SPACE STATIONS > The Libra

Diagnosis [Neph]

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GoblinFae:
His eyes darted up from behind his protective visor to glance at the clock for the thousandth time in the last five minutes alone. Dashiell was driving himself stir crazy with the waiting. He had already done all the closing duties expected of him twice over until the place was spotless and still it was not time to call it a day and go home. Any other day he would have been fine with the waiting or would have stayed longer to exchange pleasantries with Ryul but today was different.

Instead he would deviate from the routine he had fallen into for the past three weeks of getting up, working at Sweet Dreams, then going home and staying there until morning to start again. Today he had a mission he had set to himself and a time limit to do it in. If only the bloody clock on the wall would strike quitting time and he could pop off to do it before he lost his nerve. Dashiell scowled at the clock once more, his marred features tightening to see so little time had passed still.

He huffed, putting away the mop in his hand before pressing a steady hand to the front of his pocket and feeling as well as hearing the reassuring crinkle of paper there. It had taken him days and countless attempts to get it all down on that piece of paper. He would be damned if he lost it now.

For a moment Dashiell considered dragging it out of his pocket to read it over one last time before he left but then thought better of it. The words were all but memorized now anyway. He would only lose his nerve if he thought too much on it. "Novilunio"- Nicodemo was wrong. Dashiell Feldspar was and continued to be many things in life but a coward was not going to be one of them. He was going to make good of his word. Hopefully the other man would too.

Yet another look to the clock and the large man shrugged. "Close enough," he muttered before continuing louder, "I'm off, Ryul! See you tomorrow!" He barely waited for a response before jogging out the door and down a different corridor than he usually ventured. In his haste he nearly forgot the box of pastries he had bought to go along with the folded paper in his pocket.

The path he was to take appeared in his mind's eye and he followed it quietly like a bloodhound on a scent. His mind was clear of all obstacles as he fell into step and readied himself for the "battle" ahead. All trace of jitters were gone in those moments right up until he stood before a door that was not his own. His hand raised of its own accord and metal knuckles rapped politely against the entrance.

While he waited he at last fished that dreaded piece of paper from his jeans and tucked the small white cardboard box under his arm. Dashiell did his best to keep his impatience out of his stance as well as his nerves. He was a soldier whether he was serving actively or not. He damn well was going to honor what that meant even if had failed to do so in the past.

It felt like an eternity and then some for the door to open but when it did, Dashiell immediately straightened with shoulders back and head held high. "Nicodemo del-Nestore I presume?" he asked formally even as he saw a pair of familiar gold eyes wreathed in black staring him down. Without a doubt, Dashiell had the right place. Sweet, kind Ryul had not failed to deliver yet again. The baker had provided Dashiell with a name an address as well as advice for what he was about to do. Not it was the werewolf's job not to disappoint.

His fingers clasped the paper in his hand tighter before he reflexively relaxed his grip for fear of crumpling the page. While stiff in posture, there was genuine remorse in Dashiell's heart. He just didn't know what to expect by being here. Part of him had been sure the door would slam closed on him. He was still expecting it to happen if he were to be honest. But, he was there to try and he damn well was not going to back down and turn tail now. It was the right thing to do after a long list wrong things he had done. It was about time he started to repair the damage he had intentionally wrought upon others, starting with Reese's former lover.

"I believe you said you would listen if I tried to apologize? I wish to make good on that...if you'll let me," he added before swallowing thickly.

nephero:
   When Nico answered the door, the last thing they ever expected to see was Dashiell Feldspar, of all people, standing there on their doorstep. Quietly, Nico remembered the days when welcome mats were a “thing”, and also quietly considered pulling the nonexistent mat out from under him.

   But something in how Dash stood gave them pause, though, and so Nico could only stand there, glancing down at the box in the man’s arms and the white paper in his grip. A squint, and then Nico was staring Dash in the face, all burn scars and angry skin and even angrier stance.

   But not at them. This wasn’t the body language of a man come back for another fight. And so Nico frowned, their lips turned down in a harsh curve as they considered just what was being said.

   Apologize?

   Dashiell was here to apologize?

   Distantly, Nico remembered the challenge they had issued, and made a soft scoff of surprise as it all caught up with them. Right. Right. Well, color them some shade of surprise. They never had actually expected Dash to do anything of the sort. Just grumble and huff and make it all out to be some kind of witch hunt as was the usual.

   But no. There he was.

   Nico considered the request, and opened their mouth before shutting it again. While they would listen to an attempt at being actually sorry, the day had been…

   A bad one. Aches and pains every step, such to the point where Nico hadn’t been able to make it beyond their front door all day. Even their clothes reflected this: thin, soft t shirt and even softer sweatpants, and nothing else because the pressure against their skin was just too much to bear.

   The distance from the couch to the front door had been agonizing. The idea of standing there while Dashiell gritted out some manner of amends was… equally agonizing. Just a little less agonizing, it turned out, than inviting Dashiell into their home to make this more comfortable.

   So that’s what Nico did.

   “Come in.” They said, clipped and sparing no manner of warmth in either of those two very short words. “And make some tea. And then you can apologize all you like.”

GoblinFae:
Dashiell's lone brow rose almost entirely into his hairline in surprise at the cold orders put to him. He had expected angry words and slamming doors but not for a second an invitation to come in. Nicodemo's tone brooked no argument though and while he may have hesitated for a single heartbeat, Dash was quick to bow into the entrance.

He said nothing as the other man slowly shuffled into the kitchen, leaning heavily on his cane and quite obviously in a great deal of pain. Instead Dashiell kept his head facing forward and allowed the man to take all the time he needed to drag himself into the kitchen and get seated. The last thing Dash wanted to do was offer insult or assistance to wound the man's pride or reign his ire down upon himself. He was positively certain that the crippled figure before him would would not welcome the help of a man who had nearly beaten the very life out of him.

Once he was settled though, Dashiell placed the box that had been clutched in his hand on the table before Nico. "These are for you. I promise I didn't poison them or spit in them," he commented in a weak attempt at humor though he didn't bring his gaze up from the box to see the icy stare he was sure those golden eyes would be offering him. "They're from SugarMouse's bakery."

The letter of apology was unintentionally left atop the box as the former Jockey stepped back to take in the room. It was a sight better than his own kitchen. Reese had been the one to demand that he keep the place just so and with their death he had just allowed things to pile up more and more. Here at least those piles were organized more or less.

He sighed, biting the tip of his tongue between his back molars before releasing it and finally looking at Nico. Defensively his arms crossed over his broad chest as his hip leaned back against one of the counters. "I don't know how to make tea," Dashiell admitted quietly. "Coffee is easy, pop in a capsule and press a button." His lips were pursed tightly as he waited for the ridicule that was sure to follow. Reese hadn't called him Dumbshit Dashpar for nothing after all. "Sorry to be an even further disappointment. Re-" his breath hitched as he realized whose name he was about to utter before he switched gears, "Ryul would be the second to declare that I'm a kitchen hazard." He didn't need to be bringing Reese into this too, at least not befor he apologized for that too.

nephero:
   Honestly, Nico had expected some kind of comment. Sarcasm, jibes, some manner of underhanded insult, an implication about Nico’s viability as a soldier, something. But Dash just… walked in. Without being prompted twice.

   First an apology and now this. Would wonders never cease.

   Settled in one of two kitchen table chairs, Nico watched Dash move with narrowed eyes but an otherwise neutral expression. Or, they assumed it was neutral. Years of open detest didn’t quite melt away so easily, and honestly, Nico wasn’t trying that hard.

   They watched as the box was set down, and reached out to flick open the lid. Huh. A food offering and an apology.

   And not poisoned! This truly was the day for miracles. As a show of good faith, Nico pulled a cheese danish from the box and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully and not blinking once as they stared up at where Dash stood. Which seemed to do the trick, because the man before them’s jaw moved, and the second he crossed his arms Nico was assured that this was just as uncomfortable for Dash as it was for them.

   Good. Advantage achieved.

   And then Dashiell Feldspar gave Nicodemo del-Nestore the greatest gift of all:

   “I don’t know how to make tea.”

   Nico genuinely wished they had had a tape recorder for that. But, you win some, you lose some, and right then Nico had bigger fish to fry than bemoaning their lack of recording devices. Nico’s mouth opened for a moment, ready to make some kind of barb about how a capsule was easier than a teabag and then—

   And then Dashiell went even further. Apologized for being a disappointment, which was a little harsh over something like tea, and then Nico was sure that little stutter was not at all an inability to say Ryul’s name. Not that they had any proof, and not that they couldn’t say they weren’t a little… sensitive about Reese at that present moment. The final realization Nico had concerning who they had genuinely considered the love of their life had been… less than positive, and right then even the faintest reminder of them was enough to set their teeth on edge.

   Like right then. Nico’s jaw set, and they set the danish down, rapping their fingers against the table surface in agitation.

   Another pause, and Nico was able to trust themselves enough to speak without their voice wavering in molten fury.

   “There’s a kettle on the stove. Fill it up with water and set it on high. And make sure the kettle lid is fully on, it’s old and doesn’t like to sit without some persuasion. Go.”

GoblinFae:
He tried not to wince as he noticed the forgotten apology letter slide off the top of the box and across the table some with the sudden flipping of the lid. The way the other man selected his pastry and nibbled at it reminded Dashiell of his mother's "parties" with all her "high society" friends. The only thing keeping him from rolling his eyes in disgust was the unblinking stare tat felt like an icy blade clawing its way into his soul.

Things did not stop there though. He had been tensed and ready for ridicule and laughter or even scathing condemnation. Instead he received barked orders in that same commanding tone that set just about every soldier that heard it into motion without question. Even Dashiell wasn't completely immune as he straightened and raised his chin slightly to attention. Again his brow rose in surprise and his mouth opened before he had a chance to consider the possibility of holding back words.

"Woof woof to you too, Captain," he replied with a slight smirk and shake of his head at the barked orders before pushing himself off the counter and into action. Nicodemo had treated him with a decent amount of respect, the least he could do would be to obey his request. The kettle was scooped up in hand and carried over to the sink with ease. The lid popped off readily and he was filling it up to the brim when the task of replacing the lid posed the first obstacle in a relatively easy "mission."

Three times he tried to push it back into place and each time it would just refuse to hol. One side or the other would slide back up or on the last time just when he was sure it was in place the damn thing completely shot up,much to his great frustration. The only thing stopping him from tossing the piece of apparently useless equipment was the fact that it did not belong to him. Unlike Reese before him, throwing everything and anything within arm's reach was not in his repertoire of douche moves.

"Just stay in the fucking ole," he growled deeply under his breath. One final jab and jam seemed to do it though. Several moments passed as Dashiell stood stock still and glaring at the offending metal circle but nothing changed. It finally had decided to cooperate. The werewolf snatched up the kettle a bit more roughly that was necessary, unfortunately splashing water out of the spout now that it was overly full and onto himself in the process. A deep sigh rumbled int he back of his throat though he politely held his tongue from bitching about not only the ridiculousness of the task but also his own stupidity. He was sure he would be hearing of it all before the evening was through.

With a clank the kettle was deposited on the hob. Dashiell stepped back a moment to look at the dials, glancing first at the burners and then back again at the knobs as he tried to figure out which one went to which. It was not as simple as his own stove where each knob was numbered alongside it's designated ring of "fire." A flick of his wrist and he turned on a burner before stepping away to face Nico again. Unbeknownst to him, he had turned on the larger burner behind his intended one instead of the small one at the front.

"So we just going to exist here in sullen silence until your tea is ready or do I get to attempt to apologize some time in this you know century? Or actually for that matter do you like ever blink? Because damn your eyes must be dry as fuck. Like what gives man?" Dashiell blurted out, his hands gesturing in disbelief before crossing over his chest again.

He hated feeling idle and useless yet, he felt both those things in this man's presence. there was just something about the way he looked at you that set Dashiell so firmly on edge. He knew he was at fault for attacking Nicodemo. Hell, he had genuinely come to apologize in earnest. But, here in this man's home he felt so utterly and completely off-kilter and out of place. What did one say to the guy you beat the crap out of while making tea for him in his kitchen?

'Oh did you see the new birds of paradise were in bloom? Pretty cool stuff, huh?'

Like damn.

If Dashiell had anything though, it was snark in spades. So despite all his good intentions, he still managed to fall back on his acerbic sense of humor. At least one person could be amused out of the two of them. Nico certainly looked like the act of laughing would break him in two. Oh well you win some, you lose some. The sooner he could get through this, the sooner he could crawl home and lick his expected wounds. He still doubted he would exit unscathed from this whole new adventure.

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