2020-11-11 - A Different Kind of Baking

(TXT to Vyv) Grant : (6:45 am) Baby I need a ride. You're never going to believe this shit.

(TXT to Grant) Vyv : All right, I can be free in a few minutes. Where are you? What's going on?

(TXT to Vyv) Grant : (SMS img: selfie of a wall of fire with the dispensary sign out front starting to melt from the heat and Bax in the foreground with an eyebrow raised like that little girl in the housefire meme)

(TXT to Vyv) Grant : I'd say at work but that may be a gross overestimation of my current state of employment right now

(TXT to Grant) Vyv : Is it stalking you? Do not let it follow you home. I'll be right there.

(TXT to Vyv) Grant : Oh fuck things are following me? I'll be at the auto wash across the street.

(TXT to Grant) Vyv : They'd better not be.

(TXT to Vyv) Grant : Well I got a crowbar and some WD-40 in case. Uhhh I'll meet you on the next street over. They're blocking off the street.

As it so happens Grant's not hard to find. is he falling apart. He is stress skating there in the Taco Bell parking lot while the end half of his world burns. He looks not like he's going to fall apart bu in fact he kinda looks a bit pissed? He's taking it out on the lot doing kickflips over the parking blocks and grinding the drive-thru like it owes him a double bean burrito yesterday.

It is rarely hard to find Vyv when he's driving up somewhere, and even less so this time of morning, with very little other traffic. The racing-green Jag purrs up the street toward the Taco Bell -- not something it does often at all -- and slows at the sight of nebula hair and some sick moves, coming to a complete stop nearby. It's as smoky here as one might expect, and that may be why there's no opening the car to announce his presence. The passenger door is unlocked, and Bax is't likely to mistake this car for any other. Or vice versa.

Grant stamps on the tail of the board. It flips into the air and he snatches it in hand as he walks forward without looking like he's got a magnetized grip (hint: it's true, technically). The smell in the air is concentrated and the contact buzz goes well to the casino in the bay. He is careful opening the door on Vyv's beloved machine, however. he drops in smelling like the rest of the town which is to say the set of a Cheech & Chong film. His eyes are a bit bloodshoot and damp. If there were tears they're out of his system. Oh he's signing. <<I need to just... not... I don't know. I don't know. You eat? I need to eat.>>

Vyv lifts a hand from the wheel as Bax settles in, and his fingers pet once lightly through the hair. Meant to be soothing, maybe; it's not a thing he often means to be, and the movements that probably ought to be instinctive tend to be a bit awkward, instead. Still, if nothing else there's definitely affection there, and maybe some concern.

The other hand comes up off the wheel as well. «We'll get you fed. What do you want to eat? Do you want a restaurant or do you want me to make you breakfast?» A small pause. «Bit hungry myself.»

Grant laughs , though there's no mirth, his head leans into the fingers. There is solace there. <<I want to find the mother fucker who is burning my means to buy my lunch and pay my damn rent. His heart. Or... Greek omelette>> He doesn't often promote violence but when he does he will still sway to food first. Looking to Bax he sighs sounding amused but he's tired and stoned as shit from the contact buzz. "We don't know how bad the damage is. Really glad I got your skates out of there. A bunch of our shit IN the shop? Poof!" His fingers make a puff explosion. "Lost all that weed we went into the veil for too." With a deep sigh he murmurs, "Graham's gonna be piiiiiiiissed."

«Omelette takes less preparation. Also, best to stick to organ meats from properly raised stock.» And clearly whoever's responsible for these things can't possibly be properly raised.

Vyv requires his hands for the wheel and the stick, alas, so he has to switch to simply speaking as he pulls away from the so-called restaurant. "Perhaps the damage won't be as bad as it appears," he suggests, though he doesn't really expect it to be salvageable. Not from what he saw. "But yes, if we can find the culprit, I do vote we stop him. Something less discerning can do the actual eating portion. And we will not allow him to prevent you making a living."

He's only just starting to be affected by what's happening to the air, not having been out as long or as close. "I hope you didn't have much special you were working on, there." Wait, what was that one bit? "...you got cannabis from the other side? That seems unwise. Though. Intriguing."

Grant sullenly replies "At before 7 am? Noooooooooo." There's the sigh. "I coulda stayed in bed for this. Ya know I'm a find this asshole and bite them right in the junk too. This is-...Hey you wonder if this is that hunter lady getting some sort of really mean revenge?" With a sigh his hand flops around vaguely, "Yeaaaah I think I still have like maybe a little bit of it left. Oh!" he puerks up remembering, "Yeah that was when Greg died. That was a tooootal bummer. Like the next day he was like Why you all bummin me out? and we're like 'you're dead man. That makes us real sad and shit' and he was like 'oh fuck.'" There's a pause and he rolls a look to Vyv "He totally used that shit to get out of doing the dishes too."

"Which before 7 am?" Vyv fails to follow this portion. Actually, a fair bit of that's tricky to follow, though he does just fine with, "Please don't make a habit of junk-biting, darling; imagine if it became Pavlovian." He actually considers the hunter lady question briefly before shaking his head. "I'd think a hunter would do it by trying to shoot you or at least set a trap. Also, none of the other things over there have come looking as yet, so they probably can't." It certainly isn't that they've maintained such a great reputation and stellar personal interactions in Dreamland, after all.

This whole matter of Greg is a harder one, though. "...was he a ghost? I suppose that would be a defensible reason for not doing the dishes. But I thought he was still running," okay, didn't really want to be back here yet, but there it is, "the store." They're closer to the apartments now, though the cloud seems to be coming with them.

Grant takes a long deep breath frustrated. "Hey, I never left any teeth marks on you that weren't asked for and that I wasn't happy to like...provide." Thoughts are hard and the good news is Vyv's Baxian vocabulary is pretty high. "Uhhh well it's hard to remember and I'm not certain you want to know about the rest. Veil weed was not all there was goin on that night, and Greggo always kept gooood shit in the house." Uncertain how many details on Bax's life he wants the offer's there. "Baby we were lit before trying it. I remember he hit his shin or something. Daisy tried to heal it and instead whipped my skateboard at his head and he hit the floor." There's a snort and a snicker trying not to laugh, eyes watering a bit. "Frankie covered him with a napkin and declared him dead. He was out for the better part of like an hour."

Rolling a look to and the n turning his head there's a quiet apology in the look. "I built a killer memorial around him. We piled all his things on him. Daisy said some stuff... I think it was Smashing Pumpkinging lyrics... Was a good service. Looking back I dunno he ever died." Closing his eyes he sighs deep and long murmuring, "I don't wanna be a ghost."

"Ye-es, but I'm highly incentivized to keep it that way." Is that slightly more of an upward curl at the corner of Vyv's mouth than usual? It might be. That's definitely more of a snicker than usual at the mishap with the skateboard; it's still not much, but would it generally be there at all? Perhaps unwisely, he does ask, "What else was going on?" so the offer is apparently accepted. Will this be regretted? Quite possibly.

"Mn. Most likely he didn't. Generally if they're up and about afterward it's a strong indicator for not having died." He glances sidelong at Bax as they near the parking structure. "I don't want you to be a ghost, either. You need to stay properly alive. We have plans."

Grant just snickers trying to laugh to keep from weeping. His house and job are up in smoke two months apart. Fate is fucking with this dude and he can only laugh at this point. Oy gevalt. There's every attempt to be serious but there's a sigh of too much emotion and the tail end of the giggle fit leaving his short on breath, "There might have been a shitton of blow. We did a few lines before smoking the veil weeeeeed... Man I was already on my own planet. In space. Space planet. Planet Bax." Rolling his head to the side he coos, "You wanna be king of Planet Bax? I'll totally vote for you."

"What, am I not already? Yes, then, I entirely intend to capture this throne. King at least. Emperor if I'm feeling ambitious." And when isn't Vyv feeling ambitious? "...mn. Been a very long time since I did anything like that." He probably doesn't mean taking over planets. "But I can see how it ends up with smoking the Veil weed."

It's quite a short trip in the car, though the chef takes it a little slower than usual as he pulls into the garage and thence his reserved spot. A touch more careful. Once he's parked, though, he leans over to steal a kiss instead of promptly getting out, as more standard. "Does anyone else vote for this monarchy? Come have that omelette." There are more serious matters that will need to be dealt with, yes, but that's all much more complicated. And the elevator is just over here.

Grant takes a break from feeling conflicted to give Vyv a small grin and an arched eyebrow, "You ever wanna go back and do it again I got you." No doubt that 'box of things' Sparrow rescued. This is no shock but he muses to himself, "Part of me would pay to see that, the other part is afraid you'd take over the world." Glassy eyes look up to the apartment building with a tired grin. "Let's be real, I did it cause they said 'Yo, Bax, do a line with me. Yooo Bax, try this." He's not particularly proud of having 0 resistance to peer pressure. "I don't like people going it alone."

There's a moment where time stands still and the kiss takes like forever and it's greeeeeeeat. There is some heavy leaning on the banister as he pulls himself up the stairs, board in hand but he drags is ass upstairs fixing his jeans just a bit because, ya know, reasons happen okay? There's a reluctant, but amused grin "I haven't really thought much about the rules. I'm a mad mad lil planet right now. You make em up."

"Rule number one," Vyv says as he leads the way up the stairs, inside, and to the elevator, with a tiny twitch of a smile for the pants adjustment, "Don't do things just because someone's asked you to. Unless it was me. Of course." It is entirely unnecessary to grab Bax's hand to pull him into the elevator after him, but he does it anyway. Draws him in a good deal closer than needed, too, but it seems like a good idea right now. There might end up being another kiss, as well. It's eight floors of time to be filled!

Some of it he does devote to talking, though. "Mn. I don't think I require quite that much help making bad ideas look like good ones these days. And I already have a planet to rule."

Grant grabs the hand. It's not a death grip but his hand is shaking just a bit. The elevator closes Bax takes one step closer and thunk-drops his forehead on Vyv's shoulder. Very weirdly there is no permeable mood around him, and maybe it's the sheer absence of one that's perhaps the most startling? The little smile is not missed at him fixing his situation and the little grin makes him grin in spite of his mood with the mumble "S'hup. It's your fault." He's trying so hard to be mad about it and failing.

Rule One(tm) gets a sigh, "I trust you... I just ... need..." say it! "better friends than Mike and Dougie and them." Somewhere the clouds part and his father's silently gloating. He can feel it. But now there is making out in the elevator of the fancy apartment complex (in his mind), and leans against Vyv and V into the wall of the magical floating box room. "You taking over the Earth?"

Maybe it's the slight shaking that has Vyv keeping hold of the hand. Or equally possibly, he just wants to. He tilts his head to let it lean briefly against Bax's while it's against his shoulder, and it's just possible the skater might feel a shift of the cheek that suggests a bit more smile before he murmurs back, "Good." Some blame he's actually willing to take.

"Yes," he agrees regarding the quality of Bax-friends, because as Cordelia Chase once observed, tact is just not saying true things. Bax deserves true things! And perhaps recognition of managing to say it. "Some of the others aren't too bad," he adds, which surely qualifies as high praise. It is not as engrossing as making out a while, though, and he's easily enough pressed against the wall for that, abandoning speech.

"...mm?" he asks in response to the question, taking a moment or two longer than usual to get back into the relevant train of thought. "Oh. Mm, possibly, if I get the free time," he answers, leading the way out of the elevator and into the hall. "But first, Planet Bax. I have an invitation."

Grant already forgot to the point that Vyv was taking over Planet Bax. Lookit that. Let it not be said that surprising him isn't the world's easiest job. "Woah, really?" Yuuuup he is stoned. Goodbye memory, hello goldfish brain. The board is left in its spot where it will neither scuff nor bang into anything that Vyv's designated as 'oh fine there'. Bax slides his coat off and hangs that up, shuffles over and slumps into his seat, arms folded, head on the island. "I'm tired of trying to get back up to have the ground under me melted away, Vyvyan." It's a soulful hurt. that mumbles through his being, and while there's no aura of a mood around him he's never had a poker face and the feeling puddles around him. "Why is the floor lava?"

"Mm. Someone invited me to be king." Vyv's still a bit behind in the effects, having less time at essentially-ground-zero, but there's definitely more languidness in the tone than would be usual. He sheds coat and shoes by the door, leaving him barefoot in dark, tailored jeans and cashmere sweater, thrown on when he headed out in a hurry. That and his hair reasonably tamed is the bare minimum for stepping outside unless inside is currently trying to kill him.

He remembers something about an omelette, not least because he didn't eat yet before going out and he's just getting hungrier by the second, but-- there is a Sad Bax. This is inherently Wrong. Step one in attempting to fix less than happy Baxes usually does involve food, but right now gets pre-empted by instead walking up behind him and draping over his back, arms wrapping around to squeeze. It is a hug. An entirely sincere one, too, even if after a few seconds he mutters to himself, "This feels odd." Not entirely bad, but... mn. He kisses the skater on the head and straightens up to go kitchenward. Much more familiar.

"I don't know why it's lava, darling, but if you can't stay off the floor then no one can." He's seen Grant seem to straight-up defy gravity before; why not now? Eggs, that's what's needed here.

Stepping outside unless inside is currently trying to kill him translated to every fifth Thursday in Gray Harbor. The hug from behind, the honest to goodness hug encroaching. Too much emotion leaving him verklempt, his breathing is shaky and perhaps because it's an emotional morning, or the adrenaline coming off, or that this is something that Vyv isn't prone to doing leaving the impact larger than he was prepared to soak. Silently he leans into it while it is there.

The vote of confidence in him is something he can rally to. "I'm either going to have to sell a lot of art in off season which is neither stable or likely or get a second job." There's a sigh as he contemplates that one. "God being an adult blows." Yup. welcome to real live.

While it's there, the hug is welcoming to lean into. Wait until food's happened, and there might be more where that came from. For one thing, Vyv's probably going to be as baked as anything he's ever cooked by then. For now, he's getting together the ingredients for a couple very large omelettes, something that doesn't even require thought after the number of times he's done it. The only delays are pauses to come up with spinach, feta, and some olives, because 'greek' was specified, and that seems about right just now.

"Unless you're inclined to become a kept man," he agrees, which-- probably isn't an offer? Not quite generally his style, but on the other hand... More definitely genuine, "We don't know yet the state of things. There might be enough salvageable to keep you employed. If not... there are options. I could hire you as a counterboy, though it seems a bit of a waste. Not one of your passions." Things are whisked together while the pan heats. "I'd rather see you doing art."

Grant picks his head up and follows Vyv around the kitchen with a glance. "It's like you're floating...or on rollerskates. Floater skates." One could say 'don't quit your day job' buuuut it literally burned to the ground less than two hours ago. There is a frown and some thought on being 'kept' "That... sounds like a very hard job and a lot of use of forks." Head tilting up he informed very officially, "I watched the show with Jerri Hall." He's an expert now. there's further consideration and he says, somehow wisely, "I think unless on a joint project one of us working for the other is a catastropocalyptic...whatever idea." Though he does admit in a tone of thanks, "I would too. It's just hard to DO as the thing you DO...unless you're you because you are fucking amazing at life." Leaning on the counter the palm comes up and starts waving slightly in the same manner that echoes his bubbe's "And let's recognize you poured more energy into doing that than most people put into paying off their house so... this ain't without merit."

"Floater skates would definitely make your fortune," Vyv muses. Shame they don't actually know how to make that happen. It could be worth quitting a day job for that. Even an unburnt one. He tilts his head, brow furrowing. "I don't think I require any more forks than are already involved," he says, a little confused regardless of how serious or not he might have been. "Although actually, if you don't mind getting us forks and plates right now..." He's got the first of the omelettes going, and it's definitely going to require a full plate of its own. Generally he has these things sorted out before he starts cooking, but this time, well. "What show?"

He makes a vague gesture with the spatula, regarding the idea of one of them working for the other. "I didn't say it's ideal, just that it's an option. You still have things you're working on, anyway. There should be some way to parlay this into letting you do things as the things you do." Sure, that was entirely coherent. The 'unless you're you' section gets a small smile out of him, particularly when the extra recognition comes in. "I did, yes. Years and years into it. But that's the point. They should be put into the things you want."

Grant pushes himself to a stand motivated by, yes, food, to go hunt forks in the very organized wilds of Vyv's kitchen. His hand strays to give Vyv's hip a squeeze (that's the intent anyways) and finds the forks. There is a sigh and the hands wave, pause, sign, and then go back to moving with purpose, "Mick Jagger's Ex-, English guy. Musician, anyways she's this model lady who is suuuuprer smart and had a show called Kept that was all these dude who think they got game and know how to use the fork...system..." proper place settings, " and stuff to be her kept man. Like there's schooling to be professional arm candy, though..." He pauses and turns a wry, adoring grin to Vyv nettling at him a bit, "You're pretty particular about your candy. My neck perfect enough to be a swan?"

The squeeze is successful, with a little tilt of the hip into the hand while it's there. Vyv continues the cooking, laughing once as Grant gets into the first part of the explanation. "I've heard of her," he says, "I've certainly heard of him. Busily gathering no moss. Probably slept with David Bowie, which might at least be some amelioration for one having to live through 1970s clothing preferences."

The first omelette's covered in things that seem delicious and flipped in half, left to finish cooking as he looks to Bax again. "Hadn't heard of the show, though. Mm. Sounds ghastly." Which Bax knows by now is not necessarily synonymous with 'I have no interest in watching that'.

A glance at the pan; apparently he feels it can take care of itself for a minute or so, since he leaves it be and slinks toward the skater. "I'm extremely particular about my candy, yes. Both quality and presentation." He stops beside and one step behind the shorter man, lifting a hand to let a pair of fingertips trail along the neck in question. "But yes. Your neck might just pass muster." It might also get kissed! And feel a bit as though there's a small smile involved. "If you wanted to go swanning around."

Grant rolls the silverware in a discrete palm hold and uses his finger and thumb to rest on Vyv's side as they orbit one another in the space. "Extremely." echoes the skater, though the vanity there is also compliment making him smile in spite of his mood. "Weeeell maybe I'm not entirely allergic to swanning. I just like... got my feet under me and I'm tired of everything being fucking difficult." Looking to Vyv. He stares tiredly and signs <<I love you. I want to run away in your backpack>> There is a pause <<Snackpacking with you. leave here. Maybe for like a week. I don't know.>>

That smile makes Vyv's rise further; it's not nearly a level Bax has never seen, but it's more than most people who know him have. Takes a bit more obvious cause than this, most nights. Though who knows, maybe the swanning potential would do it even if it weren't for there being Something In The Air. "Everything ought to leave you be," he agrees, and lightly touches Grant's jaw. «I love you too. Did you get your passport?» he asks, reclaiming that hand. «I'm not sure I have a big enough backpack, but-- nothing says we couldn't head out for a bit.» The patisserie handles it when he heads off to LA; if he's even thinking about those details yet, he's probably got options. And also omelettes, which he suddenly recalls with a brief widening of eyes and a step over to swiftly de-pan the first of them.

Grant is lost for a moment in the simple, easy happy moment. Something when the world goes to shit and your lover smiles at you with that smile things come into perspective. That message being 'everything sucks, but fuck it you are okay and we'll work the rest out.' He does look up and around wondering where their mental subtitles went off to. That priceless look gets a hand over his mouth and a snicker, "Oh no those poor eggs. now we gotta eat em." He finds his seat and he looks, for a moment here, very proud of himself answering, "I was smart enough to have it mailed to my dad's house. So yes, I have to go pick it up though."

To be fair, Vyv looks kind of proud of him there as well. Not surprised, exactly, but definitely pleased. It's not that he didn't think Bax was absolutely capable of getting that done, but whether he remembered about it and got all the necessary bits and bobs sorted out already, without getting distracted or forgetting it needed doing? That may have been somewhat more in question. And he thought to have it mailed to one of his more reliable options. It's good work.

"In that case," he says, settling the omelette onto the plate and the plate in front of Bax, "we could run anywhere we want." Well, within reason. A few places do tend to insist on more planning ahead. Somehow this all seems like a stellar idea right now, though. He starts the second omelette, and just watches Bax for a moment or two. "What day is it?" Not a common question from him. "Oh. What do you do for Thanksgiving? Last year Hya came with me to my family's. It was amusing."

"Fancy scary as hell Addington? How come I'm not surprised?" Bax waits to eat until Vyv gets his ass over there taking time to note it's a jeans and sweater rescue. Legs stretch under the table looking pleased with himself that something's gone right. His eyes go back up to teh moon door painting he made that now hangs framed over the space in teh wall where it goes.

"Hmm? Oh turkey bird day? Last year I worked stuff at the house. Slept in on the couch watching the parade. Later I brought burgers over to my dad's office cause he was still working. He's... " There's a sigh and he looks to Vyv with a sympathetic tone, "He don't quit. Kitty might come down from upstate. I dunno. I ain't talked to Sparrow yet. Doooo not know what new-house is doing since they think... wrong things." Sparrow's family implosion has hit him. That falling out with her mom in particular lands home.

Looking up he arches an eyebrow and admits "I...I don't know. I forgot it was a think to make plans for honestly. Mostly I just make sure dad remembers to eat."

"Oh, she is not that scary," Vyv says, rolling his eyes as he lets the eggs cook. Sprinkles in the fillings. Nice, calm work. "She's my Sparrow. Well, not literally." Probably in several important ways, too. But the basic sense remains! He frowns slightly at the pan. "I wish you got on," he murmurs, as though to himself. Except, you know. Actually out loud. "I should find out what her plans are this year too. Mm."

He folds the omelette while Bax goes on, listening as it continues to cook, with an understanding nod for the elder Baxter's workaholic tendencies. "Dad probably wouldn't have stopped for half the holiday and vacation sorts of things if Mum and sometimes Grandmama hadn't insisted. And I suppose someone ought to feed your father." He is approved of, all in all. And as for the situation with Sparrow, "...I don't know why more people don't try writing to the Revisionist. I mean, I certainly wouldn't take the risk if, say," he tries to think of a suitable example, "people were convinced I spoke fluent Swahili and asked me to demonstrate now and then, but with a large negative impact? Mn." But then, given he did, perhaps it goes without saying.

"...well." He slides the omelette out onto the second plate, turns off the stove, and carries the plate around to sit and join Bax. Cleaning up can apparently wait. He's hungry. "You ought to sort out what you plan to do. It sounds as though you might be a bit busy to leave town about then. But... Christmas, perhaps."

Murmuring Bax eats his egg signing while he chews <<'It's like/similar gift horse in the mouth? Things can always get worse? Don't give your enemies power to make your choices. I hate seeing... something so special stolen from her. Choice isn't mine.>> There is frustration there and a frown that while it clearly pains him he's so emotionally tired with everything going on there is a resigned Zen calm, <<'It's not my place to force her hand on her life. Ain't that I don't want to but if that changes she'll tell me. It sucks cause she's family and I love her, but this is what she chose. I don't get it, but I'll respect it.>> Not happy, but her life, her call.

In all of that there's a pause, and Grant blinks and looks up with an arches eyebrow, and a small impish grin full of adoration and a plan is given back to Vyv, "So happens I never have Christmas plans with my family." His eyebrow arches an eyebrow as if he loves knowing sometimes (rarely) how time works, "Aaaand Haunakkah is fuckin early this year by like two week soooo I have the whole end half of that month free." There's a pauses and his head tilts pausing and looking down at himself and then back up to Vyv and blinks. "What'chu thinkin, baby?"

"I'm not sure the Revisionist is an enemy. I wrote and politely explained my problem with the change, and it went away. That does seem to suggest harming us isn't the actual intent." Vyv considers, settling to cut himself a bite of egg. "Theoretically it could be that I'm just that likable, I suppose, but I have been me quite a long time now and that's always seemed rather a specialist opinion." He makes a bit of a moue. "Anyway the power to make these changes remains there whether we take the initiative to request amendment or not. I--" He breaks off, brow furrowing. "Mn. I had a point." This is the annoying bit for him about being high. But at least he has eggs.

He eats some of them, and that particular grin pushes the annoyance with his train of thought right out of the way, to the extent that there's a small, fond smile back. "Do you know, I thought you might not?" he remarks about Christmas plans, and looks a bit thoughtful at the idea that the whole end half of that month is free. Another little pause, which may be because of that next bite of omelette or may be being justified with it, and after he swallows, "I thought perhaps I'd bring you with me."

Grant rolls his fork in his hand murmuring, "You were on about you and the Revisionist getting along because you were able to give them their opinion by appealing to similarities and appreciation in judgement, and then find a way to suggest change without subverting their esteem. Go on." Sometimes, just sometimes, he really is his father's son. This? This he listens to.

The latter? There is a clatter as he juggles his fork as the tines bounce against the plate, though he manages to to let it fumble further than that. "I... to meet your family?" He looks at Vyv stunned and then looks AROUND and at his plate a tad lost, "Like this? I can't... not that I won't but... I don't.... know... how all the forks work." High etiquette at the table and other things. He sets the fork down, calmly and hand reaches over to rest on Vyv's dipping a small nod and then a more solid one. "If they try to eat me alive, promise you'll garnish me with those little white sno-cap dot things?" There's a deep breath and some sort of peace drawn from that small contact. His shoulders drop and assures, "We cna handle L.A. we are taking on a small sea turtle planet I mean... L.A. is stationary. Can't be that intimidating right? I got ya boo."

They wouldn't be sharing a breakfast together at this point if Bax weren't bright, and that summary brings back the little fond smile, and the rest of a look to go with it. "Essentially," he confirms, a murmur itself.

There isn't any immediate going on, however, as there's-- well, the other issue. Vyv watches Bax closely through that fumble and first response, and... does he look maybe just a touch anxious? Surely not. Or if he did it'd have to be a wave of glimmer-weed-induced paranoia or some such. Either way, if he did, it's even harder to tell after the fork comment gets a bare breath of a laugh, and his hand turns beneath Grant's to take some hold of it in return, giving a squeeze when the mundanity of L.A. vs other places they're dealing with is noted.

"I don't intend to let anyone devour you but me. But in the event that it somehow became necessary, yes, I promise to garnish you with chocolate nonpareils. Perhaps some silver dragées as well. Maybe even edible glitter." Hm. Should he make cookies later? Yes. That sounds good. He lifts the hand he's got hold of, and presses a light kiss to the back of it. "I can teach you forks, if you're worried. But you'll be fine in nearly all cases with: work from the outside in, silverware set above the plate is likely for dessert, and when in doubt do as the host does." There's a pause, or perhaps a hesitation. "Not L.A., though, for this. London."

Grant is really working o keeping his shit together and the veil weed permeating the air is doing absolute wonders helping him keep his mellow. The hand turns over beneath his and gives the squeeze of assurance a squeeze back. If they can handle a space retirement plan. This? Sure. ...Sure. The stress entirely abates at-

"Edible glitter?! This is a thing? Why is this not on like ALL our meals!? Can we just eat that?" Then all the reality sets in, "What like across the water? On a plane?" There's a pause and he poses not L.A. and then looks confused one eye squinting, "Your parents not invited or something or are they going separate?" Yup he's neck deep in the woods on logistics here. A pause, "Oy gevalt... Lodon... with English speaking English persons?" That's generally how that works. "I...need to find out if I even have a fucking job after the fire but yeah. I mean... I'll go anywhere with you you know that. They gonna be like okay with that?"

"'course it's a thing. I use it on some of the cakes and cookies. And luster dust." Vyv notices he's still hungry and gets back to eating his omelette in the time he's not speaking. One hand is really all he needs for that. "I'm fairly sure it wouldn't be enough nutrition to only eat that. Though I suppose it could be on more things..." It might end up on lunch just for fun. Or he may have forgotten they were talking about that, by then.

"Across the water, on a plane," he confirms with a nod. "A ship would take too long. And yes, lots of English speaking English people there. I can show you some of the things I sent you pictures of in March. Or didn't, but mentioned..." That's the easiest bit. And with lots of options! "My parents and sisters and cousins and aunt and uncle will be flying over too. But yes, separately from us. And mostly from each other. Vyktorya might fly with Mum and Dad, I suppose, and actually Ginger might end up going with us depending on the timing, but--" But he's getting distracted. He redirects his train of thought to the relevant track again, giving his head a small shake. "It's not as though no one else's ever brought anyone. Grandmama likes things her way," unlike anyone else in his family, particularly present company, of course, "so she might be a pill, but if I were inclined to worry unduly about precisely what she'd prefer I'd already be married with at least two children, somehow." A little shudder.

Grant considers all of this and his take away, "I want a shiny sammich. I want to chew my way to Valhalla shiny and chrome." As he easts, slower becuase this is a LOT of big news, a slow, wry grin creeps up on his face until it is pure amusement and he points to Vyv with his fork, "I remember those pictures and still have those pictures and absolutely want to see some of those places.* NOT the ones Vyv was referring to surely but by no means ones he'd be object to reliving surely.

The rundown of who is going is a bit whelming. There's parents...and his bubbe. Oh! The eyebrows go up when Ginger is mentioned. Ginger good. He does try to imagine Vyv married with two kids, blinks and asks curiously, "on a bun or like...free range kids?"

"No Valhalla, I'm fairly sure they still require you to be dead. And you are not allowed to be. We have--" Vyv breaks off, eyes narrowing a bit. "Didn't I already say this? I could swear I had." Time feels a little weird. Usually he's quite well anchored in it. Still, "Might manage a shiny sandwich, though. Sparkly. We'll see about lunch." Again, if they remember by then. And if they don't decide they need elevenses or something first.

The fork pointing draws a flicker of puzzlement before Bax goes on, and at the words that follow, a mirroring smile slowly sneaks its way across the chef's lips, a little impish and a lot less restrained than Vyv-standard. "Yes. Those places too. Much to explore."

And that could easily be distracting too, if things didn't move into far less pleasant realms of thought. His nose wrinkles a bit at the question. "'To go', I'd hope. In a nursery with a nanny or off at boarding school or some such, most likely. That might be the opposite of free range, I'm not sure. There's no requirement to interact with them. She's just set on the name and blood and et cetera continuing down the male line." He cuts another bite of omelette. "I have informed her this will not be happening. She disagrees."

"yeah yeah yeah we're going to space there's not time to be a ghost. I got it!" He listens to the rundown on the kids and his head tilts curiously, "Has your family actually met you?" This is the incredulous question he's hung up on at present. The rest gets a small frown. He pokes at this to get the foods on the fork where they belong long enough to remind, "Can't just mail your kids away to some professional to fix em."

Still there is every indication that he knows that was not meant personally even if the comment is a bit close to the duff for Bax. "Well, if she hates me we're making out in her garden. I will defend my honour by defiling her plants with very impressed shock and awe. Fari warning, but... it'll be cool to see new stuff and I won't make you family alone." There's a pause and he asks, "Ginger alright? She seems a little... like me but...different."

Vyv nods. Exactly. No time for being a ghost, because space. This has been Officially Established. He gives a small snort of a laugh at the question of whether his family have met him. "Grandmama feels none of my objections have got in the way of untold prior generations, so why should they start now?" He pauses a moment. "To be fair, it is just her. I don't think anyone else much cares. Possibly as a source of amusement."

Another bite of omelette, and he just catches that little frown before the reminder. There's a faint breath as about to speak, then it doesn't come, his head tilting a touch. "It's not about fixing them," he says, after a beat, "It's not about them at all. I am neither suited to nor the slightest bit interested in dealing with children. Any of them. Ever. Some people simply ought not." The fork taps once against the eggs before it cuts another bite, and there's a small twitch at one corner of his mouth, more characteristic of his smile repertoire. "Handily, it's rather unlikely to become relevant. Grandmama notwithstanding."

A sidelong look. "I vote we make out in her garden whatever she thinks of you. Among other spots. I'm sure her plants could use a good thrill." That's an easy one; answering about Ginger a bit less so. There's a slightly longer pause, thoughtful. "It depends a bit on what you consider all right." Another pause. "But-- yes. A little like you, I suppose, but different. Always has been. It got quite bad after her husband died." That ring. "But she's been doing better, I think."

Grant taps his knee against Vyv's under the table. Brown eyes glance up from his plate to Vyv as Vyv gets, well, in fact, honest. There's a trust there that what he said, and how it landed is not what he intended. This proves true and while the peripheral personal echoes fade into the fuzzy haze Bax is left with a bit to consider until finally a dip of his head. "It's okay that's not like a deal breaker for me. As badass as my dad is I got health problems and I'm my own kid. I don't consider myself a good candidate." He takes another bite mumbling around it, gesturing with the fork, "Sides, then we'd have to inoculate them for space and that's confusing." A pause longer skill and that expression Is he lip wibbling? No but he looks like he got kicked in the puppy, "Awww fuuuuuuuuck dude! She's so nice too that's ... drop me a primer on land mines at... probably not now cause my brain's fuzzier than normal, but, shit. I'm guessing not long ago. Damn man. Yeah, hey if we can help lemme know."

Vyv's leg shifts to press his knee against the tapping one, and he leaves it there for the time being. More contact. It's a nice thing. It may not have ever occurred to him to wonder if the 'no to kids' stance could be a deal-breaker, given it's unlikely to be breached accidentally and he's fairly sure Bax knows his general feeling on children... and yet it's still oddly comforting to be told it isn't. "I wonder what sort of inoculations one ought to get for going into space," he muses, "Veil-space, especially. Can't say I'd be entirely sanguine about the idea of getting Veil vaccines, but if there is anyone who knows what the medical advice should be..." Hmm. Well. That's a long-term issue, surely.

He blinks once, while chewing, at the sadness and the words that accompany it. "There weren't landmines; it was-- oh, no, ah, I see. Yes. Definitely later." That fuzziness is clearly mutual. "It's been... a year now, or maybe two." Time doesn't want to be pinned down in his head right now. "But I suppose that's not that long ago, considering." He's getting fairly swiftly through that omelette, and eyes it as though he's considering whether to arrange seconds. Instead, he says, "Shall we just stay in today? I rather feel like... watching TV." Which isn't going to get them out of town immediately, true. But planning might just end up a little looser than the last spontaneous trip. For some reason.

Grant leaves the leg there against Vyv's. It's a small gesture, but that Vyv is making efforts, contacts and carpeing his diem these days Grant will go on counting this as an overall win in his favor, but not one to fuck it up with a victory lap. There's a small grin that in spite of his boss' business burning into a purple haze makes him grateful. "Yeah wrong kind of... yeah that. Good." Ginger's cool. Hey, she declared Bax 'neat' so she's got good taste clearly. "Stay... in?"

Looking around there's a confused look between the streets of Fuck yeah, fuck today man! and are you...alright? No, no Vyv is not. "Shit, might as well. People are going to have mad munchies after this. You're gonna get slaaaaammed this week. But I would... love... nothing more than fuck off with today and spend it in here with you."

'All right' is such a vague appraisal, isn't it? "Probably going to have mad munchies during this, too," Vyv observes with equanimity, "but it ought to be fine. Mr. Tanaka can handle it." Does that count as all right? He does leave the place in the man's hands a couple days a week and whenever he heads down to L.A., but this is an unusual situation. And was he already taking today off or is this a new decision? One would expect a call to be made if the latter, but he just eats what's left of his omelette, instead, leaving their legs leant together like that.

"Good. Then we have a plan." For certain values of plan. "Today can fuck right off out there without us." Last bite of the eggs, and he eyes the plate a moment. "...do you suppose this going to get much stronger?"

"our unorthodox but loving bond, my deep and unwaivering trust in you every time you find a way to make room for me when my life is a screaming dumpster fire..." He pauses. Aww, but continues matter-of-factly, and slightly hoarse from swearing at the sky earlier, "Or this this thick purple haze because the answer is yes. From smoking one up in the living room we were off for like a few days. That was before burning it all at once so... yes." For the first time all morning there is a look of total ease on his face looking to Vyv, "You're a fucking wonder ya know that? Just don't burn down. You're the one thing I can't handle losin, okay? I'm gonna change since we're staying in and let my dad know I'm not like dead and shit."

Vyv looks slightly confused at the start of that reply, though he catches on reasonably swiftly, if perhaps not quite at his usual speed. Also that might be a hint of 'aww' sneaking into his expression, or possibly some embarrassment. He glances aside toward the kitchen, which still needs a bit of post-cooking tidying up, rather than at Grant directly. "...yes, well. I did mean the haze. Or the effects, anyway. If we end up stuck to the couch surrounded by pizza boxes for two days I suppose I can survive that; I just don't want to end up accusing the delivery boy of poisoning the pepperoni or some such."

At the moment, though, the effects are firmly still in more pleasant categories, and there's a small smile and downward glance at the plate (though it may merely be in the way) before he glances sidelong at that look of ease. "I can assure you I've not the slightest intention of burning down, ever. Not so much as a singe. I don't intend to go anywhere." A tiny pause. "Well. No. I intend to go several places, I suppose. But I intend to bring you along, so the general sense remains."

He pushes his chair back, standing and picking up the plate, as well as Grant's if it's empty by now, before he leans down to kiss him. It would've worked better before standing, but too late now. "Make your call. I suppose there's probably calls I ought to make too. And perhaps change. Might just lounge about in pyjamas."