Thirty-six, thirty-seven, and Jory. (Charlemangel)

[Anonymous]

Ezekiel lay on his back on the carpet, hands behind his head, breathing out slowly.  Thirty-six perched on his stomach, twitching a little.  He could feel the stubs of her nails through the cotton of his shirt every time his lungs filled and emptied.  He kept his eyes closed and the chinchilla hopped up his chest, sniffing--he could tell by the way she breathed, the way the air moved--and then bounded off, thrown off-balance by the apparently daunting curve of his ribs.

He smiled and breathed out again, eyes shut.  Then open.  He blinked up through the leaves of one his orange trees, filtering already-filtered Aedolian sunlight.  Shut.  And open.  The light dazzled him again.  

Weekends were lovely.  He'd gone out last night and walked leisurely back home from the cushion-filled lounge at Syn this morning, and he'd asked Jory to come over and try some of his new biomodded blends today.  Some serotonin-norepinephrine-dopamine-reuptake inhibitors, uppers.  Some opiates.  Some hybrid tobacco with a bit of a kick and an intense citrus flavor, which he'd... apparently largely given away last night, perhaps to the blonde with the beautiful hands.  

Thirty-six snuffled at his armpit and Ezekiel sat up, blinking out the dazzle of laziness and cradling the little animal in the crook of one elbow.  The red light over his door had lit up, and he glanced at the vid monitor to confirm.  

"Come in," he said, because telepathy would more reliably make it through the door than speech.

He lay back down, folding his spine slowly into the carpet, and set thirty-six on his chest.  Sniff, sniff. He wrinkled his nose back and then let his head flop to the floor.

He waved lazily, eyes still closed, once he felt footsteps on the floor; he'd had it rebuilt it just a little unstably, so he could feel movement more easily.  "Heya."

[Anonymous]

Though he managed to squeeze in a few hours of sleep once he made it back to the Citadel that morning, Jory was still tired when he woke up.  He was also a bit hungover and couldn't get back to sleep.  He had a bottle of flurazepam somewhere, but remembered scrawling 'take on work nights' on it with a marker before putting it away.

He made coffee instead, filled the bottom of his mug with whiskey, topped it off with a little frothed milk and paced around his apartment while he drank it.  The caffeine or the motion helped wake him up a bit.

This was one of those unplanned weekends.  Weekends that Jory usually spent at his work bench or out in Haviah club hopping or party crashing.  He didn't feel like picking at the Butterfly phone currently sitting there, there shouldn't have been that many differences between this model and the last one.  He'd curled up in his chair, prepared to waste away the rest of the afternoon in front of the television when he got Ezekial's message.

New biomods?  Sold.  Ezekial would be willing to go out somewhere afterward too.  Jory replied, gave himself some time to get dressed and make it down there.

Then, feeling lazy, just decided to pull out some clothing for later, tied his hair in a ponytail and threw a microfibre dressing gown over his sleep pants.  Finding his slippers took the rest of his time and he left after getting his cigarette case and lighter.

He almost walked into Ezekial's apartment without ringing.  The last time that happened Ezekial pounced on him two steps in.

Because he spent so much time looking for them, he kept his slippers on once he walked in.  Ezekial was on the floor, so Jory joined him.  He lay down on his stomach and propped his chin up on his elbows and stared at the furball on Ezekial's chest.  "Hey... you let the other creature out too didn't you... Jory looked around, eyebrows raised.  Where is it?

[Anonymous]

Ezekiel let his eyes slide lazily over to Jory's, though his view was still filtered by the screen of his eyelashes.  He could see down Jory's shirt.  No; he wasn't wearing one, he was wearing a robe.  Ah, that laziness around the edges, where it didn't count.

"He's a little nervous..."  Zeke shifted thirty-six from his chest to his hands, running his fingers through her fur.  She pedaled at the air until her feet found a perch at the base of his palms.  He rolled over onto his chest and deposited the chinchilla in the hollow between Jory's braced arms and  his chest.  "There ya go."  His grin, as he resettled himself in a posture to mimic the other Pilot's, was a little wicked.  He knew Jory wasn't as much of an animal guy as he was.  

Hm. He scanned the room, searching for thirty-seven, and spotted a tail behind the tank of his mister.  It was a little warm, he knew.  He tapped his hand lightly on the ground and made soft sounds with his mouth, letting the animal know he saw it; thirty-seven backed out from behind the unit and faced them, all beady dark eyes and fluffing fur.  

"C'mere."  Ezekiel nudged Jory's shoulder with his own and glanced down at thirty-six, who was sniffing around the open front of Jory's robe.  "Watch out, microfiber is her favorite breakfast."

[Anonymous]

"Son of a bitch" Jory propped himself up on the balls of his feet when Ezekial put the little creature close to him.  If he was really drunk and feeling particularly honest, he might admit that Ezekial's furballs felt wonderful, but so did most fabrics.  Fabric didn't have teeth either or those whiskers.  

Ezekial wouldn't be too pleased if he tried to shave the whiskers off the little beast either.  It'd put his hands way too close to the little beast's teeth too.

His robe was on loosely enough for it to curtain down around Ezekial's creature.  It was sniffing.  "Aren't you supposed to be taking care of them?  They shouldn't have to rely on my wardrobe for their meals."  Jory poked the tip of the creature's tail, nudging the tip of his finger under a few strands of fur and flicking them.

[Anonymous]

Jory had hiked himself up into a plank, in seeming consternation.  A chuckle rumbled in Zeke's throat.  

He'd have made some crack about the 'son of a bitch' comment, but there was no word for 'female chinchilla,' as far as he knew.  Besides, Jory got enough of the bad puns from the crazy Dragon of his.  Instead he pushed himself to his knees, folding his body first forward and then back.  Thirty-seven bounced his way back toward the mister--that distinctive, rolling forward-and-back sawhorse gait chinchillas had.  

"What tastes good tastes good," he said, leaning an elbow on Jory's back, letting his weight sink little by little.  "Then they can work off that excess, just like this.  Hold it... hold it..."  More weight.

[Anonymous]

Jory wasn't expecting Ezekial to plop down on his back.  He almost buckled, and would have if he tried to keep poking the critter.  He readjusted his elbows and shifted his feet apart to improve his balance a little.  Sliding his slippered feet across the carpet was almost a bad idea.  They moved out a little further than he intended from the pressure Ezekial was putting on his back.

"You're wasting your time.  I'm not going to fall."  His elbows were going to start vibrating in a moment if Ezekial kept pushing down on him.

He did.

"I had Felicia sit on my back while I did some push ups the other day.  It's that time of year again, you know, she's seesawing back up."  Not entirely a lie... he couldn't get Felicia to act as a weight anymore.  She thought he suggested it as a roundabout way of saying she was starting to get fat.  Balancing on his elbows wasn't the same as balancing on his elbows either.

Ezekial just kept leaning.

Now he was shaking.  Then his knees bent inward, a literal knee-jerk reaction to keep him from falling flat on his face.  "Ok you win.  What do I get for trying to stay up?"

[Anonymous]

Ezekiel was frankly impressed he'd stayed up thus far; he was pressing down with nearly his full weight.  He shared the feeling of approval psychically--and kept going. Jory was trembling under him.

"You'll get more if you don't crush the animal," he said, nudging the chinchilla out of the danger-zone telekinetically lest Jory collapse on her.  She took a few twitchy steps, not quite happy with a touch the source of which she couldn't find, toward her fellow.  They touched noses.

"I have a nice--" One last hard push downward "--selection today... bit of everything fun.  Mix.  And.  Match.  Ha, gotcha."

[Anonymous]

"I can't crush it if I'm not about to fall over"  Jory's fingers curled into the carpet and he ground his teeth together.

With his knees on the ground he could stand up a little better against Ezekial's leaning.  His back was starting to feel tense from the pressure though.

"Oooo fu-" Jory managed to reply until that push sent his elbows sliding across the carpet.  He flopped down, letting his hips fall soon after so his ass wouldn't be hiked up in the air.

"Now you definitely owe me something.  I have a reputation, I can't let it get around that you got me on my knees for nothing."

[Anonymous]

Thirty-seven jumped nervously over thirty-six at Jory's impact, and the chinchillas tussled briefly before skittering off to lurk behind the legs of Zeke's desk chair.  Ezekiel laughed again and gave Jory a lazy smack on the ass, then hopped to his feet.

"Please, I have tapes."  He ambled over to his desk, where he'd laid out a selection of pills and some tobacco for rolling.  It smelled like the best of lime and grapefruit and intense orange, all at once.  They could get to that later.  First, some mild uppers would give them that hangover-erasing edge.  Just a touch of hallucinogen...  he grabbed a couple of bottles and threw the dopamine-reuptake inhibitors Jory's way.  "Think fast."  

Thirty-six was nudging his foot.  He lifted it carefully free and went over to his low, deeply cushioned couch, using telekinesis to bring a pitcher of water.  He already had a couple of cups on the glass table in front of the couch.  "Ah." He collapsed backwards and patted the seat next to him.   "Get that ass over here."

[Anonymous]

"Pffft" Jory sat up and smoothed his robe out.  "We're not loud enough to trigger the lights in your bedroom.  That just leaves the rest of the apartment."

Jory was reaching up to smooth a stray section of bangs that worked itself free of his ponytail when the bottle came flying his way.  He watched it a second, then snapped his raised hand up to grab it and read the label.  DRIs!  Jory grinned, letting his shields down and projecting his delight with the contents.

The only way Jory could resist sitting on Ezekial's couch to drop pills was if the animals were crawling all over it.  He put the bottle in a pocket of his robe and crawled over to the couch, climbing up next to Ezekial, pulling the bottle free and popping it open.  "Cheers!"

[Anonymous]

Ezekiel smiled back and held out a hand for his own dose.  

"Cheers."  He swallowed it dry, with the ease of practice, but chased it with a glass of water, and handed another to Jory.  Wait for it, wait for it... he liked to keep a careful margin between pills when trying anything new.  While he was very aware of the chemical effects, and liked someone else around so he could monitor what they did to another brain, he liked even better the raw data of his own experience.  Based on what he'd gotten last time, this should feel amazing.  Six Os on the pleasure scale.

He tilted his head back and watched Jory sidelong, letting down some of his mental shields.  He didn't keep them up out of secrecy so much as a desire to stay separate from people; even after so many years it didn't come easily.  Part of the relief of dropping pills was getting to relax that without it bleeding into everyday life.  It was all part of the experience.  

Ah, there, he was starting to feel it, that surge of energy and ahhhh.  Pure pleasure. Syllables popped and crisped in his head, and he could feel Jory's mind warming, too.  He reached over and flicked the other Pilot's ear.  "This stuff we bring out tonight, eh?"  A gesture at the remaining bottles, scattering end-over-end on the table, invited him to mix.  Nothing here was dangerous.

[Anonymous]

Jory took the pills one at time, chasing them down with a sip of water.  He slumped back against the couch and stretched his feet out afterward.  There was still a swallow or two of water in his glass, so he drank that and set the glass aside.  Physically, there was no point in wearing himself out just to get a glass out of his way.

He was fussing with the front of his robe when they kicked in.  Good old biomods.  How did people ever make it when they had to wait x minutes for their pills to kick in?  Jory sighed and shuffled his feet back and forth.  So nice, like a perfect night's sleep in an easy to swallow package.  As they kicked in, Jory let some of his shields fall and peeked into Ezekial's mind.  Let what Ezekial was feeling meld into what he was feeling.

"We should be able to party all the way through our Monday with these."  Jory grinned up at Ezekial, then looked back at the desk.  Now was a good time for a smoke.  He bounced up and walked back to the desk.  "Wanna smoke?  What've you got up here?

[Anonymous]

Ezekiel unfolded himself, liquidlike, from the couch, then swung his body over one of its arms and arched easily back to his feet.  It felt good to move his body.  The drugs erased the lingering pain of yesterday's tough workout and the long night out.  He did pay careful mind to the chinchillas bobbing about underfoot, and when Jory stepped toward the desk where he'd laid out the cigs he gave him a clear mental image in warning.

"Some citrus," he said, waving a hand and telekinetically flipping one of the sticks he'd prerolled toward Jory.  If his aim was right it'd land right in his mouth, in the style of the popular music videos they liked to mock.  He summoned another for himself and dug his lighter out of his hip pocket, still bracing himself on the outer edge of the couch.  He lit up and took a long drag.  "Through Monday and beyond," he said.  He bobbed down into a split just because he could, then slapped the ground and pushed himself up again.  Thirty-six scampered away from the tremors.  

And he sucked in more smoke.  "What are you up for now?"  A vague question.  His eyes had roved over to the bookshelf.  It wasn't precisely impolite to read in front of Jory, and he wanted to test the confluence of the latest book of Holty's verse and his DRIs... but reading was best done in the afterglow of this sort of drug, after the initial manic energy.  He blew smoke at Jory.

[Anonymous]

Jory shuffled the rest of the way to the desk after being reminded of the creatures' freedom and what was in store for him if he should happen to flatten one or kick it into the wall.

Jory snapped at the cig that came flying up at his mouth, catching it before it could bounce off his lips.  If he was going to continue the video mockery he'd flip his hair back and light the cigarette with a coil of flame from his own fingers.  His hair was all neatly hanging down his back and pyrokinesis wasn't as common as the public thought it was.  Oh well.  Jory took his lighter, an old flame model, from his robe pocket and lit the cig, taking a deep drag.

Damn!  Jory leaned back against the desk.  That was some good stuff.  It was more food than smoke and made his mouth water a little.  Which was odd.  He took the cig out, held it between his fingers and looked back at Ezekial.  Who was showing off.  And why not?  Standing around felt like such a waste.  Jory put the cig back in his mouth and began spinning slowly in a circle with his arms out.

On one circuit after being asked what he wanted to do Jory caught Ezekial looking at his bookshelf and laughed.  Then repeated it mentally because his back was to Ezekial for most of it.  Why blow a good high doing something that's enjoyable sober?  He turned around once more, then bounded back over to Ezekial, springing lightly on the balls of his feet.  He draped his arms around Ezekials's shoulders and leaned back into the couch.  Tv, tv!  There has to be some kinda equinox sap on.  Or there's the Glitz channel.

[Anonymous]

Naaaah, Ezekiel thought at him,  his mental voice a drawl, echoing long and slow between their minds.  It was loud, too; overwhelming, even.  He rocked a little on the balls of his feet, against Jory's arm. Then, with a grunt, he pushed off, toppling them over the back of the couch.  He rolled over and found himself, after a jumble of kaleidoscopic colors and sensations, sprawled flat on his back on the floor.

He had a moment of drug-fueled fear: had he flattened a chinchilla?  But no, his hand, spread beneath the warm, uh.... warmth of his back and spine and... it was just part of the rug.  It just felt weird.  

He squinted up to see what had happened to Jory.  

"Yo," he said.  "I'm hungry.  'Re you hung'y?"

[Anonymous]

Falling while high was exhilarating. A moment of floating weightless while the world zoomed (or spun) past your eyes. Then staring up a world that was suddenly that much bigger than it used to be. If you landed on your back, which Jory didn't.  He was half on his stomach and half on his side. So he got a close look at the floor, at all the twisted strands that made up the carpet. His bangs were in his eyes too, and his ponytail was stretched out across the carpet.

It always took him a second for his brain to reorient itself and remember what knocked him off his feet. Ezekiel did it. Maybe he just meant to get them both back on the couch.  Why wasn't important. Where his cigarette ended up was.  

Jory shifted so he was on his back when Ezekiel started talking and looked at him upside down. Yeah, he replied. I haven't had anything today but coffee.  "I'm fucking starving," he added out loud, for the animals, he supposed. A warning, run before I eat you. Though he was sure Ezekiel could read his lips.  

You have anything? Or we going to get something? I don't feel like getting dressed to go out.

[Anonymous]

Of course you don't, Ezekiel teased.  Jory'd had a reputation for laziness ever since Candidacy.  Ezekiel privately thought it was misinterpreted arrogance.  Jory still had a little of that edge, but who didn't?  Modesty.... he was breathing in the smell of carpet.  Modesty, yeah, people who were too proud of their modesty were missing the point.

He sucked in another unwelcome lungful of floor dust and chinchilla fur, then rocked to his feet, staggering a little.  Yeah, I've got a couple steaks, he said once he'd steadied himself, running a hand through his hair and squinting down at Jory. But I can't remember if I defrosted them... He projected, telepathically, the fuzziness of his memory at the moment.  

Had he defrosted the damn steaks?  He pictured his refrigerator-freezer unit through the blue haze of hypothalamus-altering drugs and felt intensely disoriented, as if he'd gotten lost in its blue arctic plains.  Man.

I was gonna use my grill, it's so easy Pilots can do it. So say those ads.  "'S'true," he emphasized, sticking out a hand to Jory.  

But I seriously can't remember... I should have, I just bought a bunch of real steaks, grass-fed cattle, amazing stuff.  But my Mid-caste thrifty side might've frozen them all in case of shortages.  Poking fun at the caste difference he still felt between them, even after so many years.  Why?  Eh, Ezekiel didn't know.  He guessed he had a chip in his shoulder about caste.  But he was thinking of it in that detached way that made him love drugs, which brought both startling psychological clarity and acute lack of concern as to the depths of one's own soul.

[Anonymous]

Steak sounded good.  Jory started to lick his upper lip until Ezekiel said something about defrosting them.  Though he didn't fit the stereotype of the upper class Pilot that didn't know how to turn a stove on, Jory still didn't see why anyone would hoard food in states that made it take more time to prepare when it was needed.  

Ezekiel was efficient though.  Surely he would have left some steaks ready to be prepared.  Right?  Jory hung around the projection, prodded it to see if there was anything more to it and found it to be thoroughly hazy.  He curled his toes, pressing them into his slippers and the carpet beneath them, enjoying the tension.

Did he?  Or didn't he?

Jory giggled telepathically, a meme he'd picked up from years of listening to Marren do it, at Ezekiel's take on the slogan of a certain brand of grill.  Imagined the stereotypical Pilot, perfectly coiffed in a supple uniform that fit like a glove, marveling at just how easy the grill was to operate without even using the most basic telekinesis or dragging in a pyrokinetic.  He projected it as he rolled over and reached up to take Ezekiel's hand.  He rose slowly, not wanting to pull them both down again.

Surely you would have saved one or two to refresh your memory of why you'd want to make sure you had enough to survive this great grass-fed beef shortage.  We'll check.  Jory gave Ezekiel's hand a little tug and started walking to the kitchen.  If not, we can always go get something terrible in town.  Maybe see if we can find anyone desperate enough to throw themselves at under dressed Pilots while we're out.