He smiled and then pulling out a long, carefully wrapped package. It was about a meter in length. "I brought you a present, speaking of tonight."
Go for it. Bruce enjoyed preening and attention. He made Hier pet him all the time. Bruce walked happily into Misha's grasp. "Oh, yeah, don't mind him. He tries to bully my pets into petting him when my hand's tired or I'm working." Hier stuck his tongue out when Bruce snarked at him. "Pest." Hier snickered a bit at the idea of the dress. It would be far from unbecoming. Living on or near college campuses for the past twenty years had taken much of the fun out of seeing guys crossdress. Drunk frat boys made anything less fun. But Misha would just look nice in such an ensemble, regardless of context. "Oh, green would be even better than purple, I think. With the hair and the eyes." He stopped when he saw the package. And here he'd felt silly thinking about bringing candy. "Oh, Misha, you didn't have to... thank you." He was clearly quite disarmed, his pleased confusion written across his face. He wasn't really one to blush, but his expression was blushing even if his cheeks didn't redden.
Hamish lifted the bird and let him hop off and onto the tabletop, wasting no time in stroking the bird gently. "I can see why you get so much attention. Your feathers are so soft and taken care of," he said, grinning, then closed his eyes, remembering the way the silk folds of fabric had felt against his skin. "It's full length and emerald green," he sighed dreamily. "One day I'll have something special enough to wear it too, when I'm not already marking myself for every other sort of slander," he chuckled. At the reaction to the gift he blushed for the pair of them and put a hand over his eyes. "Oh, please don't make a big deal out of it. It's one of those stupid glitter cannons. Which work amazingly, by the way."
Hier laughed. It didn't matter what it was. He couldn't remember receiving a spontaneous gift before, and after they'd already come up with such excellent plans, the glitter cannon was really a better offering than most. "I'll use it well and wisely. And for general mayhem. Which is really the same thing, isn't it?" Bruce looked over at him and announced, pointedly, I like him. Let's keep him. "Right, we'll put him in the closet with the superball collection and the extra scarves Auntie Paquita gave us. Please ignore the rude little bird." Hier picked up the menu and scanned it as he went on. "Would have been just breathtaking, I'm sure. I'm seeing something in the definite strain of classical deity." He made a frame with his thumbs and forefingers, positioning them as if to capture Misha's hypothetical wardrobe triumph.
Misha 'aww'd' at the little bird, smiling and stroking him some more, careful not to disturb his adornments and then smiling. "I've never been in the closet. Never sounded like much fun. But you're welcome to spend the night with me whenever you like." That could have been taken a number of ways, but Hamish made no attempt to clarify, smiling and nodding. "It'll be wonderful for the college, I'm sure," he said to the gun, then chuckled and leaned back. "I always knew I'd be the prettiest girl at the school dance, but they ne'er let me in, and daddy ne'er let me buy a dress for them," he laughed. It was too bad, too. He'd have really liked to have gone and slow dances with Tony Macfellen.
Hier nodded, not taking "spend the night with me" in any particular way at all. "Nah, closets are for clothes, and yours is clearly way too full of shiny things." Glancing over the menu, Hier realized he was eating with a bird and a cow. He'd just skip chicken and beef altogether, then. Fish. Good choice. "Oh, yes, I'll aim it out my office window, once I have an office. And a window. You'll have to join me for sniping Greek row. It's a pity about the dance. If anyone ever had the legs for it." Not that he'd gotten much of a look, but Misha definitely moved with a peculiar sort of grace, and there was nothing wrong with a compliment going a little under-researched. "I stand by my statement. Dancing or not, you're definitely the very definition of statuesque. You belong on a pillar if anyone ever has. Not that that would be any fun, so I don't imagine you'd stay up there for more than five minutes before something more interesting occurred to you."
"You've a dangerous silver tongue, Dr. Hieronymus," Mish chidded, glancing up at him and then shaking his head, chuckling as he picked out a salad and clam chowder. Then he paused. No, soup wasn't a good idea. Not in this outfit. He'd burst into tears when he'd ruined the red version of what he was wearing. "Besides, maybe I would stay on a pillar. It depends on who's on it with me," he chuckled and looked at bruce. "Do you like almonds? I'm not much of an almond man but they litter the salad with 'em."
"I wouldn't imagine a pillar would be spacious or comfortable." Haven't had them. But I like nuts. So yes, almonds please. Bruce sat down on the table, relaxing. He'd be getting lunch. And he got to interrupt Hier whenever he was being stupid or annoying. So, really always. His master didn't even really pay attention. What was there to mind? Bruce really just gave voice to the little voice in his head that was always one step back, approving or disapproving his ridiculous actions. "Besides, the sort of people who sit on pillars are usually medieval saints and hermits. None of them really sound like fun people. I'd definitely suggest climbing down and... well, to extend my mad and vaguely Hellenic analogy here, joining everyone at the Bacchanalia? And now I've completely derailed my train of thought, so we probably need a new topic." Hier rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, smiling a bit absently. This was surprisingly nice.
"No. That's why you have to hold onto the other person tight. Of course, I'd be a bit of a frightening saint for anybody," he chuckled and then shrugged, winking at Bruce and stroking him again. Alright. Almonds it was. And he was pretty confused about the train, forgetting what all of the turns that had brought them to this juncture were. He shrugged it off, they both seemed pleased. "So you don't have an office window to shoot from yet? The scandal! How do they expect yeh to waste tenure starin' out at the clouds without a window?"
"Tenure? Pfft. No tenure for me just yet. I just finished up my first assistant professorship. Hopefully this one will be the last. I'd rather not be the sort still looking for tenure when I'm fifty. Dad didn't make it look fun." He smirked. "I'll be lucky if my office has a window to speak of. It is a state school. If it's just one of those tiny windows, at least I can stand on a box and shoot my marshmallow crossbow out. It doesn't have any accuracy at a distance, though. The lightest breeze and your shot goes a mile wide. That's the trouble with confectionery-based warfare. The tiny catapults have even less fidelity. You just sort of fling them into a crowd and hope someone notices." He'd gotten into more than his share of marshmallow fights. He didn't know what the average person's allotment of marshmallow fights would be, but he was sure he'd come out on top.
Hamish found that the more he listened to Hier the more he liked he man. "Yeh could pour chocolate on them, you know, melt some and then let it harden again. Then they're heavy like and easier to keep on track," he wondered if that would work, or what else you could launch. Caramel popcorn, maybe. The waitress came over and he looked up, smiling and ordering his salad (with plenty of almonds for Bruce) and waiting while Hier ordered for himself. He forfeited his menu, then took a staw and pulled the wrapper off, turning it over in his hand and then starting to tie and fiddle with it. "I don't think I've met somebody so fascinated with throwing things at people before," he chuckled, glancing up at him as he worked.
"Oh, I get fancy. I utilize medieval seige technology when I chuck things at people. You can also use crayons if you're feeling mean, but I mainly stick to marshmallows. Maybe I should launch a campaign around Easter. It'd be much easier to come by chocolate coated marshmallows." He ordered a fish sandwich for himself. "Though if I had that much candy, it'd probably be put to better use being eaten by someone nice than pelted at annoying people." Hier had occasional cravings when he binged on candy, but otherwise he was pretty restrained about his sweet tooth. Except as regarded fancy chai or the gallons of cola he could go through if he was pulling one all-nighter too many. He was much more likely to strew candy about for the enjoyment of all than keep it to himself.
"That's amazing," Misha marveled, then chuckled. "I imagine it won't take yeh long to set up a good reputation for yourself." He chuckled and then finished the straw wrapper, now twisted like a small dog, then picked the tail until it was loose and fluffy, taking out a pen and giving the small creature two eyes and a nose. He smiled and then pat the animal, looking around to see if there was another he could play with. "Have you ever though of entering those pumpkin and gourd chucking contests?"
"Honestly, no, but it's a thought. I really don't have an engineering brain. I just take advantage of the chaos-begetting machines that others have come up with. Besides, I always lost miserably in egg tosses. water balloon tosses, too, but water's easier to get rid of than egg. My hand eye coordination is not my greatest strength." He smirked. "My own dear auntie wouldn't pair with me in egg tosses. I'd have to con one of the neighborhood kids who hadn't seen me try and play baseball in a while." He noticed Misha's adventures with the straw and handed over his own, still unopened.
Hamish grinned and took it with a nod of thanks, unwrapping it so that he didn't touch the straw itself, making it fully usable by his friend if he wanted it. "Ah, I know, I ne'er been good at sports myself. Much better at using the old noodle," he chuckled. "Still, you get help to build it, and that's all a catapult is. A piece of engineerin'." He finished the next animal quickly, a tiny teddy bear. He put it next to the dog and shook his head in amusement with himself.
Bruce examined the little paper creatures intently. Hier grinned. "I need to take you to a few renaissance fairs and steampunk meetups. If you think that's impressive, anyway. I don't make much of my own stuff, except for small-scale clothing modifications and accessories. I can replace my buttons with ammonites, sure, but I'm not the real artist that some people in the field are. Also, both affairs are generally full to the brim with men in kilts." At least two kinds of entertaining for Misha, if Hier didn't miss his guess.
"What's steampunk?" Misha blinked, though he beamed. "Oh, renaissance fairs? They have them around here? Superb! I haven't been to one in ages!" Not to mention he'd never gone with anybody he knew or likes. When the bird inspected his creatures he smiled. "I used to make whole zoos from paper strips when I was a boy," he said, chuckling. "Ne'er tried a Kiwi before, though."
My splendor might be difficult to render in paper. You would want a more glorious medium. Gold leaf would do it. Bruce squeaked when Hier let a drop of water fall from his straw to the top of the kiwi's head. "I never have to worry that he'll have self esteem problems. Steampunk is my preferred aesthetic. Neo-victorian scientific romance. Encompasses fiction, costuming, gadgeteering, theater, and anything else you can think of. For instance, I am a steampunk mad geologist. You should see me in my field getup. Completely functional, too. Anyway, I know there's the big Michigan Renaissance Festival later in the summer, if nothing else. And wild horses couldn't keep me away."
"Gold leaf might do it," Hamish nodded, more than happy to indulge the bird, though he agreed about the lack of self doubt. Still, it was a thought he would consider seriously. He listened to the description, liking the idea that formed in his brain. "Steampunk... I like how it sounds. I'm definitely anticipating seeing your summer outfit!" He loved Victorian styles anyway, both mens and womens, so mixing that up with other types of things sounded like a good time overall.
"I really prefer winter. I can go crazy with layers and not worry about overheating. A full Victorian evening suit with opera cape, now that's an undertaking. Summer's always a little awkward. And I have a tendency to revert back to my goth days." Not that there was anything wrong with goth. It just wasn't nearly as interesting. "Hmm... I'm sure I could turn you into a lovely lab assistant. Ideally involving corsetry. And a lot of buckles." Misha probably wouldn't mind overmuch being his fashion doll for a moment while he envisioned it. "Yup, definitely leather for the top, a good sized equipment belt, and either a full skirt or something knee-length paired with some really impressive boots, I think. You'd definitely be set off by a good set of functional goggles, and we could arrange your hair around that." Hier was quite impressed by the vivid color and shear volume of Misha's crowning glory, and it figured heavily in his visions of costumed excellence. "Put some of it up with silver wire and some bits of jet and quartz, I'd say." There, the image was intact in his head, and he had leisure to make it a reality.
As Hier described the outfit he was envisioning for Hamish, the Scot felt the urge to grab and tongue the older man. The clothing and gear sounded so delightful he had to stop himself from leaping into the air and cheering, but he contained himself to a big grin and patting the table eagerly. "That sounds... so awesome!" he said, almost chocking on his own excitement. "I'd be your very own lovely assistant!"
"No mad scientist is complete without one, after all." Admittedly, they'd usually fill out their revealing corsets a little differently, but what about Hier had ever been conventional? "I don't doubt you're already supplied with corsets and boots of all sorts, so that'll be provided for. I have an old set of goggles I could spruce up. I usually like copper tones, but to contrast your hair, a silver or even a tarnished bronze would probably be best. Hmm." He wouldn't try to add skulls to Misha's accessories, but maybe insects in lucite and faux amber. Just to unify. He dug into his briefcase and pulled out a tie pin he'd been considering adding to one of his hats. It was the rather warm, silvery color of tungsten. He leaned across the table to hold it against Misha's hair. "That's the color I'm thinking. Or we could try a miniature top hat, if it wouldn't look too busy with the goggles. We could even forgo goggles. It's not actually in the rulebook that thou shalt always have goggles on. In fact, rather the contrary."
"I have a few corsets, yes. They feel snug and safe," he chuckled and then glances at the pin before tilting his head and giving him an adorable look. "I think you're the genius and expert, so I'll let you do as you please in regards to dressing me up," he decided. Then chuckled and leaned into the hand that was against the hand. "A wee little hat? Like one of those dolls?"
He was a little startled by the contact. He'd just been carried away by the visual, not really thinking about his actions. Hier hid his mild confusion, lowering his hand and the pin only after a moment, as though it had gotten tired. "Oh, the hat's easy. One of my tutors in the ridiculous costume field taught me to make them. You just decorate as you like and fit them onto a comb so they'll stay on your head. I'm particularly partial to peacock feathers and big, shiny amulets. And you've got more than enough hair to support the weight, so you could really go as mad as you wanted with the embellishments, even if you wore it at a bit of an angle." He'd never had a dressup doll before. This was fun.
Despite Hier retracting his hand, Hamish counted it as a victory because he'd not pulled away or looked disgruntled. He straightened and, ignoring what happened as well, considered the hat. "Oh aye, I can definitely wear that. I've a few bows and berets, and this one's held a bit like that," he stroked his long feathers and smiled. "Well, ah cannea wait to get this together. Or to see the fair. Yeh sure you're alright signing up on board with me about that long?"
"I have a high tolerance for surreal and peculiar compatriots. In fact, tolerance is the wrong word. I have a distinct taste for them." Misha more than most, but Hier was more likely to fault his acquaintance for being too guarded and ordinary than otherwise. "We can start on your first ensemble whenever you like. Though I'm sure you're too busy today. My next spin by the craft store I'll get the basics and we can start you down the glorious road to an array of tiny hats." Misha had exactly the build to show off, too. Steampunk was very flexible as to type, age, gender, atc., but Misha could catch the eye and hold it without any effort at all. Adorned, he'd be the centerpiece to any event. "And I can't wait to see it executed."
He nodded somberly. "Especially with everybody getting spooked about the crime, I've gotta get to the club and make sure it's all perfect. The vampires and their pals can look after themselves, but I've got to ring up a couple extra buffs, because you can count on the paranoid and bloody Ultra Christians showing up and trying to harass the patrons." He sighed a bit at that, but then chuckled. "Should've brought me short skirt to wear out and scare the lights out of him, just for laughs." He looked up eagerly as their food came, and took a side plate, using his fork to pick out all of the almonds and put them out for Bruce.
Bruce made a happy, chirpy sound and began exploring what almonds were. He was really more about insects (or, lately, bits of hamburger), but these were interesting to peck apart and had a neat consistency. He had a better sense of taste than most birds, but he was still as entertained by texture and poking at his food as he was by eating it. Hier patted him absently as he made ample use of his tartar sauce. "Oh, the best part of that would be watching which ones were just angry and which of the big, angry, impressive men started out leering and then looked horrified." Hier was a big believer in the "homophobic men are just hiding from being gay" theory. It was the only thing that made sense to him. He'd come out of a very conservative, Christian culture himself, and knew there was a lot more to worry about than minor "sins" other people were committing. "The way they get so hung up on it... Sort of pagan, fetishistic fear of contamination. ...And that's how you know I was raised by a folklorist." He smirked.
Misha nodded and grinned. "Me best friend, Madison, took me out one night after we met, all tarted up, and we went out on a Sunday afternoon and greeted the local faithful. It was so much fun it became our new sport. Sometimes it's like track, sometimes like golf, and once in a while it's a bit like a shinty match." He laughed at that memory, and smiled. "I've been tossed out of Renaissance Fairs too, run out for being a Witch."
"I was the witch in the ducking stool one year. I'm still not sure how I got talked into that one. Especially as it entailed water balloons and a worn-out bra. Apparently the real ladies were too delicate to be dunked but we couldn't have equal opportunity witchery. Or maybe putting me in a dress was just funny. I'm not sure which to blame." Hier considered. "I usually get my kicks messing with the protesters in front of abortion clinics, but yours sounds good too. I did used to argue theology with the soapbox preachers around town when I was an undergrad. That was always funny. I just have a fascination with the history of human thinking and a very Catholic auntie, but they don't have the least idea what they're talking about sometimes. Great fun."
"Great fun," he echoed and leaned back, studying his face and figure. He really liked the mental picture of a sexy witch costume on the other. He'd have to see if he wouldn't consider going trick or treating with him as a pair of witches. And let him peek under the skirt. "There is a point, though, where you're asking for trouble, and I've got to look after the drinkers so, alas, the dress stays at home," he said. He'd never forgive himself if he over antagonized and any innocent patron got mauled or harassed because of him. If anybody got hurt in his club he was first to run out and tend to them, it was his home away from home and he loved all the people who came to work or drink or dance there like family.
It hadn't been much of a sexy witch costume. Quite the contrary; they'd dressed him in vaguely peasanty rags and given him warts with wax. It had been a rather interesting day overall. "I guess at an event this high profile you've got to be careful. That's the irritating thing about being a public face." Hier tried to avoid that role as much as possible. He only liked being the center of attention when he wasn't in any official capacity and couldn't be imagined to have any responsibilities. "It's probably better suited to a nice, calm evening, anyway. You'd be miserable if something were spilled on it, after all, and it'd be hard to admire in a dim, crowded room."
He nodded. These were all great points and, though he loved his purple suit anyway, it eased the disappointment a bit. "Perhaps at our dinner. Make it formal," he chuckled, leaving it open as a joke. "Plus it would get all full of glitter," he agreed. "It's got a lovely sequin pattern on the front that would hold all of the glitter and drop it about at events for weeks to come." And it was not fun to be "that guy" in the dress that trailed glitter in places where glitter had no business being. Glitter was not something to do shyly, if it wasn't done all out it was a bad idea.
"And pink and green might be a little too much, especially considering your hair is too bright not to be taken into account as a color component." Hier gave Bruce the lettuce from his sandwich. He didn't understand putting lettuce in everything. Certainly it had its place, but very little to do with sandwiches. "So, if you've got a little time to spare, I thought maybe rather than have dessert here, we might drop by my apartment after we eat and make cookies?" Making cookies was one of the standard things that fun, silly people of the sort Hier liked to hang around enjoyed. He'd picked up a few rolls of prepackaged cookie dough to make up for his and Misha's lack of any skill at baking.
Misha nodded. "Aye, especially with all the lights. Good work, man, you've made me pleased to go with the suit!" he said, watching the bird eat and going to town on his own salad. He loved greens and ate them with a zeal that few others usually showed for their veggies. Even vegetarians had expressed fascination with his love for all things veg. At mention of cookies he paused, then pulled out a gold pocket watch and looked at it. He could get away with a few hours. That left time to bake cookies, eat them, and left time for an optional shag and snuggle afterwards. Something told him he wouldn't be getting lucky today, but he liked to be prepared anyway. He beamed. "I've always time for yeh. You know, now that I know you," he laughed.
"It's quite flattering to enter into someone's absolutes of scheduling after less than twenty-four hours' acquaintance." Hier leaned over to peak at the pocket watch. "Oh, that's nice." He pulled out his own, silver with coppery accents. "Looks like we're time-telling twins as well." He had a particular fondness for time pieces. He detested cell phones for that reason. Watches could tell you so much about a person, and as a utilitarian item that invariably spoke volumes, as well as a neat little bit of machinery full of shiny things, he was half tempted to start The Society for the Advocacy of Watch Wearing. "I should get a dollhouse clock or something like it so Bruce can have one, too."
"This was daddy's. He gave it to me when I left for the city. I wear it with all suits and some gowns, but it's only for special events, really" Hamish explained, though he gladly held it out for comparison. His was very classic, but he liked Hier's. it definitely suit the doctor's personality. And as for the bird being in a box. "Well, if the ticking doesn't drive him mad inside," he joked.
"Oh, I wasn't planning on a working one. He's really too careless for that." Bruce poked at Hier's hand just hard enough to be uncomfortable. "Just for the sake of his vanity. And, let's be honest, mine. Nothing like a well-dressed companion." Hier licked the last tartar sauce off his fingers and then jumped as a particularly sharp crack of thunder from outside made the windowpanes rattle. He actually loved storms, but with his back to the window and Misha occupying his entire attention, he'd sort of forgotten the weather outside. "Mmm. Going to be nice, electrical air." He'd always loved just watching it rain as a little boy, feeling the hair on the back of his neck rise with the charge in the air, shaking with thunder. He supposed storms ought to be more the purview of water or air elementals, but he had a very integrated view of the world. And storms were cozy.
"Aye, true enough. I wish Maddie's companion was a little... ah. He's handsome, I suppose. For a rat with wings," Hamish flinched slightly and shivered, then blinked, looking up at the thunder. He batted his eyelashes a few times, fighting the sleepiness. He always got sleepy when it rained. "Easy, lad," he said cheekily, "It's no' gonna hurt yeh." Then he leaned back. "An' I'm not afraid of the humidity now. I've got proper product in my hair to keep it smooth and gorgeous."
"It's working." Misha just elicited compliments from him with the ease of breathing. "Oh, I love storms. I just sort of forgot about the weather today. I'll usually stop what I'm doing to go look out a window and watch it rain and crackle." Hier wasn't sure whether he meant that his friend's familiar was a bat or a pigeon, and he didn't press. "Or if the lightening's not too close, just go stand out with an umbrella." His favorite sort of weather by far, as long as the option to go back inside was open to him. Sleeping to a thunderstorm was the best. He never got such a proper rest as then. "You'd think the earth might get a bit jealous, but I guess I'm not high enough in her estimation yet to worry."
The image reminded Hamish of his youth, of sleeping in fields and letting the rain pelt him and anybody he happened to be with, giving a light massage as they slumbered. He'd have to do that again. He'd have to do that with Hier. He'd have to do that with Hier, wearing a nice silk gown. Almost sighing aloud at the wonderful thought, Misha returned to earth slowly. "The good thing about being unnoticed is that aye, you're unnoticed, and not needing to deal with jealousy and possessiveness," he agreed.
"I've always been a bit of a slow study in magic. According to my aunt she was the same way when she was young, though by my age she was a master." He made a face. She never bothered him about it, but it was hard not to feel like he'd disappointed Auntie Paquita. "I blame the fae blood. I have a double dose. It's on both sides. Being steady and maternal and earthy just doesn't go well with being flighty, vain, and unpredictable. I sort of enjoy being a living contradiction in terms, to tell you the truth, but I doubt I'll ever be one for shaping stone or causing earthquakes. Or when I do I'll be too old to enjoy it." He thought for a moment. "Scratch that. I'll never, ever be too old to appreciate causing mayhem."
Hamish was surprised by the face and admitting, then folded his arms on the table, leaning forward a bit with a curious look on his face. "So you're not born a master, then?" he asked, having always assumed that such powers would just emerge with age. "Well, maybe with you're double dose you should take things half as fast, you know, to keep from overwhelming anybody."
"Oh, by no means. That's a lot of work, and a certain amount of natural aptitude. There are plenty of elementals, I understand, with no idea of what they are. Even when I was a tiny kid animals and plants sort of liked me, I'd never get lost, and rocks and dirt held a definite appeal." He certainly had that to blame, at least in part, for the whole falling off a cliff incident. "But getting better requires real practice and a good teacher. I had the latter, but the former wasn't my priority. I was more of a one for school or stories than magic. It just doesn't come easy." He considered Misha's theory. "There might be something to that. Not that it makes a lick of sense, really, but it certainly sounds like it should. My fairy side shunting aside the earth. Actually, that seems about right..." Considering both his fae-blooded parents had displayed quite the opposite of the earth's qualities all his life. He sharply dismissed that train of thought, as he always did. "What, do you find me overwhelming?"
"Oh, I do. Wonderfully so," Hamish gave him a wide-eyed look. There were certain people, almost always men, who Hamish was glad to allow to consume him. And many of them did, and then gone away, or Hamish had to leave. It was sad, but he almost always found others. like Hier. "Well... I don't know much about it all, but my Maddie came back last night, so maybe he could help? I don't know. He's a witch."
"Well, witches are really a different proposition entirely. Wait... Maddie? Goes to a great deal of effort to appear to be a beautiful corpse? More than slightly catty in a generally inoffensive way? Accompanied by the cutest little flying fox I've ever seen? ...I shouldn't say little about something with a wing span wider than I am tall, but notwithstanding, my goodness. Small world." He rather hated the phrase "small world." It usually came along with an awkward game of seven steps to whomever, or reminiscences about some individual he couldn't care less about. But in this case it really did seem essentially appropriate. "I ran into him on an impromptu bubble tea run last night." Midnight, sweet tea, and tapioca pearls just went so well together.
"Ah. Well, like I said, I dunno about magic really." Hamish was a little disappointed he couldn't be of help, but he blinked, beaming as they realized a connection. "Och, yeah. He got home, then ran off to who knows where. Stayed long enough for a sandwich. Dunno about Jax, though. I suppose he's cute. I've... I've always had a thing about wild rats, since I was bit as a wee boy. And bats remind be of the bloody things but in the air. But I'm trying to get used to him. He seems to like the berries I give him."
"Berries are a good start." It had looked to him like the witch and his familiar bickered worse than Hier did with Bruce. It might be a comfort to have a sweet, attentive werecow around, providing tasty treats. "Well, if it makes you feel better, he's not even remotely related to rats. Closer to primates, actually. And he couldn't really bite if he wanted to. Little, tiny teeth." He'd have to refrain from introducing Misha to the rats at home. He found the boys very well-mannered and handsome, but he did understand it wasn't everyone's view. And living in a small menagerie, he wasn't going to please everyone with his assortment. Misha would probably think the hedgehogs and the parrot were cute, and he was already fond of Semper Fido.
"Yeah. The ones back home had these giant yellow teeth, black fur, red eyes, and were bigger then yeh whole are, no lies," he said, firmly stuck with the terrifying image from his youth. He shivered. "Just lunged at me from the haystack. It was awful." He shook his head, but the news that rats and bats weren't related did make him feel better. "They aren't? I mean, I guess Jax doesn't, when yeh look at the face. But he's go' a thing about flyin' at people. Just, straight at 'em."
"He looks like a flying puppy," Hier offered. It had always been his impression of fruit bats. A friend in the bio department had worked on them. "I'm sure he'd stop if you asked politely. Bruce has almost completely stopped ambushing my toes if I walk by and he's feeling cranky." If you didn't want your feet eaten, your bedsocks wouldn't have bugs on them. Bruce countered. Hier sniffed. "Oh, right, I'm going to get rid of my splendidly goofy toe warmers so you'll stop trying to eat the pretend bees. Not today, Fuzzy."
"Oh, I guess he sort of does," Hamish had never thought of that before. His face relaxed and he nodded, then laughed at the banter. "You wouldn't like the bees even if you did get him. They'd be all cottony and dry," he said knowledgeably. He tried to imagine socks with bugs attached so that Bruce would have something real to chase, but the thought was just ridiculous. Still got a smile out of him, though.
Hier was done eating, though now he was slightly nervous about taking Misha home. The rats were kind of hard to miss. They were so active and cute. He had a huge cage for them, just so he could watch them scramble about in idle moments, and he had a playpen for them in the kitchen big enough for him to sit inside with them. It would be best if he at least warned the redhead. "Well, I'm about ready to get going. Er, about how phobic are you about rats? I have four of them. But they're very polite boys, and I certainly won't let them out to play while you're around." Though they were fairly large. He kept them well fed and happy, and they were all a bit plump and about a foot long.
THe announcement that he owned rats made Hamish pause, and his chewing slowed a bit as he finished his salad. "Ah... they're nice, though? No' biters?" he said slowly. He did trust Hier, so if the man said that his rats were friendly, and in cages, he would give it a go. As long as none of them lunged at him.
"None of them has ever bitten me. They're very polite boys. And they can stay nicely in their cage as long as you're there. It's not as though they have the run of the apartment. I'm sure Bruce and Semper Fido will be happy to keep you company, and if you're feeling bold you can meet the parrot and the hedgehogs." He remembered suddenly that Misha would probably only be familiar with big, mean European hedgehogs. "Little African hedgies, that is. Handfuls of black and white spikes and cute little noses." Hier loved his critters and they all loved him. Being an earth elemental was nice sometimes.
Hamish did indeed know hedgehogs, but to him they were just big, cranky looking things that waddled funny. He smiled and nodded. "Oh, yeah. That'll be fine. I just... I just get creeped out when I'm not expecting them, mostly. Not a proper phobia or anything. And the rest of your pets sound lovely." He was now eager to get to the other man's home and see how he lived, and he took out a check, writing out a bit more than the meal cost to ensure he covered tax and the tip, putting it down and smiling. "Right, let's off, then?"
"Let's." Hier looked out the window. Rain was coming down in sheets. He pulled a small umbrella out of his briefcase. "Do you have one of your own, or are we going to have to crowd under this one?" Hier made comparatively little mess of getting up again for him. His briefcase was comparatively light and he hadn't unpacked anything, so he really only needed one more hand than he actually had. On Bruce's prompting he unfastened the ribbon from around the kiwi's neck. It'd get soaked. Bruce liked rain and was unlikely to be able to help himself running off into any big puddles they passed. He helped the kiwi down, shouldered his briefcase, picked up the umbrella, remembered his cane, set it down, and eventually scrambled into readiness. It occurred to him only a second too late that Misha would have been glad to help. He was too used to the major operation that was going anywhere. "Lucky it's only a short walk."
"Here, I'll grab the cannon," Hamish offered, getting his gift and his own umbrella, a snazzy white and black polka-dotted umbrella. "Brought my own, just in case. Couldn't risk this outfit to the weather," he said, smiling and then looked down. "If Bruce doesn't want to get wet or in the puddles I can carry him, too," he offered, not sure if he was supposed to ask Bruce, Hier, or both. There were still lots of things about familiars that he didn't know.
"He loves puddles. Don't worry about it. The only trouble is having little wet kiwi footprints on everything at home." Fun times. Hier patted his head fondly. There was a blast of warm, wet wind as he opened the door. "Oh, that's lovely, that is." He'd probably be a bit damp when he got home. His umbrella wasn't very big. But for the fun of walking back in a storm of this caliber, it was a very small price to pay. A crackle of lightening drove the point home. "Oh, this is by far my favorite weather." He breathed in deeply and sent Misha a quick, almost wild grin. It was the electricity in the air. He just felt it in his bones. Might have been an earth thing, but it was probably just him being weird.
Hamish nodded, internally cooing at the thought of all the little footprints everywhere. "Thunderstorms are the best," he agreed. "Though I am fond of a dreamy winter snow, too." As they walked out he patted his hair self consciously, making sure it wouldn't frizz even after his earlier proclamation. One could never angst too much about their appearance. Also, the wild grin was definitely hot. "I like most weather, though, to be honest. There's goodness in e'erything if yeh know what to look for."
"That may explain your sunny disposition. A sincere enjoyment of weather as an entity must make it easy to have fun." Ha. Sunny. He decided to pretend he hadn't just made a very stupid pun. It was an accident. Hier noticed Misha's primping and smiled. "Your hair is fine, Scarlet. Snow, huh? You know, part of me still thinks of snow as a novelty, even though I've been living up in these temperate climates by far the majority of my life. Must be something about having a clear memory of the first time I saw snow at all." That had been exciting. "I must say I like your philosophy in general." He glanced after Bruce, who was running back and forth through a puddle making happy squawking noises. No worries there.
"Heh, good one. And I guess so. I never saw the point in stressing over anything," he shrugged and then looked at him. "I've always been that way, though. My brother, Matti, told my my brain wires were crossed when I was born, that things that made me sad made me happy instead. That's no' true though, I get sad. You know, once in a while. I think it keeps me young, though," he smirked and then paused, cooing at the sight of the little bird. He was just almost too much.
"Very zen of you, overall." Hier walked close at Misha's side. The two umbrellas together kept a bit more rain off both of them than they would have separately, and it was slippery out. As much as he liked rain, he didn't like it when his cane or his right leg decided to skid out from under him. If he toppled, he imagined, Misha would either catch him if he could or help him up. Either would be easier from immediate proximity. Hier grinned again at a thunderclap overhead. "So, what's your cookie of choice? I got dough for chocolate chip or just plain sugar cookies. And both of them are pink." He'd been very amused to discover such a consumer product existed.
"Oh, I like chocolate. It's just... melty and perfect," Hamish laughed. Pink? Pink? Honestly, whoever discovered that just had to be kissed. "It isn't for breast cancer awareness, is it?" he wondered. Americans seemed to be really into making things pink for that particular kind of cancer. Hamish wasn't sure why it was so much more advertised than other types, but he was guilty of owning a multitude of pink toys and items that were a direct result of the obsession. That wasn't too bad.
"Pink cookies with chocolate chips is it, then." Come to think, there'd been a little ribbon on the package. He hadn't paid much attention. Pink wasn't a color that often arose in Hier's consciousness. If he felt like supporting cancer research, he preferred to do it more directly than sending pennies on the dollar out of some corporations pockets and to a medical lab somewhere. "I thought I had you pegged for a chocolate enthusiast." He was ambivalent to the stuff himself. Coming up on his building, he led the way. "Gooey and soft or crispy?"
Hamish looked up, trying to guess which building was his and which apartment in the building he'd have. Maybe something on the ground floor. "You've got to love soft goo," he said practically, then smiled at him, looking over at him. "What do you like, though? We could make them different. Or do half one way and half another." Hamish didn't like to be catered to, and since moving in with Madison had fallen even further in the habit of adjusting his habits to suit those people around them.
"I'm not particularly opinionated when it comes to cookies. Just about everything else, yes, I'm bossy, but where it comes to cookies, I'm happy to assign you total poper of choice. Gooey it is." Hier smiled, leading him into a fairly nondescript place. He didn't need to be on the ground floor as long as there was an elevator, and as nothing had been for let, he'd ended up with his apartment on the third. The elevator was a little rickety, but it hadn't let him down yet. The doorman very carefully didn't give either of them a peculiar look, and Hier led the way. The door dinged open and he made a shallow bow, removing his hat. "After you."
Hamish licked his lips at the doorman, always enjoying spooking those who seemed a little weirded out by him. He would have never done that prior to coming to America, but taking Madison as his idol had had some interesting consequences. On the third floor he smiled and exited, then walked down the hall slowly, waiting for the bird and elemental to catch up. "That's so sweet, being such a gentleman," he said, happy to meet somebody with such manners.
"I do try." Hier smiled. To some extent, the manners were tied to his aesthetic and his worldview. He dressed a gentleman and preferred to be one. Much of it was simply being silly, trying out a behavior to see how much it entertained him. But he was pretty sure a good component of his behavior at the moment was just plain Misha. He found the tall redhead oddly bewitching. He hadn't said or done one callous thing to the younger man, which might be a record, and the sort of posturing and ridiculous, almost courtly compliments just didn't stop coming. He did that to everyone, but he didn't usually care about their responses. Perhaps it was just that Misha seemed custom made for Hier's companion, accent, dress sense, silly personality, fearlessness, a tendency for performance... Perhaps it was finding someone willing to match him in every gesture and whim.