Who: Julian and Eli What: Silliness! Weirdness! Black ops convos. Where: Reliquary When: Wednesday morning. Warnings: None.
Julian fell into life at Reliquary relatively well. The customers thought of him as a charming but slightly impaired young man, because he carried on conversations about teacup chips and got them confused with the kind made of potatoes. Instruction was difficult at first because you couldn’t tell Julian to do things at a certain time, by a certain time, or in a certain time. He never would. Instead, you had to tell him to clear off tables when he noticed there was no one else sitting there, rather than ‘in a few minutes.’ Then you had to tell him exactly where the things on the tables went, or he’d put them in the places he thought most logical. Napkins went on the floor to soak up spilled tea in advance of mopping, dirty cups were spread out to facilitate easier rinsing, and bits of leftover cake went into his mouth, because they tasted good and he was hungry. He was always forgetting that some things were hot and would burn him if he wasn’t careful, and if something hurt him he’d get unreasonably angry at it. Specific instructions were needed to keep him out of other people’s belongings and personal space, but he was constantly forgetting the boundaries of either.
Such things had to be painstakingly explained, while other things did not. Julian knew how to use a mop and a broom just fine. He always washed his hands before he touched food. He could ring up customers extremely quickly, without the cash register, and with perfect accuracy. He appeared to speak enough Spanish to get through the pleasantries, though he got a lot of strange looks that probably meant he wasn’t using the right words for things. He never stole anything except for food. He proved to have nimble hands that could catch falling cups or spin quarters on the back of his knuckles, and he could entertain small children without effort. He never forgot a face or a name, and he was keenly observant (and ruthlessly critical) when people changed their appearance.
After those first couple weeks, only a few unexpected problems sprang up. Julian didn’t like people he didn’t know touching him, even if it was just to push at his wrist or tap his shoulder, and that rustled a few feathers. Sometimes he got argumentative with people about stupid things, like whether or not there was honey in a certain teacup, whereupon examination it only proved to have a bee painted on the inside. He also seemed to have problems with certain words, for no discernible reason. “Sunrise” was one, which came up because there was a certain morning coffee blend called that and he dropped whatever he was holding when anyone said it--and proceeded to be eerily, blankly silent for the rest of the day. “Charcoal” was another, which only came up one day when a couple of art students were arguing about superior mediums. Julian went away and hid upstairs for two days after that one.
Other than these few peculiarities, Julian seemed by and large happy and harmless.
Eli had been preoccupied as of late. The stress of taking on Kenna’s responsibilities in EIT, coupled with his complete confusion at what was going on with the albatross that was his sexuality, left him distracted at work. It was a noticeable change, because Eli believed quite strongly in what he preached - that coffee and tea houses were social places, meant for connection and conversation as much as beverages and cakes. Before things became complicated, he would spend most of the afternoon sitting and chatting with customers, photographing or using the makeshift black-room upstairs. He’d done none of those things often lately, and it seemed he did them less with every passing day.
That morning Eli had spent on the phone with a local antique dealer, one who claimed to have a very significant piece that he was trying to get his hands on - a working Bolex H 6 camera - and he wasn’t having much luck with the dealer. He had his elbows on the counter, one hand buried in his dark hair, and he was speaking quickly, his accent fading as he became more agitated at the antique dealer’s attempts to up the price after they’d agreed on a number. It was an unnecessary fight, given the amount of money he had at his disposal. The shop was empty yet, not yet open for the day, and while he noticed Julian coming downstairs, he didn’t stop his argument on account of the young man who had become a fixture at the shop.
Julian had, by now, acquired a social radar with the place, and he was a quiet observer of Eli’s personality becoming more and more tense, and his voice more likely to be strained than casual. Julian thought most accents were funny, sharing that quality with Georgie, who came by to laugh with him about almost everything, but he didn’t think it was funny when Eli got really upset about anything. The problem, Julian found, was that everybody thought things were either more upsetting or less upsetting than he did. It never occurred to him his own perception might be what was off. Julian was never aware of his own perception.
Julian puttered around behind the counter, picking things up and putting them down as if they were important. (Things were always going missing.) He preferred the shop quiet, honestly, and as the voices grew in argument he gave the phone a look of pure juvenile dislike. “You can’t argue with people on the line,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the conversation.
Eli looked up from the phone call, a look of surprise at the sentence and interruption overtaking his sharp features. “Well check, would you?” he demanded of the man on the phone, and then he put his hand over the receiver and directed himself to Julian. “Why can’t I argue with people on the line?” he asked, because his curiosity at Julian’s odd statements was a regular thing. Julian was like an old house, full of mysteries he didn’t understand, but very much wished he did.
“Because,” Julian said sagely, pleased at having Eli’s full attention, temporary though it was, “they always know more than you do.” With this small fortune cookie left in his wake, he walked down the inside of the counter to go fetch cleaning supplies and chalk to write out the specials, which someone left for him on a bit of paper so he could write them himself. He was no artist, but he had a clean hand, and Julian liked it when he was in control and people looked at him, even if it was just a sign he had made.
Eli watched him go, and he called after him and his chalk. “How can we be certain I don’t know more? I’m on the line also, aren’t I?” he asked, the question an earnest one that was interrupted by the antique dealer coming back on. Unfortunately, the man did little improve Eli’s mood, and after a string of epithets, Eli hung up the phone on the man and turned his full attention to Julian. His elbows were still on the counter, and his other hand raised to cradle his head. Dear bloody Christ but he had a headache.
“The people on the other side always know more,” Julian said, writing out with an even flowing hand and adding the proper punctuation. Whatever his problems were, they didn’t have anything to do with math or writing. “And even if they don’t, they are sure they do, and they will make sure you know they do even when they don’t.” Julian squinted close at his work and added the muffin of the day. “You shouldn’t stay up so late,” he added, without looking up. Julian was prone to unsolicited advice.
“Do they think the same thing about me?” Eli asked of the people on the line. “Since I’m on the other side for them, do they think I know everything?” he asked. He chuckled a second later. “Yes, well, my life is confusing these days, and confusion and sleep don’t go very well together. Have you spoken to your auction date?”
“Nobody knows what it’s like on the other side of the line,” Julian said knowledgeably. He propped up his sign, pleased, and put the chalk in his pocket without paying attention to what he was doing. It would end up all over his clothes. He’d taken the word ‘sunrise’ off the morning coffee blend again. He wrinkled his nose at the mention of the auction. “No. He is probably busy with the ladies. You are changing the subject from your confusion.”
Eli had accepted the fact that they would never have sunrise coffee again. “You’re changing the subject from the auction.”
“I’m changing it back,” he said proudly.
"I see, and why is that?" Eli asked, the corner of his mouth lifting in an almost-grin.
“Because people don’t like to talk about being confused, and it’s more interesting than a silly auction with mean rich people in it.” Julian’s mouth stuck out in a pout for a moment.
“What makes you assume they are rich, mean people?” Eli asked, chuckling at the pout as he began counting the money in the drawer for the day. “Also, are you offering me romance advice?”
“They outbid me,” Julian said, simply. They must be rich and mean. “And then they offered cupcakes and lied, and left me with the person that likes ladies, not that I don’t like ladies, but just that I like cupcakes too.” He pointed a long finger. “You missed a dollar in that last one.” Then he said, “Oh no, I have no advice for romantics.”
Eli counted out the money again before replying and, yes, he had missed a dollar in the last one. He fixed it, and then he closed the drawer and walked to Julian’s board of specials, and he replaced the erased sunrise with Salida del Sol experimentally. “We can have Nana make cupcakes,” he suggested.
Julian, upon seeing that Eli was going toward the board, hovered an inch from his shoulder to see what he was going to do with his board. He took it back and fished around for his chalk, whereupon he erased Eli’s “Salida del Sol,” and then promptly rewrote it in his own handwriting: “Salida del Sol.” He gave it a once over and then propped it back up again. “I get to write on the board,” he said, giving Eli a frown of disapproval that he was hedging on Julian’s appointed territory. “Are you trying to distract me from your confusion with cupcakes?”
Eli just smiled at that, because it felt like some sort of accomplishment on a very complicated crossword puzzle. “I told you that my confusion was romantic, and you deigned not to give advice on the matter,” he said, moving away from the board with another satisfied chuckle. “Or did you wish to discuss something else?” Eli wasn’t particularly careful when Julian was around, and Julian overheard much more than just talk about old cameras he couldn’t manage to purchase.
“Do you only talk about things you need advice on? Because for that, you can stay on the phone. They will order you around all you need.” Julian stuck the chalk back into his pocket. There were rumors about Eli not settling down whenever any of the females who knew him very long came in, and people tended to babble around Julian as if he wouldn’t repeat everything they said like a parrot whenever anyone asked.
“No, I talk about any number of things, but you asked about my confusion. If I change the subject, will you change it back again?” Eli asked, making himself an iced coffee, strong and bitter, and reaching for a cigarette to smoke out back once the coffee was ready. “Coming?”
Julian shadowed him all around the kitchen, which he tended to do with people he liked, particularly when they had something he wanted or were conversing with him actively. It was sort of like having a very large, hungry puppy at your elbow. “You could talk about your confusion without the advice then,” Julian said, with the air of someone making a very good point. Julian had already discovered he didn’t like Eli’s bitter iced coffees, so he left it alone and filched a juice from one of the refrigerators before nodding. He was coming.
Eli pushed open the creaky back door, thinking it needed greasing (like he always did), and he took his time lighting a cigarette, before sitting down on the top step with the coffee between his feet on the step below. “And if I’m confused about your knowledge of taking out hits on people?” he asked, squinting up at Julian as he inhaled.
Julian made his eyes go very big under all the floppy dark hair. He looked like an idiot. “Me? I wouldn’t ever do that. It’s not moral.” He grinned a guilty child’s grin, the one that said he got away with something, and slurped at his juice while wandering around the back step to squint at the scratches in the walls.
The guilty child’s grin did nothing to put Eli’s mind at ease, and he took a few more drags of the cigarette while he he watched Julian inspect the walls and sip his juice. “I didn’t say you’d do it. I said you knew about it. Is that immoral as well?” he asked carelessly, as if the answer didn’t matter very much to him.
Julian slid a quick look sideways at him to see what his expression was, suddenly uncomfortable, shifting a little to edge back toward the back step. “Some people say so.” He didn’t want his juice anymore, and held it out to Eli, perhaps placating. “Maybe so.”
Eli took the juice. “I’m just asking, Julian. I’m not angered or upset. It’s just one of the things I’m confused about,” he reminded the other man. “Did you like Musings?”
Julian, who knew people’s mood improved when they were fed, slightly relaxed. He didn’t like cigarettes, so he didn’t take Eli’s, and wandered away again. “It was okay,” Julian replied, obliviously. “Like here, nearly.” Julian missed the significance of the question, which identified him as what he was, a Creation.
“The place you worked there, was it like here?” Eli asked, and there was something so painfully loyal about Julian that he imagined it would be fairly easy to take care of the other man, who was more boy than man in Eli’s eyes. It was like having an exceptionally gifted child around, one who was a few sizes too big.
“Nnno,” Julian said, clearly playing with the idea of not responding until he got to the vowel. “But it could be like here. Sometimes it is. I can’t tell.” He shrugged a thin shoulder. He always managed to look a little ragtag, his collar askew or his shirt stained, because he never paid attention to what he was doing.
Eli wondered, as he often did, how to get the truth out of the strange young man. “What would you do during your work day?” he asked, certain that would get him the information he was seeking. And then, as an afterthought. “Do you know what your ability is, Julian?”
"Too many questions and not enough answers," Julian said very loudly, which he did when he wanted people to believe what he was saying and cooperate. He sat down next to Eli, inched closer, and said, in a hushed voice, "Questions are dangerous and you should keep them to yourself."
Eli watched Julian inch closer, and he knew there was something coming after that, so he waited before commenting. “But I’m asking you, love, and you wouldn’t harm me,” he said, surely, because he didn’t think Julian would harm him, no matter what his background was. Eli, possibly, trusted his instincts too much, but he was certain about Julian.
“Knowing things gets you hurt.” Julian blinked, and turned thoughtful, picking up a dirty penny he found on the lowest stair. He pondered it. “Maybe only telling things gets you hurt,” he said finally, revising his opinion.
“Nothing you tell me will get you hurt,” Eli assured him. “We can trade secrets, of you like,” he suggested, finding the idea didn’t bother him in the slightest.
Julian perked up. He liked knowing other people’s secrets; he was in their bags and their belongings, peering over shoulders, listening to conversations when no one was paying attention. “Really? Tell me a secret.”
“You first,” Eli said, because he realized this was currency, and he wasn’t about to be the first to pay.
Julian rolled the coin over his fingers restlessly. He was very good at coin tricks, fingers fast and trained. “Okay. Me first.” He hunched over his knees, and then pushed his long feet to either side, trying to decide on a secret. He thought for about two minutes, switching the coin from hand to hand. Then he said, “The man in the purple hat that comes in for caramel coffee, he’s cheating on his wife with a lady named Jessica.”
That wasn’t what Eli was hoping for, but the fact the Julian knew it made him wonder. “Does his wife know?” he asked and then, knowing he was going to be expected to provide his own secret, he added, “I’m having a meeting tomorrow no one is meant to know about.” Really, he just wanted to know if Julian had caught on.
Julian chewed on that for a little while, clearly pleased to have a secret but not so pleased about what it was. Then he said, knowledgeably (after refusing to give a yes or no on the question, which would provide yet another secret), “Coordinating a secret meeting is always best done in public, but you made it too obvious.” Julian watched the boards and he was no fool. Not always.
“How should I have done it?” Eli asked, curiosity assuaged that Julian paid more attention than he’d thought moments earlier. “And that isn’t a request for a secret, rather for your honest opinion on the matter. My colleague is worried about who might show up, as am I, but we could think of no other way.”
“You watch them until you see the ones you want, then after gathering the appropriate background intel, you approach cautiously and individually.” The penny turned from one knuckle to another, now rubbed into a shine, flickering. “Unpredictably. You never tell them where you will be.”
“But we aren’t a secret organization. We have no code names, and we have cards and people who call us when they need assistance. We’re a network; we aren’t vigilantes,” Eli clarified, because to him there was a difference. He did what he did in the daylight, even if he liked to keep it quiet. It was the reason he didn’t have an alias.
Julian shrugged. “That doesn’t matter. You’re trying to recruit for your cause, and your cause has enemies.” He smiled suddenly. “Secrets make your net work.”
“Do you have a recommendation at this juncture?” Eli asked, turning his head to look at the younger man.
Julian shined his penny. “Hope your enemies are stupid.”
Eli grinned. “Do you want to come?”
“Okay. What are you going to do if your enemies aren’t stupid, besides maybe get us shot or captured, or maybe both in a different order?” Julian grinned too.
“Someone will be watching the perimeter, and my associate will be armed,” Eli said. “I was counting on faith and trust for the remainder. You think this a bad way to approach it? I had conversation with these individuals first. The ones who seemed untrustworthy were excluded.”
Julian laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh. “Seemed? When they typed at you?” He laughed again.
“I’m not skilled in reconnaissance like you are. My options were limited,” Eli explained, working on a hunch. “At least the initial conversation gave me an inkling of their motives, and I’m counting on the good present to outnumber the bad.”
Julian waved a hand. “No tech. No ops. No knowing.”
“I’ll understand if you’d rather not come,” Eli said, watching the hand wave and tossing the juice container in a nearby, open metal trashcan. “We don’t have the money to afford tech and ops,” which wasn’t precisely true. He’d just never thought they were in the business of those things. Those things made him think of masks and cowls and capes, not of what they did.
“I can come. I don’t do tech or ops. I just go now. See? I just went.” He spread his arms out very wide. “And now I am here. No tech! No ops.” He flipped his penny. Then he opened his hand to show it to Eli. No penny. Just his palm. “Just me.”
“Yes, well, I find I trust just you quite well,” Eli said truthfully, ruffling perpetually messy black curls. “Let’s open up, shall we?”
“Because,” Julian said, mussing his hair more as if that corrected the situation and then standing, “you don’t know any of my secrets.” He dropped his penny where they’d been sitting and skipped through the kitchen.