come_sailaway | [closed] Music for Chameleons

When the idea of karaoke night was first pitched, he wasn't sure he how up to it he felt. But drinks, music, friends to shoot the shit with... that started to sound better and better until in no time at all, he's come around to the idea. Really, it didn't take that much convincing.

"Well, well," he says when he gets there and sees the reserved sign. "I'm honored to be on the exclusive VIP list. Am I the only one dying to get in here?" Look, someone had to say it. They all know why they are here.

April, with the impression of a smile, is pleased to inform Crichton: "Believe it or not, no. I got a friend named Ossie who's also had... A rough week."

Look, obviously they're not as committed to privacy as Oswald is, so the fact that they're just implying this instead of outright saying it is a big leap for them, okay?

"But other than him, just you and Arthur."

"Ah, man. That's not a club that needed more members." He can read between the lines here pretty easily.

"I appreciate you going out of your way to cheer us up. Feels like this is just the thing I need to get my mind off it. For the record, I might ban any Wizard of Oz songs tonight. Too soon." You know, because the leg he got stabbed with sorta reminds him of that one scene where the house fell on the witch.

"Aw, and here I had a cover of the 'If I only had a' songs with a part for all of us." April says, so natural it's hard to tell if this is a bit or not. (It is, they don't do lyrics.)

As for the rest, April waves it off. "Ah, no big deal. Everyone's kind of stressed and I find having a socially acceptable excuse to yell in a public place helps ease some of that."

Which is to say that sure maybe some percentage of this is for their good acquaintances, but this is also more than a little bit for themselves. like 50% for themselves, maybe.

Fellas, is it gay to come do karaoke with your roommate on whom you have what is now unmistakably a crush and who you kissed in a moment of insanity thus causing Unbelievable Problems? Yes? No? Arthur's asking for a friend.

Anyway, he trails in with Crichton, looking in dire need of 1) a drink and 2) something to do that doesn't threaten his life or sanity, not necessarily in that order.

Pleasantly wry: "Evening, April. I'm glad you've managed to avoid shuffling off this mortal coil."

Ah, there he is!

"I have a pretty impressive unbroken streak of being alive going right now and an intense determination not to break it." April says lightly, smiling (surely) at Arthur's approach.

Now, all that's left is the other friend they invited, and they give a quick look around the promenade for a sign of the friend they're about to introduce to this other half of their social life like a fish to a new aquarium.

"What ho April!" Ossie calls from the hallway. He rounds the corner beaming, his usual three-piece suit largely discarded in favour of a casual sweater vest.

Then he sees Crichton.

Arthur's fine, Ossie knows him, but...

He's just going to briefly stand next to April, lean in, and without moving his mouth say "terribly unsporting of you not to bloody warn me that I'd be dealing with an attractive stranger."

"You know what? I believe I left something in my room- please, allow me to go fetch it," he announces then suddenly, going for the door again. He's absolutely going to get changed into something nicer.

"We need a socially acceptable excuse?" He turns to lightly rib Arthur with his elbow, "Why didn't you tell me?"

But, jokes aside, he's really happy to have something that feels like a slice of normalcy for once. He hopes April manages to keep that being alive uninterrupted streak going.

When they look around, so does he. And he smiles upon seeing who he assumes must be Ossie. Crichton's all ready to introduce himself with a smile and a handshake but then Ossie whispers something to April and...leaves?

"Was it something I said?"

Arthur snorts at Crichton's joke, but doesn't have time to fully shrink and turn into a corncob before Ossie makes his appearance.

And after that quick turnaround, Arthur's only got a deadpan: "What, did he leave his iron on?"

April, also aside, also without moving her mouth, says to Ossie "The fuck are you-"

And then he's made his absolutely subtle announcement about leaving to, what, change? April just watches him go with confusion written in the furrows of her face.

She doesn't look Crichton's way at all, just watching the door Ossie disappeared through, though she waves her hand a little.

"No, no, it's him being-" April almost says 'British', then 'From the 30s' then finally finds a word she's confident won't catch Arthur with splash damage, "-upper class, probably."

Though even that feels a bit harsh towards Ossie, too. Ah well, if it hurts his feelings so much he should say something about it.

April shrugs. "Give him a minute."

Ossie returns in a mathematically improbable amount of time, in the same pants as before, but now in the actual suit part as well, waistcoat and jacket.

"Terribly sorry chaps," Ossie calls as he glides his way back into the room, "just had the rummiest feeling I'd left the iron on. Oswald Wuthridge, pleasure to meet you," he offers his hand to Crichton, "and of course, I've already had the pleasure. Lovely to see you, Arthur."

Crichton looks between himself and Arthur with his mouth hanging open. He didn't... wait. They don't even have irons in their rooms, do they? Do they? No one irons leather so how the hell would he know? Is this some kind of old-fashioned guys from the past thing?

And, are they all just going to pretend like Ossie didn't dash away only to show back up in the rest of a suit out of nowhere? (Well, okay, Arthur is excused, but the rest of them??)

He's still so far off-kilter that his offered handshake is a lot less firm than it usually would be. "Y-yeah. Nice to meet you. Commander John Crichton, but you can just call me Crichton."

Don't worry, Crichton, that's just black-and-white-guy to black-and-white-guy communication.

Arthur huffs a little laugh, then says, "Ossie, lovely to see you too," because he'll be damned if being blind is going to ban him from a whole arm of useful social vocabulary.

"And had you?" What were you really doing.

April's eyebrow is arched so hard it's manifested. She looks from Ossie, to his hand, to Crichton, and then back, and the dots are connected but the picture isn't clear yet.

Not to mention, hello? Overkill? The sweater was fine. Honestly - look at Crichton. Anything that isn't leather and is ironed and clean would look nice in this crowd.

Which is why April ribs a little too: "On what? Aren't irons from where you're from, like, coal powered or something?"

She says, despite being alive when electric irons hit the market. Look, that wasn't her industry, fuck off.

Okay no, Arthur is not going to let this slander against their time period stand. "Well -- no -- gas, actually, a-and some of the more expensive ones plug directly into the electricity."

So put that in your iron and smoke it.

A genial huff, and Ossie doesn't blush because he's largely incapable of it.

"Oh hush," he touches amicably at Arthur's shoulder, "I'll have you both know that it was, in fact. No doubt another assassination attempt by the bastard inside Giles. It could have burned the whole bally ship down if not for my intervention; praise and thanks for my heroism is of course very welcome."

He turns to April, "now as for you, I'll have you know we had a cutting-edge electric iron back in 1926. I used to be quite the innovator in my day."

Ignoring the fact that Giles threw it out after wrangling with it for a week.

"Now then," he claps his hands together, "are we to bicker or are we to get sozzled and singing in that order?"

"Weren't those first ones using, like, ungrounded plugs that were just as likely to burn your houses down?" They know he's been to space right? They know he designed his own spaceship. For space? Wanna talk about innovators?

WHATEVER. Oswald is right, they came here to get hammered, not ironed. But if that's the case, why is seeing the man gently touch Arthur's arm like that getting him a little steamed?

"We are definitely here to get sozzed." Ooh, he likes that. He's going to keep using that.

"Come on, Arthur, let's get in there!" And he will just...not-so-subtly put his own arm around Arthur's shoulder to guide him in.

Amusing as Ossie's rolling with the bit is, April unfortunately can't stop herself from noticing Ossie's need to dress fancy for the 'attractive stranger', Ossie's touch on Arthur's shoulder, and how Crichton obviously puts his arm around Arthur's shoulders as they head into Chatterbox, and christ she's glad everywhere on this ship has a goddamn bar.

"Sozzled, singing, and bickering where we can work it in." April says, though she immediately swerves for the bar upon crossing Chatterbox's threshold.

It's going to be a long night and the only drink April knows how to mix is a martini, and not very well yet. Sozzling will both come quick and yet not quick enough, she suspects.

Arthur gives Ossie a smartly raised eyebrow-- oh, go on then, let's make it both eyebrows. "Of course," he deadpans, amused, "what would we do without you."

He loses the thread of the thought when Crichton puts an arm around his shoulders, and after a moment of oh! he picks his cane's wheels up off the floor and allows himself to be led instead. Now if he can just hold off on overthinking it until he gets to the bar...

Speaking of. "Will they be serving the April special martini tonight? I-I wouldn't mind another go behind the bar myself, provided I can borrow someone's eyes."

(Warning. Being Arthur's eyes behind the bar will inevitably turn, out of the demands of practicality, into being his hands and arms as well, and basically doing all the work while he calls out liquors and mixers.)

"Have a great deal less fun, I suspect," Ossie beams brilliantly at him, although Crichton taking Arthur by the shoulders doesn't go unnoticed. There's a possessive sweetness of desire and jealousy wafting off Crichton, subtle as the scent of twining jasmine, and he draws a shard of it into himself.

"Oh I'm quite easy to keep happy liquor-wise. I'll take whiskey on the rocks, if we're putting orders in, but I'm quite happy to fix it myself of course."

The sad truth in all this is how everyone besides Crichton (and maybe Arthur) can see what the hell is going on here between them. Adding drinks is only going to intensify things. April would know from having escorted them home drunk enough times, but for those who are new to the experience--take how touch-feely Crichton is while sober and double it for every drink he has. They'll be lucky if Crichton isn't sitting in Arthur's lap by the end of the night. (Though, Ossie has a shot of that too if he plays his cards right.)

"I'll be your eyes, Arthur," he offers instantly, "but we're making margaritas this time. Everyone knows the best cure for a death hangover is tequila!" Who? Who would know that? Why would that be a thing, Crichton?

He gestures to Ossie, "What about you? Can I get you in on a fishbowl too or you sticking to the whiskey?"

Wo-hey now! Margaritas?? April pivots so she's facing Crichton while walking backwards to the bar.

"Oh fuck yes, sign me up for a trip to margaritaville!" she says, clapping and pointing.

On the one hand, the ship is clearly suffering for the lack of maintenance crew, on the other there's something to be said for descending on an unattended bar like a bunch of college freshmen who have never been drunk before.

(Yes, 'seagulls on a french fry' would have been a cleaner metaphor, but that doesn't capture the level of maturity and self-restraint that April has witnessed drinking with the guys. Or with her coworkers. Or, wait, what's the common factor here?)

Crichton knows exactly what he's letting himself in for, and from this moment forward has only himself to blame.

"I-I can think of at least three things better for a hangover than tequila, but we won't need those until later." And also he only half-remembers the recipes, and has been trying unsuccessfully to perfectly replicate them ever since the ghosts unionised.

Ossie clicks his tongue, "well, who am I to question the expert? This is my first time dying, after all. You've twisted my arm; tequila it is."

And not just because Ossie is intensely vulnerable to peer pressure.

"You know, it just occurs to me I've been horribly rude- what sort of Commander are you, Crichton? I promise my manners are usually better than this," he takes his spot up at the bar, because he's feeling delicate and ornamental and doesn't much want to help. Even if it gets him alcohol faster.

"What, you never heard the saying tequila might not be the answer, but it's worth a shot?" Feel three to pelt him with limes for that one.

The thing Arthur doesn't know is that Crichton might be using this as an excuse to stand even closer than usual and reach around Arthur more than is strictly necessary, going just short of frelling licking the man to show ownership. He doesn't mind at all if Ossie stays over there and only watches.

"I guess technically this is my second time dying, but the first one was while I was still back on Moya and let me just say I'm glad I turned out to be a decent CPR instructor." Because he'd had to stop his own heart and rely on his partner Aeryn to get it pumping again.

"Hm?" he looks up from where he's pouring salt into a dish to use on the rims. "Oh. Don't worry. You get a pass on manners tonight if I do. I was Flight Commander for my experimental space flight. Back on Earth, I was an astronaut. I formulated my own theory that we could use the gravitational pull of a planet's atmosphere to accelerate without the use of fuel or propulsion. I designed my space ship to test it and went up for the first flight. So, commander in rank, but it was a crew of one that time."

Now, why would April do that when she's cracking up at the joke? She doesn't know about Ossie, but Crichton probably has the best audience for this brand of comedy.

April has even less qualms about letting Crichton and Arthur do all the work, taking her place one seat down from Ossie.

"Rank by default, nice." April says.

"HR goofed restructuring one time and I technically, as far as the database was concerned, briefly the manager of a null department." She shrugs. "I just kept going into work to see how long it'd take to notice."

Edited 2022-11-23 19:09 (UTC)

Arthur doesn't have a lime at the ready, so instead he throws his hand, with a snort and a barely-suppressed smile.

Crichton is perhaps the only active member* of a tiny and exclusive club of people on whom Arthur will do a hit when they tell an objectively awful joke, and whose jokes he will find funny even when they are objectively awful. And he has committed the tactical error of making himself an extremely easy target.

(Given how their conversation at Crichton's resurrection went, Arthur is chalking the extra closeness up to... something. Confirmation bias. Wishful thinking. Something. Half of him wants them both to forget the kiss ever happened, and half wants to go back in time and do it better somehow. Either way... he does nothing to discourage Crichton leaning close every five seconds.)

"How long till you got rumbled?" he directs at April.

*membership opens seasonally when he is not sober

Ossie outright titters at the joke, a hand going to cover his mouth politely.

"Oh that is a good one, I'll have to remember that. You must be several sorts of brilliant to have worked all that gravitational whatnot out- perhaps when things have sorted themselves out you could tell me more about it? I'm simply fascinated."

A small laugh at April's story, and he addresses both April and Arthur when he teases- "Oh I can't imagine it would be less than a couple of weeks. Our April just oozes professionalism. I could imagine her as manager of most anything."

"Fake it until you make it, huh April?" He almost wants to tell her to be careful not to do too good of a job or they might decide to let it stick. But... that's the April who's still at home's problem. Doesn't do any good now.

"Ha, hey!" He playfully protests the hit to his arm, though his cheeks might be going a slightly hotter shade now because of it.

And the heat continues to rise when Ossie's praise is applied. They better be careful not to inflate his ego so much it pops off.

"Yeah, well..." he rubs at the top of his head, mussing his own hair nervously. "I did have help. I didn't do it all on my own."

"How dare you insult me like that." April deadpans (playfully) to Ossie.

But that doesn't last with Crichton's comment about her lifestyle, which is true beyond what Crichton could possibly know about her. She still grins very clearly and points at him in agreement.

"Anyway, boring end to the story, I kept it up for a year and then couldn't be assed to make up something believable for the annual department meeting so I left."

April doesn't go into the details of how, if she did anything formal or literally ghosted the place, and she probably won't ever to this crowd ~~for another few drinks at least~~.

The commentary on April's story is great for both her pride and also for distracting her from the opening moves of this game Ossie is playing with...? Arthur? Crichton? Both? Well, anyway, April doesn't notice anything too deep about Ossie's compliments to Crichton, passing it off as Ossie not being a rocket scientist and thus finding rocket science interesting.

"Don't let him fool you," says Arthur, perhaps to the room in general, perhaps directly to Ossie. "Crichton's a-a man of both intelligence and experience, no matter how well he may pretend otherwise."

It's not consciously meant to establish that Arthur and Crichton are close, but by complete coincidence, it does so anyway. Imagine a class swot who wasn't called on for a question, but wants everybody to know that he knew the material better all the same.

The conclusion of April's story gets a faint laugh. "That's that, I suppose. Did they pay you for it at least?"

"You know, if there's one vice I cannot tolerate, it's an excess of humility," Ossie teases, a hand resting lightly at his neck, "I'm inclined to believe Arthur, and I must insist on you telling me more about it later, as I said."

His attention drifts back to April, and the smile he meets her with is practically impish.

"What, you're not incredibly professional? Next you'll tell me you didn't have an immaculately designed set of business cards in a holder made especially for them."

Which is a very weird way to tease, but that's something he likes about April. She might not be a Changeling, but he can rile her up with specificities in the same way as his friends back home.

"You left? That's a bold move." Wait, where did she say she worked again? How did they literally let all that slip for a year? Must be some government office.

And just when he thought his cheeks couldn't bun any brighter, there Arthur goes laying on even more compliments, and striking closer to home than he expected. He does, admittedly, play his intelligence down. Sometimes he does such a convincing job at it he fools even himself.

"Arthur," he stage whispers, "You're not supposed to rat me out like that."

They must be getting close to finishing their assembly line of margaritas by now. He leans around the man slightly to check how they are doing. And to nudge a glass into place so a certain someone doesn't accidentally pour all over the counter.

To Ossie, he adds, "Not many accuse me of being humble. It's just a lot of math and a lot of concepts that... sometimes I wonder how much they matter with wizards and shapeshifters all hanging around." Do the laws of physics even matter? That's a midlife crisis he's been desperately trying to keep a lid on for... a while.

"Do you know what happens when you print business cards?" April asks, but then answers: "90% of the time, nothing. The rest though, that's a potential for someone to contact you and that's the last thing I want people to do to me at work."

Speaking of which, April points at Crichton, "And not that bold when you're technically only there as a contracted employee from a temp agency and/or part of the local federal temp pool. So yes, I also got paid for it, that was the whole point of sticking around collecting cheques for a job that shouldn't have existed, never do anything at work for free."

April is on a roll now, which means when it comes back around to Crichton's background in science and physics and how that clashes with the cruise ship horse shit, April's unafraid to cut in.

"Okay okay - I get it, you're a man of science and you learned about Weird Bullshit like magic and so-on, I'll tell you a lifehack to reconciling that crap: Natural laws and physics are the script, magic is the improv." April explains, spreading her hands like they're smoothing out a banner.

She keeps them held up for the half-second it takes to review that point and add: "Or, science is the rules of the improv game and magic is the improvisation. Look, the point is, it still matters, it's just sharing the stage now. Also, magic people can't do math."

Edited 2022-12-02 06:12 (UTC)

[closed] Music for Chameleons

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