hate_gettin_older | [milliways: kidplot]

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milliways

[milliways: kidplot]

What the hell is this place?

Edgar's only sure of three things: (1) it isn't the Tail, therefore (2) he's not supposed to be here, and (3) he's going to be in the worst kind of trouble if a guard sees him. Or anyone who'll call a guard.

The thing is, he's not sure how this could be the Front either. But he's not sure how it could be anyplace else.

For the moment, he's got to try and get out of sight. Maybe under one of those tables.

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Dejah's excitement falters. She looks at Edgar. And then she looks at Curtis and looks at Edgar.

"Is outside -- okay?"

She doesn't know what's going on with the smaller boy, but it seems like something momentous.

"You can ... you can go outside," he says slowly, "and it's not frozen?"

Curtis blinks. His forehead knots again.

"No," he says, a bit quieter than he means. "It's spring. It's getting warmer."

Maybe Edgar's not homeless after all. Maybe...maybe it's something worse than that. Curtis's stomach starts to ache, and it isn't from all the candy.

Now it's Curtis's turn to get a soft touch on the arm.

"Edgar? Is your outside frozen?"

Edgar nods, slowly. "Everything."

He knows he's not explaining it right, but -- how do you explain something that everybody should already know?

Curtis's throat bobs. But -- how? he wants to ask, but the question vanishes from his mind so fast it's like he already knows the answer.

"It's warm here," he says, softly. "Nothing's frozen. It's okay."

It's gotta be okay.

Dejah glances to Curtis and decides immediately that it's a wise course to follow his lead.

"Yes, but you don't have to go. If you don't want. I know I find the water scary."

His belly is churning, like the whole room is rocking back and forth, like there's a storm buffeting the train car; for a horrible moment he's afraid he's going to puke, and he locks his jaw shut and swallows hard. He is not going to waste anything.

There's no way he can answer either of them. It's hard enough to look them in the face, both of them soft and untroubled and concerned only for him.

Curtis shoots Dejah a helpless look; looks back to Edgar; down at his plate of food.

Silently, he draws up his legs again to huddle next to Dejah.

"It's okay."

She knows it's not okay, and she knows it's a lie. But she also knows it's a necessary one, here and now, for the small boy who looks so scared.

She huddles closer to Curtis, and reaches out a hand to touch Edgar's fingers. If he'll let her, she'll take his hand.

"You're safe here. Just hold onto us and you'll be safe here."

"You don't --" Muffled, choking; he almost can't get the words out. "You don't know anything --"

He wants to throw things; he wants to overturn the table, smash the pretty white plates, stomp the remains of the food underfoot. He wants to find the door that leads back to the Tail, and drag everybody through it to here, before -- before things get worse, before any more of them die.

He wants to believe Dejah when she tells him he's safe here, and he can't, because she doesn't know.

Without meaning to, he throws a pleading look at Curtis.

He's looking at him like there's something he can actually do. Like -- like Curtis is the only one who can fix what's going on. And Curtis can't, he doesn't know any better than Edgar or Dejah what he can do to fix it, and his throat feels too tight and his face feels too hot and he can hear his own heartbeat in his ears --

"Can you stay here?" Muffled.

A long pause --

-- and Edgar shakes his head.

"I got ... people. Back home, I can't just ..."

He puts his face down in his arms, and mouths a string of the filthiest words he knows.

"Oh, Edgar."

Dejah shifts the plates out of the way and kneels next to the boy, wrapping her arms as far around him as she can.

"I'm so sorry."

He freezes for a moment -- then reaches up blindly to cling to her hand, fighting tears.

As unobtrusively as he can, Curtis shrinks further back, pressing himself against one of the table legs again.

He should've thought of that. Even if it's weird to hug somebody, especially somebody you don't know -- how come he didn't think of that? He's gotta make sure Edgar's okay.

(He doesn't understand why that fierce protectiveness keeps rearing up, but if he thinks about it too much, then he might start crying too.)

Dejah shoots him a pleading gaze and gestures for him to come closer. There's a whole other side of Edgar he can hug. She gestures again when he hesitates.

It's not going to help. What's a hug going to do to help -- help any of what happened to Edgar? This is the kind of stuff he doesn't think even a grown-up could fix.

But the way Dejah's looking at him...if he doesn't do this, it's going to upset her, too.

So he unfolds himself from his corner of the table. Edges closer.

The hug he gives Edgar is considerably more awkward -- it's more like a sideways one-armed pat on the back -- but once he's there, he doesn't pull away.

(i didn't want to die like that)

He leans into Curtis's arm, just a little, and the tears start to back down unshed.

Dejah gives him one final squeeze and pulls back a bit to look into his face. She can't fix it, she knows. But she wants to do something.

She remembers something about chocolate, and making Jasoomians feel better. She reaches into her lap and pulls out the Mars bar and pushes it into Edgar's hands.

"Here. Take this. For later."

He mumbles something like thanks, and sniffs hard.

Maybe he can take it back with him. And give it to Curtis. Along with his protein block; he's eaten so much here, he's not going to need dinner.

Maybe he can figure out how to get back here, and bring Curtis with him.

"And, um..." Curtis fidgets, weaving his fingers together, trying to force himself to look Edgar in the eye. "I heard somebody say if you, um, take a napkin or something with you, it'll make it easier to get back."

He doesn't know when exactly he heard somebody say that, but he knows it's true. Or maybe he just hopes it's true. Maybe in a place that gives you anything you ask for, it'll give you that, too.

A few tables away, voice raise in surprise and there's the clatter of plates and glasses hitting the floor. There's something that sounds like barking.

Dejah's head comes up. "Woola?"

A puppy-like creature with a frog-shaped nose and a huge grin skids into view of the table on his six flat feet. He chirrups a sound like, treats?

Edited 2016-04-27 03:39 (UTC)

Edgar yelps in surprise, scooting back a few inches, and stares.

So does Curtis, in near perfect unison.

"What is that?"

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