433/A Captive Audience of One

A Captive Audience of One
Date of Scene:	11 March 2020
Location:	Terry O'Neil's Metropolis Apartment
Synopsis:	Strange things (and stranger things) are afoot at Terry's apartment, where Gar continues to convalesce.
Cast of Characters:	Gar Logan, Terry O'Neil

---

Gar Logan has posed:
The leg is propped up. So is Gar Logan, who is not sleeping. Instead, he's busy mashing controller buttons while playing a platforming game on the console Terry's got hooked up to the TV. The bandage looks like it hasn't been changed for a while, not that he seems to mind right now. "C'mon! I made that jump in time!" he cries out, gesturing at the screen as if it's at fault.

With little else to do but hang out, he's already going kind of stir-crazy. Video games aren't a bad way to pass the time, but there's a lot of that to pass right now.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
There is the sound of the key in the lock, and the door swings inward to reveal Terry O'neil, arms loaded with bags. "Hey Gar, I'm home-" Terry says, closing the door with his foot.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, making sure to step past the screen when it isn't a crucial moment for the game. He's a gamer himself, he knows that careless crossing costs lives!

Setting the packages down on the table, he stretches for a moment and turns to face his guest.

Gar Logan has posed:
Gar Logan's attention remains focused on the game, and his 'interruption' comes after another death the visitor look like he wants to blame the game for, not himself. "Whatever, man. That was stupid. Stupid game."

Did he just ragequit back to the home menu? Why, yes. Yes, he did. "Hey, while you're there, could you pop in the Star Battle game? I want to make someone for it." It's one of those RPG-style multiplayer games set in outer space. Fitting.

At that point, he actually looks Terry's way. "Bored. Bored is a feeling. Very, very bored. You look like you've been keeping busy. Is that food? For me?" A winning smile is offered.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"It is very much food for us," Terry says with a little smirk. He walks over to the console and effectuates the game change, looking up, "Getting a little stir-crazy? We could go out for a ride or a walkabout, get some fresh air?"

He walks over to Gar and kneels down, taking a look at the bandage. "Hm. Need to get that bandage changed first, though."

He looks up at the green teen, and remembers his conversation with Colette last night.

What was it that she wanted him to ask...?

Gar Logan has posed:
"Whatever it is, I feel like I could eat all of it. Maybe you'd better go get some more," Gar suggests. "After all, you can walk and drive and all of that. I'm a temporary cripple." He couldn't possibly be playing it up at all, could he? Of course not.

He gives a thumbs-up as the new game starts up, shaking his head. "I thought I wasn't supposed to do anything but heal. How do we know that giant turtle isn't waiting somewhere for a second chance? Maybe I'm safer in here." Eyes shift toward the bandage and he gives a shrug, probing near the area of the wound. "It's a little itchy," he confesses, head tilting toward Terry. "And you look like you're trying to remember something important, like if you remembered to lock the car or not."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"It's nothing terribly important. Here, let's get that changed, okay?"

He pulls the chair over, "You might have to wait to start your game until that's done." He chuckles and waits until Gar is ready, in order to pull his leg over onto his lap. The supplies for the bandages are right next to the table, fortunately, so they're within an easy reach.

As he starts undoing the bandages, he does so slowly so as not to cause discomfort, "Oh... hey... do you remember that actress you were hanging out with around the time you were filming the Jungle Book?" he asks, trying his darnest to sound totally casual. "Blonde. Lippy."

Gar Logan has posed:
Gar Logan's gone with a tank top and shorts, but he's not wearing that shirt with his cartoony face on it. It's an attempt to get as comfortable as possible, whether ultimately successful or not. It's all relative when you have numerous stitches in your leg because a turtle monster tried to get a nibble.

"Yeah, and I should get a shower in soon before I start smelling rotten." He sets the controller aside, chewing at his lips while being mindful of that underbite. The area must still be uncomfortable.

The question comes out of the blue, leaving him staring. "Uhh..I know a lot of girls with lips, dude." That isn't evasive at all, nope. "Why?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry finally exposes the area. He has turned Gar's foot and leg so that the calf is not resting directly on his lap. He slowly puts on the nitrile gloves he got from the grocer's, and discards the old bandage into a plastic bag he's set on the side.

"Oh, no reason... I was thinking about your social media and I realized you didn't take a lot of pictures outside of the set during that time. Might be worth digging into some of the old pictures and put them up, if they've never been seen." Yes, that sounds like a good excuse.

He proceeds to grab a gauze pad and wets it gently using a little bottle of saline. "You know... for extra content."

He starts dabbing at the center of the wound, lightly as was instructed to him. He dabs in circles out to 1 inch past the edge of the wound. "I think I remember her name... Margaux Prince, wasn't she?" He had to google that, following Colette's advice.

He inspects the wound, to check and see if there is any liquid draining from it. Satisfied that there isn't, he proceeds to dry the area. "You two date much?"

Gar Logan has posed:
Gar Logan sits mostly still and silent while the ritual of the checking of the stitches proceeds. There are various reasons for the quiet nature. One, he's paying attention to how Terry's taking care of the area, shifting in place to make it easier to get to without causing more discomfort. He barely even winces. What a good patient.

The other reason for the silence is the questioning going on about pictures and someone he might have been seeing. "...I might have a few candids from then, but why do you want to know about her?" He sounds on the defensive, if mildly, raising a brow at him in confusion. "We hung out a little, but that was about it."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Just asking." Terry notices how evasive Gar is, "I just needed to know in case there's ever an event and you need a plus one- it's good to reach out to other artists. I mean, I guess you could take /me/ as your plus one," he says, trying to sound like he's jesting. He starts preparing the dressing, making sure he only touches the corners, and then starts applying the skin barrier. "But considering I'm pretty much a nobody, I wouldn't be much of a boost to your social profile."

Gar Logan has posed:
"I mean, I haven't even really thought about her since we finished shooting. I don't think she /really/ liked me all that much anyway," Gar explains with a frown. "I have a lot of friends, but I don't have a lot of /friends/ if you know what I mean."

He's still stuck in a way, isn't he?

His currently quiet nature grows as he pokes at Terry's side. "You're not a nobody. You're a good person trying to do good things. I'd rather spend time around someone who's boring but nice than someone who's stuck up and snobby, even if they're more, you know, energetic."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Thank you. I think," Terry says, with a little bit of puzzlement as he centers the dressing over the wound and secures the dressing in place. He checks to make sure that the bandage is in place before removing his gloves and throwing them into the bag as well.

His hand reaches into his pants, touches his phone, and with utter mastery sends a quick text to Colette.

<Evasive. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?>

"Hey," he says, looking out the window, and back at Gar, "Let me take you to the rooftop. There's a terrace up there and everything. We can see the sunset. You can get back to your game when we get back and I start dinner!"

He slowly moves the leg off his lap and sets the leg back on the chair. "You don't even need to move a muscle, in fact!"

He looks down as his phone dings, frowns, and reads the message.

<Empathy, dude. What would it mean if he asked and you were evasive?>

He stares at the text and then fires off one quick one:

<I don't know. I am bad at this.>

He looks up at Gar to see if he'll take him up on his offer.

Gar Logan has posed:
Gar Logan waves it off. "I mean you're fine, dude. I wouldn't mind you tagging along to something sometime," he explains, though it sounds just a little awkward as he says this, as if he's trying to work out his thoughts at the same time.

Everything looks good with the fresh wrap, a contrast of color to his green everywhere, and he remarks, "Yeah, I hope you're texting in another grocery pick-up. All this sitting around is making me famished! We should get some pizzas." Now, a little confusion builds. "How am I supposed to get up to the roof without moving a muscle? I don't think you're gonna be carrying me up there."

He has no idea what's being discussed.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
<I'm not your fucking Cyrano, Terry. My nose is way smaller and cuter.>

Terry's eyebrow twitches slightly.

<Well, obviously,> he texts <Cyrano was actually useful.> It was a slightly snarky reply, but he was a little frustrated.

"I could carry you, but my shoulder would bitch. Nah." He walks over and brings the computer chair over, "Sit here, we'll go to it via the elevator, and I'll order us some pizza to be delivered up there. I'll just roll you over as if you were on a cheap wheelchair."

Gar Logan has posed:
Gar Logan picks up on the twitch. "Did you just get told by someone? Oh, snap!" The frustration, to him, is readable. He's made a living of studying others, mostly animals, but humans are just another type of animal. They have tells, giveaways.

As the computer chair is offered to him, he shrugs and decides to hop into it, careful not to brush his leg against anything. "Well, it /is/ technically a wheelchair. See?" He points at the wheels. It counts! "And you couldn't carry me. I don't believe you." Could he? "Yassss pizza." He gives the devil horns.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Yeah, something like that." Colette's message simply reads:

<I'd rather have a cute nose>

He quickly dashes off:
<If you're good, maybe dad'll get you one for Christmas.>

Just as he sends it, another message has come in:

<Tell him you admired his public persona but kinda thought it was all PR, now you know it never showed half of the person he truly is. Thank him for being him.>

... crap.

He texts: <Sorry. I got mouthy.>

"Hush, I totally could carry you. You're not heavy at all," Terry says, rolling the chair towards the door.

Gar Logan has posed:
Gar Logan turns a circle in the chair before Terry can gain control of it. "I'm not /that/ light," he objects, but he certainly is on that side of things compared to the alternative. Imagine how many calories he must need to consume to do some of the things he does with the different animals and body mass changes.

"You're having quite the chat with somebody. Are you cheating on your hurting hero or what?" he asks, teasingly as they move on out of the room.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Colette: <Just for that I'm not sending the poem I composed for you>

Terry makes a note of getting even with Colette, as he slips the phone into his pocket. "You're right, I am being a little rude aren't I?"

He stops for a second, and then smirks. "You so are lighter than you say." He leans over and actually grabs Gar out of the chair and into his arms, one arm under his legs and the other one supporting his back. The chair receives one push with his foot as the door closes, leaving it back in the apartment.

There's some pain to the shoulder, but he shifts just enough to distribute the weight.

With Gar safely secured in his arms, the redhead begins to walk to the elevator. "See? I told you I could do it!" he says, making sure to take good breaths as he approaches the elevator and presses the call button with his hip.

Gar Logan has posed:
"Dude!" is Gar's initial reaction to actually being lifted out of the chair. He had no idea Terry could lift like that. For a moment he's thinking he might end up draped across Terry's back, but instead it's the one person arm carry. Gar responds with an arm behind Terry's neck to hang on by the other shoulder, just because it helps stabilize things, but he's definitely got a surprised look in place.

Murmuring, he says, "Now I feel like some kind of little shrimp." Without the physical shift to go with it, because leg injury. "Don't drop me!"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"You're not a shrimp," Terry says with a smile, a little belabored. "There's things you don't know about me." Like how solid he is under his clothes. It's not a body that was worked for show, but for stamina and agility. "Don't be silly, Gar," he says quietly, "I wouldn't drop you."

When the elevator reaches the rooftop, it is just as the sun begins to hang, red and bright, ready for its close-up.

Terry moves slowly until he gets close to a wall that stops at about waist height, on the other side there being the small, shared rooftop Garden. Terry leans forward and settles Gar onto the wall.

"Toldja I could do it," he says with a slightly triumphant grin.

Gar Logan has posed:
Gar Logan may not be that heavy, but surely carrying him for too long would lead to some fatigue. And it could keep that shoulder hurting, too. "You really shouldn't be doing this with that gunshot still healing," he chides, if lightly. "I can hop or keep my leg up. It's not a big deal!"

Some of the protesting fades as they get a good look at the sunset. It might not be the most spectacular one ever, but it's the right time for a good view. "Oh..I liked to go up on the roof of the Tower to look at the sunset sometimes," he remembers. That could be a bad thing to recall, but as he's planted on the garden wall, he doesn't act like it's a negative. "Yeah, you did, didn't you? I didn't realize you were that strong."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry turns around to face the sunset and leans back against the wall next to Gar. With the pretext of steaying himself, he puts an arm to each side of him at the wall. It just so happens that one arm necessarily ends up against Gar's back.

"I'm full of surprises," Terry says with a slight smile.

A breeze picks up, bringing some welcome cool. In the silence, he remembers something.

"You know... I've always been a fan of yours. But I always figured... y'know. I thought that a good amount of it wasn't really how you were. I guess because, you know how celebrities are."

He takes a quick breath, "What I'm meaning to say is that I know now that that public image doesn't even really show not even a good chunk of ..." he smiles a little more, "-who you really are." He's not using Colette's words to the letter, but they are said with sentiment. He finds himself leaning in a little, without realizing it, against Gar.

"I want you to know I appreciate it... that you are yourself around me."

Gar Logan has posed:
Gar Logan lets his legs dangle just enough, his feet not quite touching the base of the wall. The arm feels supportive, so he smiles and ends up leaning back just enough that it's obvious. "Yeah, we all are sometimes," he says of surprises within. "But that's cool. It makes life more fun when you can't always figure out what's gonna happen."

The breeze runs through that mop of hair that doesn't ever seem to want to look anything other than messy, so he lets it be as Terry opens up a little bit. "Are you saying you thought the real me was some arrogant jerk or something? Nah, man. I can't be anything except me. I mean, I can be a /lot/ of things except me, but there's only one /me/ and that's the part I'm talking about because I...lost my train of thought just now." Maybe it's the leaning, or the nice words.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Well." Terry turns his head to look at Gar, "Everybody knows the jokester Logan. Quick with a smile and a joke and a pun." That was the public persona, definitely. "Since I've known you, I can already see that there's more. It's a shame that people don't know that you are a genuinely kind and sweet guy."

His voice gets quieter, his eyes studying Gar's features. Should his heart feel like it's pounding out of his chest? He didn't work up a swet carrying Gar up here.

Gar Logan has posed:
"Oh, right. Yeah, that," Gar says, eyes turning as evasive as he apparently was with the earlier talk of dating ol' blondie with the lips. "I mean, I like to laugh and get others laughing too. Life is better when you can laugh." He's let enough of himself out for Terry to know there's a definite coping mechanism in play with that, but he gives another shrug. "Most people probably think I'm silly and irresponsible and kind of dumb sometimes, and I guess that's all right."

He leans back enough on the wall to rock a bit in place, keeping his balance easily enough, injury or not. "It's okay if they don't know some of that stuff. Let them think what they want." But, there's a little more to what's going on right now that he isn't missing, which leads to him looking away from the sunset and back to the one acting as caretaker for a few days. "Something's got you all nervous."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"I-It's nothing," Terry says, his grin widening. It's probably a reaction Gar knows too well himself- the deflecting smile. Seeing Gar rock back and forth does make Terry react, and suddenly his arm is around the green Titan's waist.

He pauses for several seconds, and then looks at Gar with slightly wide eyes and reddening cheeks. "S-sorry. I thought you were gonna fall. And."

He slowly snakes his arm out of there, trying hard to regain his composure. Fortunately for him, a *ding* on his phone makes him bring it up "Oh right the pizzas I forgot what kind of pizza would you want I think there may be a special on two for one since it's just Tuesday and they always have trouble moving stuff during the first half of the week maybe we could even get wings?"

It is, undoubtedly, the longest sentence Terry has ever spoken in one breath, and zero punctuation.

Gar Logan has posed:
Gar Logan is..caught? Unexpectedly, keeping him from leaning too far back just in case he might have been about to..right. "Hmm?" He reacts with somewhat wider eyes as well, looking down at the arm, then back up. "Trust me, I had it, dude." Or did he? Could still be a little loopy on the painkillers, but he hasn't seemed to feel too much pain around the bite mark. It's probably just the healing process.

Without missing a beat after the tone on the phone, he replies, "Dude, that was like fifty words without you even pausing, or maybe a hundred." Proof he wasn't /really/ counting along. "Just get, you know, whatever. It's pizza! And yeah, wings, and cheesy garlic bread, and the garlic knots because you can't have pizza without that, and we could get some calzones too, and some 2-liters, and...I feel like I'm forgetting something." In counting off some of the foods, his hand ends up by a knee of Terry's.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Did somebody squee? No, that was the sound of the blood rushing to Terry's ears. He had gladly entered all of the food that Gar was requesting, anything to stop thinking about the colossal embarrassment. Only to find, to his misfortune, that the embarrasment had decided to stay and, moreover, set camp in his face.

The redness spreads across Terry's cheeks and face, making the redheda look like he just spent a lot of time out in the sun*.

Gar's hand on his knee feels like it's burning right through the denim, and Terry finds it very hard not to react at all.

He has no idea, he thinks to himself. Absolutely none, not even the slightest hint of a thought of having an idea of how he...

"ice cream?" Terry says in a voice that is more air than sound.



*footnote: This is usually a couple of hours for most people. For gingers, it can safely be reduced to a period of time equivalent to one full rendition of 'Never Gonna Give You Up.'

Gar Logan has posed:
"Hey, uh, I'm sure you're aware of it by now, but your face is kinda looking about as red as this," Gar points out, reaching out to make Terry's hair as messy as his. Yes, he just ruffled someone else's hair.

But does he know? Or is he just as ignorant of it all as he alluded to with people just seeing him as dumb and not one to take things seriously enough? It's been hard to tell at times, which might be the way he likes it. Keeps people on their toes, keeps them from figuring him out too easily.

"There's chocolate chip, vanilla, mint chip, rocky road, peanut butter cup, cookie dough, that one where it's the three different flavors nobody can spell the name of..." Yes, he knows his ice creams, too.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
You are a cruel and vengeful god, Terry thinks to himself as his hair is mussed up by Gar. His unruly mass of red now falls partway across his face, and he doesn't quite know what to do with his hands. "Pistachio. We'll go with Pistachio. It goes with you." Is he making a green joke? To drive the point home, he reaches up with his hands and runs his hands through Gar's hair. The touch is slow and deliberate.
"Yeah, well, you're looking kinda like this." He says. Yep. Green hair, green face. Oh god, is he really touchin-

*tinkletinklerelaxinghippyishtextnotificationsound*

He quickly raises his phone to look at the screen "The Pizza can't be here yet, I haven't even placed the order..."

Colette: <<Did you smooch yet?>>

His eyes stare at the message, a nerve twitching at the corner of one eye. It is only then that he realizes Gar could potentially read the message, large font and all, and quickly slips the phone into his jeams.

And stares straight ahead at the sunset, a lump in his throat.

Gar Logan has posed:
It appears to be a form of oneupsmanship. Who can mess whose hair up the most? Whatever this is, abnormal though it may be, it's..well, cathartic? That might be a good word for it.

But, what will Terry think when he notices Gar's eyes going half-lidded at what is, in essence, a good petting of the hair? What will he think when he hears the low sound in the back of the green teen's throat, signifying a sort of happiness?

It's all interrupted by that phone and he says without thinking, "This is why I always use mine on vibrate. And is that a phone in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

Completely without thinking.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
It would be so easy. Just lean in and kiss him already. And he could tell him exactly how he drove him completely nuts with those eyes, with that smile.

Terry, in fact, starts leaning in, eyes beginning to close-


The first boy Terry O'Neil ever loved was called Eric. He had harbored strange, unusual emotions for him since he couldn't remember when- stayed awake at night trying to sort things out. Written in his journal about it. Hated the fact that he felt he needed to have a journal about it. And then, one hot and sticky summer, at the end of a perfect day of vagrancy and hanging out in malls and practicing parkour, Terry had told him.

He had said it in so many words, in that inarticulate but earnest way that only someone in his early teens could pull off without appearing affected. And then, he had waited for an answer, heart in his throat and heart on his sleeve.

That night, he came home with a black eye and a feeling of sickness all over.

Eric never spoke to him again.

-Terry pulls back, blinking several times.

"Thought there was... a mosquito. On your nose." He says, trying to recover. His eyes glisten for a moment and his voice has a little catch in it, but the next time he speaks, it is in a mostly normal, if somewhat strained, voice, "It's getting kind of chilly, isn't it?" he says, staring as the sun vanishes down the horizon.

Gar Logan has posed:
Gar Logan's head tilts. He can't be so naive as to not pick up on some of this. Yet, he doesn't draw any more obvious attention to it. Maybe /he's/ also having some conflicting thoughts somewhere in there, confusion over different little things that are popping into and out of his brain when it comes to the messages that are getting crossed up, sent between them, and not really acted upon.

"I didn't feel anything there, and I have a pretty sensitive nose," he points out, then at the mention of the temperature he rubs a bare arm where a few bits of gooseflesh have started to form. "Yeah, maybe we should get back inside, because there's pizza in our near future. And we could play some games afterward!"

Of course, he forgets about the leg for a moment and when he hops back down from the wall, there's a sharp intake of breath. "What..was that I was saying about..people seeing me as dumb?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Oh geez, Gar." Terry slides off the wall and immediately proceeds to pick Gar up again, as he did when this all started. He has an unusual look on his face, punctuated by a smirk. "You're not dumb. Maybe you get a little too 'in the moment' for your own good sometimes."

There he was again. His face was only a few inches away. It would be the easiest thing in the world.

He turns his face to look straight ahead, "Let's go. I'll put the order in."

He gets into the elevator, carrying Gar all the way down to the apartment.

Gar Logan has posed:
Helped up, carried again, Gar looks side to side. "In the moment. Yeah. That's a good way of putting it."

How in the moment? As he holds on to Terry again like before, as the doors to the elevator close he impulsively brushes his cheek against an ear. "I'm starving! I thought it would've been here by now!" he feigns a whine, but it can't be missed:

That was a /nuzzle./

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry shudders and briefly closes his eyes. And then, just for a moment, he turns his face just enough to brush his cheek against Gar's, "It'll be here soon... just be patient." He tries to keep his voice steady, but it's hard to do so when you feel that your heart wants at both to smash against your ribcage and also bloom.

Terry thinks: He is higher than a flag on the fourth of July, Terry. He has a gash on his calf and he's on painkillers. He's just being more animalistic because of that. And you're being as corny as Kansas in August if you think that meant anything more than an instinctual reaction. He's channeling his inner animals.

The elevator doors open and he makes it to the apartment without having a heart attack. He discovers, to his dismay, that he was too distracted to lock the apartment on their way up... but it's ok, because nobody has come in to steal anything. He slowly and reluctantly deposits Gar onto the couch, and reaches over to grab the blankets that had been rolled off to the side of the bed. "Here," he says, unrolling it and draping it over the titan, "To get the chill out of you."

Gar Logan has posed:
The thing is..there might be something to that way of thinking, but it might not be that simple. Again, impulsive, definitely a more animal-like gesture, and given what Gar can do it's reasonable to tie it to that and the other circumstances surrounding the state he's in.

But it was a thing, and he gives Terry a coy look after the returned gesture, saying nothing because he can feel that heart thumping. His is doing a little something more as well, but he stays quiet.

In fact, once deposited back on the couch and covered in the blankets, he yawns. "'k. Wake me back up when it gets here, all right? Cool. Thanks, dudeeezzzz..." Now, he just went from one thing to conked out.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"... sure thing." Terry watches Gar go from sixty to zero in less time than he thought was possible, and, all things considered, he seems to err on the side of believing his estimation that the teen's odd behavior was due to the drugs that just knocked him out.

He grabs his phone and sets the ringer as loud as can be to alert him when the pizza arrives. This will come in handy, as he sets the phone on the sink in the bathroom and, after stripping at record speed, he slides under the showerhead.

He takes three deep breaths and turns the cold water knob. He lets out a gasp at the moment the water hits his skin, and then he slowly begins to return to normal breathing. He sighs and leans forward, forehead touching the shower tile wall as the ice-cold water washes over him.

"... Damnit," he whispers, closing his eyes.