"What?" "I said, if it's no' --" "No, I heard you." Oded frowned, the space between his brows wrinkling, as he looked up from his book. The make-up trailer was deserted except for the two of them. "Then why'd you say 'what'?" "Because I don't know why you're on about beetles and sand, my friend," Oded stated, in his best Ardeth voice. "You're not required to bathe in it the way the rest of us infidels do." "Pah." John waved his hand carelessly, slipping into character without a thought. "You heathen lot are used to it. I'm not. And I still have to be out in it." "You really think Jonathan would call Ardeth a heathen?" Oded asked, sounding more like himself. John met Oded's eyes in the mirror's reflection. The tattoos on Oded's cheeks glowed dully. "Yeah, maybe. He's a Brit, but that don't mean he has manners." "Manners being the true mark of civilization, I'm guessing." "Maybe," John said, winking. "Didn't say that Jonathan was civilized, either." "So you believe that a savage lies beneath the surface?" "True of everyone, right?" John let his gaze roam over Oded -- from wild, unkempt, dark hair to faded robes to strong shoulders and long, muscled legs encased in truly awful boots. "You think Ardeth is?" Oded smiled, showing the tips of bright teeth. "Ardeth knows who he is." "And what's that?" Oded stood, clasping John's shoulder with a warm hand. "Ask Jonathan. He knows." John still felt the press of Oded's fingers long after he'd left the room. * * * "See, thing is, no one exactly knows who they are, right?" John nodded sagely, brows furrowed. He was positive Brendan was making brilliant sense, and this could quite possibly be the conversation that could change his entire life. Only problem was, the words were somewhat-- alright, a lot -- fuzzy. He took another sip of his Scotch to help clear things up. "Everyone's got this idea, see, but no one..." Brendan paused, placed a hand to his chest as he let out a low burp. "Sorry, too much salsa. Anyway, where was I?" John cupped his chin in his hand and leaned forward, knees pressing into the rickety table of their booth. "Ideas'n how people don't know themselves." "Right." Brendan smiled, eyes lighting up, beer sloshing over his glass with every gesture. "See, Rick thinks he...knows who he'is, right?" "Right." "All his life...he's...um...thought of himself. In a certain way. Then Ardeth comes and boom! Fucks up all his perceptions, everything he thought was true about the world and himself." John nodded again, mulling that over. Brendan was surprisingly lucid when he'd been drinking. Or maybe it was that the Scotch had finally decided to settle in, he wasn't sure. His wandering gaze rested on Oded, who was at the next table with Arnold and Stephen, open bottle of Oozo between them. Oded lifted his head and smiled, saluting John with his glass. "Yeah, Ardeth's a funny 'un." "What about Jonathan?" John scratched his head, hand slipping to cup the back of his neck. "Not too sure. I mean, he knows, right? I mean, he'd have to know who he is. But he doesnae think on it. Just is, if y'ken. 'Cept when he has to think about it. Then things aren't so clear. Ardeth makes things not so clear. You understand?" Brendan nodded. "Not really, no." John chuckled, pouring himself another thimble-full of Scotch. "Neither do I. Think another drink would help." Brendan clinked their glasses together. "I like the way you think." John smiled, and downed his shot. When he looked up, Oded's dark eyes were boring into him. The space between them disappeared, as did all the oxygen in the room. John didn't miss it. * * * "Remind me never to drink with Arnold ever again," Oded groaned, clutching his mug as he sank into his director's chair next to John. He squinted, looking out at the scene being rehearsed in front of him, groaned again when sunlight hit his face. John smiled -- but not too wide, because even that small motion would hurt right now. Scotch was definitely off his list. "Think Arnold and Brendan should drink together, leave the rest of us poor mortals alone." "Brilliant idea." Oded took a sip from his mug, then passed it wordlessly over to John. John practically sobbed in happiness when the first bitter splash washed over his tongue. Civilizations had been built on bliss like this. Or, if they hadn't, they should've been. "I love you," he stated, fingers lightly brushing Oded's as he passed the mug back. "If I'd known you were that easy, I'd have brought you coffee long before now," Oded teased, crossing his ankles in front of him. "That's not coffee, mate, that's ambrosia." John burrowed deeper in his chair. "A wee bit of heaven in the hell of sand and bugs." "You think Jonathan misses coffee?" "Nah, he's far too British." John took the mug again with a nod of thanks. "Probably misses his tea, however." "I don't think Ardeth's ever had tea," Oded said, tapping his chin with a long finger. "Perhaps Jonathan could introduce him. For, y'know, thanks." "Thanks?" John lost himself for a moment in the depths of Oded's eyes. "Yeah," he breathed, throat constricting again. What was it about Oded and air? "Should be the other way, shouldn't it?" Oded took the mug back, fingers lingering slightly on John's. "Jonathan saved his life." "So Ardeth owes him." John licked dry lips with a quick swipe of tongue. "Wonder what Jonathan would ask for." Oded's smile was slow, lethal. "I don't." John couldn't look away, couldn't move from the heat of those eyes, the possibility in that smile. "Yeah." "So," Oded's voice was a mere whisper in John's ear, a buzz that enticed, seduced. "You ever figure out who Jonathan is?" John turned his head, met dark eyes head on, and licked his lips again. This time, his tongue swiped briefly over Oded's. Felt the shimmer that tasted of mint and coffee. "No," he said, not moving. "But I think Ardeth could help him find out." Oded smiled again. From this close it looked blurry, indistinct. But it felt real over John's lips. "Knew you'd finally catch on," Oded murmured, just before he closed the small distance between them.
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