2021-05-01 - Pain au Chocolat

And somehow he perseveres.

It's a weird Baxter trait of somehow getting through stoked fires and moving forward. Sure some have wiped out half the town, but Grant is just trying to make it through the day when he can get a ride all the way across town. No, not to the hospital, he went to the apartment. He grabbed a backpack- no. No Vyv wont' want his things in a backpack. Grant hastily stows the backpack away in the back of the closet. Overnight bag? Yes. Good. That won't make Vyv feel like he's running away like a prohibition era fugitive. there's no pocket square that goes with 'fugitive'.

Either he's telepathic right now or the adrenaline's really improved his Vyvlish. A few things to make him feel... less... what??! what's even happened to him? A minor 'cut' is not nothing in the Harbor. Grant spins around in a circle holding the bag in one hand and running his fingers roughly through his hair with the other trying to catch his breath and tears starting to sting his lower eyelids from emotions unshed.

It's Sparrow's voice he can imagine right now just pasthis shoulder whispering "Shhhh, shhhh breathe Baxy. You're doing no one any good if you pass out on the floor." She's not here but all the same he gulps a deep breath and pulls his shit together nodding slowly. "Your'e right. Sorry." She's not here right now, nor would she ever require him to apologize. Publicly suitable loungewear, clean shorts, socks and... how to dress..>Vyv...when you are Bax... riiiiight.

It's almost cathartic going through the closet. "Nnnno. no. no...cute but no. This.... works." Carefully clothes make it into the bag not because Grant has any modicum o taste but because he can remember Vyv's mood for most of these things and tries to remember-match preference to occasion.

He's pretty certain there is not an acceptable outfit for 'stabbed profusely'. The knot tightens in his throat and he zips the bag, hugs it, and checks to see if he forgot anything. It was in the end a pretty complete list. He makes his way out of the apartment willing the lock to fall shut behind him and makes his way down to the parking garage where Itzhak is waiting and thankfully could give the guy a ride. He hugs the tote and waits for his boss to drive like a bat out of hell (which he does).

Shortly later, a knock on the door to Vyv's room.

It has not been Vyv's best day.

For the night, at the least, Vyv has a room of his own. This is partly due to having good insurance, perhaps partly due to having a fair amount of disposable income to fill in where it might not, and mostly because he's recently out of surgery and they're keeping a particularly close eye on him for the moment. Not quite so close that they're forbidding visitors and making Bax sort things out in a distinctly Gray Harbor manner, at least, but attention and instructions are given when he arrives. These include: wash your hands before entering, discourage him from attempting to sit up if he tries, and be aware that he may be a bit out of it due to the post-operative painkillers. There's a button to call the nurse if necessary.

And then he's brought to the door, and there's the knock, followed by a small pause in which the nurse lifts a 'one moment' finger to Bax and opens the door to slip in first. Muffled speech, brief, and an even briefer reply, though the voice is familiar even in that state. The door opens again and is held for the skater, who gets a small, encouraging smile from the nurse before the pair of them are left alone.

Vyv is, as one might expect, in the bed. He does not look quite as miserable as one who's met him might expect him to while wearing that general-issue white-with-blue-print cotton gown that's visible above where the sheets are tucked around him, but that's probably because he does in fact look a bit less... acute than he usually does. Whether he looks less cute is decidedly an individual opinion, probably depending largely on whether one thinks he's cute at the best of times.

This is not the best of times. He's pale, more than usual, and his hair looks like he's slept on it and not had a chance to do anything else about it yet. Which is probably more or less accurate. He's hooked up to machines, and the head of the bed is raised enough to be not-quite-sitting but not entirely lying down, either. Importantly, though, he's breathing, and the machines are making the kinds of noises they're supposed to make instead of the ones they aren't. And despite all that, on seeing Bax, one side of Vyv's mouth curls upward a touch, voice tired as he greets, "Hello, zenko."

Grant is not really used to seeing the indefatigable chef in this state unless it's 4:12 am and Bax is the one nudging him awake to ask him a question and getting absolutely random unconscious answers at random in return usually ending in the phrase 'Why are we asking me this now?' It's always good to error on the side of caution, just like now.

There's a part of him that wants to panic but he's done this pretty extensive all over his boss and really Itzhak might have been the ideal choice for that; he's emotional, and he knows how to get someone out of that place and drive 120 on a back road. Bax looks just worn out and still going. Having a very long cry earlier plotzing around the waiting room has left his eyes red and ringed in exhaustion. He's still hugging the bag still carefully entering the room looking around trying to understand what's there and why it's there.

It's a lot of beeping.
Are those good beeps?
There should be 0 beeps!

Brown eyes fix back on Vyv and there's a melting of stress out of his shoulders at being called that name in particular as Grant finally exhales. He walks over lifting the bag up not unhugging it yet he manages, "I ...brought your things for you." He looks around and sets the bag down, um, yeah there's good on the deep windowsill. Hands free he looks at his hands and Vyv studying the small details memorizing him all over again.

Leaning forward Bax leans forward resting his forehead to Vyv's for a moment, home, and kisses it murmuring, "The nuts know they're not supposed to chop back? I feel like...I need to resend a memo." There's a catch in his throat before pressing a smooch to his forehead. "Scared the shit out of me. They give you the good shit at least? You, um, dropped off radar there a bit." His foot hooks around the visitor chair and drags it over with a SCRAAAAAAAAAAAPE...oops. Well so much for subtle.

If there were zero beeps, it might well suggest either the machines or the chef could be irreparably broken. All in all, probably better as is. Although the mere fact that Vyv has presumably been dealing with these noises for a while now and doesn't seem even close to ready to start pulling cords out of the wall himself suggest he's not quite himself right now. Or has slept through most of them. Or both.

That and hair-situation aside, he still does look tired. Worn out. There's a quiet brightening for Bax's presence, though, which is something of a contrast to the 4:12am wakenings. Well. Most of them, anyway. The choice of bag was a good one, even if he likely isn't thinking of how it could have been worse. That's his bag, which he likes, brought by his Bax, which he likes, and it presumably contains some of his (other) things, which he likes. Usually he might be sparing some processing power on how likely it might be that Bax has managed a combination of his other things that he likes, but the power isn't currently there to spare. It's so hard to think, right now.

But there's a Bax, and Vyv tilts his head very gingerly into that touch of foreheads, eyes closing. Home, even if it's only for a moment. "Those at least are okay," he murmurs back, and while he does tend to make a fair number of deadpan jokes -- and more than a few suggestive ones -- this time it may actually not be intentional wordplay. He winces at the scraaaaaaaaping sound, and it turns into a bit more of a flinch as the offshoots of that wince are felt through his chest. A breath. It is reasonably subtle, or would be to most people, but Bax knows him too well to miss the indications of pain.

And yet, "You could just sit here," he suggests, with a tiny pat of the bed near him. There isn't a lot of room there to sit, to be honest, though arguably enough for a Bax-butt. "I was... yes." It's a reminder, and his brow furrows slightly before his hand moves to press one of the few buttons actually arrayed for his use, a painkiller control. "They've said I'll be all right. Everything's sewn up that can be. But they insist I stay a few days, at least. And I can't--" a tiny pause, looking at the skater, before he admits, "think properly, just now." The next pause is a touch longer. "You're here." Despite the order perhaps implying that might be why he can't think, the tone more suggests that there should have been a 'good' at the end or maybe an 'I'm glad' at the front.

Grant parks his ass on the chair, but doesn't let go of Vyv's hand. There's a sniff and in spite of many emotions a laugh in spite of it all as the relief escapes him, hand finding Vyv's and not letting go. Not for a little bit anyways. It's warm and dry and not all cold and clammy like a dead fish. He thinks this may be good. He's not a doctor, but he is a man of particular preference even if the broad category is 'not deadish'. They're always stronger together for whatever reason.

He'd love to run his fingers through Vyv's hair and fuss with it, but something about 'head wound' stills his hand. The back of his fingers run along his jaw. "Brought your shaver for you." There's a moment where Vyv gives the update where Back looks confused and disappointed, "Only alright? Well... that won't do. How long til exceptional again?" The smile is slow to warm having no real guile. He murmurs, "I texted Corey. Let him know what's up. I can call your... dudes for... stuff. I didn't..." He paused and just takes a deep breath coming back to now. "You try to fashion correct a street gang about their pants situation didn't you? We talked about this." Yes he's making light of this to deal with the situation but assures, "Yeah I'm here. I'm staying right here and the nurse lady said so long as I don't start flipping all the switches in the Nurse's Station playing Major Tom it's... cool. I need to tell your cousin though. She'd want to know."

Vyv tilts his head into the brush of fingers, a careful but definite movement, eyes closing. His head's not bandaged, so at least it probably wasn't so far as to fracture his skull, and there's no sign there of there having been external bleeding, but it's still possibly a good call not to risk fussing through the hair just now. Even if that movement just about invites it. "Thank you," he murmurs, regarding the shaver. Not necessary yet, of course. But he's not getting out of here before he'll be glad of it.

There's a ghost of a smile at the 'only all right?' line of questioning, and still quietly, "Am I ever less than exceptional?" It's almost as though he's keeping it down even quieter than usual for a library or the sake of someone's headache, though it certainly isn't the former, and if it's the latter it's his own. Which... is decidedly possible, particularly with the extra hint of care in the tiny nod to mention of texting Corey. Might've been another 'thank you' if it hadn't gone on to that question about the street gang, which gets a faintly pained breath of a laugh. That, he definitely had something to say about, except that last bit gets added, and he manages to get slightly paler, eyes opening again.

"...oh. Yes," he agrees, "we ought to tell Ginger..." He falls quiet briefly, turning his hand to lace their fingers together. Bax is staying. So is the hand. It has no choice. Even if it insists on being attached to proper chair-parkage for now. "I corrected a dead butcher about his hygiene and-- trespassing," he informs it. It was meant to be something cleverer, but that isn't coming on line right now. "Several dead people tried to kill us. I was-- mn. One of them stabbed me in the chest. Another blasted me across the room. A particularly large skeleton hit me in the stomach and head with a pipe. My coat and jacket and shirt were all ruined entirely." The unkindest cut of all! Aside from maybe the literal one. "I suspect there will be scars," he adds, half-glancing down at his currently-covered chest. He's been unusually free of them, 'til now.

The longer Vyv explains as best as he can what he saw, what happened, and then what went on, and what it means? Well Bax runs out of fuel to power up his eggshell holding his emotions in. It's the wrinkle of his nose, stink face, fear, repulsion, and by the time Vyv gets to 'was beaten in the head with a lead pipe' there is naught anything left but aghast shock and horror.

His face is wet, and he sits quiet having no insulation. There aren't words, but there is a sharp deep breath in. His hand finds Vyv's without the IV in it and folds both his hands around the one. He lifts the hand smooching it afterwards pressing those knuckles to his forehead and holding them there. No, mine. "They're, um... they're gone? They weren't... like... me, were they?" Baxters.

The hand makes no resistance to being claimed, and once it's settled against Bax's forehead, the thumb extends to trace the arc of its reach slowly and gently against the skin there. Yours, it seems to agree. Or possibly, in what's somehow still agreement, Mine. Maybe both.

"Fairly sure they're gone, yes. And I can't say I got their family tree. But I don't think they were likely to be relations of yours." A tiny pause, and almost equally tiny smile, just at one corner of his mouth. "There's no one like you in any case." That might not come out as easily in his current overall condition if said condition hadn't included that blow to the head. ...and the painkillers. Doesn't mean he doesn't mean it, though.

The thumb stretches downward, trying to brush away some of that wetness. He's not particularly more comfortable with the whole crying thing in his present state than the usual one, truth be told. And it definitely isn't any easier to sort out what he ought to do about it, if anything. As a result, he ends up merely making the rather obvious observation: "You're crying."

Grant shakes his head. No I'm not it wants to say in spite of all the obvious evidence. There's a defiant sniffle. It's one thing knowing he's okay. But the very visceral and visual image of a knife being shoved through his Other is really not something he's taking well and while he's not going into a hysterical fit hiding any of that is not on the docket. The hand is squeezed, and for not he listens because Vyv is talking and that means... something. Everything.

"Veil bullshit took my mom. They don't get to take you too, okay? We got... plans... unless you're a ghost which means... I'm a ghost again still?" He swallows and look around and shakes his head moving in his seat. "My foot's numb. It doesn't do that when I'm a ghost. We're... gonna be alright. That was too close. I don't... need you to be a hero I need you to come home... and remind me that the toaster is not to be weaponized."

At least the rather visceral and visual proof of it having happened is currently well-bandaged and under multiple layers of (unflattering) cotton? Vyv doesn't have the energy right now to fight the gown -- though once he works up enough to get his own robe on instead, now that Grant's brought it, they're never going to get him back into this thing -- and he wouldn't have enough to fight the claiming of his hand even if he were inclined to. As it is, that arm's half-limp, relying on how Bax is holding it to keep it in place, even as the thumb makes its little moves.

"Not a ghost. Neither of us. Ghosts never seem to have much of a wardrobe and I refuse to wear this for all time. Also my head and chest hurt far too much not to exist right now." Possibly not the ideal evidence to invoke while Bax is already overwhelmed by the situation, but... well, painkillers. "In any case I don't intend to allow any Veil anything to take me without my consent, and I don't intend to consent." So there. Settled. It takes him a couple moments before his brow furrows further. "...you didn't, did you? Weaponise a toaster. How and why would you? Or..." The furrow deepens, a thought or memory or similar floating up in his mind, oddly unattached to things right now, "...bagel ...cannon?"

Grant sniffs working on composing himself but his face is still damp from being tired, terrified, and relieved. There's a nod and too casually he says "well I'll bring something for that too and let them know."

When Vyv brings up the bagel cannon there's a break in the tension and a laugh with an ear to ear grin, "Shit, you remember that? Also it's more complicated than I thought but I gotta talk to Itzil about battlebots...bagel bots... could be good. Tiny army of robo breakfast foods. Wafflecoptors..." There's a fondness as he reasons, "you should figure out how to bake one. Be a ton of fun to fly around in." Because Bax is focusing on better things than the slowly closing holes in Vyv's chest, and the mad irony that for once Vyv is more stoned than he is. It's somewhere in that good will that is forcing the little red cells to speed things up here and hop to.

"They say how... long they're keeping you for?" Brown eyes blink curious and or whatever reason worried about that answer. "I'm gonna head back to the house and pack a few things and wanted to know what to grab." Yeah. He's camping out.

Is that... a giggle? Surely not.

Okay, yes, it is, and if anyone around here would recognize it in all its tiny half-breathed glory (swiftly subsumed in a wince from what the movement does to his chest, again), it's Bax. All right, Ginger's got good odds too, but she isn't here right now, and the painter is. There's a beat of stillness as Vyv corrals the pain that's breaking through the meds, pushes it away from where it threatens to leak any further into his mien, and then, with the ghost of an upward turn at both corners of his lips, a murmur: "Wafflecopter."

He closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the pillow carefully, though the faint smile remains. "I like the image of your tiny robot breakfast army. I've got a car, you know. In the racing Dreams. Well, some of them. Not a robot, nor tiny. Nor breakfast, really, or at least certainly not a balanced part of this nutritious et cetera." Small furrow in the brow. Where was he going with this? "Oh. It is rather fun to drive around in, though. Chocolate and biscuit, mostly. I'd prefer it not be eaten, though."

Can he feel that little nudge to his healing? Probably not, not right now. But surely he'd appreciate it if he could. His eyes open and focus on Bax again. "....mn. I don't... know how long. But a few days, I think. Possibly until I can argue coherently enough to get them to let me know?" A pause. "Go," he corrects. Ugh. He still has hold of that hand, and his grip tightens just slightly. "But don't go yet. You just got here." There's a just-perceptible hint of uncertainty in that assertion. He did just get here, didn't he?

A grin warms and breaks the tension and a slow nod confirms, "Wafflecoptor." Though there's a pause he snickers and shakes his head, "Naw, baby, I just got here. I mean tomorrow." Looking around he muses, "no annoying roommate. This is good." He's not looked either. Anything else is presently less important. "I fed your fish too. I didn't know."

There's a pause and finally he relaxes and notes too, "I brought my back pack," the bottomless one. There might be food in there, or a whole change of clothes, a tunnel to an amusement park, or a tiny polar bear named Tim. It's really anyone's guess, "and I grabbed my laptop," it's not a laptop but it suffices, "I thought to take your mind off things we could check Zillow and see what's out there as far as beach-ing goes. It's got to have a good kitchen though and old neighbours that I can confuse into loving and hating me at the same time that you can bribe with food. And...work on moving forward with... our plan."

There's a deep breath and he says "You're going to need help. Your second can run the shop. You can phone in threats to eel like you are participating, and I'm gonna come park my ass at your place because you are..." Oooh how to buffer the ego here, "insufficient to take care of yourself and... I need this to know you're fucking okay."

Okay. Did just get here. Vyv's grasp on time and events is not so tenuous right now as he was suddenly beginning to fear. ...'fear' might not be the right word; while the painkillers aren't completely wiping out the actual pain, they are doing a pretty good job of making him care far less about what they miss, and for much less time. Works for other concerns as well, right now.

"I am not insufficient to take care of myself," he insists, while lying in a bed connected to machines that are actively doing things to take care of him and monitored by people who are trained and paid to take care of him as well. And talking to the guy who thought to take care of his fish. A silent moment. "...but you're. Welcome to come park your ass at my place. Even so." Another tiny pause before he adds, "Thank you for feeding Oscar and co. And-- yes. I should... I need to call Tanaka." There's half a glance, a 'where did I put that phone' sort of thing, but it fails before it properly completes. Not that a big search is needed; they've allowed it to be left beside the bed, along with a glass of water. He'll appreciate both later.

Still... that can wait. Other bits of the conversation bubble up, and there's another tiny smile. "No annoying roommate," he agrees, "Imagine how much energy I'd have to waste getting moved if I did." He glances at the backpack. "I can... if I can recall where, I could show you things Hya's agent's noted already, as well..." And presumably what was wrong with them.

Grant almost goes to say something, pauses, and shuts his yap. This is not that 10% he's gonna fight for. "Peak of virility and fortitude you are at that." Sure. Mmhmm. Absolutely. Yet... "It would be very generous on your part, though, to give me this to do so you don't have to...because you love me." But Vyv relents and Bax accepts the win wondering what all is going to happen here.

"You're in a sling" he notes. The last catching him in a bit of surprise, "There's an agent?" Of course there is. "My god..." His head picks up and the curiosity is hungry. Yeah he's curious what manner of things go on there! "In all transparency I can't imagine that...and I'm a little afraid to. Still. yeah. Good. Caaaaause I'm coming over. Soooo. Glad we're in agreement there." Eyes still scan over Vyv to make sure all his atoms are accounted for. "Scare the shit outta me, Vee. Are...you...okay?"

"There is space in between 'peak' and..." And... no, he's lost the wording. Vyv gives a faint and slightly careful sigh. Well, at least he wasn't arguing he was at peak performance. He just watches Bax silently for a few moments, as though he's forgotten about questions and just feels like taking him in like a painting for a little, before suddenly breaking it with, "...agent, yes. Do come over. I'm fine," no he most certainly is not, and after half a beat admits, "or at least, I expect I will be. Except with scars." Does he remember mentioning that before? Probably not. But perhaps it's A Concern.

"...I'm fine," he says again, "Ish, as much as can be expected, except I think the painkillers are beginning to-- I'm fairly sure it's the painkillers, anyway." It's disconcerting, the feeling of what they're doing to his head, even if he is pretty sure it's them and not the earlier lead pipe. But they really are doing a decent job of countering the disconcerting, too. "...yes, come home with me. And we can also look at..." He trails off. "It needs a good kitchen, of course. And a good spot for you to paint, and build things."

"Danger freckles." Bax really can euphemise anything here. The smile warms and looks up with a wry grin, "Doooo you want be to tell you it's proof that you cannot be so scarred you are still perfect to me ooooor have me skip forward and point out your arms from the elbows down look like you jello wrestle cats for a living in your early life?" Yeaaah Chef Life™.

If Bax knows anything it's how to follow a conversation stoned as fuck. There's an endearment to it really. Still his hand never leaves Vyv's. "I half want to hop in your head and ride this one out with you, but I don't want to make it worse. OOh!!! Oh o hoh I know what I can do for you..." Looking around he studies the walls and makes them up more appear (to Vyv) folding walls and the cloth curtain a wavy shojji screen instead. Why the monitor now looks like a coffee maker on a stand and the IV pole a bubblegum machine? Look, he is working with what he's got. "There. The agent will have to cope. This is not as cost prohibitive."

That euphemism gets another hint of a smile, though perhaps luckily for Vyv he doesn't quite get as far as a laugh. It shifts into a frown at the 'skipping forward', however. "They do not." He looks at them to check whether they've changed since the last time he recalls seeing them. The half-sleeves of the gown make that easier than usual. They really aren't that bad -- the signs of early mishaps with things hot or sharp have largely healed and faded, and he's always been fairly careful. Still, those arms rarely see the sun, and pale as the marks are the flesh they're set against is rather pale too. "It isn't the same, in any case..."

He's not inclined to abandon that hand either, thought he only seems to be consciously aware he's holding it half the time or so. Now is definitely in that portion, given the little squeeze it gets. And if there were any doubt things have progressed since that first Valentine's day when Bax arrived with his painting, it should be dispelled by the fact that the illusion spun makes him smile a little again, glancing around at it curiously. Yes, all right, the drugs might deserve a little credit, but the list of people he'd appreciate changing his perceptions is surely short. "Bubblegum machine?" He blinks at that a couple times, gaze falling to the coin slot and the little turning mechanism, then over to Bax. "...show me yours."

There's a bit more of a pause before he decides, "I might not mind. In my head. At the moment. If it's-- you know. If I'm sharing."

Closing his eyes Bax pushes, gently, through the layer that covers Vyv's grey matter on acerebreal level like a curtain to carefully step in side. THere's a slow grin, eyes watching Vyv widening with some amazement, "Wooooooow. I swear I'm breaking out the glow sticks for you tonight. It'll be the happiest....fifteenth happiest you've ever been." His Vyvlish really has gotten quite exceptional.

"Look" Bax says of the bubblegum machine, "It reminded me of the old ass one they have at Grizzle Diner that you have to futz around with to make the thing come out. And I think it's the same gum from '65 when tehy first installed that thing."

Quiet, testing mental space he broadcasts*<"You're safe now. Until I have to make you lunch. Then I may need to call for reinforcements.">*

Want proof Vyv's not quite in his usual mind? Well, aside from the view when he lets the protective mental wall slide away so Bax can check it out, that look he gives him is... distinctly, if not excessively, pouty. "You're not showing me," he points out, which would usually be possibly teasing but definitely imperious. At the moment it's simply a complaint, gaze dropping to the appropriate but still covered portion of the skater's chest.

Even so, there's a slow, small smile at the assurance of fifteenth-happiest, the language chosen. "Mn. I hate that place. I went in once. I left." He may or may not even be thinking of the right place, particularly after things got magically renamed. The broadcast in his head gets a slow blink. "I don't think they'll let you make me lunch." A beat, and he properly switches over. [Ah. Right.] Some of the pain can be felt, in there, but it seems oddly far away; his mind itself has an unaccustomed floaty sense to it that might be subtly increasing. [You could call for reservations instead.]

There's a pause because right now there's a lot o adjustment to be had as he lets Vyv share his mindscape with him and braces mentally for reception. Sharing back he murmurs "Triiiiippy." The complaint is registered and noted and... not assisted but to lift that heavy hand up to his chest and sets Vvn's dry fingers on his chest where the meteorite dogtag and the US quarter hang. Yeah no one is down for a really good frolic right now, but there is a grounding of 'home' that remains to be had. This gesture serving as an anchor for him...and maybe also Vyv.

Is he sneaking a small picture of Vyv's grin? Yeah. Will he share it? Never, not even with Vyv. ":Gina's place? Oh god tell me you were there at like 2:30am...though I don't know whyyyy you'd be on the east side at 2:30 am." He pauses and wonders, "I wonder if I was there when you were." The room is floating like a melody drifting on the waves of Vyv's existential bop in the reality extract. Groovy man. Some implication makes the colours in the room change before the gumball machine beeps. Bax looks up and shooshes it.

It's not exactly a grin -- Bax has seen one or two of those, in the past months, but they tend to be fleeting and at times not suitable to stealing a picture -- but it's still more smile than most have ever caught from him. And now, it's pinned down on... okay, not film. But pixels, anyway!

The movement and settling of his hand gets another little smile, this one smaller (which is more usual) and softer (which isn't -- or at least it's a lot rarer when anyone else is around). He lets it settle there, feeling the faint pulse of heartbeat against his palm, and his fingers twitch to toy with the quarter and tag just a little. A grounding of 'home' -- it's a good way to put it, really. He's quiet for a moment as it rests there, before , "But you still aren't showing me..." A moment of contemplation, head slightly tilted; a flicker of a glance toward the gumball machine. And then, a shift in that scene around them, more than the adjustment of colours and slight... feeling of impermanence of the things that surround them, even what isn't literally an illusion right now. Instead, it's an addition to that illusion: the disappearance of Bax's shirt in this mental view of things, and the resulting change in visual and tactile cues. It's not nearly so good as he might usually be able to manage, but it's right enough to satisfy him at present. The smile spreads a touch farther, almost sleepy. [That's better.] He'll keep his hand there, for now.

Was it 2:30am? The chef tries to pull up the memory; the landscape of the altered room is briefly overlaid with a ghostly version of the Grizzly, just barely visible. "2am," he answers, brow furrowing a bit as he thinks, "Late May... two years ago, now. I don't..." The vague image fades farther, except for quick sharp flickers one after the other where people grace the scene. Creepy if one tries to look at them closely -- they lack most features, retaining only the one or two things he found most salient at the time. But they'd pass as people in the quick glance they were actually afforded. "...I don't think you were there." A blink, as the overlay resolves to nothing again. [I wish you were.] Not that it would have made a difference, at the time.

Bax has to not laugh that THIS IS THE FIX!? There are far far less desirable things than one's near dead significant other still wanting a good 'look' while they recover. Well then. It breaks up that feeling of being utterly overwhelmed.

Was he at Grizzly Bear Diner? Was he hanging with Corey and AJ and Sparrow and being obnoxious talking music, art, and mushroom trips through the woods? Was he stoned as shit? There's a vague feeling of uneasiness. He looks to Vyv and says with some deliberation, "I think I'm glad...you didn't. I think if thinks worked out any other way we might not have been as fair with one another. Instead of more past how about just staying in one piece to have more future and let me do the dumb shit instead?"

Vyv does indeed want a look. Hey, can he be blamed for wanting a room with a good view? Even Hyacinth has to admit Bax isn't exactly unpleasant scenery. Right now, to be fair, the look and indeed the view are a little different than usual, though. If Bax glances down at himself, he'll see how the memories of tattoos on his skin shift and flow -- the water lapping about the seahorse as it floats, a pulse in the morse code that follows the inked pattern, a faint increase and decrease in size of the coin-slot's heart, moving in time with the beat Vyv can feel beneath the skin.

Many things, in fact, seem to be moving to that beat in his mind's current concept of the room. It's subtle, but there if one looks closely -- more clearly once one realises it's there. The hand stays in place, a gentle pressure, but there's overall a sense of further relaxation. Less pain, though that may well be the painkiller adjustment doing its job. Mind, it hasn't affected his head so much that he doesn't promptly reply, [I didn't do any dumb shit. Unless one counts setting foot in that building before it was fixed up. Staying in one piece was my plan.] A blink as he considers for a moment. [Technically I think I am in one piece. It's just-- slightly differently shaped.] He glances down at his chest. To Bax, right now, it's probably easier to read than usual: is this all going to leave hideous scars?

Even that thread is hard to hold onto at present, though, and another comes drifting back past, briefly latched onto. [I think-- we met correctly. If ever things are meant to be... that was how it was meant to be.]

Bax just watches the story play out. Is Vyv stoned? Sure but Grant also has a belief that the mind is maybe most honest when it has no rails and maybe the little things tell the story of import to him. The little bits tell the story of what is and isn't said and importance emphasized and why it is and in a state of medical inebriation Vyvlish is still alive and well evidently.

["Well...yeah but if my shirt can't have holes in it neither can yours. I'm imparting this rule. "] There's a pause and BAx, tired after the adrenaline crash settles into Vyvovysion {"Vyvyan, if you have scars and you find you hate them I'll get a tattoo of em and we'll match ain like a fuck you to the Veil in stereo. You can never be hideous. The armor of your well earned vanity has insulated you from this I promise. The way you look at a new cookie too. I didn't ever think I'd meet someone that loves cookies as much as I do and here you got me beat... huh. It's pretty neat."]

Vyv is still Vyv, even stoned. Some might suspect even a little more Vyv than usual, though the walls the painkillers (and, perhaps, the particular audience) are making more permeable than most times are definitely Vyv as well. If there's ever a time Vyvlish doesn't seep into things at least a teeeny bit¹, Bax hasn't seen it yet. And if anyone would have...

[I wouldn't have holes in it on purpose,] Vyv protests, [Or in me. Aside from-- from the standard set in both cases.] One would hope that's unnecessary precision, but who knows how something might try to 'help'. Or what he might find himself strongly imagining...

For now what he's imagining is Bax's chest just as it is, but marred with fleeting flickers of various sorts of scars a stabbing might cause, ranging from almost nothing to huge jagged rifts that would be more as though someone'd healed from being nearly ripped apart. Nothing settles in nearly as sharply as the base image, the one he isn't shoving away as it tries to form. [Maybe it would be better to tattoo over mine. If... if I do.] There's a quiet touch of appreciation for the offer in the look, though -- the solidarity of them against whatever Veil things might have other plans. As far as never being hideous, though, he does not protest the accusation of vanity, well-earned or otherwise. Instead he murmurs, coming out aloud instead of in thought this time, "Promise?"

¹ Silences don't count, of course. Which isn't to say he's never found a way to make one qualify.

Silences count sometimes especially if also accompanied by 'The Look™'. The wound to Vyv's vanity and pride might be the most grievous he's sustained. Luckily the doctors have a Baxter on prem to handle such things that elude them. Vyv's hand is given a smooch and trying not to look too amused, and also relieved to have Vyv...Vyvving more he swears,

"Promise. Hey if Wakefield didn't run out of baking chocolate and improvise we'd not have the chocolate chip cookie. Sometimes there's happy accidents. But if you promise not to fuss too much at these nice nurses trying to help you I'll pick you up something when I do my run home tomorrow. I will bring you a cookie because I don't want your sweet tooth to go nuts and come back to you biting people.

It's hard to tell whether it's the promise or the kiss that has Vyv looking just a tiny bit happier with the world, head tilting a bit as he regards Grant. Luckily the doctors have the right Baxter on prem to handle these things. Alexander, for example, would probably be rather less effective.

"Tch. She knew what she was doing," he replies, voice a murmur more due to drowsiness starting to set in than true intention just now. Still, he has the energy to protest, "And I haven't that much of a sweet tooth!" To be fair, most of his work tends to be less straight-up sweet than standard American styles, focused on letting the more complicated flavours come through... but also to be fair, he is a pastry chef. "...It best be one of mine. Well. From my shop." Presumably he won't be the one baking them for a bit. "And I'll bite who I please." There's a look at their hands that suggests he's very much considering biting Bax in illustration, but either the desire isn't strong enough or the effort is too daunting.

There's a quiet moment where his gaze just moves over Bax, and there's another ghost of a smile as that sweep meets the painter's eyes. "...yes. Sometimes there's happy accidents." A brush of the fingers against the illusory skin they touch.

"It'll be one of Corey's." Without a doubt. Grant knows how to Vyv-wrangle as much as Vyv keeps the painter from just leaping without even looking as much as possible. Still there's small moments where he quickly assesses and sums up a situation to a fine point seeing through it to the heart of fixing the matter and right now being there and giving the man a (proper) cookie is as close to familiar comfort as he can get.

"Well, next time Kailey's dude accuses you of being holier than thou you can say you have the holes to prove it. So... silver lining there too." There's a faint, but growing mischievous grin warming on the painter's face looking to gift some of Vyv's usual fuel back: doing things out of pure spite. He squeezes the hand and settles back in the chair. "Relax or you'll make the gumball machine beep. I got you. You look like yooooou just want to rest. I'll make sure you stay put." Because the veil can fuck right on off if it thinks about taking him today.

"Or Tanaka's ." Outside chance of Sophia, but Vyv knows who's most likely to be on various biscuits. He doesn't sound worried, partly due to the tiredness, and partly due to a justified belief that no one in his shop is going to put out a cookie for sale that he'd disapprove of. There are standards, after all.

There's a tiny breath of a laugh at the invocation of spite -- no, in fact, it's another of those tiny half-breathed giggles. This time the meds seem to be working well enough to keep him from wincing with the little movement of it. "He probably thinks 'thou' comes right after th'injury," he mutters, but it's only a tiny warming amount of spite, not enough to impinge on the warmth that's eased itself through his veins and continues to infiltrate his brain -- nor that which comes from the company and the little squeeze, the latter of which he returns. "I..." a touch of reluctance, before he allows, eyelids growing heavy, "...I am tired, a bit. Still could make you some room..."

It's probably a genuine offer, but not one he could actually make good on even if accepted. There's a hint of an attempt at a shift over, but no real movement ensues, just a quiet, gradual further relaxation through his shoulders and, a moment or two later, his hand as well.

It's only after Vyv and the world fall still and at peace that Bax breathes out and wipes his face; tears of relief. His phone is set on his knee to type on. A text, to his dad and then to Itzil. They'll want to know and there's another thanks going to his asshole Jedi master (That'd be Izhak for those following along at home) letting him know he's staying but if he can get help running a couple errands before returning tomorrow muchos kudos. Right now, though?

Right now Bax is exactly where he needs to be. With Vyv and listening to the 'gumball machine' beep.

If it actually somehow spits gum out he will be duly impressed.
It's Gray Harbor. Anything's possible.
Sometimes even good things.