. (terryinthesky) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2009-11-30 02:55:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2009-06-24 |
A Morning Cup of Swill
Who: Terry and Hier
When: Early morning
Where: Campus, teacher's lounge thing
Hier dropped into the nearest chair with a sigh. He'd gotten lost on the way to the Geosciences office. Twice. The numbering system here was even worse than at home. Of course, he'd been here before and had less excuse than he liked to think, but the fact remained that they needed to fix the directory so you wouldn't walk down the wrong hall and end up in an adjacent building before you realized the mistake. Bruce had enjoyed himself, strutting around while people performed very theatrical double- and triple-takes at the strutting little fuzzy bird and his outrageously attired master. Hier enjoyed such things, of course, but he'd had a very heavy bag to drop off, full of his notes and official statements on the textbook he'd been critiquing, to pass it off to its next reviewer. It was theoretically to be published by the university press, which was why all the fuss. He was starting to wish he'd just mailed it all. A ridiculous postage charge would have been worth this hike. At least he'd gotten a bit of a tour. If he was going to be teaching and functioning here by fall, he needed to at least grasp the general layout.
But now a bit of a break before he worked his way back to the bus. Hier propped his cane (today was the snake-head, a classic) against his chair, pulled out a notebook so as not to look like he was wasting time, which he was, and proceeded to stare at the ceiling for at least a minute. Heat still didn't agree with him. It wasn't fair. He was native to Florida. Admittedly, he'd spent about six years there, but he should have had some resistance to wilting like a delicate morning glory in the humidity. Hier's cap today was a newsboy, very cheery red and brown plaid, with his curls lazily escaping on all sides. A very light, gray jacket with entirely too many big, brassy buttons hung open over a rather ordinary white dress shirt. He was feeling tired and put-upon enough to relax his vanity a little, a rare occurrence. He snagged a lost-looking ottoman with his good leg and dragged it over to put up his feet, pointy button shoes failing to glitter in the fluorescent light. He glared at the dust, but it refused to vanish. Damn, he'd need to work on that death glare. Hier reached down to help Bruce up into his lap, giving the kiwi a gentle hug. He was very fond of his familiar depite, perhaps because of their bickering. Bruce had decided to go without dressing up today, and just settled into Hier's lap to look like the handsome specimen of ratite birdhood he was. Hier patted his head as he looked to see which notebook he'd pulled out. Ah. Translation. Not really any good without the book he was bloody translating. But at least he could do some editing for content. Or stare blankly at his own spidery handwriting and continue being as useful as the entire business school. Ha.
The door to the staff lounge came open as a second man entered, the morning still early and the sun still rising outside. The light from the hall came before Terry had even pushed through the door, as though it were a brief and subtle introduction. He looked up in time to catch that Hier was there as well, his mouth having been opened slightly in preface to muttered words that never quite left his lips. It was good too, that he hadn't started talking to himself immediately. He closed the door behind him and adjusted the shoulder bag he was carrying, the heavy weight of it laying against one hip. "Morning," he greeted the other professor, glad that it was Hier and not any of the other older and more moody of employees. "You're here early." It was said with a soft smile, and as Terry moved into the room he glanced to the coffee machine, aching for something more to get him going. He'd been rushed, having woken up later than he'd originally intended, and had not quite been given the chance to eat at home. "Oh, thank god for the promise of coffee. Nothing like it in the world." He dumped his bag off on the table near Hier and glanced to him, doing a double-take when he finally noticed the bird. "Wow, I really am tired. I thought... I don't know what I thought. I just... hi there, Bruce."
"It's really more that I'm up exceedingly late. I'll probably take a nap over what would be lunch time. The nice thing about not having a proper office yet is they really can't have much idea of the hours I keep." Hier smiled up over the edge of his notebook, still not very awake. Bruce stood and bobbed his head politely. Hello! He's being boring. Are you going to be boring? "Oh, hush, beakface. You're not as cute as you think you are." He turned his eyes to the coffee maker. "Oh, yes, I suppose that might be considered coffee. If one was feeling charitable... And didn't mind the rime of ten thousand pots of subpar swill brewed by the uninitiated and desperate over the countless years. Also, I'm pretty sure non-dairy creamer is mainly bone dust and orphans' tears." Hier blinked. "Aren't I a proper ray of angry sunshine. I'll attempt to be pleasant. Ahem. Good morning. How're you?" Maybe he really ought to sleep more often. Just so he might, once in a blue moon and with the blessings of capricious minor deities, make a damn lick of sense.
Terry made his way to the coffee maker while listening to the other professor ramble on behind him, reaching into the cupboard for the coffee can and paper cups to place inside the machine. One thin eyebrow perked as he glanced back over his shoulder, his hands at work getting the coffee set up to brew. Luckily for him there was a sink in here as well, and filling the coffee pot up wouldn't be that much of a hassle. "Somebody must not have slept well last night," he commented with a bit of a smirk, his face tired but at least awake enough to be pleasant. "I'm doing well, thanks. My back hurts a bit, but it's nothing a good long day of sitting in a terrible desk chair won't fix." He looked to where the bird sat in Hier's lap and said to him, "You are actually as cute as you think you are. No worries there, Bruce. I'm not planning on being boring, though I can't promise anything. I have a tendency to be just as bad, if not worse. I am an English professor, after all."
There, see? I'm adorable. Lookit how fluffy I am. Bruce preened smugly. "Fine, you're adorable. ...That would imply that I've slept. Ah, but such is the life of an academic galley slave. I'll have some execrable swill, if you're making it anyway." Hier forced himself to stand, his left leg protesting a bit despite the rest. "I think I've gotten less sleep than usual lately." He kept getting distracted from work. Mainly by a certain Scottish demigod, but also his usual issues of pets, his aunt's demands, his volunteering, and tinkering with whatever strange wardrobe adjustment seemed important at the moment. "You should probably see a chiropractor about that." He knew chronic pain pretty well. "Or possibly a white witch or an earth elemental who sucks at the whole magic aspect much less than I do." Admittedly, that had a lot more to do with natural healing than pain alleviation, but he could always ask Auntie Paquita.
"Oh, but I would hate to make you endure some of this terrible coffee," Terry returned, giving the other man a pointed look. He made enough for both of them though, leaving it to brew as he turned to hold up their conversation better. "I don't need a chiropractor," he told Hier. "They're apparently not all they're cracked up to be, anyway. I don't want to make things worse for myself." And he didn't. His back had been a source of discomfort since the accident, the internal scars a constant reminder of the life he'd almost lost. "And... as good an idea as that might be, I don't actually know any white witches. I suppose I'd have to find one first for that to be a possibility."
"Regrettably enough, me neither. Well, actually, scratch that. I know at least one witch. Marked off on my supernatural bingo card. But I don't actually know what he practices." He could no doubt ask Misha what Madison got up to, but either way, he didn't seem the type to dole out charity healing to all and sundry. "And even if I were better at the elemental thing, pain isn't so much the purview of the power. ...That was very alliterative." He considered. "If you're sure. I never had a lot of luck with chiropractors, but there's only so much you can do about a limb, I guess. Backs are infinitely more complex. If you don't want to, don't, but maybe you could avoid having to just suck it up." He limped around to the other side of the chair to lean on the back. "This is just what I get for falling off cliffs."
"That's really alright," Terry said, waving his hand in a quick dismissive gesture. "I don't really think I need a white witch to take care of this. It's just an old war wound." It was a joke, but it was true -- at least on an emotional level. "And anyway, it gives me something to complain about, as though I didn't already have anything. Right?" He was familiar with how wordy Hier could be, and fortunately for him, he was good at keeping up. He didn't like the colorful language himself, but he could understand it and follow it clearly. "You should probably not fall down anymore cliffs, though. Who else would I share my execrable swill with?"
"This is true. And I wouldn't want to deprive you. Haven't done it in over thirty years, though, so that's a pretty good sign that I've turned over a brand new leaf." Hier limped over, letting himself wince as much as he wanted for once. He didn't feel like throwing up his usual brave face. "At least the swill is coming along nicely. I'm sure you could think of things to complain about, but most of it wouldn't sound nearly as impressive as having a war wound. You'd only have standard professorial complaints left. Like... all my brat first years gave me their colds. Or... Fuck, no tenure for me." It wasn't exactly a glamorous career, even if you did get your name in shiny magazines.
Terry laughed softly at the joke, shaking his head twice as though it were all the will he had in him. "Agreed," he offered, his gaze curious and quick as he followed Hier's much slower movements. "There's nothing quite like a wound to complain about." Although really, Terry could have done without this one. It wasn't a pleasant reminder to keep around. At least in Hier's case, he had a good story to tell, something to draw the oohs and ahhs out of people. Terry, on the other hand -- well, he didn't freely offer out the story behind his own injuries. It wasn't exactly good dinner coversation. Or first date conversation. Or any kind of conversation. "I'm hopefully going to avoid doing a lot of complaining over the colds this year," he told Hier. "I'm planning on getting flu shots and the works before the first leaves even drop."
"It's probably a good idea. I'll mean to and never get around to it. And I don't count as high risk anyway. Because a tendency to bump into things and never sleep isn't really considered a health problem." Bruce hopped onto the back of the chair and Hier absently picked him up, stroking his head. Cuddling a kiwi made for wonderful therapy, as long as one was careful of his little dinosaur claws. "Of course, I usually get the flu about every three or four years, and such is life. I better get goddamn tenure, though. At least it'll get my distant and hopelessly dopey father off my back." They spoke about every couple years, and tenure always came up. Well, when it took nearly fifty years to get... Hier indulged in a quiet smirk. Ha.
Terry smirked. "If I don't get my flu shots, I'll be down for a month. It happens ever year." He shrugged carelessly and turned his eyes toward Bruce for a brief moment. "Part of who I am, I guess. Weakened immune system. It makes for an interesting winter, though, I suppose." Hier's talk of his father brought up memories of Terry's, the flash of imagery inescapable as it filled his mind. He hadn't heard from that man in years, and it was just as well. The last thing he honestly wanted was to hear from his father at this point in his life, and certainly not for something so trivial as tenure. "I wish you luck, then. It's a good security to have, anyway." He turned to check on the coffee and pushed his weight off of the counter, fetching mugs for the both of them. Both were within an arm's length, which made it a relatively simple movement. "Finally."
"Yes, the hellbrew is upon us. Ooh, the nondairy creamer is hazelnut flavored! Now tell me that's not an abomination. Stuff doesn't taste like any kind of nut, or indeed anything native to God's green earth." He really was an awful drink snob. Which was particularly amusing as he didn't give a damn about what solid food went into his mouth. He mostly ate ramen or boxed macaroni and cheese. "A whole month, huh? Ew. There are advantages to having family members who can shape stone and force you to fight off a cold in a day or two. Though it takes it out of you, I can say. Magic isn't much of a cure-all." Bruce poked Hier with his beak. Can I go on the counter? "No. It's unhygenic." But I want to be tall. "If you shut up I'll let you wear your sparkly princess hat when we get home." ...Deal.
Terry resisted the urge to comment on Hier's ridiculous statements over the coffee. He was glad he wasn't so picky about his drinks, and poured the terrible creamer into his cup, filling it half and half with each. "He's right, Bruce. Animals aren't really supposed to be on the counter, even if they are sentient." It was still weird, talking to animals as though they were people. It was the stuff of fantasy, the very things he'd spent a good part of his life reading in his spare time. Talking animals, elementals, witches... He gave Hier a curious look, brow raised questioningly. "Princess hat? Do you have one too?" His expression was one of a man trying to hold his laughter in.
"No, pink is terrible with my complexion," he said with a perfectly straight face. "Bruce is as vain as I am, the poor thing. Unfortunately he's about limited to what we can cannibalize from dolls or improvise from craft stores. He has a cowboy hat, a tiny top hat, and his pride and joy, the princess hat." It's pointy! I can poke people with it. Also, it makes me taller. "Bruce, honey, you're eighteen inches tall. Life is what it is, and some of us are born to be evolved for hiding in the low scrub of nighttime New Zealand." Hier hadn't yet gotten the hang of dealing with his familiar and with whatever human he was supposed to be speaking to. "Er, sorry about that. We bicker." Hier wasn't usually one to apologize, but Terry was more fun, or at least more tolerant, than most of their colleagues.
"Ah, alright then. That makes sense." Terry moved to sit down nearby, stirring his coffee absentmindedly as he went. He listened to the talk about complexions and hats and wondered if this was how they spent most of their time together. Very suddenly, Terry felt fortunate he didn't need to worry about having a familiar. His dog was enough of a pain on its own without having the added ability to made demands and argue with him. "It's alright. Bickering is probably perfectly natural, between two uhh... you know, for familiars and their respective people. I know if I were suddenly stuck with somebody... I'd probably go a little crazy as well."
"Ah, well, one brings it on oneself. I always wished my furry or feathered friends would answer back when I aimlessly cooed at them, and now when I get my wish, the main result is unrelenting sarcasm. At least he looks very cute when he does it." Hier decided to add half non-dairy hazelnut and half non-dairy chocolate and hoped faintly for an explosion, but none came. He returned to his seat again, scalding paper cup in one hand, adorable fluffy bird in the other. "He's really perfectly pleasant most of the time. I just haven't really had to share living space since I was a kid. Or headspace, well, ever. It can be a bit confusing to have someone chiming in when you're in the middle of ordering dinner." Or on an endless date with your dippy boyfriend? Hier sputtered a bit before settling on "Hush, you."
Terry settled in and crossed his legs, leaning back in the chair to get comfortable. They had a little while yet before they would need to break apart -- or at least, he did. He wasn't sure about Hier's schedule. He tucked one arm under the other and buried his hand under his armpit, sighing into the coffee cop while peering over the brim. "Boyfriend?" he echoed, turning the word into a question. On a normal basis, Terry didn't get too involved with his coworkers. This was not entirely on his behalf though, and not for lack of trying. The small window into Hier's off-time was intriguing, and Terry couldn't help but be curious about it. "I take it Bruce hasn't been terribly impressed with these recent developments?"
"Bruce likes being the center of attention." Hier was more flustered than Terry had ever seen him, certainly. More flustered than just about anyone was likely to see him. He found any mention of Misha (who certainly couldn't be described as his boyfriend, not yet, if ever) made him act like a useless high schooler. And rather worse than he'd been in high school, too. "He also enjoys making sweeping pronouncements for his own amusement and everyone else's discomfort. And I certainly can't imagine where he would have picked that up." Ah, easing back into sarcasm again. Safety. His natural element, as much as earth could be. Maybe more. He wasn't very good at this magic stuff.
There was a deeply rooted smirk on Terry's face as Hier defended himself. He seemed a little uneasy, and perhaps that was more fun than the actual conversation itself. Terry couldn't recall the last date he'd been on without a bit of thought, though a face passed through his memory as he mused over it. "I can't imagine, either. Certainly not from you. He must've picked it up while out hiding in the bushes before you came across him." He took a sip of his coffee and swallowed it without paying too much attention to the taste of it. Hier was right; it wasn't terribly amazing. It would have to do, though. He hadn't had the time to make it at home, and in the end, coffee was coffee.
Hiding in the bushes was pretty fun. This is what my brain was like back then. Run around. Hide. Eat little thing. Run around. Don't get eaten by big thing. Run around. Eat stuff. Hide. Apparently as entertained as he was going to get, Bruce turned around and knocked Hier's hat off, twisting so it dropped onto his head. Hier didn't have the energy to object. "You can see he's a truly delightful dining companion. I should have him start an etiquette school. Or rent him out as a conversation starter. Charge extra for the tiny hats." Who wouldn't pay extra for a goofy looking bird in a cowboy hat? Boring people, that was who. "My other bird has the decency just to imitate me cursing when my aunt comes to visit."
Terry watched the hat as it fell off, a yawn escaping him very much against his will. "This is why I don't keep birds," he explained evenly. "I can handle dogs, fish... even cats. My stepmother had birds. Noisy little budgies that flew all over the house like wild animals." He sighed and reached up to rake his thin fingers through dark hair. "I guess they were mostly wild, aside from that they ate out of a food dish." Terry wondered what Hier fed his familiar, if they needed diets similar to those in the wild, or if it were different in consideration of their responsibilities to their masters.
"Oh, aside from this snot I've just got a Mexican redhead. Not the most eye-catching parrots, but clever. I'm very fond of Pol. And compared to him, her cussing and random commercial jingles are soothing." Also, she bites him less. "She does have that going for her. And then there's the dog, the rats, and the hedgehogs. It's a busy little zoo at home, but at least when I'm feeling a bit low or overworked, there are adorable fuzzy things to lighten the burden." Hier retrieved his hat, after appreciating how very amusing Bruce looked with his whole head and half his back in plaid.
"Mexican redhead?" Terry kept it quiet that his mind had supplied perhaps the wrong mental image in response to those words. He wasn't terribly versed in birds, but he was sure what he'd originally imagined was wrong. "Hedgehogs... now there's something you don't see a lot of in a normal household." He sat forward slightly, shifting his position in an effort to relieve some of his back pain. "I've heard they can be smelly, though. I don't remember who told me that..." Terry shrugged and took another sip of his coffee. He was already looking forward to lunch, and that wasn't a good sign.
"I will brook no suggestions at all that I run a normal household. I have more tea than food and ladders built into everything for the kiwi. And that's really the tip of the iceberg." He downed half his coffee at a go now that it was less than scalding. "I've never had trouble with them. The cage needs cleaning, sure, but not as often as the rats'. Also, they're sweet and endearing, and if they get angry charge my fingers and snuffle at the slowest pace you could imagine. It's the most adorable aggression you've ever seen." Hier could gush about his pets forever. Up until quite recently, they'd received all of his affection, and they were still entitled to plenty.
"Oh, I would never dream of implying you might run a normal household," Terry replied, holding a hand up in a brief gesture, a white flag of sorts. He slapped it down into his lap afterward and took another, longer drink from his mug. "On that note, though, I think you'd probably be bored to tears in my shoes. I don't exactly live the most exciting of lives. I get home, feed my fish, take Gabi for a walk, and then grade papers until I fall asleep on the couch. It's stimulating." And sometimes, Terry thought, he would sit at his piano until his hands were so cramped from playing that it was painful to brush his teeth later. Yes, his life was indeed stimulating.
"Oh, doesn't sound that different from my day, honestly. Add a couple hours at the Boys and Girls Club doing my volunteer hours and you have most of my days. Except more demanding pets to feed. And it's probably more accurate to say that Semper Fido takes me for walks." He swirled his cup, watching the dusty buildup of creamer swirl around the bottom. "I only get to do interesting things after I go through all the hassle of getting some well-meaning enthusiast of scientific endeavor to pay for it, schedule things carefully, and sit on a plane for eighteen hours en route to the rocks I'll be poking in search of tiny teeth. The glamorous career of a paleontologist. Jurassic Park lied."
Terry laughed over Hier's comment about Jurassic Park, finding that statement to be immensely entertaining. He shook his head, glancing from Bruce to Hier and back again before downing the rest of his coffee and setting the mug down on the table. "This has been a good wake-up for me," he said, smirking, brushing back some of his dark hair. "Without it I probably would've been yawning late into the afternoon." Slowly, Terry reached to pull his shoulder-bag closer to him, bringing it up to lay it on the table before standing with his coffee mug in hand. He moved to the small sink and rinsed the coffee down the drain, performing a quick wash on the mug before setting it on the counter to dry. "I should probably get going to my first class, though."
"Ah, probably, yes. Wish I had one. Not that babysitting summer students is that wonderful, mind you, but it might do something to normalize my schedule." Hier smiled. "Glad I got your various neurons firing." Would that be a good thing? "Shush, Bruce. I'll get back to data crunching, then. See you soon, I imagine." And he'd have to go home to do that. He hadn't brought any other work with him. Well, urgent work, anyway. His aunt's translation project really had to be on his back-burner. Hier stood, as ever a long and complicated operation, and picked Bruce up last. I can walk! "Not down stairs with any great efficacy, short legs, and I'm not taking that wobbly elevator. You know my feelings about above-ground elevators." Wimp. "Ahem. Goodbye. See you later." Hier tipped his hat graciously to Terry and began to limp off, bickering with his familiar.