2020-03-19 - We've Got Spirit? Yes, We Do!

Grant is oddly quiet and focused as he cane be after 'clones' (serious, guys, they looked 0 like them! Ask Grant!) tried to bloody steal their souls. New book is acquired which was the point and as they walk back to the car and head back to Vyv's place he is dead quiet lost in some thoughts though still having the lights on. So many short but congenial answers. This is not the same energy from earlier. The car stops and before they get out Grant sits there eyes frozen on the dash , creased. His hand balls up to make a circle at his shoulder in apology signing as he speaks. other gestures include a moon with one hand and the other imitating a rocket ship with a shake of his head looking to Vyv. The quiet apology includes the vocal observation, "We did not go to space today." There's a long pauses and he takes a deep breath reasoning, "You did kidna save my life though. I, um, I appreciate that. I'm still using it."

Souls: secured. Or at least still as secure as they were before they went into the Library. Vyv does not have a new card, yet, because he does have the form, and that thing unscrolls to longer than he is tall. In tiny, apparently-hand-written print. There's absolutely no way he's signing that unread, no matter how tempting those books may be.

And they're pretty tempting.

Vyv does notice Grant's quietness as they go, but doesn't seem inclined to push at it immediately. He has thoughts of his own to deal with, after all, some of which lend themselves well to him talking a fair bit with (okay, maybe at) his companion. His annoyance with the sheer number of questions he still had left to ask the Librarian at the point that walking into 'Special Collections' with him deposited the group back in their own world -- with no Interplane Library in sight -- covers a fair bit of distance on its own. It's possible that a comment here or there might be intended to get a smile out of Bax, though difficult to be entirely sure. And for some parts of the trip, he just lets it be fairly quiet.

It's one of those when they arrive, and he's already parked, unbuckled, and is reaching for his door handle when Grant starts signing. It has him drawing the hand back, watching, and giving a small nod to the vocal observation before the pause. A moment after the younger man's done, and then he replies, both aloud and with his hands. The latter is... a little awkward, not yet his usual grace in other things, and simple, but understandable. "We didn't. It's all right; we learned things and we're closer to working it out. It's probably better if we can arrange it through a travel agent rather than hitching a ride in any case." There's a hesitation in there where he's very aware ASL isn't a travel sort of language and thus doesn't have the usual 'where is the train station' early vocabulary; 'travel agent' gets glossed as something along the lines of 'go-there-person' and he just sort of does a hitchhiking thumb for that last bit, but it's clear enough with the vocal portion there.

"And-- good." He doesn't attempt to figure out how to also sign, "Broadly speaking, I'd prefer you continue to use it. Anyway, they couldn't be allowed to take our souls. We're artists; I'm assured we need those."

Grant is in a really great place to be spoken at right now, but seems no less agreeable for it. He watches though, the fingers, maybe seeing what he's retained, and what is total improvisation. He doesn't seem to mind the improv. Pigeon signing is a thing for a reason; all colloquialisms generally are. He doesn't correct him either and at the end of it does smile. Maybe it's for the tremendous effort put into trying to work on learning language or maybe for the same volume of effort it takes Vyv to figure out really how to reach out. He bothered to try, and it lands.

There's no no per se, but a when and the 'when' and the later stave the disappointment fanning the bigger concerns shared. His head dips in a nod more accepting of the proposed solution before he exits the car to follow Vyv up up up stairs. "'you know there's a ... lot to be mad about here. I'll be honest I dunno where to start. If the copy of a copy of me didn't look so damn abnormal I'd be more concerned but...like... " He takes a deep breath and looks to Vyv "I don't like plagerism man. Feels bad. LITERALLY wounds my soul."

They say it gets easier to learn new languages after your first non-native one, and Vyv does have a bit of a knack for them, but all the same... he's come a fair way in not terribly long, and even here that doesn't happen by magic. Exactly. Okay, if he keeps working on his mental arts, one day almost all his languages may suddenly improve drastically, but thus far, there's only the mundane method to work with. And he looks quietly pleased that it seems as though his meaning's come across properly, even if the fact that he was also saying more or less the same thing aloud probably helped. It's still progress. And understanding what Grant said is, too.

It has him practicing a little more as they go, waved in by security (despite a clear glance and raised brow at the blood on Vyv's shirt) and onward to the elevator that saves them the several-storey hike to Vyv's apartment. It's somewhat intermittent, as his vocabulary isn't terribly large yet and most words he doesn't know just get dropped if he can't rephrase the sentiment, saving the improv for things that he can steal a logical reference for or easily build. "I'm not a fan, no," ends up basically just 'not like', for example. "I don't want something looking like me running around looking like that. Doing God knows what with my face. Ugh." A glance to the scroll emerging from his coat pocket. "Perhaps we can find that opt-out process the librarian mentioned." A half-smile, the glance intentionally sidelong, "I didn't defend your soul just to have it literally wounded in any case."

That reminds him even more than the movement of the state of his hand, and he looks it over again as the lift rises. Tch. "I still want to know who checked out not-us. And what for. And why specifically us, of the seven-billion-some humans out there. Not to mention how similar to us they actually are. They clearly don't share our taste. They didn't appear to be verbal. Is it only looks they want?"

Grant shuffles in and upnods to the door guard. Stepping into the elevator he leans against the back wall holding his arm. The statement is received kindly.. until it's not. There's confusion, then a frown, then what looks to rare anger, and then an explanation in short order, "Dude if he actually looked anything like you then I'd be more concerned. They look like they ordered a Ukrainian sniper to wear shiny overalls and has never acted a day in his life to play you because they had no budget. One eyebrow was shorter than the other and off angle and he had a beak like a toucan. If you got past what definiately not you decided to do with a pocket sq- ya know what. While you're ot wrong rest be assured if they wanted looks they missed. And maybe? Maybe the want is due to good taste." Can someone irrately compliment/ Yes. Yes they can.

If it were impossible to give compliments while irritated, history would contain far fewer of them from Vyv's direction. They're far more rarely in his direction. None of what's said is really what he was expecting at the moment, and it startles a sudden tiny laugh out of him. "He didn't have a suitable pocket for a square," he notes, the amusement carrying through that far.

A touch more seriously, "From where I stood the likeness didn't seem that terrible. Not good, but recognizable. But I trust your assessment; I was focused rather more on the impression that Not-Me was liable to launch himself at actual-me at any moment. And it does support the idea that who- or whatever actually creates these 'copies' has a problem with detail. Which leaves me to wonder, what's really the point? What good is something like that for, what was it, sociological studies or cultural exchange? They're not even appropriately decorative." Does that also qualify as a sort of compliment? Might depend on the recipient.

Grant takes a finger and draws a square, there, in the center of his own chest. "He had a big shiny one... here." Because gold lamae overalls would, of course, need a bib pocket. He doesn't know. Frankly the whole running into your knockoff import clone someone wanted was- Grant looks up as the elevator gently dings! and the doors open. Holding his arm waiting for it to just... heal he blinks, "well....shit." yeah the why is this a thing is a question he's not dug to. "You know I saw this in the movie the Island. The one that got sued for being a much better plagiarism than the original. Michael Clarke Duncan, Scarlett Johansen, and hot Ben Kenoki?" That'd be Ewan McGreggor, Bax. oy. "They made clones of folks. Claimed they didn' t have like onsciousness and stuff and hacked em up for replacement parts... duuuude what if the Other Side wants to use em as test subjects to craft dreams and shit? Like dream crash test dummies?" Vyv walks, and he seems to calm his ire and follows. Looking down at his arm he looks over to Vyv, the blood, and that determined look. Finally lowering his proverbial guns he asks, "How bad?"

Vyv gives a light shudder at the 'shiny' portion of the pocket description. "Not all pockets are suitable pockets," he replies, "That one wasn't suitable for human consumption." With a hint of amusement easing back in, he adds, "Your jeans have pockets too, after all, but a square in one or another of them might give quite a different impression. Safest to stick to a proper breast pocket, really."

The way Grant's holding his arm gets a sidelong look as they go, Vyv's lips pursing briefly, though they can't help quirking upward a little at 'hot Ben Kenobi'. "Dream-test dummies is an... interesting thought. They didn't seem enough like us to be good subjects, but... that librarian did say something about 'renovation techniques', didn't he? What if they were more like us before that?" A pause. "Well, somewhat more, unless dressing them happened afterward. Mn. And I... hmm. Do you think there's something organized enough there to be experimenting with potential dreams and then intentionally loosing them on some of us specifically? They do seem to have a ridiculously developed bureaucracy, it isn't as though the place can't organize. But it hasn't seemed... set on dream-deployment. Then again, I've not spent that long across."

A glance at his hand, flexing it again. "I've had worse in kitchens," he decides. "...just not recently. I think it will heal all right, it's just going to be irritating for a week or so. And the shirt of course is ruined." Chances he's making a mental note to see whether replacement of damaged belongings is covered in that card application form are not nil. "You? I have antiseptic and bandages inside." Which is where they're about to be, as they reach his door and he unlocks it.

Grant walks with and gives Vyv a flat look that reads with one short gesture: Really?! This is too amusing and with a wry grin he points out, "yeah my jeans have pockets but a pocket square there, at least here, is called flagging and it means something toooootally different." He's trying not to grin, but failing to hide any of it.

He's tired, his arm is bleeding. He was stabbed by 'him-not-self' with a book. As for conversions and stunt dreams and design? Jury is still out. "I mean I dunno man. I never tried to design one before. I think I might like to though." As they get close to teh 8th apartment on the floor Bax points and decides, "C'mon. Kitchen. Let's wash it off and if you want I can take a bash at it." Because why not? He pauses and wonders to himself, "And... I dunno the suit is ruined. I saw Daisy do this with her hoodie once. It'll be okay."

There's a pause and as he breezes in his focus shifts to something slightly more serious as he ovens not to the sink but the fridge for... milk? "Nothing's going to be irritating you for a week or so right now but me." Looks up to Vyv with that look of a man sizing up a room to wonder what here can I use to build what I need? "Vyv, lose the jacket." The milk is poured into a tall glass and set aside.

Vyv quirks a brow, doing somewhat better at suppressing the urge to grin, mostly by dint of long practice. There's still that particular brightness to his eyes and treacherous little upward pulls at the corners of his mouth, his voice managing a rather closer to deadpan, "You don't say."

The idea that they -- little-t 'they' -- might be able to design Dreams puts an actual hitch in his stride. Not enough to count as stopping, but enough to throw the rhythm off slightly. "...I'd definitely like to. I wonder how one would go about discovering whether it's doable, and if so, how?" His gaze drops briefly to the library books Grant's carrying. Hm...

Research contemplation is slightly interrupted by the need to hang up his coat, which gets a faintly unhappy examination. "I'm going to have to take that in. Those book-blade things made all sorts of little scraped up areas, look." Not that he seems to really expect any looking to be done; he just sighs and continues on into the the kitchen.

"You know, a bash is really only a promising thing to take when it involves insects or parties," he says, moving to one of the drawers and pulling it open to extract a smallish, neatly arranged first-aid kit. Nothing fancy, just the sort of thing one might keep around in case of accidentally chopping one's finger instead of an apple. It's set on the counter, and his brow lifts again, both at the order and the milk. "Demanding today," he observes, but does start removing the jacket, careful of touching it even with the currently-clotted blood. He indicates the glass of milk with a tilt of his head as he goes. "If that's a subtle request for cookies, I think you may be disappointed in how cold it isn't by the time they're done."

Grant is so damn exhausted and misses entirely that this is sarcasm and casually explains, "Well yeah there's like a colour directional thing. Color coordinating. You might dig it." He pauses and says "There's a chart." His head tilts and his attention wanders off curiously murmuring, "They design this system for guys, a third of which who are colourblind...seems hardly fair." This while concept boggles his mind but it's brought back around when Vyv calls him demanding.

This brings a pause and he blinks and relents with a murmur and non-committal wave of his hand, "Eeeh learned it from you." Learning is occurring. The lesson of the day is shade and salt, like really tired, snarky conquerors from afar. There's a pause and at being called out for being demanding he makes a non-committal gesture in lieu of a shrug, "Well when you have your hand back you can trow a-" Derailed. He looks at the milk and blinks and then to Vyv and then to the fridge, "Cookies?" Focus, Bax. You can do it, buddy. He looks back to the milk and pauses looking to his companion carefully.

Confused he points and gestures to the glass and then points to himself. Rubbing his forehead with his good arm he says, "Look I want you to not get an infection and doing stuff like... this works me up an appetite man. Just bring your arm here and after you can make cookies or open a Mrs. Field's or storm the firefly forest and kick over a tree and demand the little cookie elves start employing quality standards. Whatever you want." He points to Vyv and then the sink in that bring your arm over here pleaskthanks gesture.

"Daisy's done this for me a bunch. I know how to make Daisy face(tm) to make wounds un...wind? ... heal. Commere." He pointpointpoints to the sink not impatient but more like a GPS that tells you in 3400 inches take the next exit.

Vyv has a wide repertoire of looks that essentially translate as really?, and Grant earns #4, 'sidelong, mildly amused but disbelieving'. "O brave new world / that has such people in't," he murmurs dryly.

"Looking around, one'd think it was at least half," he says, as he finishes slipping the jacket off. All right, there might be worse teachers if it's a lesson one wishes to learn. "...and as long as you're also learning proper sweater deployment I suppose I can put up with it if you pick up 'demanding' as well." A flick of a glance over the skater's outfit, while gently laying the jacket across the seat of one of the stools. ASL may take some work to learn, but at least there are resources; Vyvlish comes only from immersion. Is Bax conversational enough yet to translate some variety of 'you look nice today' out of that?

The options for what he can do 'after' draw a soft snort. "If it were that easy to get quality out of mass-market fair folk..." He removes the cufflink from the wounded wrist, and pushes the fabric up toward his elbow as he approaches the sink. It reveals the state of his hand and arm, which is... well, about as he'd said. Cuts scattered from fingers to where the cuff hit, the deepest being one across the palm and one just at the top of the wrist. There's still a nick at the edge of one of his ears, too, and that one that sliced through his shirt beside the tie, where the blood's spread and soaked to a strange little Rorschach test around the rip.

His brows rise slightly at the mention of that sort of healing, less because the concept is a surprise and more because he didn't know it was within Grant's wheelhouse, and the arm is presented with all due ceremony. Okay, maybe a little more than due ceremony. "When I have my hand back I can throw what?"

Grant is no stranger to injuries. An extreme sports athlete one would imagine not, but still it doesn't mean he's not cautious and handle these things flippantly. Light above the sink is flicked on and he open the tap to wash his hands and gets extra soap to, carefully run the affected hand under the water. The compromise due to sweater ears a small smile that is pleased. Vyvlish is easy enough to pick up if one is entirely too optimistic for their own good and don't take anything too personally.

It causes him to stop, however, and he's trying to frown but breaks up snickering. As he's about to start again he stops and silently cracks up just a bit before rallying and gathering himself trying not to grin and with all effort casts some serious shade like this is Vyv's fault. "I don't know which part is important but shade might be part of it Every time someone gets healed there's the 'Bruh you're such a dumbass. Hold still while I fix your rekt ass' look. Sooo... in case it's aprt of teh process? I dunno." His brow creases actually giving this a studious look and carefully pushes glimmer and soap across the wound trying to close. He works on this in careful circles pulling the irritated inflammation down and slowly and carefully closes the wounds behind it.

In the words of every great healer he observes, "Hoooooly shit that worked."

Not bad traits for dealing happily with Vyv in general, really! The chef cooperates with the hand-rinsing, letting Bax move the arm however he likes, and the brows go up again at the snickering, a questioning expression that turns into a more dubious one at the Look and a smirk when the explanation comes. "I don't need to wait for my hand to heal to throw that. And in fairness, you are a skateboarder; what proportion of the things she was healing were preceded by 'watch this'?" Arguably proof!

He hushes up to let Grant focus, though, and the smirk fades away into a subtly impressed look as the wounds gently knit themselves back together. He can see it on the arm, feel it there and on his ear and chest as well, lightly passing through his body to pick up a couple little aches and pains along the way. That is, frankly, amazing, and it's there in his expression even if he does manage to keep it low-key. The hand flexes again as if testing. "That did, indeed, work. Very nice." He looks from the arm to the man holding it, and leans in a touch impulsively to kiss his cheek. "Thank you."

Straightening, he starts to reclaim his own arm, looking to the painter's. "Now, let me look at yours. As far as I'm aware I can't do the same, but I'm armed with Neosporin and I have treated the results of poorly aimed knives before."

Grant grins called out with a squint, though he admits without apology, "More than all of them, V. more than all of them." The math works out somehow. he's watching the hand however and in the end makes sure all the soap is rinsed off looking honestly amazed this even worked! His attention is drawn back up by the kiss to the cheek and the genuine open appreciation which doesn't come lightly apparently. He signs You're welcome.

Shoving his sleeve up he turns the back of his forearm in three different directions before finding out how to rinse and wash it. "Well, ya might I mean have you tried? You dunno if you can fly til you jump off a roof and see where you land. I mean... shit. Try it. Make Daisy face and I dunno. I think about it like I'm lacing a shoe. If we fuck it up we have the Neosporin. No one's good at shit unless they try man."

Don't get too used to it! There's only so much unveiled appreciation to go around, you know. Vyv lets Grant get away with his impossible math today, thoroughly distracted by the actual healing. The younger man only gets two tries on getting the arm under the water -- and that may be partly because Vyv has a second cufflink to remove and sleeve to push up -- before impatient hands reach out to help guide it into the right direction, and to get involved in the actual washing while they're there.

"If I jump off a roof," Vyv replies dubiously, "where I'm most likely to land is the hospital. Possibly the morgue. If I'm planning some time off, I can think of myriad places I'd rather be. Stay still." Just plain taking over the washing at this point. "...I tried wilting and healing a plant, once, I believe it's the same skillset. Nothing happened. But..." But that was months ago, and a lot has changed since then. He could barely cause static cling, then. And thus far, the worst he's managed trying things seems to be 'nothing'...

"All right." He rinses the last of the soap off the arm, turns off the water, and studies the injury. He's fairly sure it doesn't care much about his expression, but as it happens the wound just naturally ends up garnering some reasonably quality side-eye. His hand moves as if to mimic the way Bax did it, then pauses, hovering over the skin instead of actually touching it. His version ends up taking more from the way he does his telekinesis, fingers gently moving as though pinching the skin together, drawing the edges to meet. His expression is far more serious and focused, now, bar a slightly surprised couple of blinks when it appears to... actually be working. Slowly but surely, the arm heals.

"...well," he says afterward, staring at it and then running his fingertips over the spot the cut no longer is, "no morgue today, then."

Grant has some mad eyebrow game going as the water, he will promise later, is bending to avoid him. At the mention of landing in a hospital as Vyv educates his guesses there is only a grin of amusement while his arm is turned around and is guided for find the god blessed tap. "Well with that attitude? Yeaaaaaaaaaah." There's a faint wince as the water stings and the fresh wound is addressed. It's nothing new, but while it's not fun he endures.

There's a pause as Vyv talks about not fixing a plant he asks simply, "Diiiid you make the Daisy face?" He does this again which is not far off from the Vyv Vydal expression of Why are these plebeians breathing my air face, but without the vitriol. Ah! there's the side-eye and it... seems to be working? Ahem. It seems to be working, of course.

One eyebrow arcs high and there is a very pleased skater standing in this kitchen. Hands move in 3 gestures in patient emphasis of Very proud (of) you. but, naturally he's examining the arm. Looking up it hits him. Plants. People. AH!!! If he doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve it's because he's wearing a tank top that day because there's an idea lighting up his face like a Roman candle. "We should try this on your jacket!"

Oh god.
He may experiment on everything now.
You've been warned, world.

"It wasn't a daisy."

Vyv looks quietly pleased when he gets slightly more used to the fact it worked as well, not to mention at the signed remark. Success, compliments, and he's pretty sure he understood it! And then Grant's having a Great Idea, and the chef looks... torn. It's a hesitation that likely has little to do with what he actually says first: "The jacket actually came out of this the best. The coat's a bit scuffed, but it's the shirt that really suffered." He glances down at the blood-edged slice in the fabric, clearly weighing things.

"I have been told," he says after a moment, "that the dolorphages, the... 'Dark Men', are attracted by too much use of the Arts, not that anyone really seems to know what constitutes 'too much'. It sounds as though the answer is 'however much one used them before it happens', which isn't particularly useful. No one's really been that clear on what it is that happens, either. Doesn't appear to simply be Dreams per se..." Fingers lift, brushing against the ruined fabric. "On the other hand, I've also been told that not using them is no guarantee of remaining unmolested, and knowledge is, proverbially, power. Mn." Also he liked this shirt. And Excited!Bax is... oddly cute. That seems unfair.

It is, indeed, a conundrum. "If we decide to test more things like that," he decides, "we'd best take care with it. Small things, not too many at a time."

Grant blinks and tilts his head. Dolorphages?? He might not be hearing that right. "Dork men?" he pauses, "Rude. I mean accurate, but rude." Fingers The rest comes out that if they use their skills people get pissed and if they don't they're likely to be just as pissed anyways. Hrmm. He looks at the jacket and tries to figure out the difference between a jacket and a coat is. He does catch something something we're all going to be eaten by nightmares and reasons, clearly the enabler here.

"well... ya did say that suit's to die for... and you weren't wrong." He blinks. Bax is not helping. Apparently he's decided because he's already examining the sleeve of the shirt by taking Vyv's wrist and just lifting his arm up to spot the damages. Distracted he murmurs, "Shirt used to like you as much as we did. It's rebelling. Let's rescue it. Damn the man, save the suit. it's yours. Take it back" So totally not helping. It should be noted he's pretty certain Caution is some sort of vitamin supplement and not a lifestyle enhancement.

"Dark men," Vyv corrects, finger-spelling that first word, "...though it's possible it's less accurate. I don't believe I've met one. 'Dolorphages'," which he also spells out, the movements still decidedly halting next to Grant's fluency, "means 'pain eaters'. I like that name best, frankly. A proper label, given what I'm told of them. They nurture and feed on our unhappiness."

Go on, ask about the jacket/coat distinction sometime, Bax. Maybe bring a pen to take notes. "In any case, I do prefer to maintain 'to die for' as purely figurative, certainly if I'm the one liable to do the dying. And I believe I've already asserted my preference you remain among the living as well." No, the painter isn't helping at all, what with the wrist-taking and entirely accurate compliments to the suit and framing things as them against forces encroaching on what's theirs. It's blatant manipulation, is what it is.

It's also working.

"...however. The only way we'll know whether we can repair something is to try to repair something. And we do have a suitable 'something' handy." There's little easier to talk someone into than what he actually wants to do. "Oh, all right. Go on, then."

Grant nods slowly sussing out this whole 'pain eater' ordeal. Glance moves back and his head tilts agreeing formally, "I did promise to remain alive and on world." As for the rest? Well he's smarter than he may let on. Not being well thought out is different than not having thoughts. Clever fox.

"Soooo since we're in a catch 22?" The eyebrow goes up and there is triumph and victory in that grin when Vyv gives into his ID and agrees. "Sweet. Take off your shirt in case it catches fire." because that's a totally normal matter-of-fact commonplace concern. Uh HUH. "Well you don't want to take on a big project without a plan. Sure. yes." His fingers stretch and flex, hand rotating his fist in a circle testing his arm. He then uses that to make a grabby hand for the shirt sparing a short double take with an impish grin. He's not saying nothing.

Just what the patissier needed: a skater-shaped shoulder-devil. Of course, if Bax weren't distinctly brighter than an initial glance might suggest, Vyv would find him far less fun.

...probably still some fun, mind.

A brow lifts in return, tossing back a bit of challenge to that look of victory, or possibly the demand. "Do you know, if one didn't know better, one might suspect you were just trying to get my clothes off," he remarks Terribly Conversationally, while plucking the tiebar free and secreting it into a trouser pocket with the cufflinks. The tie's unfastened next, laid across the suit jacket, and then finally he moves on to the shirt itself, in actively no hurry. Almost aggressively no hurry, because sometimes he's a bit of a brat.

"Definitely best to have a plan. Do you think healing a shirt would only remove the rip, or the bloodstain as well? I wouldn't say it was properly repaired unless it managed both, but then, I wouldn't expect having a cut on my arm repaired to wash the blood and dirt off as well..." There aren't that many buttons; even taking his time, it's not that long before the shirt's being shed and laid out neatly on the counter.

Grant is on a roll today. Attacked, and badly cloned? Well yes. But waking up this morning was pretty great, and lunch was interesting and not disastrous, and right now the indulgence of doing something new he's not bothered actually trying before is going... hey alright it seems?

Making the face Daisy manes does not get the shirt to come together as he gives it a faint look of disapproval as the shirt eventually makes its way to the counter. There's a pause and he blinks at Vyv, scans a once over and arches an eyebrow. "Well if it's suspect I'll do better to be more clear about it. Gimme the shirt." Humor he is not without today. There is the analysis of the fabric and he wonders, "Well we can make stuff reconnect with other stuff but the blood isn't... it's not broken? Sooo..." He guesses, "We try to move just those particles? We might want a sponge... and some club soda."

The process goes as carefully as a project requiring care should. The good news is it seems to be on the mend and at least some of the particles seem to be wanting to 'let go'. "I saw Itzil do this before services. Came in looking like a total mess and I was like, dude, the fuck?' and Itzhak was all 'Never yous mind that.' but kept blotting things out with a Kleenex. Man, took me a long time before realizing he was telling em:'youse guys go over there. so I'm thinking... your shirt might be salvageable."

Hey, lunch was delicious! If somewhat overshadowed by the attack of the (bad) clones. That poor shirt ends up getting disapproving looks from all available eyes as it's laid out, Vyv giving a short, irritated exhalation as the exact damage becomes clearer to see. The shirt is as given as it's getting, which is to say, it's right there waiting as he takes a step or two away and leans up against the counter, watching Bax. "Mn," he replies, returning the once-over. "I feel underdressed."

He straightens from the counter again and moves through the kitchen, plucking lightly at the back of Grant's sweater as he passes, and rather swiftly presents him with a little salt cellar, dish of cold water, and new-looking sponge. "Salt and water work better than club soda," he says, though when psychic powers are involved how likely is it to matter?

'Itzil' does not appear to ring a bell, though he possibly does make the connection when the proper name is given, since that's when there's a flicker of a brow lift. "Well," he says, leaning in a little to look at the work in question, "it does look as though it's getting somewhere. Telekinesis seems to go a bit odd when you get down to particles, though. I've not had particular luck with smoke, for example. But water, no problem."

Grant murmurs focusing on the shirt, "Well two ways to fix that, man." He's really good with both of these options. He focuses as it's doing... decidedly something. Eyebrow pops up and he stares at Vyv who is talking and moving so he's trying not to lose anything in the relay. He offers the middle ground solution, "Weeeeell I'll make you a deal. Take a bash at trying to get these little particles up AND if you disintegrate your shit I'll dress to match so you can stop feeling like the odd man out. It's like... A win-win-win scenario." Still the encouragement to focus on learning a new skill seems paramount and primary here. "I meeeeeean you know you want to. All the cool kids are." A wink and an impish grin on the shoulder-devil's face. Enabler's got to enable.

"At least." Vyv almost certainly prefers some options over others, though, since his closet and thus numerous immediate solutions to the issue are mere tens of feet away. The offer draws a lifted brow in return, and a faint smirk that becomes rather less faint when Grant gets into the blatant 1980s PSA peer pressure tactics. "Are they now. At one point all the 'cool kids' were wearing trucker hats, you know, and I can't say I've ever felt one iota of regret for failing to join them..."

This is different, though: he does want to. So teasing notwithstanding, he shifts a little further in, considering it more thoughtfully. "All right. I wonder if..." He sprinkles a couple tiny spoonfuls of salt over the stain, rubs that in, and then pours water over it from the dish. A fair bit of the water, actually, and though he picks up the sponge, he doesn't use that yet. Instead, he focuses on the shirt and the water, willing the latter to wrap itself around the bits of blood. And then to move itself into the sponge, when he dabs at it. It doesn't appear to work like magic, alas, but... it does appear to be working. Slowly enough that one might wonder if the psychic part were really doing anything, if it weren't for the fact that they did make that cut mend itself.

Grant has a terribly juvenile sense of humor, but overall? Well it works and he's pleased with nudging Vyv to do the things he wants to do. What's there to lose. He watches the shirt get revivified and arches an eyebrow up. Hey they were cloned, stabbed, and otherwise had a pretty great morning out. "Proud of you. Now. Let's finish recouping our losses. We still have things to do with the afternoon." Things to sit and paint.

Time damn well spent really. As it so happens he leaves Vyv to finish working on fixing his shirt with a smooch to the back of the shoulder in passing to... find a scroll. He parks his ass and just starts rolling and rolling and rolling to the need and asks, "Hey, you got a pen?"

Suuuure, what've they got to lose? But today, they luck out. Well. Today as far as messing with Spirit, at least. Vyv can't but look pleased when his idea works reasonably well -- well enough that after a few good passes, he's willing to rinse it out and see what they've got. He looks fairly pleased at the kiss to his shoulder, too, even if the lack of shirt-disintegration means he's still comparatively underdressed. Tch, conditionals.

"Mm? I have a few--" He breaks off, looking up from where he's rinsing the (clean!) fabric to where Grant is clearly not even skimming that form. He gives the shirt a squeeze to remove the extra water, then drops it there, drying his hands on his trousers as he steps over to take the scroll away. "No. Stop that," he scolds, and the only reason he doesn't slap the back of a hand is probably that he's in the middle of confiscation. "You haven't even read this! For all you know it says they can just have that soul we were protecting. One can't combat contract law on purely good looks and charm. It's a wonder you haven't signed away your kidneys yet."

Grant is actually startled when the scroll is pulled from his fingers. Startled and confused. He blinks, looks at Vyv and blinks again. "Whaaaaat? Like I know how to sign my name. Yo look for the blank line with the X on it and just, like, sign there. They're all so boooooringly the same, Vyv! Blah blah blah. Don't break stuff. Return in as good or better condition on time. Sign here. Get thing. It's like you've not seen a contract before." There's a small whine and a sigh, "And that's a loooooot of reading."

"It's for a library card. Reading should not be a barrier." Okay, it's a ridiculously long contact, yes. If Vyv might have been tempted to cut any corners with it before, though, now he's bound to read it all properly on principle. Damn. "It's for a Veil library card, I should emphasize. Are you truly that confident the penalty for a late or lost item does not involve castration, taking a section of your memories, or a hundred year ban on travel from one's home planet?" Always tailor for one's audience. "Planetary house arrest, with one of those hideous ankle-bracelet things set to go off if you even jump too high."

He steps away with the scroll in hand, picking up that glass of milk Grant poured with the other and setting that in front of him instead. "It's not as though I've not seen a contract. It's as though I know the sort of thing I might write in a contract if I could get away with it. And there's far worse than me either side of the Veil."

He leans up against the counter, unrolling the scroll enough to scan a couple lines. "I was in some sort of licensing office over there. They tried to repossess my assistant's memories over a loan she hadn't taken out. Another woman would apparently have owed her eyes and liver if her building permit application were rejected. You are not signing this until we know precisely what it says." Even if, quite likely, he already has. He does have that card, after all. "I rather like your eyes where they are."

Grant frowns. There's no worse argument than being reprehended while also being wrong. Bitterly he mulls this over and states his rebuttal. "No you don't get to yell at me with your shirt off while being right. That's... it's cheating. It's not fair and just... mean." He locks eyes, and really has no other argument beyond that. One can imagine his father and his sister have both had this argument with him. He sighs and slouches back. Fingers push back through his hair and he murmurs, "Preeeeetty certain no one wants my kidneys or my liver..."

There's a sigh and the fight leaves him with some concern as Vyv goes on. "Shit. Kidney thieves? You're serious?" Blinking he can't help but be appreciative of Vyv's very particular way of keeping his things in order. There's something to be said for that.

Well, hopefully not with their shirts off. "This isn't yelling, darling, I generally raise my voice for that. And occasionally throw things." The casual tone doesn't do a lot to help one imagine it. "And if my shirt's off, well, just whose fault is that?" It is, however, definitely Vyv's fault that he's taken up a fairly flattering sort of lean in good lighting, Still, serves Bax right! "Anyway, if there's things I can't do while being right, they're going to be severely curtailed."

If Grant's not going to drink that milk, Vyv's going to reach over and have a sip of it himself. Hm. ...needs cookies. "Liver hijackers, at any rate, yes," he says as he sets it back down. "They seemed to take their contracts very seriously."

Grant is still torn between general rebellion on principle, being complimented because flatter does go far, and Shit, people wanna steal my kidneys! Mulling this over his eyes lock on to what is important here: the milk thief. He's technically not psychic but dryly points out, "We need cookies." He eyes the scroll and gives up got now. "Fine. I... fine." And with no further argument hands over the pen to relinquish it. Order wins today.

Vyv does not question where Grant found the pen. Vyv merely accepts it, tucks it into a pocket, and leans in to steal a kiss. Started with the milk and now he's full-speed-ahead for a life of crime! "I did tell you by the time I made any cookies, the milk would get warm," he says, and sighs, shaking his head. His fingers drum against the counter a couple times, and then he half-smiles. The form-scroll gets deposited alongside his own copy. "....but as it happens," he says, opening a cupboard and taking down a small plastic container, "I was going to make you take most of these away in any case."

For now it's only four of them, good-sized shortbread-looking squares with little dark spots that look at a glance like tiny chips of chocolate chips, and a light dusting of sugar over the top. Vyv sets them tidily on a plate, sets the box aside, and brings the chosen ones along as he settles onto the next of the stools. "Cacao nib hazelnut shortbread," he says, "simple, but we might have a place for it. Tell me what you think." Order wins today, but at least chaos gets a consolation prize.

Grant ruminates over his losses which are, he supposes , a good thing all in all. He responds to Cacao nib hazelnut shortbread with "Barium Cobalt Einstein Kool-Aid?" He has no idea what just came out of Vyv's face but he looks terribly proud of this and there's consolation food. He's trying. Bax can identify someone making an effort to assuage the sting of a situation at 40 paces; even Vyv's crabby ass.

Picking one up he examines it before taking a bite. There is silence before signing good but pauses, curious really letting the flavor melt on his tongue. Pointing the rest of the square in the chef's direction he concludes, "This, like, definitely requires further analysis." This translates to compliment. The chaos beastie is appeased away from rash action one more day.