theotherright | come sail away IC inbox

[ Arthur is in Tauva when he gets that text, and he actually gets up and does a full circuit around his chair with one hand on his head. There's a muttered "you told people?" in incredulous and suffering tones. He gives serious consideration to just running off and building another raft. ]

If we're going to discuss this can we please do it in person and not this these things

[ Bash... Bash does know his phone reads texts out loud, right??? ]

sure my cabin? or i can come to you somewhere.

Bash actually doesn’t know, he hasn’t thought of logistics like that.

[ "Now? Right now?" Arthur says, cementing that an entire one-third of this conversation is going to happen to the air instead of on the phone. ]

Your cabin please I would prefer a little privacy it if at all possible are you there now

im there yeah. i just got thru taking to cryton.

All right well here I come

Arthur doesn't actually have any demands on his time right now other than fretting. So he slips into something a little more prose, and sets off, and before long he's knocking at Bash's door.

He can't believe you're making him do this, Bash. Literally twisting his arm and forcing him to come talk about this. How could you. The humanity.

When Arthur arrives, he'll discover the door is propped open with a shoe helpfully. No need to knock, he can just help himself in.

Bash is sitting on the bed, alone, waiting.

Well that's, uh-- they are still maybe in the middle of a crisis here. Arthur's approach, when he finds the door already open, shifts away from 'embarrassed about love life' and into 'checking his corners'. Pistol: in holster. Shoulder: to the door, pushing gently but not opening it all the way.

"Bash?" he calls warily. "Are you in there?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Just wanted to make it a little easier for you to come on in."

He sounds the same, at least.

"So, as I was saying before: you kissed him?"

Well that's enough to get Arthur inside and closing the door fairly swiftly. Back to embarrassment it is, then!

It's unfortunate that he has to hold a cane, because one free hand is not enough to hide how red his face goes. He's sure doing his best with it though.

"I-it, it, it would appear so, yes."

Is Bash about to call Arthur a hypocrite? Arthur is pretty sure he would have little to no defence if Bash called him a hypocrite right now.

"Did you mean anything by it? Do you want to have meant anything by it?"

Patient, his tone is coaxing. He's trying to get a handle on the situation, because someone needs to help these gay babies figure themselves out (bi, Crichton is bi or maybe pan, but still. Gay babies).

Yes to both?

Arthur makes a variety of uncertain noises into his hand. "I- I don't- I... What did Crichton say?"

"What he said's totally irrelevant to your answers. See, you two, you're gonna need to figure out what you each want and need, where you think this might be going, and then you're going to need to talk about it. Like adults. That's how this thing actually works. I'm just...going to be the asshole who makes you actually talk about it instead of burying everything."

He's not even being a complete hypocrite here; he and Jeff had these kinds of talks on multiple occasions, and he's even talked out potential future dalliances with Ossie in front of Giles.

"Christ alive," Arthur mumbles, "I feel like I'm back in marriage preparation class."

But he lowers his hand, face no less red, and strikes out towards the sofa. At least he'll have this conversation while sitting down, instead of standing at the door like a scolded child. It's probably roughly in the same place as his and Crichton's own; he goes carefully, but he's headed in the right direction.

"I hope you know that I blame you for this entirely," he adds, though not seriously.

"Entirely? I'm not the one who killed Crichton, I'm not taking on the guilt for that."

The couch is in the appropriate spot, though there's a large pole-like object leaning against one end of it. Don't examine it too closely.

"All right, you're innocent of- of one thing." It's easier to find the humour in Bash's answer now that Crichton is alive and kicking again. But he's not off the hook!

Arthur's thought is interrupted when he finds that pole-like object; he feels his cane touch something that shifts and wobbles, top-heavy, and he pulls it back quickly.

"Oh-- whoops. Oh, don't--" The object doesn't fall. "Okay."

"You'll...wanna sit on the other side of the couch, instead of directly under the fucking scythe. Anyway, so. Crichton?"

Please, please don't focus on the scythe.

"...Sorry, why do you have a--" Right, he is a death god of sorts. But still! "Now don't tell me you've been carrying a scythe around for the whole time I've known you."

He's focusing on the scythe, Bash.

Oh for fuck's sake.

"I had it with me, when you visited the morgue. I'd brought it with me, to confront the ghost riding Jeff. But no, not most of the time. Focus, Arthur. Crichton?"

Sorry Bash, getting Arthur to stay on topic is genuinely a two-man task sometimes.

"Right. Right."

He identifies the seat of the sofa with his hand, and drops down onto it with an awkward half-laugh, one hand cupped over his mouth.

More contemplative: "Right. Christ, I... I need to think about this for a minute." As if he's been doing anything but.

"As long as you want. Do you want me over there with you, or should I stay on the bed?" Look, he's going to cuddle everyone involved in this situation, given even half a chance.

(Except April, if we broaden the situation, he's not sure he likes her.)

Arthur twists his hands together for a long moment, then lets out a breath. "No, thank you, I... I think you're all right there."

It's been, to coin a phrase, a helluva few days, and Arthur has uh... done some things, in those days, that he's not proud of. Things that seem, to him, sort of incompatible with accepting any easy affection. On top of which, he... well, he feels like it would be really weird to discuss this while getting all cosy with someone else, you know?

His eyes move nervously, not alighting on anything.

"Did I mean anything by it," he says, just repeating the question to bring it back into focus. "I..."

Yes?

"I don't know, I-I... maybe I thought too much about what you said, about- about that being acceptable here, and I-I got ideas."

You know. Ideas about kissing a guy you like. That thing that happens when you're 100% straight.

"I imagine those are ideas that are pretty hard for you, given the time and place you come from. Like, even if you didn't think it was wrong for others, opening yourself up to that kind of thing might feel shameful? Is any of that resonating with you?"

His tone is coaxing and gentle, no heat to it at all.

"No, I-- well, yes, but--"

aaaaaahhhh

Arthur gestures with his hands, though it's anyone's guess what the gesture is meant to actually communicate. "Well, I-I don't want to hide behind my time as an excuse for anything. But I..."

Further gestures, which encompass some parallel trains of thought that Arthur's having trouble getting past a junction in single file.

"Everybody wants things like that sometimes," he blurts out, assuming that Bash will back him up on this definitely accurate fact. "Most people don't act on it, that's all. I-I misread... I should have known better."

“Wait, what?“ Cue Bash dissolving into laughter as helplessly as the little mermaid dissolving into sea foam.

It takes him several seconds to be able to breathe again, he is whooping and snorting so hard.

"I only thought--" Arthur starts defensively, hit completely out of left field by Bash's reaction. "He said-- I thought-- what's so funny?"

Arthur that's not the part Bash is laughing at. Arthur.

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