just_displaced | Open Post

Has anyone ever told you to take up yoga? Meditation? It might do wonders.

[He can feel how tensely he's holding himself, the way the muscles in his arms and back are clenched up. He lets his thumb trace a few calming circles along his upper arm, barely a feather touch. Really, he's being so well-behaved, his restraint is phenomenal.]

Not specifically. I mean, I guess some people have told me to take up meditation before. But they're usually also the people who tell me to take up drugs, and I think that's a really bad idea. And I've given it a try, even! Drugs, I mean. And it was a bad idea.

[He'd be flustered by this -- and, to be fair, he is -- but the overwhelming desire for human (or... immortal king of the fairies?) contact kind of trumps the whole being flustered thing. Because he's always liked having people touch him, and it doesn't happen enough; you just can't go around hugging or snuggling with people at work, after all.]

[It's a sad world, Oliver thinks, if you cant just go around cuddling everyone. It's one of his top favourite pass-times.]

Now that is something I would have liked to see.

[He laughs, which is probably going to bounce Ginsberg a little now that they're so close. Always one of the charms of it, though, feeling a laugh as well as hearing it.]

What, me getting high? It was bad. It was really bad. It was...

[He always gets so animated when he talks, so he's probably inadvertently jostling Oliver as he gestures to try to explain just how bad it was.]

You know how some people say that they get really creative when they smoke pot? Yeah, I get the opposite. I go crazy. I get paranoid, I start seeing things, hearing things, thinking people're out to get me... which is actually pretty similar to the way I feel most of the time, but intensified. And also slightly harder to tell that it's not real.

What, just on weed? I'd love to see what mushrooms would do.

[Yes, he is finding your horrible drug stories hilarious, sorry. He'll just brush a little of Ginsberg's hair off his forehead to make up for it.]

It's always fascinating how people react.

This one time at work, a bunch of people did... well, I don't even know what it was. Something that got them all hyped up, anyway. Speed, maybe. I was probably the only one in the office who didn't do it. And I was still the guy that ended up throwing an X-Acto knife into someone's arm. Don't ask.

[Oh no, affectionate touch. He's kind of melting into it.]

So all of that is to say, mushrooms should probably be avoided. And acid should really be avoided. I think it'd actually kill me.

You spend a lot of time thinking about what'll kill you, don't you?

[That was well enough received that Oliver's just going to move straight to combing his fingers through his hair, just gently for now.]

It's a little counter productive, don't you think?

[To be fair, it's nice hair to comb one's fingers through. Mostly because it ends up as a big curly mess pretty quickly after being touched.]

I guess so? I mean, I don't consciously think I think about what'll kill me a lot, but I probably do. Counterproductive how? Because I'm going to die sooner or later and there's nothing I can do about it so I should probably just stop worrying and live in the now, man.

[He's definitely imitating someone else's voice as he says that last part.]

[It really is lovely hair. Very fluffy. He's going to have free reign with it now, thank you.]

Well I'm not going to say that now.

It is a little true, though.

[His hair always sort of treads that line of just a liiiittle too long to be really appropriate at work, but since he'd argue ceaselessly if someone told him to cut it off, they all just leave him alone about it.]

I know. But you know how you can know something is true and still have a hard time believing it? It's like that. Like I know we're stuck in this room, but I'm having a hard time believing it, or figuring out how it works.

I pretty much believe everything, so it doesn't come up too often.

[He's taking a moment to stroke his beard for that. What, it's his thinking face. If you had a beard you'd want to do that, too.]

I guess I can see the perspective. Still doesn't make any sense, though.

[It's true. Sometimes he strokes his mustache when he's thinking -- it can only be more glorious with a beard.]

Well, a lot of things I think don't make a whole lot of sense. It also doesn't make a whole lot of sense that you're immortal, or have godlike powers or whatever you have, but I've kind of accepted that. Maybe.

Were you looking for a demonstration?

I mean, your godlike powers can't get us out of here, and that's kind of the demonstration I'd be looking for. Sure, I bet you can do other things. And I'm sure they're really cool.

[Sure, bring up the ONE THING he can't do. Just at this moment. He's normally super powerful, okay!

And yes, you have a very pouty looking fairy king on your hands now, sorry.]

Look, it has to be some kind of dark wizard or warlock, or something. I don't have every power, if we were in a situation that could be solved by a thunderstorm you'd be extremely impressed.

Oh. Uh huh.

[He's nodding encouragingly. He doesn't want Oliver to pout! He believes in his powers, really, it's just... he hasn't seen any.]

So you can do thunderstorms. What else can you do?

You know, master of the elements. All creatures of the fairy must bend to my will, dominion over the mortals, that sort of thing. You should see us all at the high festivals, hoards of elves and hobgoblins kneeling at my feet. Magnificent!

When we had the festivals, at any rate.

[He's gone from pouty to sighing dramatically. Oh, the good old days.]

You just don't get the turn out you used to.

I'd imagine that the elves and hobgoblins are kind of lacking, these days. At least, I've never met any. That I know of.

[Dramatic sighs are better than pouts. That's a step in the right direction.]

So... show me something magical?

That's rather forward, don't you think? We only just met.

[You're very lucky he found an opportunity to go back into flirting mode there. He might have stayed pouting for ages otherwise.

There's a small potted ivy plant in the corner of the room. Oliver settles back against the pillows again, and without any visible strain or effort, he starts making it grow.

It's slow and steady, and will probably take Ginsberg a little while to notice, at least until the creepers spill from the table onto the floor and start winding around the legs of the bed they're on.]

I didn't mean, uh... that wasn't...

[Flustered. Yep. He can't help it. It's just part of his nature. And for awhile there, it's true, he has no idea what's supposed to be happening... until he notices the ivy plant growing. And growing pretty impressively, too. He can't help but look somewhere between startled and impressed.]

Okay, that's pretty cool. You can control plants. That'd be a fun power to have.

Not just plants. Like I said, mastery of the elements. Weather and oceans and that sort of thing.

[He nods attentively. That is really cool.]

I wish I had powers like that. Actually, no, I don't, because I'd probably misuse them horribly. But in theory, it'd be neat.

I won't lie and say there hasn't been a little misuse in the past.

[A lot. A lot of misuse. He's not going to bring up how having arguments with his wife tends to result in pesky little natural disasters.

The ivy is creeping up the edge of the bed now, although its speed has slowed considerably. Oliver is bored with ivy, anyway, back to playing with Ginsberg's hair, that's much nicer. ]

[And he's getting comfortable with having his hair played with. Probably too comfortable. He should really be focused on this whole being paranoid thing, because that's what he does, and they're still trapped in a locked room, after all. It's just that he hasn't had sustained physical contact like this in... quite awhile? Ever? And it's nice.]

I'd ask about that misuse but I'm assuming it's probably a lot bigger than just a 'little' misuse because, you know, controlling the elements could make some pretty serious things go wrong. So I'll just stick to believing that you can grow plants and you're not potentially scary at all. Since I'm trapped in a room with you.

[He can feel how relaxed Ginsberg is becoming, and it's a nice feeling. Not only because of getting to feel smug as fuck for managing to calm him down, but because that sort of sleepy contentedness is coming off him in waves.]

I hardly seem very scary, do I?

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