capeandcowllogs | They criticize the practice

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They criticize the practice | by murderin' the plans

WHO: Two

enigmaestro gentlemen
WHERE: Central Park Boat House to start, then somewhere else entirely
WHEN: Today, about 1pm
WARNINGS: Horrific subject line puns?
SUMMARY: Confused and somewhat concerned about all the Homestuck shenanigans, Sirius consults the local adult expert.
FORMAT: WE DO WHAT WE WANT

Nestled in the center of Central Park, the Boathouse restaurant commanded a charming view of the Lake and the boaters rowing around in the sunny afternoon heat. Sirius arrived about half an hour early and set himself up on a shady bench just outside the main entrance to the restaurant with the day's paper and a lemonade. He'd rolled the sleeves up and left his navy striped shirt unbuttoned low enough to show his dog tags, presumably as an allowance for the heat. Fortunately, this was the City, and the runic tattoos he'd returned with on his chest, arms and even fingers were not the most extreme body art on display. With his hair and beard trimmed, he looked like a retired biker, which was more or less accurate.

As 1pm neared, he flipped the paper to the crossword, and pulled out a pen. He'd found the Times crossword to be satisfyingly challenging even on the topics he was well-versed in, and a fair education on the cultural quirks that he wasn't, and it gave him something to think about as he scanned the crowds for Mr. Nygma.

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Edward anticipated the meeting with a quiet enthusiasm. It wouldn't do to seem too eager, surely, but it had been awhile since Eddie had indulged in new and clever people. Not that he was unaware of the infamous Sirius Black, but an acquaintance hardly compared to the more engaging parries of intimate conversation. He looked forward to that promised stimulation.

And it was a wise move, to keep such words between themselves. The Network was never as secure as individuals would like it to be, and any discussion on delicate topics would logically be better spoken in person. It wasn't a fact that Eddie was about to argue. The fact that Sirius appreciated this, as well, only proved how aware the man was. Not many would take children seriously -- even those who have proven themselves time and time again. Although, by Eddie's standards, Gamzee was hardly a boy. He preferred the idea of sociopath, when concerning that individual.

He caught sight of Sirius Black, eased upon a bench.

"Why, hello." Eddie, as promised, was wearing his most dandy-looking bowler. The warm weather had no influence on his decision. Eddie's gaze hovered over the crossword, his attention momentarily stolen by those white and black squared riddles.

Having been the definition of a precocious child with no respect for rules and authority himself once, Sirius is fully aware of what 13-year-olds can achieve with enough determination and cleverness. That these 13-year-olds ran in packs only made it worse.

He looked up as Eddie came over, spotted the bowler hat, and broke into a massive grin that dropped years off of his face and made it less unbelievable that he was the same person as the garrulous young man from six months ago. He stands and offers Eddie his hand.

"Hello, there Mr Nygma of the satisfyingly excellent hat. Sirius Black, pleased to meet you."

He'd got through a smattering of questions on the crossword puzzle - mostly having to do with historical knowledge.

If Edward was surprised by the age leap worn by Sirius, he hid it behind a smile. His own hand gripped Sirius' and they shook, sealing an acquaintance well met in person. The movement distracts Eddie from the puzzle for a suitable amount of time, enough to make proper niceties, but soon they find themselves once more absorbed.

"Keen on the historical ones, are you?" The comment was spoken with approval. Any category would have won approval, of course, but history possessed many levels of utility. "I like your taste, Sirius."

The shade shielding the bench felt nice, a small reprieve from the focused sun glimmering overhead. Summer could be quite unforgiving.

"Shall we head inside? I don't mind the dog days of summer, but --" Eddie flashed a grin. "Air conditioning has its charm."

"I know the historical ones! I've yet to find any Quidditch or Ancient Runes quest- you know, that's not true. There was a puzzle last year that had 'futhark' as an answer. Pleased me to no end. But yes, let's inside."

Sirius taps his index finger against his lips and then reaches down and pulls a large glass jar out from under the bench. He holds up his communicator and puts it inside, and holds it out for Eddie to do the same.

Sirius' indignation over the discriminatory crossword brought another smile to Eddie's face. It was easy to relax in the other man's presence, easy to feel the warmth of a friendlier charm. And dangerous, noted Edward as he mimics Sirius' movements and dislocates his communicator from himself. It bounced the glass jaw bottom with a clang.

"Things seem to be getting... Dire," Eddie said. It was so hard to avoid serious puns, but he did so out of politeness. His curiosity had moved from the puzzle to the glass jar. It was easy to assume the purpose, but he was more interested in the means of what measured protection Sirius was about to take.

Sirius shakes his head. "Not here. If you don't mind, I'd like to take us to a different spot in the city, via wizard's short-cut. It's not the most comfortable way to travel, but I'll buy the first round of drinks to settle our stomachs after." He offers his hand and gives a smile more roguish than reassuring. "Trust me?"

Side-along-apparition feels like being squeezed through a rubber tube about three inches in diameter for a few seconds, but assuming Eddie goes along, Sirius will take them to West Village and a restaurant called the Spotted Pig. At least it's cool inside, with just enough bustle to drown out individual conversation.

Trust me? How Eddie often regretted hearing that question. Eddie felt the nervous rush of realizes he didn't know what Sirius was about to do, and he was woefully under-prepared by thinking otherwise. He looked at the offered hand with some concern, before grasping it firmly.

Sirius wouldn't take too hasty a risk, if he himself was in the same boat. Right?

He couldn't close his eyes fast enough. The pop rang in his ears, the suffocation was as terrifying as it was brief. When they appeared under the sun again, he couldn't help but fall to his knees, gasping.

"Trust you, indeed!" Eddie wheezed.

"I did warn you," Sirius says, amused. Goodness, such drama. "Up you go, on your feet. The first time's always the worst." He offers Eddie his hand again, just to help him up, and at least has the decency to look chagrined at the other man's pain.

"The nice thing about apparition is that it can't be tracked, and with our Starktech bottled up, we're as on our own as we can get. Now, come inside, let me buy you a drink...and lunch, very well, and we can talk about youthful violence like the old men we are."

Eddie glared at that hand for a bitter moment, before his lips loosened and he extended his own hand once more, gripping Sirius'.

"By now I've got your grip committed to memory," he said with a smile. It was perhaps the oddest acceptance to be spoken, but Eddie had decided that he liked Sirius. Moreover, he approved of the methods for keeping off their collars.

Besides. He was also getting lunch out of this, how charming.

"Old men indeed." Eddie flashed a grin. "And how quickly it happened. Why, just a few months ago I recall you as a spry youth." He followed the other man's lead, easing back in a smooth stroll. Something told Eddie that it was better to get comfortable now.

Ha ha ha, oh Merlin, what? Sirius's smile deepens and becomes approving. He's an expressive fellow with a lot of smiles.

"A strong first impression is as important as a strong grip, or so I will tell myself to make that statement acceptably eccentric rather than just odd."

The restaurant is a bit crowded in the front and bar area, but the back is cool and quiet, and while the waitress is visibly nonplussed at the large jar with the cellphones in it that Sirius puts on the table, he is cheerfully British at her until she smiles and accepts their drink order. There were women in this town who could resist being called 'luv', he'd discovered, but not many.

"Yes, it's been quite a year. Too many women kept telling me I was too young for them, I had to do something. Alas that I did not just appear in my prime in the first place like some wiser, better-dressed individuals." Start with half a truth and then build something extravagant on it, seems to be Sirius's modus. Then again, anyone who would choose and then pull off a bowler hat like Eddie's deserved to be flattered for it.

Oh, flattery. His one true weakness. It was easy to gloss over any tingles that his ever-present falsehood detection power interrupted with, easy to accept Sirius' stories -- and they were charming, weren't they? Witty, too -- and smiles without deeper question. His defenses were already disengaged.

"I wouldn't worry too deeply. You're not without your charm," he returned casually. He rests his hands on the slick wood of their shared table, careful to spare their communicators just a cursory glance. The image itself reinforced the comfort of secrecy, a particularly acceptable familiarity. The shade and shadows that the back offered suited Eddie's needs, especially for the topic at hand.

"Gamzee will prove troublesome," he said, diving in between the wait for his bourbon, served neat. "In part because the brunt of the work will be on organizing any effort. He's made so many diverse enemies."

A pause followed.

"Especially from his own world."

Mutual flattery, gossip, plotting, and soon enough, good beer and hamburgers. Sirius paused to reflect for a moment on how glad he was to be back. Eddie's cut to the chase took Sirius a bit by surprise, but it certainly focused his attention entirely on the other man. A little bit of repartee and he'd nearly forgotten the darker reasons for this meeting.

Eddie certainly knew how to set a conversation in motion.

"Yes, going back through the logs, there are quite a few, all teenagers. Thus far I count Gamzee, Eridan, Kanaya who is apparently a vampire, Aradia, Fefairy, Vriska, Rose, Dave ...John and Jade ...Equius, and one poor lad who's just horrified at all of it all the time," he counted them out on his fingers, frowning as he was sure he was missing someone.

"Oh, and the one who was killed, Sollux. I would not be the least surprised to hear that I've missed a dozen or so. They attack one another for blood color and a lack of constructive responses to annoyance, and now for vengeance."

"Tavros?" The name was offered like a puzzle piece, filling in another blank. "The one constantly horrified. I've noticed he seems more mild than many of the others. The ones of, ah, 'lowblooded' social standing seem to be more capable of compassion. Feferi being the exception." Eddie's fingers slid along his cool glass, staring into it for a moment. Eridan had mentioned that his previous moirail was odd like that, a rebel against her culture. Eddie, however, saw no need to headline such a detail. There were too many crucial tangents, and explaining his relation to Eridan wouldn't be the first thing on his list of conversational topics.

"I find the adherence to their blood hierarchy, as you've mentioned, perhaps the strangest thing. Most are bound in human bodies, after all." Even if their blood did remain the same, as with Eridan. "It almost seems silly to promote a system that's ignored by everyone else."

Eddie chose that moment to lean a touch closer, his voice growing a tone more conspiratorial.

"I think it's an obvious weakness."

"Tavros, perhaps." He'd actually been thinking of Karkat, but there were simply a million of the little buggers.

Sirius shakes his head slightly at Eddie's prodding. He doesn't move away, but his gaze does drift inward.

"Weakness isn't quite the word I'd use. It's certainly a clear and brightly labeled trigger, but the bolt could fly in too many different, violent ways."

He looks at Eddie with earnest, honest eyes. Sirius didn't tend to lie very much, but he did muddy the truth with a lot of conversational flourish when the mood struck him. Here and now, though, he gave Eddie the full truth, with words chosen to clarify

"One of the reasons I'm taking an active interest in this is that this obsession with blood is very familiar. I've a lifetime of experience dealing with fools who think their blood is more pure than others', and they didn't even have the evidence of it being a different color to prove it. I was raised by those people, and that sort of fanaticism can be extremely difficult to pierce, especially if Gamzee and Eridan have invested a great deal of their self-identity in it."

He leans in a little as well, and talks with his hands, gesturing and pointing at the tabletop.

"Bellatrix is incapable of seeing herself and anyone she meets in terms other than the black and white pedigree she was spoon-fed as a child, even though we're in another world surrounded by a broad spectrum of people with amazing powers, because that pedigree means that she can do whatever she wants without repercussion. In her eyes, no one here is fit to judge her. She names me traitor for rejecting the entire pureblood concept for the tripe it is, but I am still a more worthy person than you in her eyes, simply because you've no magic. Yes, this makes her a rabid idiot, and it means that she underestimates muggles to a foolish degree, but it also means that she is beyond redemption, and feels not the slightest twinge of conscience at torturing or killing muggles, because you are not people to her. Gamzee and Eridan are still young, so perhaps there's some hope for him yet, but by the time I was their age I'd already drawn my line in the sand and there was a very short list of people whose opinions I considered important. Unless we can find someone they truly respect and listen to, these kids are going to keep on doing whatever the hell they want, and damn the rest of us."

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They criticize the practice | by murderin' the plans

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