[ The memory is thinner than mist. A lot of them are, or should be, but some he dredges up again and again to run his fingers through. Quentin's is one that's squashed low, low, low. But he remembers holding Quentin's license, seeing the name that matched her maiden name, and— May 12.
He would've forgotten. But, someone checks the sky and the Rubean calendar and says, 'It's gotta be May. Right?' So— ]
[ If it isn't the last thing he expected to hear from the last person he expected to hear it from. He hasn't heard it for (two? five? seven?) years. ]
Hey. How did-- [ Their licenses, side-by-side, California and Indiana. Billy's hair short in one DMV photo and long in the other. Comparing dates, trying to find out who was older, though the dates would never read clear. Of course, one detail did stay clear. ] --thanks. I forgot. The way these days go, I didn't even...it's been a while since it mattered.
I dunno. It was hard to say in the Fog, the time was...weird. Just based on seasons passing? Maybe like...twenty-three? Four? Back there, I felt a thousand years old. Here, I feel like a kid. Gotta be somewhere in between, I guess.
...You okay?
[ Because you're here, thinking about his birthday, which is...weird. ]
I like to party, I just--forgot. It's not like I have a calendar from Ohio, America, Earth, 20-whatever on me. I dunno, maybe I'll go get a drink or use it to sweet talk someone at the tavern, I guess.
Ohio? Jesus. So you consider yourself lucky, right? [ When he thinks about the blue house and its little fence and its California address, Billy still feels a spark of jealousy. It wasn't real. But, a lot of things weren't and they still matter. ]
I'd buy you a drink, but you know. [ That whole 'free' thing. ] What time?
Nevermind, that answers it for me. I'm not looking for anything new, there's nothing that needs replacing. I'm just--getting a beer with a buddy. Right?
Uh huh. Not looking for pussy, got it. See you at sundown, Smith.
[ And Billy will show up, a little after sundown. He bullies his way into the tavern, gets his shoulder knocked by at least one strapping, similarly aged Rubean, before ducking in to get a one liner or two in as he moves toward the corner of the bar where Quentin's leaning against a bar.
Billy claps a hand down hard on his shoulder, leaning over the bar to call toward Nikita. ] Niki-i-ta! Can we get a pair of shots? We're celebrating.
[ Quentin is halfway down a beer by the time Billy shows up, because he's not stupid. He needs some level of sedative to be cool with the particular energy that Billy brings with him, and by the time he feels that heavy hand on his shoulder, he's just buzzed enough to only roll his eyes and not flinch away. ]
Last birthday I remember celebrating, my dad took me camping. Some...get in touch with nature bullshit. [ Offered easily, nodding to Nikita as she brings over the request pair of shots. He takes his without pause, holding it between them for a toast. ] Little did he know how much fucking nature I'd be in for. Happy birthday to me.
[ The shots hit the table, and he slides one to Quentin, plucks the other in his hand. ] Come on, put it up. [ And when he sees Quentin raise it, he'll tip his back, feel the burn of the paint thinner they have here. With it down, he gestures toward Nikita for a beer too. ]
That's what you used to do then? Celebrate your birthday by getting dragged into the woods. Everyday's a party here.
[ The liquor burn feels...actually great. Actually that's kind of very nice. Quentin frowns at the empty glass as he considers another. maybe in a bit. ]
No. No, I used to do cool shit--paintball, rock climbing, pool party, whatever--until Dad decided my friends were all juvenile delinquents. [ This last assignation is dealt with a lilting, uncharitable look at Billy, the picture of delinquency. ] I kinda worry Stephen might get that way any day. He's got major disapproving dad quality.
Pool party. Cute. Ritzy. [ No hard feelings. What's being a hot, fun juvenile delinquent if not worming your way into the circles of people who have pools, who can have pool parties? ]
Jesus. You hang out with that crank? Wait— [ Eyes narrow, but they're mirthful. ] You're living with him aren't you? Does he give you a curfew?
I'm not living with him, I'm--I mean, yeah, I am, but it's not like that sounds. [ He's not going to dignify that jab about curfew, not when he's got a little humblebrag to slide Billy's way: ] He's teaching me magic.
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He would've forgotten. But, someone checks the sky and the Rubean calendar and says, 'It's gotta be May. Right?' So— ]
Hey, man. Happy birthday. Ish.
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Hey. How did-- [ Their licenses, side-by-side, California and Indiana. Billy's hair short in one DMV photo and long in the other. Comparing dates, trying to find out who was older, though the dates would never read clear. Of course, one detail did stay clear. ] --thanks. I forgot. The way these days go, I didn't even...it's been a while since it mattered.
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How old do you figure you are?
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...You okay?
[ Because you're here, thinking about his birthday, which is...weird. ]
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wackgay, his clotheswackgay, his— ]Come on, man. I'm not proposing. So what, you don't like to party?
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I'd buy you a drink, but you know. [ That whole 'free' thing. ] What time?
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...I dunno, um. Like sundown?
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So what, you cruising for something new then?
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Ready to try pussy?
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[ And Billy will show up, a little after sundown. He bullies his way into the tavern, gets his shoulder knocked by at least one strapping, similarly aged Rubean, before ducking in to get a one liner or two in as he moves toward the corner of the bar where Quentin's leaning against a bar.
Billy claps a hand down hard on his shoulder, leaning over the bar to call toward Nikita. ] Niki-i-ta! Can we get a pair of shots? We're celebrating.
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Last birthday I remember celebrating, my dad took me camping. Some...get in touch with nature bullshit. [ Offered easily, nodding to Nikita as she brings over the request pair of shots. He takes his without pause, holding it between them for a toast. ] Little did he know how much fucking nature I'd be in for. Happy birthday to me.
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[ The shots hit the table, and he slides one to Quentin, plucks the other in his hand. ] Come on, put it up. [ And when he sees Quentin raise it, he'll tip his back, feel the burn of the paint thinner they have here. With it down, he gestures toward Nikita for a beer too. ]
That's what you used to do then? Celebrate your birthday by getting dragged into the woods. Everyday's a party here.
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No. No, I used to do cool shit--paintball, rock climbing, pool party, whatever--until Dad decided my friends were all juvenile delinquents. [ This last assignation is dealt with a lilting, uncharitable look at Billy, the picture of delinquency. ] I kinda worry Stephen might get that way any day. He's got major disapproving dad quality.
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Jesus. You hang out with that crank? Wait— [ Eyes narrow, but they're mirthful. ] You're living with him aren't you? Does he give you a curfew?
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Magic!
How many rabbits has he pulled out of your ass?
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But alright, alright, tell me about it. He can't make me a Walkman, so what can he do?
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