Friendly Games (Paris/Karl chat)
May. 28th, 2005 11:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
horseboykarlI'm restless, Eric's doing inventory, so I'm at loose ends and I'm sick of being home, feel like getting out. Don't feel like drinking by myself, what I really want to do is play . . . something. I remember talking to Paris about hustling pool . . . wonder if he'd like to go. Probably tied up with Dave, but I guess it wouldn't hurt to check, I haven't seen him in a while, since the horseboys have learned their way around Wellie so well.
Mentally cursing my disorganization, I hunt around for Paris' number, before remembering that I saved it in my phone. Next problem, finding the phone. I glare at Ire who appears to be laughing at my frustration.
"Go away, you mangy beast." He rolls over lazily, and starts licking his balls. Now I really need to go out, I'm getting disrespected by my own dog.
Phone finally located, I call Paris, who is free, surprisingly enough.
We agree to meet at Copperface Jacks on Kent Terrace.
Paris: I get to Jacks first, and find us a decent table. After ordering a beer and starting a tab at the bar, I pass the time with a couple of practice shots. I was pleased to get Karl's call. The only pool I've played for months was with Faramir up at the cabin, and I miss the challenge of a good game. I'm not really sure how good a player Karl is, but I guess I'll find out soon enough.
Another cold mouthful slips down as I look down at the table and decide which shot to take next. There's a nicely tricky angle on the black, so I line it up, and it slips straight in as I watch with a smug little smile on my face. When I straighten up Karl is standing watching, and my smile widens to a grin.
"Hey man, it's good to see you." We've spoken on the phone plenty, arranging the horseboy's visits, but haven't met up for ages and I grasp your hand in a firm shake. "Thanks for the invite, I was really in the mood for this tonight. There's a tab set up at the bar, I wasn't sure what you'd be drinking."
Karl: I'm grinning as I watch you take your practice shots. You look like you know what your doing and this should be fun. I remember you said you supported yourself hustling pool, I've done the same, but my time was a lot longer ago, when I was in school and my parents temporarily had me. I go get a draft and then take a few of my own for practice.
We flip for the break, which you win and you pot a stripe and a solid. I watch you pacing around the table, chalking your cue, and then you call the four ball on the end. You make the shot, but don't leave yourself anything open, and fluff your next one.
"Ow, hard luck, mate." I chalk my own stick and eye the table. I line up on the upper right corner of the cue.
Paris: Watching as you line up a shot on the ten, I knock back the last of my beer, not interested in another until this first game is over, wanting to pick up on your strengths and weaknesses. The ball goes down easily, leaving a tougher shot with only the twelve open for you. And I'm impressed at the way you head round the table, and pot it straight down, angling the cue ball off the far side cushion first. So you do know what you're doing, which always makes for a good game. My smile at that thought turns to a grimace as with your next shot the white rolls slowly towards the eleven, just touches it and stops dead, leaving me in a hellishly tight spot.
You grin at me good naturedly and grab your beer as you leave the table to me, and I give you a quirky smile in return before getting to work. I do one full circuit of the table, weighing up the options. Leaning low over the table, and arching my hand high, I hit the white quite hard, sending it spinning towards the end cushion, across the corner pocket to the side cushion, and back into the group of balls it was trapped in earlier. It clips the two which heads down to the far right hand corner pocket, rolling almost to a standstill before slipping over the edge with a satisfying clunk. I can't quite help the small smile as the seven and five get slammed down with little ceremony, and seeing I'm out of even slightly clear shots, leave you trapped in a tough spot of your own.
Karl: Haven’t had this much of a challenge in a game in a long time. I called the right person, because you’re at least as good as I am, perhaps better. But I forget about you for the moment, walking around the table, tuning out everything except the balls, concentrating on their arrangement, looking at the pattern, trying to . . . there. Like magic, the lines are there. I stare at the cue ball, watching it follow the lines.
The first one will be the toughest shot, but if I make it and draw the cue properly, the rest should go easy. Your three is blocking my shot, so I’ll have to use it.
“Thirteen, side pocket,” I say almost automatically, gesturing with my stick. The lines are still there as I crouch over the felt and they extend into the pool cue I’m holding. I slide it back and forth over my thumb, waiting until I see the proper extension. Then I have it and the stick slips forward, easy as sex, hitting the cue ball right where the line goes in. The cue hits the three, which takes off, bumping the thirteen into the pocket. The white is in position to take the fourteen in the other side, and I call it, giving the cue ball bottom English, pulling it back to take out the nine on the end. I signal the pocket and the ball sails in.
My last shot is that bloody pesky eleven, all the way at the other end. I fucking hate long shots, because too much can go wrong. I nod at the pocket and follow the line. The shot hit mostly true and the eleven is pocketed, but the cue goes slightly off my planned path and I’m worried about my shot on the eight ball. Don’t think I can avoid scratching. I consider your two remaining balls.
“Safety,” I declare and tap the cue lightly. It just grazes the rail and stops behind the eight ball, leaving the eight between it and your balls. The lines fade away and I stand up, looking for my beer.
Paris: Yep, safety alright. I lean on my cue as I consider my options. I know fine well if I take a shot and miss, you'll win. Now, I could call safety too, but where would be the fun, the risk in that? I call the shot, smiling at you. You raise your eyebrows with a "Yeah, right!" look on your face, and watch as I bend over and take the shot, sending the cue ball hurtling down the table, rebounding off the far cushion, and slamming back into the balls. I can hardly watch as they scatter, but as predicted, or maybe more like prayed for, the six rolls into the corner pocket. With a grin, I call and pot the one and finally the eight ball, slamming it home into the centre pocket.
"Good game!" I slap you on the back with a grin. "You wanna set them up again and I'll grab another couple of beers?" Seeing the "classy" box of wine behind the bar has me wondering who the hell drinks wine in a pool hall, but it reminds me you said you were going out to visit your Aunt's vineyard with Eric a couple of weeks ago. The table's ready to go again by the time I get back, and hand you your draught. "How's your Aunt's wine business going?"
Karl: The game was fun. I don’t really care who wins or loses, as long as they’re a good enough player to challenge me. Which you are. Our styles are radically different, you play recklessly without much finesse, but you have enough natural talent to compensate for that so you’ll win a percentage of games. I rely on technique, which I’m fucking good at, so I’ll win a percentage too.
You come back with frosty mugs and questions about June’s winery. I smile happily at the memories. That trip was a revelation in more ways than one. Part of it I’ll share with you. “Doing good, she’s moving ahead, got her vines planted. She put Eric and me to work, but it was fun times. Even introduced her to horseboy.” Safe enough telling you that, but you look a little surprised. I grimace. “Yeah, he snogged her breathless and totally won her over. Wish my life would go that easy.” I chuckle. “Good thing you were out of town too, so the horseboys have no reason to muff at either of us.”
You won the last game so you break, slamming the cue ball hard into the others, but you pocket the black and scratch, so the table is open and I position the cue to my satisfaction.
Paris: "You did?" My eyebrows rise in surprise, but I laugh along with you at his antics. It's actually good to know you feel comfortable enough with shifting now to do that. I know it's not an ideal part of our lives, but it's been easier for both of us since we got them organised and into a sort of routine. "Yeah, Théo was okay with it. He's been easier to live with now he knows he can come here regularly."
Sipping on my beer I watch you stalk around the table looking for the shot. You call it, and the fourteen rolls down easily, followed by the nine, but the fifteen proves to be more problematic, and it clips the corner of the pocket sending it off at an angle, and the table is mine.
I chalk the cue while I decide which way to go. "He did say you were gonna teach him how to surf. Did he pick that up right?" I call the seven and shoot it straight into the centre pocket, then line up an easy shot on the five.
Karl: The cue ball rolls awkwardly after your shot leaving you with nothing, although you take a shot anyway and screw my balls the fuck up. You smirk at me and I know you did it on purpose.
As I walk around looking for an angle, I think back to the conversation with Théodred. I was just trying to distract him from attempting to seduce me, but I’m not going into that with you. Things are dicey enough with our shifts slobbering all over each other, we don’t need the added complication of your shift trying to get into my pants.
“Yeah, I said I would. Didn’t think he was all that interested in it, although he seemed pretty entranced with the ocean. He still wants to go?” Might be entertaining. There’s not a person on this planet, or any other, who picks up surfing the first try, and I don’t care if they’re the bloody Prince of Rohan. I can teach him just fine, but he’s bound to wipe out a time or two before he gets the hang of it.
Paris: "Yeah, he does." In the spirit of friendship, apparently, which is fair enough, given how much I know he pissed you off originally. I'm just keeping my head down in case someone suggests I go horse riding with Éomer or something. "I've told him it can't be until after my Dad's birthday, so I'll give you a ring when I get back from Auckland, arrange something? If you still want to do it."
Your eyes narrow with concentration as you line up your shot, calling safety and with a smug smile leaving me in even deeper shit than I left you. I let out a long breath and take a little time to consider my options, strolling round the table and eyeing up the possibilities as I talk.
"I hung out with some friends who were surfers when I was younger. We'd drive through the Waitakere Ranges to the west coast and spend weekends camping round Karekare and Piha, and I enjoyed it, but never got bitten by it like those guys did. I was always more into bikes."
Deciding to open the table up again, I call the two in the center pocket, knowing it's unlikely. It misses, but scatters the balls wider, and doesn't leave you with any really easy shots, so I'm happy. "So how'd you get into it?"
Karl: I try to think up a convenient lie, while I look for a shot. You haven't left me much, but there's a slight possibility I can make that tricky bank, but then I'll have nothing. I take the bank anyway, and to my surprise it works and the ball falls, but leaves the cue in another awkward trap. I'm still trying to decide what to tell you as I consider the table.
Fuck it, I can't lie worth a shit. It's been a long time since anybody's asked me a direct question about my past that hasn't been already pre-packaged by my agent. "One of the times I ran away, I think I was about twelve. Ended up down at Houghton Bay, just hung around for a few days, sleeping on the beach. Some of the Maori surfers there were slipping me food so I stayed. Finally got my nerve up to ask to try it. Got the shit knocked out of me by those pipes down there, but I felt I owed it to them to stick with it. First time I caught the smallest edge I was hooked for good."
My concentration is shot at that point, talking about my past makes me bloody uncomfortable. So I pull one of your moves and blast the cue out, pocketing one stripe and one solid.
Paris: It's easy to see how awkward you feel about answering one simple question, and my first reaction is to try and put you at your ease. I know how it feels to need to run away, and I guess the difference in doing it at twenty instead of twelve is that there's less likelihood of being returned to wherever it is you wanted to leave in the first place. As you speak, I get a tiny glimpse of the boy who found sanctuary on the beach amongst the surfers. The boy that the man you've become is so very protective of. I search out my next shot, pausing to take a deep drink before sizing a couple up.
"I rode out there a few times last year when I was deciding whether to stay around or not. Those guys are amazing to watch." Shot found, I call it, and put down the four. "So you learned from the best?"
Bending over to check out my next move, I glance back at you with a smile. "And just tell me to shut the fuck up if you don't wanna talk about it, I won't take offence."
Karl: “Don’t mind talking about it, was good times then.” Till my mother finally got spooked when people starting asking questions about where I was, and then the truant officer paid her a call. She started wailing hard enough to the plods when that happened. I’d been on the beach over a month before they found me.
“They are the best, in a lot of ways. They’re still on the beach, just hanging out. I went back there whenever I could . . . when I knew it wouldn’t get them in any trouble. Still keep in touch with them. And I kept up the surfing, it got in my blood somehow. “ Haven’t seen Tanga since I came back, should go find him. My brah.
Your style of play gets the best of you this time and you scratch on the eight ball. I rack while you get more brew. I break hard, but don’t pot any and I circle the table deciding what to do.
“You were thinking about leaving? I thought you were native, like me.”
Paris: "I am, and I wasn't thinking of leaving Zid, just Wellie. Hadn't been in town very long, and it was hard to stand still after years on the road. I kept getting the feeling I should be moving on." Which is true. Even without what happened with Dave, it took a long time for the pull of the open road to leave me.
You take your time setting up a shot, then call and sink the two and three in quick succession while I sip my beer. "But then my brother showed up, and gave me a place to stay, and things slowly fell into place. Dave, the business, even the cat, so I guess I'm destined to be here." Guess this was your lucky break, as the six and seven follow, only then leaving you with an awkward shot.
"What about you? You must have traveled a fair bit. Never felt like settling down anywhere else?"
Karl: I sigh at my shot, and then call a safety. I lean against the wall, finishing my beer, while you ponder.
“Ran away again, over a year ago now. Straight to LA. All the shit going down here was just too much to cope with. Éomer and all.” Some of the ‘and all’ is none of your business, it’s over and done with and doesn’t affect anything now. “The hobbits made me their project, took me around to all the ‘in’ places. My career was really starting to heat up then, so it seemed like the logical thing to do. Tried to make it there, I really did, but it just wasn’t for me. And after Éomer got me arrested a couple of times, I figured it was better if I went insane closer to home.”
I think back over the past tumultuous year, and the long road I’ve come to accepting what’s happened to me, and really . . . coming back to my sanity. I wouldn’t have made it without friends like Bernard and Dave. And you helped too, in your way, even though you had no idea what was going on with me that morning.
Paris: "I guess we've all been through our moments of insanity over this." I remember seeing you almost fall apart that first day. The first time we'd seen each other for years, and it really wasn't under the best of circumstances, waking up together like that. "It takes a while to learn how to deal with it, live with it … " Then I remember my shopping trip. "Course, it can still bite you on the ass sometimes, and at least you don't share a face with yours." I line up a shot and sink it as I talk.
"I go to buy a pair of new bike gloves last week at this place called Rawhyde in the mall. Never been there before, one of the guys that works for me recommended them, so I walk in, and this assistant does a double take and goes white as a sheet. He dashes over, stammering, asking me if everything is okay with what I had bought and saying there would be no problem replacing anything if need be, and all the time, he keeps glancing over my shoulder as if he's looking for someone. Then he asks if my friend is with me today, and I must have looked like an idiot standing there staring at him wondering what the fuck he's talking about before it started to fall into place." The table is still open and I take my time sinking another.
"I tell him no, my friend isn't with me, and his face lights up and he starts pulling pairs of pants off the rack, saying he can do a really good deal on a matching pair for me. So I think "What the hell?" If he wants to sell me these for peanuts because of Théo, fine, lets get some benefit out of it. So he leads me through to the changing rooms, and on the way, we pass the erm … fetish section." I'm grinning at the memory, the colour rising on my face, even though at the time it was more like a wide eyed expression of shock. "And the girl behind the counter looks up, and grins at me, giving me a knowing wink and at that point I was so freaked, I just bought the pants and left. Didn't realise until I got home I'd forgotten to buy gloves." A third slams into the far corner pocket.
Karl: Well that explains a lot. "Yeah, I seem to have acquired a new pair of leather pants and another bike jacket. I've sort of been wondering where they came from. Especially since the jacket is way too big for me through the shoulders. The pants fit pretty good, but I prefer my broken in pair."
But . . . "Fetish section? You mean like kinky sex stuff? Fuck. I haven't seen any of that in my closet." Then I remember those top-of-the-line hair products I found once.
"I think blondie has an obsession with his hair though. Found a bunch of products that I don't use when I was spring cleaning."
That makes me think. Expensive salons are the only place you can get those hair items, and that fringed jacket couldn't have been cheap. I keep a little bit around the house, but not enough for all that. "Where the hell are they getting the money for this stuff? They can't be just boosting it or that guy wouldn't have been so happy to see you."
I'm starting to see your problem with sharing a face with Théodred. At least if blondie does anything I can pretend ignorance when he shifts away.
Paris: I snicker at the thought of Éomer giving his hair a deep conditioning treatment. And I know how obsessed Théo is with the shower. "Yeah, the kinky stuff, and I haven't found anything either … yet. I'm sort of torn between wondering what the hell they've bought, and really not wanting to know!!" Having missed my last shot, I stand back and have a drink, leaving it open for you.
"And I think they're winning the cash." You pause just before you shoot and look up at me in disbelief, and I explain with a shrug and a smile. "There's a trophy on the bookshelf back home. The engraving says it's for the winner of an annual darts challenge held at Cue Room Bar a couple of months ago. I rang them up out of curiosity, and the prize money was $600. More than enough for a set of leathers, but not much else though." You take the shot, and surprisingly, it goes in.
"The trophy's got a dent in it, and I remember waking up after that visit with a fading boot print on my ribs." And Théo was his elusive self about it. We talk quite a bit now, but he's always cagey about stuff that happens when he shifts in. "So I gotta wonder what sort of reception I'd get walking into that place!"
Karl: I walk around the table, thinking about my next shot. Looks like I can pot two more, easy. I remember waking up with unusual bruises a few months back myself.
"I know that place, and I almost suggested it, but Jacks is quieter. Fuck, nothing like walking into an ambush. I figured that Éomer must have been with your horseboy a few months ago when I woke up with bruises too." I make the first shot and call the second, lining my stick up.
"Shit, I don't know whether this is good news or not. Clearly they're not just hanging around screwing each other into the ground, which is good, I guess. But to have them out roaming Wellie . . . that's sorta scary." Except for that one time, I haven't had any indications that Éomer has caused anymore problems while he's been here, so I had figured that Théodred was a steadying influence on him. Or that Théodred kept him on his knees too much for him to get in trouble. Maybe we need to have another chat about what is and isn't acceptable behavior.
I pocket the ball, but draw the cue too far for a clean shot on the next one. I try it anyway and miss.
Paris: "Yeah, it is. I know he'd never deliberately get into trouble, but the possibility is always there for trouble to find him, and he's not one to back out of a fight, Éomer neither, I'm guessing." This has been a smooth game, which is just as well, as I don't think either of us is really concentrating much on the balls.
"When we first started to talk, I asked him to stick to bars round the harbour, not far from the warehouse, and I think he drinks in the Ship, the one we found your bike outside of? But he obviously got bored. I keep trying to put myself in his position, a stranger in a strange land, and I suppose I would be curious about everything new and different, but he's gonna have to balance that out with me being the one who belongs here and has a life here. What if they run into Ben or Adam one night? The guys that work for me and know Dave?"
I pot the last of my balls and slam down the eight, letting out a sigh and smiling up at you. "Sorry for rambling. Don't get to talk about this much, Dave still has a hard time with me shifting, and Théo's never a good topic for conversation." Leaning my cue against the wall, I grab our empty glasses as you start putting the balls back on the table. "You fancy something stronger?"
Karl: This evening has been going pretty good. You at least understand the horseboys as well as I do, and don't make assumptions about them. You're probably the only other person in Wellie, fuck, in the world who knows what it's like to live with a horse lord, how single-minded they can be, which drives me fucking nuts at times, but other times they surprise me with their understanding. Éomer couldn't have been more charming with Aunt June, knowing how much she matters to me, and I won't forget that.
"Sure, stronger is good. I'll drink bourbon or tequila, your choice." You come back with a tray of shot glasses full of Jack Daniels.
"Fuck, Théodred wearing your face would be bad if he sees anyone who knows you. That reminds me, I had to tell Eric part of the story. Told him I was helping you cheat on Dave with Éomer, so hopefully if he were to ever see any of you, he won't say anything or freak out." Eric and the truth is another issue I'm going to have to deal with, if I can ever figure out how.
Paris: I stare at you for a moment, then knock back my first shot, the Jack being exactly what I need. "He thinks I'm having an affair with Éomer??" And I know I'm staring at you again with my mouth open, but a grin grows at the irony of it all, and I have to laugh. "Nice one! But I can see how it makes sense … as much as anything does around here." And a second shot feels needed, the pool table forgotten for the moment.
Being with someone who doesn't know about it has to be difficult. How the hell do you explain that you share your body with a fictional character some of the time, and that they have lovers of their own? "So do you think you'll tell him about shifting eventually? That's a tough one, but your Aunt handled it well …"
Karl: Laughing at your shocked expression, I put away my own shot. “I didn’t name names. He thinks a friend of mine is having it both ways with two other friends of mine.” I shake my head. “Don’t ask. I was under pressure, and trying to talk my way out of something. You know how when you start lying, they just seem to pile up? Well, I suck at it worst than most people, so they got piled really high and almost toppled.”
I think I’ve about run that metaphor into the ground so I give up. “As for Aunt June, she’s special. She’s open-minded about a lot of things. And she such a girl too, thinks blondie is cute.” I imbue the word with all the disgust I can manage.
“As for Eric,” I sigh. “It has to be done, just don’t know exactly how to bring it up, you know? And then Hugo pointed out that it’s not just my ass on the line if he goes ballistic. I’ve got to think about how it will affect the rest of you if he can’t deal with it.”
“So, are we done playing, and on to the drinking?”
Paris: "Sounds good to me." I grab my jacket and we make our way to a quiet table closer in to the bar. I can't remember who won what, but it doesn't matter.
"She thinks he's cute?" I snigger at the tone of your voice. "Yeah, that isn't quite how I'd describe him." I remember dropping Théo off at your place after they hadn't seen each other for a month. "Magnificent and wild fit better, but I suppose he turned the charm on for your Aunt."
I can see you're torn about telling Eric, and with good reason, though lying to him can't be easy on you. "It's a tough call. Worst case scenario, and he freaks, even if he did go public, it's a wild story. Might put you and the rest of us in the spotlight for a while, but you must get that anyway, with each new movie you do …" But I think I'm about to shoot myself in the foot with that argument though as I think of the hordes of fans who could descend on Wellie if they thought the Third Marshall was really in town, never mind Aragorn and Legolas. "Okay, maybe Hugo has a point."
You've got a thoughtful almost glum look on your face as I knock back another shot, and you do the same.
"But if you think he could handle it, it's gotta be worth telling him. Must be hard keeping it from him, and if you really care about each other, he's gonna have to find out about it eventually."
Karl: The alcohol is starting to warm my body, and I'm feeling pleasantly relaxed. We match shots again.
I snort. "Can you imagine that conversation opener? 'Say mate, I've got this other person who lives in my head. No, I didn't go too far into the Method. And no I'm not crazy.' "
I shake my head, fingers tracing patterns on the table. "He's pretty steady, not given to having hysterics. When his shop got trashed, he didn't freak, just went to work. So I think that he would be okay that way. But . . . what if he got pissed at me for some reason?"
I try to remember why I agreed to look in that bowl in the first place. Dave thought it was cool, to have Faramir in his head, wanted to share the fun. I looked . . . and nothing happened. So I wrote it off as Dave being more squirrelly than usual and went on my way. Until the insanity started. Then I find out about Gareth . . . and then there was Ian . . . I warned him, but accidents seem to happen around that thing.
"So did you join us by accident, or did Dave tell you what you were getting into?"
Paris: "Someone that cares for you is gonna have to get pretty damned pissed off to use a secret you've trusted them with against you!" I smile, curious about Eric, and what he's like. All Dave told me was that he was 'another irresistible red head'.
Then you ask if he told me, and I have flashbacks to knowing he was hiding something, but never being able to get out of him what it was. I shake my head. "I didn't even know about the bowl or what it did until after I looked, and I didn't have a choice, it sorta pulled me to it."
Rolling the glass round in my fingers, I think on what my life was like before. "And I know it's gonna sound crazy, but looking in the bowl and shifting sorta saved my sanity. But I don't say that around Dave cause he thinks it'll give Morgoth something to use against me … and maybe it will, but it helped me realise I wasn't really losing it."
Karl: “Well, you haven’t known me long enough, I can really piss people off.” No wonder Théodred and I always seem to knock heads . . . I consider Eric. He’s never really gotten pissed at me. He’s been insecure and jealous, but never full out mad at my bullshit. He either just laughs at me or walks away. He’s so calm, a foil to my too hot temper. I’m warm again, but not from the liquor anymore.
And then the rest of your statement . . . “Shifting saved your sanity? Are you kidding me? How is that fucking possible?” I gulp another shot, settling back down. Your words surprise me, considering that shifting nearly destroyed me, I didn’t think of it saving anyone.
But I think of Eric again . . .would I have met him if I hadn’t been so desperate for answers to the problem of Éomer? Maybe horseboy did me another favor that I didn’t even realize.
Paris Now you are looking at me as if I'm nuts. "I shared Théo's dreams, even before I knew who he was. They came in cycles, and when they got really bad, I couldn't trust myself to be around people, they got so violent. I hurt someone I loved, badly, so I took off, lived on the road for seven years, never letting myself get close to anyone, making sure I was alone when the intense ones hit." A shiver crawls down my spine at the memories.
"They always felt so real, like I was there in the middle of fights and battles … they came to a head the morning I first shifted, and finding out there was a reason behind them was a huge relief. I had always thought that if I told anyone what was happening, they would lock me up, pump me full of drugs, and never let me out …" Another well needed shot gets downed, the heat of the Jack a welcome contrast to thoughts of living out in the cold for so long.
And it doesn't take an empath to see you love Eric. The way your face softens when you mention his name, the tiny crinkle around your eyes. "Tell him. If he loves you, you'll work it out, and it has to be easier for you both if you don't have to hide things from him."
Karl: "Yeah, I'll tell him, just got to find a good moment and a good opener. Maybe could get Pete to script it for me." I smile and shrug.
But the dreams . . . Fuck. I exhale a long breath. I can't imagine their life sometimes but to share their dreams, to be forced to share the nightmares that they faced in the waking world. And to have it happen for years. Fuck. "Seven years, but that was . . . " Way before Peter cast anyone in the movies. That makes my head hurt, because that means that you were connected to Théodred without the bowl. The world suddenly doesn't make sense again. I close my eyes, glad that the dreams I share with blondie aren't pieces of his life. And I deliberately ignore that other dream I had, that was just an aberration brought on by too much talking to Viggo.
"I've dreamed about Éomer ever since I looked in the bowl, but not in Rohan, not fighting. We're usually together somewhere, talking to each other. Well, there was once. . . " I slug back another shot. Fuck. I'm gonna need a ride home at this rate. But considering who you are . . . probably the one person who would understand the pain that dream caused me.
"Once, I dreamed he was in prison. Wormtongue was taunting him. It was so fucking real and so fucking heartbreaking. It hurt just to look at him." I still remember the grief that seemed so overwhelming that night. "He doesn't know how to hide what he's feeling." I down another shot, trying to forget his devastated face.
Paris: I can hear the pain and sadness in your voice, see it in your eyes. And remember what it was like to feel Théo's pain and his anger at what was happening to his people and his near despair as Saruman's attacks grew worse towards the end.
"In prison?" You nod a little in acknowledgement. "That would have been before what was left of the Fellowship arrived in Edoras? After Théo was killed … " The implications of what Éomer must have been feeling, and therefore what you felt hit me. Even if it was just a dream, it had to hurt.
"They may be annoying gits, but they kinda get under your skin after a while, in more ways than one." I let out a little snort of laughter. "Its weird living this double life, but I've got a lot of respect for Théo, despite all his faults."
The table is littered with empty shot glasses, so I catch the barmaid's eye I hold one up, smiling hopefully. She brings over a half full bottle of Jack and leaves it on the table with a smile and a wink at both of us.
Karl: I raise an eyebrow at the bottle. No more playing around then, time for serious drinking. We start pushing the glasses together and you hold the bottle over each until they are all full again. We smile at each other and clink before tilting our heads back and pouring the warm amber liquid down.
I decide to keep my mouth shut on the subject of Théodred. We’ll see how this friendship thing works out. Might be a good thing, but if we just end up coming to blows again I can still use you and blondie as buffers. The prince and I don’t ever have to see each other.
“I don’t know if it’s respect exactly that I feel for Éomer . . . empathy definitely. I mean he’s bloody helpful in a fight, but he’s never seemed the sharpest wit, you know what I mean?”
If I’m going to keep this up, I need to relieve a little pressure. “Gotta go to the dunny. Right back.” I get up and wander towards the back.
Paris: I snicker at your comment about Éomer. I think the alcohol is having a nicely mellowing effect. I've never spent time with him, though, so I've gotta take your word on that, although knowing what I know about Théo, there has to be more to him.
It's been good to be able to talk openly about the horseboys. I know Dave would talk about it if I really wanted to, but I know it makes him uncomfortable. But then I do think the horseboys are different from other shifts. I snigger again to myself, wondering if they know that's what they get called. Faramir seems so civilised when compared to Théo, even when we got drunk playing pool up at the cabin. Maybe civilised is the wrong word. We did have a wild time … maybe it's more to do with knowing Faramir wasn't gonna try and get in my pants, whereas from the little I saw of Éomer, I think he would, but maybe that's just cause I look like Théo … and maybe civilised is the right word after all.
You walk back towards me, almost in a straight line, and plonk yourself back in your seat, picking up a glass at the same time as I do. Maybe a toast is in order to put them aside for the night. It's good to know I have someone to talk to if things get rough, and I hope you feel the same.
"The horseboys. Long may they ride the plains of Rohan …"
Mentally cursing my disorganization, I hunt around for Paris' number, before remembering that I saved it in my phone. Next problem, finding the phone. I glare at Ire who appears to be laughing at my frustration.
"Go away, you mangy beast." He rolls over lazily, and starts licking his balls. Now I really need to go out, I'm getting disrespected by my own dog.
Phone finally located, I call Paris, who is free, surprisingly enough.
We agree to meet at Copperface Jacks on Kent Terrace.
Paris: I get to Jacks first, and find us a decent table. After ordering a beer and starting a tab at the bar, I pass the time with a couple of practice shots. I was pleased to get Karl's call. The only pool I've played for months was with Faramir up at the cabin, and I miss the challenge of a good game. I'm not really sure how good a player Karl is, but I guess I'll find out soon enough.
Another cold mouthful slips down as I look down at the table and decide which shot to take next. There's a nicely tricky angle on the black, so I line it up, and it slips straight in as I watch with a smug little smile on my face. When I straighten up Karl is standing watching, and my smile widens to a grin.
"Hey man, it's good to see you." We've spoken on the phone plenty, arranging the horseboy's visits, but haven't met up for ages and I grasp your hand in a firm shake. "Thanks for the invite, I was really in the mood for this tonight. There's a tab set up at the bar, I wasn't sure what you'd be drinking."
Karl: I'm grinning as I watch you take your practice shots. You look like you know what your doing and this should be fun. I remember you said you supported yourself hustling pool, I've done the same, but my time was a lot longer ago, when I was in school and my parents temporarily had me. I go get a draft and then take a few of my own for practice.
We flip for the break, which you win and you pot a stripe and a solid. I watch you pacing around the table, chalking your cue, and then you call the four ball on the end. You make the shot, but don't leave yourself anything open, and fluff your next one.
"Ow, hard luck, mate." I chalk my own stick and eye the table. I line up on the upper right corner of the cue.
Paris: Watching as you line up a shot on the ten, I knock back the last of my beer, not interested in another until this first game is over, wanting to pick up on your strengths and weaknesses. The ball goes down easily, leaving a tougher shot with only the twelve open for you. And I'm impressed at the way you head round the table, and pot it straight down, angling the cue ball off the far side cushion first. So you do know what you're doing, which always makes for a good game. My smile at that thought turns to a grimace as with your next shot the white rolls slowly towards the eleven, just touches it and stops dead, leaving me in a hellishly tight spot.
You grin at me good naturedly and grab your beer as you leave the table to me, and I give you a quirky smile in return before getting to work. I do one full circuit of the table, weighing up the options. Leaning low over the table, and arching my hand high, I hit the white quite hard, sending it spinning towards the end cushion, across the corner pocket to the side cushion, and back into the group of balls it was trapped in earlier. It clips the two which heads down to the far right hand corner pocket, rolling almost to a standstill before slipping over the edge with a satisfying clunk. I can't quite help the small smile as the seven and five get slammed down with little ceremony, and seeing I'm out of even slightly clear shots, leave you trapped in a tough spot of your own.
Karl: Haven’t had this much of a challenge in a game in a long time. I called the right person, because you’re at least as good as I am, perhaps better. But I forget about you for the moment, walking around the table, tuning out everything except the balls, concentrating on their arrangement, looking at the pattern, trying to . . . there. Like magic, the lines are there. I stare at the cue ball, watching it follow the lines.
The first one will be the toughest shot, but if I make it and draw the cue properly, the rest should go easy. Your three is blocking my shot, so I’ll have to use it.
“Thirteen, side pocket,” I say almost automatically, gesturing with my stick. The lines are still there as I crouch over the felt and they extend into the pool cue I’m holding. I slide it back and forth over my thumb, waiting until I see the proper extension. Then I have it and the stick slips forward, easy as sex, hitting the cue ball right where the line goes in. The cue hits the three, which takes off, bumping the thirteen into the pocket. The white is in position to take the fourteen in the other side, and I call it, giving the cue ball bottom English, pulling it back to take out the nine on the end. I signal the pocket and the ball sails in.
My last shot is that bloody pesky eleven, all the way at the other end. I fucking hate long shots, because too much can go wrong. I nod at the pocket and follow the line. The shot hit mostly true and the eleven is pocketed, but the cue goes slightly off my planned path and I’m worried about my shot on the eight ball. Don’t think I can avoid scratching. I consider your two remaining balls.
“Safety,” I declare and tap the cue lightly. It just grazes the rail and stops behind the eight ball, leaving the eight between it and your balls. The lines fade away and I stand up, looking for my beer.
Paris: Yep, safety alright. I lean on my cue as I consider my options. I know fine well if I take a shot and miss, you'll win. Now, I could call safety too, but where would be the fun, the risk in that? I call the shot, smiling at you. You raise your eyebrows with a "Yeah, right!" look on your face, and watch as I bend over and take the shot, sending the cue ball hurtling down the table, rebounding off the far cushion, and slamming back into the balls. I can hardly watch as they scatter, but as predicted, or maybe more like prayed for, the six rolls into the corner pocket. With a grin, I call and pot the one and finally the eight ball, slamming it home into the centre pocket.
"Good game!" I slap you on the back with a grin. "You wanna set them up again and I'll grab another couple of beers?" Seeing the "classy" box of wine behind the bar has me wondering who the hell drinks wine in a pool hall, but it reminds me you said you were going out to visit your Aunt's vineyard with Eric a couple of weeks ago. The table's ready to go again by the time I get back, and hand you your draught. "How's your Aunt's wine business going?"
Karl: The game was fun. I don’t really care who wins or loses, as long as they’re a good enough player to challenge me. Which you are. Our styles are radically different, you play recklessly without much finesse, but you have enough natural talent to compensate for that so you’ll win a percentage of games. I rely on technique, which I’m fucking good at, so I’ll win a percentage too.
You come back with frosty mugs and questions about June’s winery. I smile happily at the memories. That trip was a revelation in more ways than one. Part of it I’ll share with you. “Doing good, she’s moving ahead, got her vines planted. She put Eric and me to work, but it was fun times. Even introduced her to horseboy.” Safe enough telling you that, but you look a little surprised. I grimace. “Yeah, he snogged her breathless and totally won her over. Wish my life would go that easy.” I chuckle. “Good thing you were out of town too, so the horseboys have no reason to muff at either of us.”
You won the last game so you break, slamming the cue ball hard into the others, but you pocket the black and scratch, so the table is open and I position the cue to my satisfaction.
Paris: "You did?" My eyebrows rise in surprise, but I laugh along with you at his antics. It's actually good to know you feel comfortable enough with shifting now to do that. I know it's not an ideal part of our lives, but it's been easier for both of us since we got them organised and into a sort of routine. "Yeah, Théo was okay with it. He's been easier to live with now he knows he can come here regularly."
Sipping on my beer I watch you stalk around the table looking for the shot. You call it, and the fourteen rolls down easily, followed by the nine, but the fifteen proves to be more problematic, and it clips the corner of the pocket sending it off at an angle, and the table is mine.
I chalk the cue while I decide which way to go. "He did say you were gonna teach him how to surf. Did he pick that up right?" I call the seven and shoot it straight into the centre pocket, then line up an easy shot on the five.
Karl: The cue ball rolls awkwardly after your shot leaving you with nothing, although you take a shot anyway and screw my balls the fuck up. You smirk at me and I know you did it on purpose.
As I walk around looking for an angle, I think back to the conversation with Théodred. I was just trying to distract him from attempting to seduce me, but I’m not going into that with you. Things are dicey enough with our shifts slobbering all over each other, we don’t need the added complication of your shift trying to get into my pants.
“Yeah, I said I would. Didn’t think he was all that interested in it, although he seemed pretty entranced with the ocean. He still wants to go?” Might be entertaining. There’s not a person on this planet, or any other, who picks up surfing the first try, and I don’t care if they’re the bloody Prince of Rohan. I can teach him just fine, but he’s bound to wipe out a time or two before he gets the hang of it.
Paris: "Yeah, he does." In the spirit of friendship, apparently, which is fair enough, given how much I know he pissed you off originally. I'm just keeping my head down in case someone suggests I go horse riding with Éomer or something. "I've told him it can't be until after my Dad's birthday, so I'll give you a ring when I get back from Auckland, arrange something? If you still want to do it."
Your eyes narrow with concentration as you line up your shot, calling safety and with a smug smile leaving me in even deeper shit than I left you. I let out a long breath and take a little time to consider my options, strolling round the table and eyeing up the possibilities as I talk.
"I hung out with some friends who were surfers when I was younger. We'd drive through the Waitakere Ranges to the west coast and spend weekends camping round Karekare and Piha, and I enjoyed it, but never got bitten by it like those guys did. I was always more into bikes."
Deciding to open the table up again, I call the two in the center pocket, knowing it's unlikely. It misses, but scatters the balls wider, and doesn't leave you with any really easy shots, so I'm happy. "So how'd you get into it?"
Karl: I try to think up a convenient lie, while I look for a shot. You haven't left me much, but there's a slight possibility I can make that tricky bank, but then I'll have nothing. I take the bank anyway, and to my surprise it works and the ball falls, but leaves the cue in another awkward trap. I'm still trying to decide what to tell you as I consider the table.
Fuck it, I can't lie worth a shit. It's been a long time since anybody's asked me a direct question about my past that hasn't been already pre-packaged by my agent. "One of the times I ran away, I think I was about twelve. Ended up down at Houghton Bay, just hung around for a few days, sleeping on the beach. Some of the Maori surfers there were slipping me food so I stayed. Finally got my nerve up to ask to try it. Got the shit knocked out of me by those pipes down there, but I felt I owed it to them to stick with it. First time I caught the smallest edge I was hooked for good."
My concentration is shot at that point, talking about my past makes me bloody uncomfortable. So I pull one of your moves and blast the cue out, pocketing one stripe and one solid.
Paris: It's easy to see how awkward you feel about answering one simple question, and my first reaction is to try and put you at your ease. I know how it feels to need to run away, and I guess the difference in doing it at twenty instead of twelve is that there's less likelihood of being returned to wherever it is you wanted to leave in the first place. As you speak, I get a tiny glimpse of the boy who found sanctuary on the beach amongst the surfers. The boy that the man you've become is so very protective of. I search out my next shot, pausing to take a deep drink before sizing a couple up.
"I rode out there a few times last year when I was deciding whether to stay around or not. Those guys are amazing to watch." Shot found, I call it, and put down the four. "So you learned from the best?"
Bending over to check out my next move, I glance back at you with a smile. "And just tell me to shut the fuck up if you don't wanna talk about it, I won't take offence."
Karl: “Don’t mind talking about it, was good times then.” Till my mother finally got spooked when people starting asking questions about where I was, and then the truant officer paid her a call. She started wailing hard enough to the plods when that happened. I’d been on the beach over a month before they found me.
“They are the best, in a lot of ways. They’re still on the beach, just hanging out. I went back there whenever I could . . . when I knew it wouldn’t get them in any trouble. Still keep in touch with them. And I kept up the surfing, it got in my blood somehow. “ Haven’t seen Tanga since I came back, should go find him. My brah.
Your style of play gets the best of you this time and you scratch on the eight ball. I rack while you get more brew. I break hard, but don’t pot any and I circle the table deciding what to do.
“You were thinking about leaving? I thought you were native, like me.”
Paris: "I am, and I wasn't thinking of leaving Zid, just Wellie. Hadn't been in town very long, and it was hard to stand still after years on the road. I kept getting the feeling I should be moving on." Which is true. Even without what happened with Dave, it took a long time for the pull of the open road to leave me.
You take your time setting up a shot, then call and sink the two and three in quick succession while I sip my beer. "But then my brother showed up, and gave me a place to stay, and things slowly fell into place. Dave, the business, even the cat, so I guess I'm destined to be here." Guess this was your lucky break, as the six and seven follow, only then leaving you with an awkward shot.
"What about you? You must have traveled a fair bit. Never felt like settling down anywhere else?"
Karl: I sigh at my shot, and then call a safety. I lean against the wall, finishing my beer, while you ponder.
“Ran away again, over a year ago now. Straight to LA. All the shit going down here was just too much to cope with. Éomer and all.” Some of the ‘and all’ is none of your business, it’s over and done with and doesn’t affect anything now. “The hobbits made me their project, took me around to all the ‘in’ places. My career was really starting to heat up then, so it seemed like the logical thing to do. Tried to make it there, I really did, but it just wasn’t for me. And after Éomer got me arrested a couple of times, I figured it was better if I went insane closer to home.”
I think back over the past tumultuous year, and the long road I’ve come to accepting what’s happened to me, and really . . . coming back to my sanity. I wouldn’t have made it without friends like Bernard and Dave. And you helped too, in your way, even though you had no idea what was going on with me that morning.
Paris: "I guess we've all been through our moments of insanity over this." I remember seeing you almost fall apart that first day. The first time we'd seen each other for years, and it really wasn't under the best of circumstances, waking up together like that. "It takes a while to learn how to deal with it, live with it … " Then I remember my shopping trip. "Course, it can still bite you on the ass sometimes, and at least you don't share a face with yours." I line up a shot and sink it as I talk.
"I go to buy a pair of new bike gloves last week at this place called Rawhyde in the mall. Never been there before, one of the guys that works for me recommended them, so I walk in, and this assistant does a double take and goes white as a sheet. He dashes over, stammering, asking me if everything is okay with what I had bought and saying there would be no problem replacing anything if need be, and all the time, he keeps glancing over my shoulder as if he's looking for someone. Then he asks if my friend is with me today, and I must have looked like an idiot standing there staring at him wondering what the fuck he's talking about before it started to fall into place." The table is still open and I take my time sinking another.
"I tell him no, my friend isn't with me, and his face lights up and he starts pulling pairs of pants off the rack, saying he can do a really good deal on a matching pair for me. So I think "What the hell?" If he wants to sell me these for peanuts because of Théo, fine, lets get some benefit out of it. So he leads me through to the changing rooms, and on the way, we pass the erm … fetish section." I'm grinning at the memory, the colour rising on my face, even though at the time it was more like a wide eyed expression of shock. "And the girl behind the counter looks up, and grins at me, giving me a knowing wink and at that point I was so freaked, I just bought the pants and left. Didn't realise until I got home I'd forgotten to buy gloves." A third slams into the far corner pocket.
Karl: Well that explains a lot. "Yeah, I seem to have acquired a new pair of leather pants and another bike jacket. I've sort of been wondering where they came from. Especially since the jacket is way too big for me through the shoulders. The pants fit pretty good, but I prefer my broken in pair."
But . . . "Fetish section? You mean like kinky sex stuff? Fuck. I haven't seen any of that in my closet." Then I remember those top-of-the-line hair products I found once.
"I think blondie has an obsession with his hair though. Found a bunch of products that I don't use when I was spring cleaning."
That makes me think. Expensive salons are the only place you can get those hair items, and that fringed jacket couldn't have been cheap. I keep a little bit around the house, but not enough for all that. "Where the hell are they getting the money for this stuff? They can't be just boosting it or that guy wouldn't have been so happy to see you."
I'm starting to see your problem with sharing a face with Théodred. At least if blondie does anything I can pretend ignorance when he shifts away.
Paris: I snicker at the thought of Éomer giving his hair a deep conditioning treatment. And I know how obsessed Théo is with the shower. "Yeah, the kinky stuff, and I haven't found anything either … yet. I'm sort of torn between wondering what the hell they've bought, and really not wanting to know!!" Having missed my last shot, I stand back and have a drink, leaving it open for you.
"And I think they're winning the cash." You pause just before you shoot and look up at me in disbelief, and I explain with a shrug and a smile. "There's a trophy on the bookshelf back home. The engraving says it's for the winner of an annual darts challenge held at Cue Room Bar a couple of months ago. I rang them up out of curiosity, and the prize money was $600. More than enough for a set of leathers, but not much else though." You take the shot, and surprisingly, it goes in.
"The trophy's got a dent in it, and I remember waking up after that visit with a fading boot print on my ribs." And Théo was his elusive self about it. We talk quite a bit now, but he's always cagey about stuff that happens when he shifts in. "So I gotta wonder what sort of reception I'd get walking into that place!"
Karl: I walk around the table, thinking about my next shot. Looks like I can pot two more, easy. I remember waking up with unusual bruises a few months back myself.
"I know that place, and I almost suggested it, but Jacks is quieter. Fuck, nothing like walking into an ambush. I figured that Éomer must have been with your horseboy a few months ago when I woke up with bruises too." I make the first shot and call the second, lining my stick up.
"Shit, I don't know whether this is good news or not. Clearly they're not just hanging around screwing each other into the ground, which is good, I guess. But to have them out roaming Wellie . . . that's sorta scary." Except for that one time, I haven't had any indications that Éomer has caused anymore problems while he's been here, so I had figured that Théodred was a steadying influence on him. Or that Théodred kept him on his knees too much for him to get in trouble. Maybe we need to have another chat about what is and isn't acceptable behavior.
I pocket the ball, but draw the cue too far for a clean shot on the next one. I try it anyway and miss.
Paris: "Yeah, it is. I know he'd never deliberately get into trouble, but the possibility is always there for trouble to find him, and he's not one to back out of a fight, Éomer neither, I'm guessing." This has been a smooth game, which is just as well, as I don't think either of us is really concentrating much on the balls.
"When we first started to talk, I asked him to stick to bars round the harbour, not far from the warehouse, and I think he drinks in the Ship, the one we found your bike outside of? But he obviously got bored. I keep trying to put myself in his position, a stranger in a strange land, and I suppose I would be curious about everything new and different, but he's gonna have to balance that out with me being the one who belongs here and has a life here. What if they run into Ben or Adam one night? The guys that work for me and know Dave?"
I pot the last of my balls and slam down the eight, letting out a sigh and smiling up at you. "Sorry for rambling. Don't get to talk about this much, Dave still has a hard time with me shifting, and Théo's never a good topic for conversation." Leaning my cue against the wall, I grab our empty glasses as you start putting the balls back on the table. "You fancy something stronger?"
Karl: This evening has been going pretty good. You at least understand the horseboys as well as I do, and don't make assumptions about them. You're probably the only other person in Wellie, fuck, in the world who knows what it's like to live with a horse lord, how single-minded they can be, which drives me fucking nuts at times, but other times they surprise me with their understanding. Éomer couldn't have been more charming with Aunt June, knowing how much she matters to me, and I won't forget that.
"Sure, stronger is good. I'll drink bourbon or tequila, your choice." You come back with a tray of shot glasses full of Jack Daniels.
"Fuck, Théodred wearing your face would be bad if he sees anyone who knows you. That reminds me, I had to tell Eric part of the story. Told him I was helping you cheat on Dave with Éomer, so hopefully if he were to ever see any of you, he won't say anything or freak out." Eric and the truth is another issue I'm going to have to deal with, if I can ever figure out how.
Paris: I stare at you for a moment, then knock back my first shot, the Jack being exactly what I need. "He thinks I'm having an affair with Éomer??" And I know I'm staring at you again with my mouth open, but a grin grows at the irony of it all, and I have to laugh. "Nice one! But I can see how it makes sense … as much as anything does around here." And a second shot feels needed, the pool table forgotten for the moment.
Being with someone who doesn't know about it has to be difficult. How the hell do you explain that you share your body with a fictional character some of the time, and that they have lovers of their own? "So do you think you'll tell him about shifting eventually? That's a tough one, but your Aunt handled it well …"
Karl: Laughing at your shocked expression, I put away my own shot. “I didn’t name names. He thinks a friend of mine is having it both ways with two other friends of mine.” I shake my head. “Don’t ask. I was under pressure, and trying to talk my way out of something. You know how when you start lying, they just seem to pile up? Well, I suck at it worst than most people, so they got piled really high and almost toppled.”
I think I’ve about run that metaphor into the ground so I give up. “As for Aunt June, she’s special. She’s open-minded about a lot of things. And she such a girl too, thinks blondie is cute.” I imbue the word with all the disgust I can manage.
“As for Eric,” I sigh. “It has to be done, just don’t know exactly how to bring it up, you know? And then Hugo pointed out that it’s not just my ass on the line if he goes ballistic. I’ve got to think about how it will affect the rest of you if he can’t deal with it.”
“So, are we done playing, and on to the drinking?”
Paris: "Sounds good to me." I grab my jacket and we make our way to a quiet table closer in to the bar. I can't remember who won what, but it doesn't matter.
"She thinks he's cute?" I snigger at the tone of your voice. "Yeah, that isn't quite how I'd describe him." I remember dropping Théo off at your place after they hadn't seen each other for a month. "Magnificent and wild fit better, but I suppose he turned the charm on for your Aunt."
I can see you're torn about telling Eric, and with good reason, though lying to him can't be easy on you. "It's a tough call. Worst case scenario, and he freaks, even if he did go public, it's a wild story. Might put you and the rest of us in the spotlight for a while, but you must get that anyway, with each new movie you do …" But I think I'm about to shoot myself in the foot with that argument though as I think of the hordes of fans who could descend on Wellie if they thought the Third Marshall was really in town, never mind Aragorn and Legolas. "Okay, maybe Hugo has a point."
You've got a thoughtful almost glum look on your face as I knock back another shot, and you do the same.
"But if you think he could handle it, it's gotta be worth telling him. Must be hard keeping it from him, and if you really care about each other, he's gonna have to find out about it eventually."
Karl: The alcohol is starting to warm my body, and I'm feeling pleasantly relaxed. We match shots again.
I snort. "Can you imagine that conversation opener? 'Say mate, I've got this other person who lives in my head. No, I didn't go too far into the Method. And no I'm not crazy.' "
I shake my head, fingers tracing patterns on the table. "He's pretty steady, not given to having hysterics. When his shop got trashed, he didn't freak, just went to work. So I think that he would be okay that way. But . . . what if he got pissed at me for some reason?"
I try to remember why I agreed to look in that bowl in the first place. Dave thought it was cool, to have Faramir in his head, wanted to share the fun. I looked . . . and nothing happened. So I wrote it off as Dave being more squirrelly than usual and went on my way. Until the insanity started. Then I find out about Gareth . . . and then there was Ian . . . I warned him, but accidents seem to happen around that thing.
"So did you join us by accident, or did Dave tell you what you were getting into?"
Paris: "Someone that cares for you is gonna have to get pretty damned pissed off to use a secret you've trusted them with against you!" I smile, curious about Eric, and what he's like. All Dave told me was that he was 'another irresistible red head'.
Then you ask if he told me, and I have flashbacks to knowing he was hiding something, but never being able to get out of him what it was. I shake my head. "I didn't even know about the bowl or what it did until after I looked, and I didn't have a choice, it sorta pulled me to it."
Rolling the glass round in my fingers, I think on what my life was like before. "And I know it's gonna sound crazy, but looking in the bowl and shifting sorta saved my sanity. But I don't say that around Dave cause he thinks it'll give Morgoth something to use against me … and maybe it will, but it helped me realise I wasn't really losing it."
Karl: “Well, you haven’t known me long enough, I can really piss people off.” No wonder Théodred and I always seem to knock heads . . . I consider Eric. He’s never really gotten pissed at me. He’s been insecure and jealous, but never full out mad at my bullshit. He either just laughs at me or walks away. He’s so calm, a foil to my too hot temper. I’m warm again, but not from the liquor anymore.
And then the rest of your statement . . . “Shifting saved your sanity? Are you kidding me? How is that fucking possible?” I gulp another shot, settling back down. Your words surprise me, considering that shifting nearly destroyed me, I didn’t think of it saving anyone.
But I think of Eric again . . .would I have met him if I hadn’t been so desperate for answers to the problem of Éomer? Maybe horseboy did me another favor that I didn’t even realize.
Paris Now you are looking at me as if I'm nuts. "I shared Théo's dreams, even before I knew who he was. They came in cycles, and when they got really bad, I couldn't trust myself to be around people, they got so violent. I hurt someone I loved, badly, so I took off, lived on the road for seven years, never letting myself get close to anyone, making sure I was alone when the intense ones hit." A shiver crawls down my spine at the memories.
"They always felt so real, like I was there in the middle of fights and battles … they came to a head the morning I first shifted, and finding out there was a reason behind them was a huge relief. I had always thought that if I told anyone what was happening, they would lock me up, pump me full of drugs, and never let me out …" Another well needed shot gets downed, the heat of the Jack a welcome contrast to thoughts of living out in the cold for so long.
And it doesn't take an empath to see you love Eric. The way your face softens when you mention his name, the tiny crinkle around your eyes. "Tell him. If he loves you, you'll work it out, and it has to be easier for you both if you don't have to hide things from him."
Karl: "Yeah, I'll tell him, just got to find a good moment and a good opener. Maybe could get Pete to script it for me." I smile and shrug.
But the dreams . . . Fuck. I exhale a long breath. I can't imagine their life sometimes but to share their dreams, to be forced to share the nightmares that they faced in the waking world. And to have it happen for years. Fuck. "Seven years, but that was . . . " Way before Peter cast anyone in the movies. That makes my head hurt, because that means that you were connected to Théodred without the bowl. The world suddenly doesn't make sense again. I close my eyes, glad that the dreams I share with blondie aren't pieces of his life. And I deliberately ignore that other dream I had, that was just an aberration brought on by too much talking to Viggo.
"I've dreamed about Éomer ever since I looked in the bowl, but not in Rohan, not fighting. We're usually together somewhere, talking to each other. Well, there was once. . . " I slug back another shot. Fuck. I'm gonna need a ride home at this rate. But considering who you are . . . probably the one person who would understand the pain that dream caused me.
"Once, I dreamed he was in prison. Wormtongue was taunting him. It was so fucking real and so fucking heartbreaking. It hurt just to look at him." I still remember the grief that seemed so overwhelming that night. "He doesn't know how to hide what he's feeling." I down another shot, trying to forget his devastated face.
Paris: I can hear the pain and sadness in your voice, see it in your eyes. And remember what it was like to feel Théo's pain and his anger at what was happening to his people and his near despair as Saruman's attacks grew worse towards the end.
"In prison?" You nod a little in acknowledgement. "That would have been before what was left of the Fellowship arrived in Edoras? After Théo was killed … " The implications of what Éomer must have been feeling, and therefore what you felt hit me. Even if it was just a dream, it had to hurt.
"They may be annoying gits, but they kinda get under your skin after a while, in more ways than one." I let out a little snort of laughter. "Its weird living this double life, but I've got a lot of respect for Théo, despite all his faults."
The table is littered with empty shot glasses, so I catch the barmaid's eye I hold one up, smiling hopefully. She brings over a half full bottle of Jack and leaves it on the table with a smile and a wink at both of us.
Karl: I raise an eyebrow at the bottle. No more playing around then, time for serious drinking. We start pushing the glasses together and you hold the bottle over each until they are all full again. We smile at each other and clink before tilting our heads back and pouring the warm amber liquid down.
I decide to keep my mouth shut on the subject of Théodred. We’ll see how this friendship thing works out. Might be a good thing, but if we just end up coming to blows again I can still use you and blondie as buffers. The prince and I don’t ever have to see each other.
“I don’t know if it’s respect exactly that I feel for Éomer . . . empathy definitely. I mean he’s bloody helpful in a fight, but he’s never seemed the sharpest wit, you know what I mean?”
If I’m going to keep this up, I need to relieve a little pressure. “Gotta go to the dunny. Right back.” I get up and wander towards the back.
Paris: I snicker at your comment about Éomer. I think the alcohol is having a nicely mellowing effect. I've never spent time with him, though, so I've gotta take your word on that, although knowing what I know about Théo, there has to be more to him.
It's been good to be able to talk openly about the horseboys. I know Dave would talk about it if I really wanted to, but I know it makes him uncomfortable. But then I do think the horseboys are different from other shifts. I snigger again to myself, wondering if they know that's what they get called. Faramir seems so civilised when compared to Théo, even when we got drunk playing pool up at the cabin. Maybe civilised is the wrong word. We did have a wild time … maybe it's more to do with knowing Faramir wasn't gonna try and get in my pants, whereas from the little I saw of Éomer, I think he would, but maybe that's just cause I look like Théo … and maybe civilised is the right word after all.
You walk back towards me, almost in a straight line, and plonk yourself back in your seat, picking up a glass at the same time as I do. Maybe a toast is in order to put them aside for the night. It's good to know I have someone to talk to if things get rough, and I hope you feel the same.
"The horseboys. Long may they ride the plains of Rohan …"
