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I'm Wade. [ His accent's pronounced, has the slow rhythm of a screen door in the wind. ] What're your feelings on the Enclosure?
I figured we could meet there to start.
Very well. Give me five minutes, darling, I'll meet you at the door.
[And so they will.]
Thank you for being punctual. [ Producing a little silver remote from his pocket, he opens the door. He hasn't been in the Enclosure since before the breach—too many layers of unreality—and once inside takes a moment to adjust. To stand there and let the room settle around him. ]
Set it to whatever you'd like.
"Mm."
Their tail flicks thoughtfully.
"The Valley of the Lost. Without its residents, thank you."
The world reforms. They're standing at the bottom of a deep, broad gorge cutting through a reddish desert. Civilisation has been built in piecemeal: hollows and walkways dug out of the valley walls, bridges strung from side to side, rough canvas awnings giving shelter from the beating sun.
Trouble stretches.
"Ah, home sweet home."
He bends down to pick up a stone, roll it thoughtfully between his fingers. His attention shifts back to Double Trouble. “Would that make you one of the lost?”
"If there's enough of us in one place that you could call it a city, are any of us really lost?" they ask, philosophically. "Really, I think it's just high drama on the part of whoever founded this place."
His gaze is drawn back to the rock surrounding them—back, and up and up. He sticks his hands in his pockets, throws a look Trouble's way. “Can you climb that?” he asks, outright wondering.
Trouble flicks a glance upward, then back at Wade, before starting to walk.
"Yes, but I use the stairs to be sociable. Why do you ask?"
Cool isn't in his vocabulary.
Trouble blinks over their shoulder, slowly, with their vertical eyelids.
"Is everyone human where you're from?"
He continues on in silence, in the wake of Double Trouble's tail. A good twenty minutes might pass before he asks: “Does it bug you? Being cooped up with so many of us?”
"They're not really a minority back home, darling, I've had a lifetime to get used to you. It's clear enough that the Admiral has his preferences, but no, I wouldn't say it bugs me. Why, do all the freaks and monsters here bug you?"
Nothing's come close to what he'd felt watching Iris' ship pop into existence on the deck.
"I see."
They step out onto a narrow bridge across the canyon. No handrails. If this was a building, they'd be three storeys up.
"This way, Wade-Tillman."
What is a surname.
Wade steps onto the bridge, arms out for balance. He doesn't correct them—he doesn't have the breath to spare, and his mouth's gone dry besides. His tread is slow but even, his breathing gradually slipping into time with it.
His gaze doesn't dip into the canyon again.
Trouble, by contrast, is positively waltzing across the bridge.
"So what did you ask me out to discuss, darling?"
He wobbles to a start again, gradually rediscovering his footing. “Tell me”—a huff, several more steps—“what's the worst thing you've done? In your—in your estimation.”
Trouble skips off the bridge and onto the rocky ledge forming a pathway.
"Given the - transitive nature of our relationship, darling, why the curiosity?"
He holds up again, squinting to the end of the bridge. “Are we gonna wind up in the same spot?”
"Were you planning on being somewhere else? And I think it's the Admiral's decision, who ends up with the task of shaping me into a productive member of society."
They're still gonna know each other once the month's out, and it is, in some ways, a small boat.
Wade sets his hands on his hips. An attempt to ease his breathing. “You don't want to answer the question, that's fine. Go ahead and assume I asked why not.”
They roll their eyes.
"Maybe you'd care to clarify your question, then, because I do not know which 'same spot' you're referring to."
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