At least for today. Meraki was, if anything, a stubborn wick and even though none of the usual routes to get someone talking worked with Gideon… that didn’t mean there wasn’t still a chance there, or wouldn’t be a chance at another time. Why did his glamour bother the human? Why did the human cause his stomach to churn as if he were looking upon a maggot pile of rotted garbage rather than the handsome man he saw? Why did Gideon move like he did, why did he shake, why did he push away every attempt for the wick to help? What was off about him? Meraki tried to excuse it through the theory of drugs, as it seemed the closest to a reasonable explanation, but it didn’t explain everything that he felt toward the man. He’d known junkies, and he’d never felt similar toward them.
Their walk halted, and Meraki stopped to stand beside Gideon. He looked up at the taller man, momentarily tapped his tongue against his unlit cigarette so that it tilted up and down in an oral fidget. There was that noise again... a laugh? Meraki’s skin went cold in response. He felt the urge to step away again, to move away like everyone else seemed to. To get out of arm’s reach of the other man. Stupid! What is there to be scared of? Damn natt is trembling still! Meraki met the coal-dark eyes, rebelliously refusing to look away despite every instinct in his mortal, alive body telling him to retreat as fast as he could.
He listened to Gideon, not sure if he believed that the other wasn’t sick… what did that even mean? Ent sick like that. So, it wasn't poet flowers or anything of that nature? Then what sort of sick was he? Weight ground down into his heels, Meraki held still when the dockworker stepped closer to him. His discomfort from his dampened field increased, like the mona wanted to be set free and overrun the space between them.
His jaw tensed when Gideon refused him yet again. Telling him he wouldn’t get what he wanted. That irked him, the edges of his anger stoked by the statement, enough that his face blushed ruddy and his freckles showed more prominently against the change of complexion. The red coloration only worsened when those coal-dark eyes raked over his body in a distinct survey. Gideon's lecherous suggestion, which accompanied the look, caused Meraki’s gut to twist almost painfully. His fingers clenched into tight fists. So tense, the wick accidentally bit right into his cigarette. The rolled-up paper bent under his teeth, irrevocably damaged.
Meraki spat out the ruined cigarette, so it landed on the ground between them. Was the natt serious? It wasn’t the sort of thing a natt joked about - not like that, anyway - and Gideon didn’t seem the joking type.
He watched as the other man turned and kept walking. But Meraki stayed where he was. Now, he felt sick. The tsat considered for a moment, while he very carefully observed Gideon’s backside, then he shook his head. No, that would be a terrible idea…
…but what else is there left to try? He surveyed the crowd, who hadn’t paid attention to the exchange between the two men. Everyone seemed keen to ignore the creepy human. Meraki looked down at where his ruined cigarette lay with the tobacco spilled out on the ground. The idea might’ve been terrible, it might've been a dangerous gamble, but it was still an idea; he hadn’t exhausted all the options in his toolbox quite yet. He frowned, then he picked up his feet. He sprinted after Gideon.
“Oy, Gideon,” he called. Meraki reached the other, soon enough, to walk alongside him again. He cleared his throat, then added, “I don’t know whatcha y’ thinkin’ but all I want is to help. Y’ don’t gotta… be sick like that alone, if y’ don’t wanna be. C’mon let me help. I can make a mean cup o’ tea! Least I could do, considerin’ what a right prick I was about the crates and all the other mornin’… eh? Eh? Y' live nearby here? Got far to go?”
It was, Meraki decided as he looked over at the reasonably attractive human, the last attempt he would make today.