Sacris Solemniis

[collector]

[Teapot before him, a plate of pastries beside it, Braxiatel sits at the kitchen table with Strindberg's Ett drömspel open in front of him. Braxiatel stirs sugar into his tea, and a faint smile crosses his face as his eyes flicker to something in the seat to his left.]

[He leans forwards and pours a second cup of tea, then lifts it up to hand it over, the smile widening.] I don't know what you mean by 'ulterior motives,' Comman—

[Braxiatel's fingers tighten on the cup before he can let it go. For a moment, it hangs there, hoping for a hand that cannot take it.]

Ah.

[It is a quiet realization.]

[Braxiatel sets the cup down, away from him. He leans back in his chair and picks up a scone to eat.]

Comments

[brandyhabit.livejournal.com]

[Well you know what? Benny is going to take that seat to your left, Brax, the one your eyes were flickering at]

Talking to yourself again, Brax? You really should be careful of that. We wouldn't want people to talk. Well, talk more than they do all ready at any rate.

[And Benny takes that second cup of tea Brax poured, too, leaning back as she takes a sip, watching Brax out of the corner of her eye]

[collector]

I do so love it when people talk. It means they don't know a thing.

[Braxiatel doesn't even look at her. He knows she's watching him.]

[brandyhabit.livejournal.com]

Is that what it means? That's fairly disappointing. I'm almost certain I've heard at least one very impressive thing about you from people.

Oh well! Best to completely disregard it now, I suppose.

[she puts the tea cup down, and leans in to grab a scone, eyes still on Brax, before leaning back in her chair again.]

[collector]

Best to do so, I think. You oughtn't believe anything you can't see with your own two eyes, hm?

[He puts a bookmark in Ett drömspel and shuts the play.]

Is it worth telling you not to eat my scones?

[onehundredbeers]

[Nathan, still in shredded jeans, having decided to abandon his post in the bar, has retreated to the kitchen!

And he completely ADDs on his mission to get food and maybe see if there were some painkillers in a drawer or something to stare at Brax.]

So, uh, is it imaginary friend hour, Irving?

[He laughs a bit, but still gives him a bit of a look. He only talks to nobody when he's super drunk.]

[brandyhabit.livejournal.com]

[she looks down at that second cup of tea she claimed as her own before looking at Brax again]

And sometimes it's best not to believe what you can see with them as well.

[she take a deep breath and smiles a smile that is similar to Brax's smiles of smug self satisfaction as she takes a bite of said scone]

That would all depend on what outcome you're looking for, now wouldn't it?

[collector]

[Braxiatel conjures up one of his best detached smiles.] Yes, I think you could say it is. [glancing over Nathan] I hope you didn't decide to get attacked by an imaginary enemy; that was scheduled for last week.

[onehundredbeers]

[Nathan sits, but not in Brax's imaginary friend's seat.]

Invisible. Not imaginary.

[Without asking, Nathan totally helps himself to some tea.]

[collector]

Bernice. I'm fine. I was just surprised by this one. Late to the party and not at all in the same style as the last, very gauche, all things considered.

[brandyhabit.livejournal.com]

Aren't we having fun playing Emily Post?

So what is it you're seeing this time?

[collector]

[Braxiatel doesn't mind, and he picks up a chocolate mint from his plate of delicious things.] Was it one of the venus flytraps? For lack of a better name.

[onehundredbeers]

[Nathan casually adds some sugar to his tea and stirs it with a calm, relaxed ease.]

No. Uh, you know the water that's appeared? Don't fucking go in it, Irving.

[He taps the spoon against the side of the cup and, with exceptional manners, takes a sip.

It's a massive contrast, really.]

Believe me, whatever the fuck is in there will eat you alive.

[collector]

Just a lost friend.

[collector]

[Braxiatel actually tilts his head a little, as if this would give him a better angle to study this bizarre demonstration of dissonance.]

I hope you've had your injuries tended to, Nathan. I don't think we have any real medics here.

[brandyhabit.livejournal.com]

Anyone I would know?

[onehundredbeers]

[Mmm, tea.]

I'll be fine. I haven't, uh, looked at them, but yeah, I've- I've survived worse. I think. Don't worry about it.

[insynch.livejournal.com]

[For the past five minutes or so Daisuke's been standing off to the side staring at Braxiatel, his expression a mix of surprise and sadness.

There's a pot of homemade chow mein and a spoon in his hands. He's forgotten to stir.]

[collector]

Commander Skutloid.

[For as long as he was willing to believe it, he could hear the students outside, could feel the sun slipping through the windows of his study and unfolding across the books and chairs, could imagine—it doesn't matter. It is a lie.]

If it becomes a tour of my dead friends, I'll have to have a word with whoever decided they liked the idea of a one-man version of This Is Your Life.

[collector]

Now isn't the time to flirt with horrible infection. Not that most times are, but I'm sure it's a good idea at some time. Perhaps if an eldritch terror from another universe is in your head, trying to use you to infect the planet, and it has so much control over your body that you can only pull off a passive-aggressive suicide. But as this is clearly not the case, I'd like to at least see those injuries bandaged up.

[collector]

[Absently, turning the pages of his book] It's going to go cold.

[onehundredbeers]

[Nathan puts down his tea.]

Shit, Irving, you have fucking awesome ideas.

[He frowns though.]

As long as, uh, this- this is done soon? I can just... go to my hospital. And it'll be okay.

[collector]

We don't know when this will be done. No one seems to be any closer to finding the individual who made the original choice.

[insynch.livejournal.com]

[He startles a bit.] That's-- that's not important!

... Are you okay?

[collector]

[with a slight smile] Relatively speaking. But it's a waste of good tea, which is difficult to abide by.

[onehundredbeers]

[He crosses his arms.]

Do you know there's some fucking prick who can go home?