[Closed] For the Birds

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Loshis 18, 2720

Charlie's flat, morning.

Part of Baz regretted not picking another day, as he made his way across the short distance between his own flat in King’s Court and Charlie's in the Cantile district. The skies were clear as could be, but the wind was something to be reckoned with. Not constantly, but every so often a gust would come in off the bay that pushed hard at his back as he walked along. He had given up trying to keep his hair in some semblance of order, instead letting the wind arrange it as it saw fit. There was hope that, perhaps, as the day wore on, the wind would calm, but that wasn’t something that would help him right now. At least it wasn’t raining.

He paused for a moment and looked up at the sky, half expecting to get drenched in a deluge after having thought that. But it was still a clear pink glow mottled by swiftly moving clouds as the sun continued to rise. He turned his coat collar up around his face and carried on, one hand in his pocket and the other resting on a satchel at his hip. The satchel contained his binoculars, as well as an insulated flask of coffee and a few other small things.

He hadn’t expected Charlie to agree to the idea of bird watching. He hadn’t exactly expected to have much to do with Charlie at all, following their one night stand. That had changed, though, and, in a way, Baz was glad of it. He could have done without the drunken and drug-fueled trek through the neighborhoods of the harbour to what turned out to be a strip club, but aside from that. He hardly knew anyone in the harbour outside of those he worked with, despite his time here. Charlie had his foibles, but he was an entertaining companion.

He finally arrived at the other man’s door, windswept and rosy-cheeked but largely in one piece, and raised his hand to knock. There was no answer, the first time. He tried to listen to see if he could hear movement from the other side of the door, but nothing stuck out. So he knocked again, and waited once more.

[Charlie Ewing]

Loshis 18, 2720 - Too Godsdamn Early
Charlie's Flat, Cantile

Charlie Ewing was never drinking again.

At least not with Baz and Chrysanthe, anyway. At least not drinking, and then getting high, and then drinking some more. Again, with Sebastian Morgenstern and Chrysanthe Palmifer specifically. He didn't have to worry about doing so with Chrysanthe, who was safely back in Vienda by now, but Baz lived here in the Rose. Charlie, apparently, did dumb fucking things when he was that drunk and high and Baz Morgenstern was around.

Like agree to go birdwatching.

What had compelled him to say yes to that? Charlie didn't know on waking up the next day, and he didn't know now. Baz was cute, sure, but no man on Vita was that attractive. Surely. Except for perhaps his own sweet self, of course, but that wasn't the point. Charlie would never do something so absolutely gauche as ask a man to get up before midday. To look at birds. Also, they'd already had sex, so he wasn't really sure what there was to be gained here.

Frankly, he was a little bit hoping that Baz would forget. Charlie had forgotten himself, through vigorous effort. He didn't like that Baz knew where he lived now, either—had he really let the man escort him home? He was going sober. Stone sober. He was! Charlie's efforts to forget might have been a little too vigorous and effective; he should have tempered his natural talent. He was so good at it, the knock at his door startled him out of sleep.

His swearing off drinking hadn't actually taken effect yet, so he had been doing so just the night before and had thought to sleep the after-effects off. When the knock came, Charlie remembered everything. Alioe's holy tits. Just one knock—if he stayed very still, maybe Baz would think he wasn't home and go away.

Knock knock.

Charlie groaned. No such luck. He scrubbed at his face with his hand, then swore, loudly enough to be heard through the door. "Just a minute!" he shouted, then rolled off of his couch. Literally; half of him hit the floor with a rather audible thud, followed by more swearing. No one was meant to be up at this hour. Not even birds. Tippy was still asleep, which was all the proof he needed.

Charlie stood, then blearily stumbled to the door. The blanket twisted around one of his ankles and nearly tripped him (more swearing). But he made it to his front door—he really wasn't into this many people knowing where he lived, that was three now—without any serious mishap. Leaning heavily on the frame, Charlie threw it open and squinted irritatedly up at... Yes, that was Baz.

It was only after he opened the door that Charlie realized he wasn't wearing anything other than his drawers. Oh, well. That was fine. The fact that he hadn't washed his face or run a comb through his hair was more galling, but he was ignoring that as well. Charlie Ewing was enchanting in any state, at all hours. "What time is it?"

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Loshis 18, 2720

Charlie's flat, early morning.

The amount of cursing Baz could hear from the other side of the door after he had knocked a second time was more than a little bit concerning. The thumping, too. He realized he had likely woken Charlie up, which would account for most of the noise. He hadn’t really expected the other man to actually be awake at this hour, given what he knew of how he filled his free time. He rummaged in his satchel as the cursing and other various sounds made their way closer to the door, producing the flask of coffee. It would make a decent peace offering, he figured, as Charlie did not sound at all happy to be awoken so early.

The door was eventually opened, and what greeted him nearly made him fumble the flask altogether. Charlie, in nothing but his drawers. If his face hadn’t already been pink from the chill of the wind, it would have turned an even brighter hue. The sight of the other man in such a state really shouldn’t have flustered him as much as it did. He’d seen all of it before, and more, the first night they had met. Charlie could say the same about him, after all. Still, he was struck silent for a moment before Charlie spoke and he remembered what he was here for.

“It’s— uh, it's early. Just after sunrise,” he said, looking away. He held up the insulated flask. “I brought coffee?”

That last bit had not really been meant to sound as much like a question as it did. Pull yourself together, Morgenstern, he chided himself. There really was no reason for it, and he certainly didn't want Charlie to notice how flustered he was. He didn’t need to give Charlie any more ammunition to use to tease him. The man could find it himself easily enough.

He cleared his throat. “Do you... want me to wait out here for you?” he asked.

[Charlie Ewing]

Loshis 18, 2720 - Too Godsdamn Early
Charlie's Flat, Cantile

At a decent hour, the way Baz looked away from the sight of Charlie in his unmentionables would have been more entertaining. It was quite possibly the cold that brought so much color to the other man's face, but Charlie knew it was his overwhelming appeal.

This was not, by any sensible definition, a decent hour. So for once, Baz was off the hook—lucky man. Charlie smiled, but couldn't come up with anything suitably funny to say. Nothing he felt like opening his mouth for. For possibly the millionth time, Charlie cursed his immense lack of foresight.

Alioe's tits, though, just after sunrise? Who the fuck was up anywhere near sunrise, unless they hadn't yet gone to sleep? What were they, factory workers? Charlie's smile slipped into a frown as he leaned that much more heavily on the doorframe. He had wedged himself between the door and the frame, although he realized that given the height disparity, Baz could almost assuredly see some of the flat behind him. The coffee, held out to him as a peace offering, was only mildly mollifying.

"Hmmph," he huffed eloquently and charmingly. Baz was too tall. Charlie's head already hurt just from being awake, he didn't need a crick in his neck from looking up all the time. The hallway, which always smelled slightly odd, seemed more fragrant than usual. Fuck the entire Circle, he still needed to brush his teeth.

The idea of slamming the door in Baz's face and going back to bed was extremely tempting. So much nicer than going out to look at birds, an activity in which he had a stunning lack of interest. He also didn't want to let Baz inside. That would make three people who not only knew where he lived, but had seen the inside of it. Which was fine, because his flat was fine, but his skin itched anyway.

From the floor above them, he heard the sound of voices and footsteps; they were getting closer. Fuck. Of course, some of his neighbors actually were factory workers. So being awake at this unholy hour on an eight was normal for their sorry, miserable lot. Charlie tried to think. Which was worse: having Baz inside, or having his neighbors get any sort of view into his private life? Both options were repulsive. This was why he didn't want anyone to come over in the first place.

"Come in," he hissed, grabbing a fistful of Baz's coat and tugging insistently. Once they were both inside, he would slam the door. Slam the door, and immediately become awash in all kinds of extremely irritating regrets. He was never, ever drinking again.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Loshis 18, 2720

Charlie's flat, morning.

Charlie looked distinctly unhappy to see him, which he had expected, for the most part. It was why he’d taken the time to make coffee. He had pastries in his bag, as well, for further mollification. He had considered offering both, but decided to save something for later, as Charlie’s mood was sure to only worsen when they got outside. He hadn’t slammed the door in his face, which was promising. Baz filed away “not a morning person” with the other things he had learned about his friend. (He used the term lightly. He was not at all sure Charlie considered him a friend, but Baz liked that word better than ‘acquaintance’.)

Baz had turned to look as noises from upstairs started to approach, and was caught off guard as Charlie grabbed himself a fistfull of the front of his jacket and yanked him into the flat. A startled noise escaped him as he stumbled in the door, managing to catch his balance and not go crashing to the floor. He winced at the noise as the door was slammed behind him.

This was the first time he had actually seen the inside of Charlie’s flat. It was much like his own, except… messier. The last time he had been here, he had only made sure Charlie made it inside, and had not followed. He tried not to linger too long thinking about the state of the place or the nest of pillows and blankets on the couch. There was a noise from one corner of the room, though, and the source of that got his attention immediately.

Charlie had told him the first night they’d met that he had a whice. He’d not said much else on the subject, as there had been more pressing matters at the time. The door being slammed must have startled the creature, as she was hopping around making noise now. Baz set the flask of Coffee down on the nearest available surface and gravitated towards the cage.

“This is Tippy, right?” he asked. He fought the desire to stick his fingers in the cage, knowing nothing of the bird’s temperament. He clasped his hands behind his back to give him something else to do with them. “Hello, there. Aren’t you a pretty bird?”

[Charlie Ewing]

Loshis 18, 2720 - Too Godsdamn Early
Charlie's Flat, Cantile

Baz made some sort of noise and stumbled slightly when Charlie pulled him inside the door. (Just in time, too; he heard the stomping of boots on the stairs as soon as he shut the door. Probably the human man who always gave Charlie the strangest looks when they happened to pass in the hall. Cheeky. Charlie hated him, but Charlie wasn't that fond of most of his neighbors.) The brief moment of satisfaction that gave him was enough for him to pull himself together.

The flat was no better than it usually was—which was to say, exactly the way Charlie liked it. Which was what mattered. It was, after all, his flat, and accordingly only had to suit one person's taste: his. It did. So, mission accomplished. Normally the blankets were all actually on the couch, but he had been woken up abruptly. So what else could anyone expect? It was Baz's fault, ultimately, for having suggested something that took place at such a horrible time of day.

But, of course, he could have predicted what ended up drawing the other man's attention. Tippy, startled by all the noise, hopping around in her cage in the corner of the room. She chirped, a little agitated. She wasn't used to being awake this early, either. Charlie apologized to her in his head, but didn't bother to do so out loud.

Charlie crossed his arms in front of his chest as he watched Baz drift towards Tippy's cage. The coffee was set on Charlie's workbench. What did it say about his charms that every man who had been in his flat so far seemed to be mostly interested in his whice?

No, Charlie decided firmly; his charms were considerable. Tippy's were, also. What it said more about were the priorities of the men who came over. Yet another reason not to encourage the behavior. Even if Tippy did deserve all the attention she ever got.

"If you start singing to her, I am keeping the coffee and pushing you right back out that door." Charlie's voice was mild enough as he came over, not bothering to get dressed. He would have to wash his face shortly, though, and shave. Pull his hair back. So on. Later—he wanted that coffee first. Charlie did run a hand through his hair, which succeeded mostly in having it fall slightly differently over his shoulders.

"You can open the cage if you'd like," Charlie added with a grin as he passed. "I have to feed her before we leave anyway." And any excuse to delay going outside would do, really. He scooped up the flask and then set about rummaging through his kitchen for clean cups. He was certain he had at least one. Baz might have to make do with the flask itself.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Loshis 18, 2720

Charlie's flat, morning.

Baz had not noticed Charlie coming closer, having been too engrossed in watching Tippy hop about in that charming way birds did. He started slightly when the other man’s voice came from so close behind him. He turned to watch as Charlie picked up the coffee. Don’t start singing, he’d said, or he’d be shoved right back out the door.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he replied with a chuckle, “I can’t sing.”

He wondered a bit at what the reason was for that being a rule, but didn’t ask. Having been given permission to open the cage, he wasted little time in doing so. It was easy enough to figure out how to open the door. Once he had the cage open, he held out his hand to see if she would light on his finger. He wasn’t expecting her to, considering he was a stranger, but he was surprised and delighted as she landed on his hand.

“Well,” he breathed, grinning, “aren’t you a brave girl. Not scared of new faces at all, are you?”

He scratched her head gently with his free hand. Tippy seemed to love attention almost as much as her master did, and Baz was happy to oblige. “Such a pretty girl, too,” he cooed.

It was rare that he had an opportunity to actually handle a bird. Some of the wild ones near his house growing up had become accustomed enough to his presence to allow him to hand-feed them, but this was different. He wasn’t even remotely paying attention to what Charlie was doing, now. He was completely enamoured with the little creature on his hand. She was white as the driven snow, and he would have liked to try and sketch her.

He had gotten better, over the last few months. Georgie had sent him a book about Hessean birds of prey on their birthday, and he had done a few studies of the illustrations. He didn’t think he would ask if he could do one of Tippy. He wasn’t at all sure Charlie would tolerate him lingering in his apartment for the length of time it would take him, though, especially considering how reluctant he’d been to let him in to begin with. Perhaps he would try and draw her from memory when he went home.

[Charlie Ewing]

Loshis 18, 2720 - Too Godsdamn Early
Charlie's Flat, Cantile

Charlie snorted as Baz cheerfully informed him that he couldn't sing. That was somehow surprising. "A lack of ability doesn't stop most people," he commented mildly, not pausing in his important journey to the kitchen and, accordingly, to coffee.

Charlie couldn't sing himself, not that he was going to admit that now. For one thing, Baz didn't need to know, and for another, he didn't usually volunteer a list of things he couldn't do. A music teacher in Brunnhold had once loudly and exasperatedly declared to a twelve-year-old Charlton that he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, before sending him to stand outside in the hall. Luckily, he had no interest in music to begin with, and didn't care.

Baz opened Tippy's cage the moment permission to do so left Charlie's lips. Charlie didn't turn to watch, but he could hear the latch and then the sound of the man cooing at the bird. She was a sociable sort of bird, Tippy, so he wasn't particularly concerned about it. Fuck, where were his clean cups? Charlie slammed a cabinet in irritation. The sound was louder for the lack of anything inside of it.

Well, there was a cup in the sink at least. Charlie picked it up and squinted into the bottom of it, trying to remember what had been in there last. It looked clean enough. Whiskey? Vodka? That garbage he'd had—around Clocks' Eve? One of those, he decided, which meant it was clean enough. Hey, they used alcohol to clean wounds, didn't they? If it was good enough for a field medic, it was good enough for him to drink coffee out of. Probably.

Charlie glanced over at Tippy and Baz as he uncapped the flask. She had come right to sit on his hand; slattern, he thought approvingly. She did appreciate the attention. He almost felt bad he rarely had anyone else over—almost. But, as evidenced by the hour and his general state of displeasure with said hour, it wasn't really worth the effort.

He wound back over, leaning against the workbench. It was kind of cute, watching Baz natter on to Tippy, and her chirping along like she understood a single word coming out of his mouth. Kind of. Not cute enough, though. No man on Vita was cute enough to elevate his mood presently. Nor any whice, either.

"I don't have any clean cups," he declared, thrusting an arm forward and insistently jostling the flask. He did not apologize. If Baz wanted cups, he could have brought one. Or something. He took a sip of the coffee in his mug, which did in fact have a trace of whiskey flavor on the rim. The warm bitterness of it made him feel immediately better—but only a little bit.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Loshis 18, 2720

Charlie's flat in Cantile, morning.

Baz had been entirely distracted with the little white bird perched on his hand, barely even noticing Charlie moving around. She was an incredibly charming creature, bobbing around and twittering as he talked to her. Perhaps more charming that Charlie himself, not that he would say so within earshot of the other man. He could only imagine the huff it’d put him in for the rest of the day. With the mood he was in now, it was very likely mentioning the bird was a better host than he was would get Baz tossed right out the door and into the hall.

Charlie appeared again at his elbow, startling him a second time as he thrust the flask of coffee at him, proclaiming his lack of clean cups.

“Oh, uh, that’s fine,” Baz replied, taking the flask with his free hand.

He looked from it to Tippy, perhaps considering which of the two was more worth his attention right now. Charlie had been kind enough to leave him some and not take the whole of it’s contents for himself. He figured that could change, so it would be better to have a bit of coffee while he had the opportunity.

“Here, darling,” he said softly, moving his hand to his shoulder to see if his new friend would consider perching there instead while he was busy with the coffee. She did, which pleased him. It also freed up his hand to rub her little head again. Which he did, of course, cooing compliments at her again.

He looked to Charlie now, his cheeks a bit pink as he realized that the other man could very clearly hear him. He cleared his throat. “She’s, um, a very sweet bird.”

[Charlie Ewing]

Loshis 18, 2720 - Too Godsdamn Early
Charlie's Flat, Cantile

Evidently, the shock of seeing Charlie in a state of undress had worn off. Either that, or Tippy's charm was so overwhelming it wiped all other thoughts out of Baz's mind. Charlie preferred to think it was the latter. Honestly, it was pretty in keeping with what little he knew about the other man, too. Charlie loved Tippy, but he wasn't interested in birds generally so much as this one specifically. Not so with Baz. Apparently.

Baz took the flask, and Charlie watched him debate who to pay attention to with two thin, arched brows over the rim of his mug. There was a correct answer. Charlie wasn't entirely certain which of them he considered it to be, but he would know when Baz chose one.

Baz chose Tippy. Charlie decided this was the incorrect answer, and the arch of his eyebrows turned less anticipatory and more judgmental. Tippy happily hopped to his shoulder, which also annoyed him slightly. She was a friendly bird, of course. Still. Charlie's own feathers were distinctly ruffled by her easy acceptance of the coaxing to perch on Baz's shoulder.

Not that he could blame her. Being showered in compliments like that from handsome young men—Tippy wasn't nearly as used to it as he was. Her defenses were lower to that sort of thing. Maybe it was good after all, having people over. To get her acclimated to the adoration that was her due. Fuck if he was going to start inviting anyone around for tea though. Not even for Tippy. Sorry Tippy.

From some instinct or habit, Charlie found that lazy, unaffected smile when Baz looked at him again. "She is," he agreed. "She's learned well, if I do say so myself."

There was something just a little bit suggestive in the tilt of his head and his voice, despite the hour and his general state. Like a switch he couldn't turn off. Not, he reflected, that he ever really tried. Why would he?

"I'm surprised you don't have any. Birds, I mean." It was getting a little cold standing here in his drawers, but Charlie was dedicated to finishing this coffee first. Then he'd get dressed. He shivered slightly, then took another sip.