4489/Same Words, Different Meanings

Same Words, Different Meanings
Date of Scene:	25 December 2020
Location:	Colette's Happy Harbor Apartment
Synopsis:	Terry and Gar are very, very good at communication.
Cast of Characters:	Terry O'Neil, Gar Logan

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Terry O'Neil has posed:
It had been a very busy night. Harley and Vorpal had stopped a heist- of contraband children's toys. They had saved Christmas for Gotham Children's Hospital, albeit after potentially endangering it in the first place, but...

Vorpal is exhausted after that. He Rabbit Holes to just outside the apartment door and opens it the normal way, like civilized people do, in order to give Gar advance noticee that someone was coming, just in case.

The primary reason they were in the apartment that Terry was borrowing from Colette was because of the mishap of the party night, where Gar's room became a glitter apocalypse. The cat had locked three of Vic's most powerful modified roombas in the room, in the hopes that, after a few days, glitter would be obliterated completely.

This was in doubt, but hope sprang eternal.

As the Cheshire cat walks in, he throws his christmas cap onto the coat hanger by the door, and stretches, yawning a little. As he does so, a few particles of golden glitter glisten through the fur on his right arm, unnoticed by him.

"Rrrrah... gods what a night," he mutters to himself.

Gar Logan has posed:
The television is on, tuned to some station playing a marathon of Christmas movies. That is one sign things are normal. Gar does enjoy his Christmas movies, but he could find something to like in even the worst films, even if it's just one scene or a wardrobe choice or even a shooting style.

Aside from that, he knew Vorpal was going to be busy with something he was off doing with Harley Quinn. He politely declined to join them, stating he had more important things to do like pluck out ear and nose hair.

It also gave him time to do something else. When Vorpal enters, just past the door he'll see something that wasn't there before:

A doghouse.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Vorpal freezes. The first thing he sees is the doghouse, and although he hasn't been in a relationship before, he knows the colloquialism very, very well. Looking left and looking right, he quickly divests himself of the elf jacket and kicks off the pointed shoes with bells, so that he's just in the striped green and white tights. Which sort of make him look like a mint candycane- the kind nobody really wants in Christmastime.

"Gaaar, I'm home," he calls out, tentatively craning his neck around the corner to see if Gar is sitting on the couch, watching his movies.

Gar Logan has posed:
Gar Logan is seated there, facing the screen, and he is in the process of running a hand through his hair to get out some of the same stuff that's showing up on Vorpal's right arm.

"Hey. Did you like your Christmas present?" he asks without looking back. Usually it's easy to tell when he's joking or serious. This time? Not so much. The voice could go either way, depending on one's interpretation. It straddles the middle. It is neutral. It is Switzerland.

But Roger Federer took no prisoners, so perhaps Switzerland is not /always/ neutral.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"It's a little small, don't you think?" Vorpal says, trying to sound like he is not worried at all. It doesn't really work because his tail, the traitor, telegraphs his unease by swatting behind him. "And... I'm the wrong species. Unless you know of another shape I haven't unlocked yet."

He tries a smile. It doesn't quite reach the Cheshire gigawatt range that he usually can provide. He glances at the glitter being extricated from Gar's hair with a certain guilt in his eyes. Normally he would sit on the arm of the couch nearest to Gar, but for the moment he remains standing up, hands clasped before him like a schoolchild who has been asked to come to the front of the class for a pop quiz he clearly did not study for.

Gar Logan has posed:
"I can find a bigger one," Gar answers, voice easy to pick out amid the background noise from the film playing. Bad Santa, as it happens.

He glances over a shoulder just enough so Vorpal can see one green eye, after hair is brushed away from it. Then the eye twitches and he wipes away more of the stuff he's about to bring up. "Guess what it doesn't have in it. Glitter. Because it's all in my room, and still on us. Whatever gave you the bright idea to put all of those balloons, that /you/ filled, in /my/ room?"

Is he pissed off? Not exactly, but he's definitely still annoyed by the inconvenience. "And you look shamed right now. Look in the mirror you always have with you."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The Cheshire cat looks from the Dog House to Gar, and his ears twitch at the words. With a slight limp, he walks over and places himself in front of the television and crosses his arms over his chest, a frown on his brow.

"... Dude, isn't this /a bit much/ over a stupid glitter accident? I said I was sorry. I kidnapped Vic's roombas to go to town in the room. Do you want me to get a time machine and make it /not/ happen? Because that's really all I could technically do at this moment. If I wanted to come home to a cold shoulder I'd go say hi to Raven!"

The hint of shame seems to have pinched him particularly hard, enough to make him bark back instead of trying to ignore the signs. "... what else can I do to make this better?"

Gar Logan has posed:
Great, now Gar's view of the movie is getting blocked. He sits there and manages to keep a straight face, a stoic expression, listening as Vorpal snaps back a little. His eyes slide downward, as though unable to meet the Cheshire's, but in actuality he's checking to see if that tail is getting bristly, poofy.

Whether it does or not, his jaw sets in a stubborn line, then he fires back, "You stashed them in there without asking me, and then you didn't even remember to get them out before they basically..climaxed all over my stuff, man. It was like a glittergasm."

His gaze hardens, and he snaps back, "Maybe you /should/ go see how cold her shoulder is, but let me know first so I can record it and show the whole world how Raven ended you and I should have been recording your reaction to the doghouse the whole time because you should see your face right now!"

He doubles over in laughter, the facade going away. Remember, kids: he's an actor.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Vorpal freezes again, looking extremely puzzled at the emotional whiplash. The cat blinks a couple of times, and his expression cycles through a gamut starting with surprise, disbelief, puzzelement, and then finally relief as his shoulders begin to shake a little, his hand going up to his mouth as he begins to chuckle.

"You... you little shit. You almost gave me - I thought you were furious!"

He reaches to the side and grabs a cushion from the couch and swats at Gar, letting out a nervous laugh, his body relaxing as he plops himself onto the couch next to Gar. "After the night I've had, that would have been the worst," he says, he chuckles and brushes his hair. A few random glitter flakes fall onto his lap.

Gar Logan has posed:
Gar Logan hops up on the couch just after Vorpal comes to join him, so he can do a little dance on the cushions. It's not the running man, it's not the cabbage patch, it's not the Carlton, it's not even the macarena, and it's definitely not twerking. It's a distinctly Gar thing, which means it's undefinable...that is, until the attack sends him off-balance enough to tumble over the backrest with a thud and an 'Oof!'

"I'm fine. I'm okay! I didn't break anything important!" Then his head pops back up over the edge of the couch and he says, "Actually, I was mad as hell when I saw how messy it was, but then I thought I'd mess with you. You gotta admit, the doghouse was a nice touch. I'm just afraid I'm gonna be finding glitter in unmentionable places for the next year, and.."

"Wait, what happened? I know you were off with you know who." The laughter subsides, his head tilting both with curiosity and expectancy. Something happened.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Vorpal acks as Gar takes a tumble over the couch, but then he laughs with relief when it becomes evident that he's okay. The Cheshire sinks back into the couch with relief, a hand reaching out to tousle Gar's hair and then...

He freezes again, as Gar asks the question.

Terry O'Neil, you and your big goddamned mouth.

"I... er... nothing happened!" He says hurriedly, and then- because he is who he is- he amends, "I mean, nothing major. We went to deliver toys at the hospital... and then some gangsters hijacked our truck. With all the toys inside. And then we had to go and get them back... Harl did most of the fighting because..." he gestures to his foot, which still sports a bandaged ankle, "and I totally did not get shot or injured. I'll point that out."

Is that /really/ a thing he should be emphasizing? "We got the toys back and gave them to the hospital, so the kids are going to have a good surprise... and a few gangsters got sent to jail."

Gar Logan has posed:
After the mussing of his hair, Gar notes a change in demeanor from Vorpal. Yeah, he may have just put his foot in that big fat mouth.

The faster Vorpal denies any serious trouble, the more Gar knows that's not the case. "Uh..gangsters hijacking your toy truck and you guys having to fight them is not exactly 'nothing major,' dude."

The end of the story leads to a particular response from the green shifter. "And...?" Because he /knows/ there's more than he's being told. The question is whether or not Vorpal's going to make him spell it out, but he's standing back upright by now, arching a brow pointedly.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Withering under the green inquisition, Vorpal's ears droop a little and he casts a quick glance at the dog house, and then he glances back at Gar.

"Well..." he says, tilting his head this way or another, "Some of the toys that we'd gotten for donations, apparently, had been confiscated from a contraband shipment. And apparently they had... you know. Diamonds and divers precious stones inside... we noticed them when taking them out. So... guess the gangsters decided tto come after their loot."

He struggles to look for the siler lining, "So we put away a gang of jewel smugglers!"

Gar Logan has posed:
Gar Logan merely closes his eyes, and he rubs over them for a few seconds, letting out a low but audible sigh by the time Vorpal's finished explaining just why the bad guys were after the toys, that they were hot. The hand blocks much of his expression from view, a literal facepalm.

Does he ask the follow-up question, the one that's on his mind, at the tip of his tongue? Or does he wait to see if anything else comes out from the one who was involved? A further explanation, or an excuse, or anything else.

He opts for silence, and given his propensity to chat, this might not be the best reaction at the moment.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
His heart sinking in his chest, the cat fidgets uncomfortably on the couch. He crosses one leg over his knee. Uncrosses it. Crosses his arms. Uncrosses them. He slowly glances at Garfield and the silence and hidden expression are getting to him aready, scenarios starting to play in his imagination.

How can he stop this? Maybe fill the silence with words. Right. "-some of the donations, came from... I guess Harley tapped her contancts and we didn't eally think..." he pauses. "I mean, when you say you're collecting toys for the hospital... you don't think that..."

He trails off.

Gar Logan has posed:
"And this is why I don't trust her."

Gar waited for Vorpal to finish filling in the blanks, confirming something his suspicious mind was already on the path toward realizing.

It makes those eight simple words carry even more weight to them, because Vorpal knows the level of trust Gar had for Harley was on thin ice to begin with. He knows Gar has his concerns about her attempt to reform.

"You know why, too. Don't you?"

Six more words that might as well be a punch to the gut, delivered with a sense of discomfort and regret, his hand having returned to his side, the arm a bit limp.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The cat frowns, slowly getting up from the couch and turning to face Gar, taking a few steps back. Now there was a piece of furniture between them, like a little for.

"I'd rather you tell me than assume I can read your mind," he says quietly, ears slightly flat on his head. He felt himself under the hold of something and he didn't quite know how to explain it. All he knew was that he dreaded what was coming, like driving at night and seeing the clues that something is about to change in the road ahead, but not seeing exactly what, and fearing an accident might be imminent.

Gar Logan has posed:
Gar Logan lets out that breath, and his hands come to rest against the back of the couch, leaning forward. It puts him closer, but there is still that gap between the two. He does not cross the imaginary barrier.

"You're, like, pure chaos. I get that. It's a Cheshire Cat thing. But so is she. Put the two of you together, and it's all..magnified and stuff," he explains, waving a hand to help do so before it goes back to the couch.

He looks down and away, then back to his feline friend. "Yeah, you stopped some jewel thieves. But you know what could have happened, right? You could have got shot. Again. You could have put a bunch of other people in danger, like innocent kids. All because she can't be trusted to get some simple toys without..without bringing in some people you don't know anything about, because she's a career criminal, and this is what she does, and one of these days it's gonna get you hurt or worse and I won't be able to stop it, all because you think she's redeemable but she keeps proving she hasn't really changed at all. She's trying to do nicer things, but she's still using other criminals to help her cut corners instead of doing things the right way."

He takes in a breath, going through a quick internal debate before saying the other part. "And it's bad for her to be living with April, and it's bad for you to have anything to do with her."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
By now, the arms have crossed over the broad chest, and the eyes have grown penetrating as he watches Gar, not missing a syllable of what is being said. What, exactly, he may be thinking is hard to gauge, as his face can be incredibly expressive one moment and then completely impassive the next. His features, refined in their own feline way, could be used as a template to carve a new sphinx, so devoid they are of any tells. He has even managed to calm his tail, which shows that he is completely focused on the moment.

"I sense there is something that you want me to do, but you are working very hard to word it in any other way than a demand."

Gar Logan has posed:
"Yeah, because I can't control what you do," Gar answers. He's been making a concerted effort to keep his voice even, to remain calm so he can get his point across the best way he knows how. Harley may be a blind spot for him, but everything he's just heard leaves him feeling more certain of his point of view.

He adds, "You wanted me to know you didn't get shot or hurt, like that's a normal thing when you're hanging out with her. You know how much that makes me worry about you? I know. You're a Titan now, and you were lost in space for like three whole months and you came back knowing more than before, and all that. But I thought I lost you, and I almost went crazy before I remembered to do something and I figured out you should still be alive, and..and now you're only back a few weeks and you're getting into trouble with Harley Quinn again."

He wipes at his face quickly, and this time it's not to clear away some glitter. It's to clear away something else, and he turns away from the couch, arms wrapping around himself like he's alone again. "And I would very much like it if you found a reason to stop seeing her, because I'm afraid if you don't, one of these times you won't come back alive."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Green eyes narrow just a little. "So I am supposed to just... what? Give up on her? Cast her off as a lost case, a hopeless person, damaged goods?" the cat raises his chin just a little. "Someone that's just not *good enough* to worry over?"

He turns around, pacing with slow and measured steps towards the window. He could hear the bells of Saint Sebastian in his mind. Memories he had never share- not with Gar, not with anyone- the cumulative hammering of messages over years. In the world there were the sinful and the broken. The unworthy. Unclean, incorrigible. People who had something /wrong/ with them that went down to the core of who they were--- and what was their reward? Hellfire.

He turs around once again, facing Gar from a greater distance now.

"You're asking me to stop believing in her."

Gar Logan has posed:
"Stop believing in her?" Gar asks, his back straightening as his shoulders tense up. He'd begun to slouch, but the posture shifts. "Give up on her because she's broken and crazy and everything?" He muses over this, the tilt of his head suggesting he might be looking up toward the ceiling as if seeking advice from a higher power. Maybe God. Maybe his parents. Maybe that fly on the wall. Oh, to be that fly.

"You can believe in whoever you want to, but it sounds to me like she doesn't believe in herself, or she just..keeps screwing up because she can't help it. Maybe she doesn't know any better." As if nature is what it is and some things in nature just can't change. What is he getting at? Is he even articulating it well? Is he right? Is Vorpal right? Isn't helping anyone who needs it supposed to be what Titans do? But at what cost? Any cost? All costs? What is the limit? Where is the line drawn?

"Or maybe she just doesn't care." His chest rises and falls, a deep, slow breath, as his arms unfold and he gestures with his palms up. "She's the one who called up her pals to get her some toys, and a bunch of them were so hot that you guys could have got yourselves killed. But what do I know, right? You've got her all figured out, and you're the one who's gonna save her when she can't even get something this basic right without screwing it up."

He moves toward the door back out. "Yeah, so I'm gonna go back to the Tower now. Maybe I'll go find her myself in a couple days and have a little talk with her. Why don't you do me a favor and let her know to expect me."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Vorpal stays frozen, and that inscrutable face doesn't move a muscle as Gar speaks. Whatever is going on inside, it doesn't appear to reach the surface. Deep within, though, those voices sound in the corridors of his mind- the old fears, the old memories. Suddenly, he is fifteen again and standing knee-deep in a stream, blood running down from his nose after the boy he'd confessed his love to had punched him hard and told him how evil what he was... was. His first real heartbreak.

The cat cranes his head slightly to the side. Steps splash away from him in the water- as it was then, so it is now. It is natural for the broken to be abandoned, right?

You were a fool if you thought this would last, O'Neil. You've always known you were here by accident.

"I will let her know," he says, remaining exctly how he is, watching Gar head for the door. Nothing breaks to the surface. Nothing must. At least, not until he's alone.

Gar Logan has posed:
"Cool, thanks," Gar answers, casting a quick glance over his shoulder before leaving.

He has no idea what's going on inside Vorpal's head right now, or Terry's, or whichever of the two sides is stronger at the moment.

He's only thinking in terms of what he feels is right, what he feels is wrong, and how likely or not it is that Harley Quinn will eventually cause irreparable harm.

"Just remember, I love you and I always will, and I want you to be safe," he says, trying to convey warmth in the wake of an exchange that grew frostier by the sentence before he exits and takes flight following a quick shift.

Who knew love could hurt this much?

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Thirteen heartbeats. That's the space it takes for everything to bubble to the surface after Gar has left. The Cheshire cat sinks onto the couch with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands for an indeterminate span of time. When he finally lifts his head, it's only to wipe away a steady stream of tears. Two people can look at a sentene in two very different ways and with two different meanings, depending on what space you're in.

Terry O'Neil, his head clanging from the bells of Saint Sebastian and the threat of the smell of brimstone, heard a very different message. His face twists into a rictus as he does his best to fight the emotion from exploding out. He hastily reaches for the jacket he discarded earlier and swings it across his shoulders hurriedly before a Rabbit Hole appears, bathing the darkened living room in paradisiacal light, blue horizons and green ocean. His toes touch the burning white sand of his desert island- the island he landed in on his first transformation, and to which he had returned at several times to be alone. He could cry there, and sleep there, without anyone coming upon him. It was private and safe.

As the Rabbit Hole closes behind him, only one thing is left at the apartment: a cell phone, inadvertedly abandoned when it swung out of the jacket pocket and landed on the misplaced cushion that had been thrown earlier.