Friendship is Magic

Cricket

Well. This was going well.

I felt oddly stuck in the middle of this whole thing, once again. It's not a fun place to be. "Aw c'mon, 'e didn't meant it!"

"I didn't?" To me Finn seemed more wide-eyed and confused than snarky and rude, but then, I knew him. Mr. Face didn't know him. Mr. Face didn't know people at all, as a matter of fact.

"No, you didn't."

"Then let me rephrase th' question. Who is that and what is 'e?"

" 'e's an Outlander. Person. Agh! Let's start over, shall we? Raven's crow, both o' you!" I gestured to both of them, hoping this all didn't explode in my face. "Mr. Face, Finn! Finn...Mr. Face."

Mr.Face:

At least Cricket seemed to have some idea as to conflict resolution, even if his rude housemate had no grasp of discretion.

I didn't really know what the odd colloquialism meant, however it was reasonable to assume based on context that the previous conversation ought to be dropped, and that a proper introduction without a repulsive use of pronouns would now be attempted.

"It's a pleasure, I'm sure." I stated, allowing the same tone I'd just used to seep into this statement. I was uncertain as to where exactly I ought to be pretending to look. At Cricket, with some kind of: "See? I'm not the rude one here" expression, or at this new person, with the expression I typically reserved for those who were late to work, and for the unfortunate souls who came to see me personally because they couldn't pay their taxes? I went ahead and pretended to look at this new person.

Cricket

Finn seemed to collect himself a bit after I yelled at them both, but continued to stare. Mr. Face . . . he stared back. I could simultaneously see the cogs turning in Finn's head, connecting the dots as he nervously broke the very convincingly faked gaze by looking at me for help. He could hide nervousy better than I could, but I saw it still. That stare isn't something one can simply shrug off. But in response to his look I shrugged and fidgeted.

"Mr. . . Face," he repeated. ". . . Pardon me a moment. Cricket?" Is this the Mr. Face you've told me about? He whistled the question at me.

Oh bother . . . the whistling. I threw a look of 'please sorry' to Mr. Face as if he could see it, and then simply nodded in response.

What's going through your head?

And . . . that wasn't a yes or no question. I threw another look at Mr. Face. ". . . Ah . . . pardon, honestly. I 'ave t' . . ." It's complicated. I'll tell you later. Be nice.

There was a pause.

". . . A'right then." He stuck a hand out. ". . . Pleasure." But then he seemed to notice that something was wrong with Mr. Face's arms, and lowered it again.

Mr.Face:

...And then there was a discussion going on in a language that was not my own. Which of course, was irritating for many reasons, least of which included the fact that I was pretty sure that they were talking about me. And simultaneously giving me a migrane.

I arched a brow as they finished their shrill discussion. "...How...discreet." I stated. I realised that I should have probably been putting forth a bit more of an effort to be at least somewhat sociable, but the pain was becoming a bit more than a simple irritation, and I was still unamused by being referred to as an object or thing as opposed to a person.

Cricket

What to say to that? I was stuck, I was all too stuck, and . . . note to myself, I ought to start telling people about the friendship deal before, not while, I walk into a room with Mr. Face and another friend. I was getting ready to ramble when Finn said something instead.

"I was only making sure that you are who I think you are, and you are. Auda, is it? But then, you both look worn out. 'ow about then . . . you could lie down for a bit and, whatever this whole thing is about, you can let me know after that. Sound a'right, Mr. Face? Cricket?"

Something about the way he said my name let me know that I was an idiot.

Mr.Face:

Well, that was an unexpected turn of hospitality. Lying down was probably the best suggestion that anyone had made all evening, quite frankly, and I wasn't about to pass up the invitation for the opportunity to make more pointed jibes. The verbal accost could continue after I'd gotten a few more hours of sleep in.

"As long as you can guarantee that you won't have any political revolutionaries knocking down the doors halfway through the evening, that actually sounds like a fantastic plan." I stated. "And yes. I am the dictator of Auda." I tacked on at the end, having recalled that he'd asked. I still saw no reason that he couldn't have simply checked who I was in English, but fine. At this point...fine. Whatever. I was tired and that needed to be repaired before bothering to knock sense into anyone.

Cricket

And nobody died. So far. Lovely. We were all good then, for now in the least? . . . Well, there was still the issue of Mr. Face and where to put him to lie down. No bed. Theatre chairs, floors . . . was that close enough? If it weren't for the fact that he was rich, to be honest, I wouldn't have given it much thought at all. But perhaps the floor wasn't normal for him.

". . . A'right. So, ah . . . now that that's taken care of . . . as said there's not much of a posh place t' sleep, just th' floor. Or a chair, if you'd like. Take your pick."

"Aye . . . th' place is ours, and you're a guest, so ah . . . what's ours is yours. I'll be in th' piano room." Finn edged to the door, giving me another look. This one said I'd better be around to explain things before he woke up. I nodded. He slipped around Mr. Face and out into the hallway.

Mr.Face:

...Neither option was particularly good for my back, or, even more concerning, my currently battered ribs and useless arms. "The floor would be acceptable, I suppouse, though I can already predict that standing back up from that will be a dilemma." I replied after a moment of contemplation.

It was quite nice to hear that they possessed a piano room. I wouldn't actually be able to take advantage of it while I was here, but it existed nonetheless. I would have to make a point to stop by there eventually, even just to go listen to the room.

However now was a time for passing out easily somewhere, and ignoring the fact that some third party was living in this house and that there was a piano hidden in here somewhere.

"...Now... is there a particular section of floor where sleeping is most easily had or...how do you normally...do this?" I asked.

Cricket

"Well, Finn usually takes somewhere onstage, and I usually take up in th' walkways where th' curtain ropes are, unless it's cold or th' like and then there's a room we found with a fireplace, so ah . . . other than that? Not really. Just by a wall or th' like." I'd never really thought about it before, actually.

Mr.Face:

Near a wall was probably a wise idea, actually, as it would be easier to get myself standing again if I had a wall to use. "Alright then...Good evening, I suppouse." I stated, and walked off towards the nearest wall without saying much else, prior to using the wall as a means by which to sit down without involving my hands, and then laying down from there.

I was planning on sleeping for an extended period of time and my shoes were still on. ...This was extraordinarily bizarre.

And after that brief thought of mundane issues, I passed right out. Perhaps the best biological coping mechanism for pain like this. Sleep would repair it. Clearly.

Cricket

To be honest, slumping against a wall somewhere didn't look too awful at the moment. But then . . . I still had to explain all of this to Finn. And truthfully I'd rather get it over with rather than risk falling asleep and not waking up before Mr. Face does, leaving too much opportunity for us all to get into some trap of verbal conflict and confusion once more.

Oi my my. Here we go.

I slipped out the same door I came in, and mazed my way around a couple corners and down a smaller hallway to get to the piano room. More like the gigantic stacks of sheet music and large instruments room. The stale-aired place remained unlit except for a couple of old lanterns around the old piano, flickering the yellowing keys and yellowing pages to life.

Finn was leaning against said old piano. "And now that we're out o' th' way o' th' crazed psychopath who's drawn so many people's lives t' devastating ends so many times before, can I ask you exactly what's going on 'ere?"

"Well, 'e's a sociopath, not a psychopath. There's a difference somewhere."

"Where?"

"There's a difference somewhere but I'm not entirely sure where it is."

"Ah. A'right." He stood upright and took a couple steps around a stack of papers to get to me. And for the first time since he'd peered at me from the balcony, his expression doused me in concern. "But truthfully now, Crick . . . what's going on? What's going through your 'ead?"

"Well, see." I hesitated. I was getting tired of these conversations. I ought to get it all over with, send out flyers or the like that explain the whole deal, because every time I tell someone face to face it feels like I've just revealed some deep, dark, terrible secret that should never see the light of day, and that's how they look at me, too, as if I'd just revealed something shocking and horrible. Which to some . . . well, perhaps it would be just that. Shocking and horrible. But it wasn't all that bad, honestly, I only had to explain . . . I wasn't on his side. I wasn't a murderer, I wasn't a sadist, I was only friends with one. It didn't make me suicidal, it didn't make me self-harming, though it might have made me a complete idiot and victim of the snowballing circumstances. If only I could explain that. ". . . See . . . long story short, now, it started with a simple conversation. As most things do. It could 'ave very nearly ended in a commonplace murder, but instead it ended in a deal."

"A deal."

"A deal, aye. Killing wasn't working for 'im because I would always simply respawn, and so, 'e took a very different route and was very determined t' become my friend."

"Wait a moment. Your friend?"

"Aye, friend, that's what this is all about, is 'e wants t' learn 'ow t' be my friend, and I'm teaching 'im, and in return 'e doesn't kill me or per'aps my other friends and also apparently feels th' need t' shower me with presents which I tell 'im not to and 'e does any'ow. And Finn, we just escaped a bombing of 'is 'ouse, 'is work and 'is 'ouse which 'e 'asn't left in years, and it'd literally kill us t' go back there for around seven days give or take, and friends 'elp friends . . . so, ah . . . 'e's staying with us for seven days, give or take. A'right? There." I held my breath.

". . . Cricket . . . ah 'ell, Cricket, 'ell, you . . ." He whistled a trill of my name, shook his head. "You 'ave a real talent for getting yourself int' these situations, I 'ope you realise, and I 'ope you realise that because o' that you let Mr. Face int' your 'ome."

"It's only for seven days, give or t--"

"Crick, what if you get 'urt? What if it all goes terribly wrong, what'm I supposed t' do then, simply stand around and wait for it all t' be over? This is Mr. Face! Th' bits you've told me about 'im you told me about in a way that made 'im seem like some blood-grinning monster, and now 'e's suddenly a guest? Friend?"

"Listen, I know it's--"

"Crick, I thought we were supposed t' be against th' murderers--"

LISTEN! It was a sharp whistle, and it shut him up. He backed down. Waited patiently, expectantly. "Listen. I know, a'right? I'm doing th' best I can. Honestly, I am. If there were a way out I would 'ave taken it, but I gave my word. You'll 'ave t' trust me on this . . . a'right? Trust me." It was a silence full to the brim with doubt. It didn't last too long, but long enough. " . . . Just--"

"A'right." A pause, and he nodded. "Just . . . a'right. You try t' 'andle it, then. . . . Seven days, then?"

"Give or take."

"A'right." With that, he drew back to the piano, sat down ready to play without another word. In other words . . . the explanation had been enough. I slipped out the door to the sound of fresh, hesitantly and carefully placed notes.

A while later I found myself dozing off above the stage.

Oi my my.

Mr.Face:

I woke up and nearly tried to pursue my usual morning endeavors. Not that they're specific to morning, as occasionally I go to bed at 6 PM and wake up at 10, but that amount of detail is irrelevant at the moment. The point of that statement is simple: It was impossible to pursue my usual morning endeavors, for several reasons. The most pressing reason at the moment was the exceptional amount of pain that I had woken up to. Pain for the first day was interesting and somewhat amusing. I was now done with it. I was very prepared for it to be over and for it to go away. As horrible as this sounds, I didn't even want to have to bother getting up from the floor, because it would be painful to do so.

Admittedly, it was painful to lie here as well, a fact that I was going to attribute to the hard floor that lacked any semblance of lumbar support, and the fact that I seemed to have curled into a position that involved my shoulder joints encroaching on the space typically allocated to my collar bones. I carefully tried to uncurl myself without inducing more discomfort.

...It didn't go terribly well, to say the least. I figured that my ribs were perhaps in multiple pieces, because trying to straighten myself on a horizontal axis was terribly unpleasant. By the time I'd accomplished that, I was done. That was it. I would lie here on the floor for the next six to eight weeks, and that would be the end of the discussion. I could just pretend that this never happened, get up a month from now, and return to my usual business... and no one would be any the wiser. If asked, I would simply state that I had to go on a prolonged sabbatical.

This was a fantastic plan. Surely foolproof. Yes. Yes, this could be arranged. It would be tolerable. Not good, but tolerable.

Cricket

"It's real, then."

"Aye." We chatted in hushed tones. I was lying on my back in a chair with my feet propped up on the row in front of us, and Finn was next to me, bird in lap. Last time I'd checked, he'd been trying to get as good a look as possible at Mr. Face without walking across the room. "I think if 'e'd been putting on some facade with a mask and stilts I would 'ave discovered it by now."

He moved.

It was in that moment that Develyn, who had also been staring intently, wriggled out of Finn's hands and spazzed above the rows of seats to land haughtily . . . on Mr. Face's shoulder. Oh bother. We only stared. Until I broke the silence with a tense whisper. " . . . Call it back."

"You said 'e doesn't like whistling. And it's an 'er!"

"Go get 'er, then!"

"I'm not walking over there, mate, you're 'is friend. You get 'er."

" 'e's not my friend and it's not my bloody bird, and if I went over there I'd get my nose bitten off."

". . . I 'ope you're talking about th' raven when you say that."

And so we ended up sitting in tense silence, watching Develyn sit quite happily on his shoulder.

Mr.Face:

As I continued contemplating my current plan to lie on the floor for several weeks, I realised that there was something on my shoulder. It took a moment to register, considering the other sensations which were a fair bit more distracting.

There were some whispers. Ah, right. I was in a big room full of chairs. Against a wall. Right. And the thing on my shoulder sounded similar to the projectile from the previous evening. Which, when paired with the whispering, would imply that I had spectators. Fantastic.

"... ...Someone please explain to me why there is a high speed projectile sitting on me? And if it is not the projectile, please explain what exactly it is. Kindly follow that up by getting it off of me...because honestly, I have more than enough bizarre things mounted to my arms at the moment, and am in no need of further adornment." I stated somewhat groggily.

Cricket

He talked.

Finn and I exchanged a look. Being scared of Mr. Face versus being scared of a raven . . . I thought perhaps that meant I was the one to go over there. I sighed, twisted out of my seat and walked to my doom, explaining as I went. "It's a bird."

"She's a bird!" Finn piped up.

"Bah . . . aye, she's a bird. Raven, actually. Do they 'ave those in Auda, birds?" I sat on my haunches next to Mr. Face and the little beast, who blinked at me with those black eyes full to the brim with all sorts of unspeakable evil, feathers ruffling as it plotted its next move, found its next innocent victim. "It . . . she, simply flew over and sat on you for one reason or another. Seems t' like it there." Alright. Here goes. I ever-so-slowly reached with both hands, gently, carefully, more-so slowly--

She bit at me. "Agh! Finn, just whistle for it, will you? She's th' devil!"

He did so. "She's an angel. You simply don't 'ave th' care and grace t' work with 'er." One last good stare, and the devil bird took off back to Finn.

" . . . Oi my my. Honestly? She tried t' bite my finger off, and now you're coddling 'er." I stood and collapsed back into the nearest chair.

Mr.Face:

So the high speed projectile had a name. A bird. It was apparently female...and had a propensity for biting people. And had, until the unpleasant sound of a whistle, been sitting comfortably on my shoulder.

"It really is terribly early in the morning to be breaking unspoken agreements, isn't it? Perhaps later when we're all sitting upright I will go into graphic detail with regards to some of my more interesting explorations in human anatomy..." I stated in response to the whistling. It really was too early for this.

"And no, we don't have birds in Auda." I added, having realised that that was a question that I had been asked.

I didn't bother asking about assistance getting up at the moment because I'd just DONE all that moving about and I wasn't really prepared to do anymore for a while yet. It was agonizing and I didn't want to do it.

Cricket

"Iiigh, c'mon, you wanted th' thing off your shoulder and that got it off your shoulder. It's a bit 'arder t' not whistle when you're actually in Luna, especially when there's a particularily stubborn feathered animal sitting about thinking evil thoughts." I sank deeper into the chair. "And afternoon, actually . . . good afternoon."

Mr.Face:

...Afternoon. I let that sink in for a moment. I'd slept clear into the afternoon. From yesterday evening to now... I'd slept into the afternoon. That was unacceptable. "Why didn't you wake me or something? What kind of imbecile sleeps for more than twelve hours at a time? And I'm willing to allow the whistling to pass for now...I suppouse. Still. I just woke up. I didn't need to hear that while I'm still trying to decide how far away your ceiling is." I stated, finally getting to be flat on my back. Not at all comfortable, still, but definitely a release of pressure on the one arm, which was good enough for the moment.

Cricket

"Pardon, then. And . . . thanks for th' pardon."

"We figured it might be better t' let you sleep, actually." Finn was now wandering closer, to sit next to me. The wariness of being closer to Mr. Face was either suddenly gone or suddenly masked or suddenly overturned by the fact that I was sitting near him . . . so it must be alright. "It's not as if there'd be much t' do 'ere other than sit any'ow and . . . you look a mess. Landed badly, aye? . . . So, thought you could use th' sleep."

Mr.Face:

Oh yes. In addition to my terrible physical condition, I was also actually wearing about two thirds of a suit. ...Which had been probably battered to the point of it being completely unsalvageable, even if it weren't for the fact that I had no sleeves at the moment. "Please, if you see fit to enlighten me anymore as to what I look like, kindly just lie. Comment on the arms all you'd like... but as for the whole... general appearance thing, just... substitute whatever I'm actually wearing for an impeccably cut Armani suit. I don't actually want to know what I look like at the moment. My tailors would turn in their graves." I grumbled, unhappy to be hearing about how I looked. I was not suppoused to look like some vagrant with a suit fetish. No. I was suppoused to look like a well put together, merciless, business conglomerate manager.

"And as for landing badly- "badly" is probably a very light word to use." And after that I finally felt as though perhaps I ought to at least sit... to try and restore some modicum of dignity to my current situation. So, I tried forcing my vertebrae to stack on top of one another as they were typically suppoused to do when one is sitting. That went about as badly as I could have expected...though I was in the awkward situation where I didn't really want to ask for assistance from anyone, despite clearly needing it.

Cricket

"You need 'elp, possibly?" I finally had to ask.

Mr.Face:

I sat there in silence for a few moments, contemplating that. Yes, I needed help. However I didn't want to need help. I just didn't want to need help. "...Yes, please." I finally admitted irritatedly, giving up on trying to get up on my own.

Cricket

"Aw, c'mon, don't act so irritated about it. If I 'ad both my arms and possibly ribs broken after a bomb I'd need 'elp getting up too." Now, how'd I go about this last time? . . . Aye. I got behind him once again, ready to push up on his back. It was about as odd the second time around as it was the first, actually trying to help Mr. Face. "So, like last time. Three two one."

Mr.Face:

"You want me to forgo my irritation at no longer being an independently functioning member of society, simply because I have a valid reason for which to be lacking independence?" I asked as he went about leveraging me into a sitting position like we'd done previously. Once I was actually sitting, it wasn't too unmanageable to set myself up so I was sitting up against the wall...which took some pressure off my ribs...which was alright. It did not assist with my arms at all, but then again, I didn't know that anything would.

Cricket

"Huh. If you put it that way it doesn't make much sense, does it?" I stepped backward and into a theatre seat again. Finn remained silent throughout the whole ordeal, holding the terrible small beast to his chest. It was silent a moment. Oh bother. The same question. "...So, what now?"