Phones work both ways. This is something he's known for a very long time. During his years on Callisto, he sometimes lived in dread of that phone ringing and almost never used it to make outgoing calls. But he's not on Callisto any more, and nobody's looking for him; his name isn't even on the official bounty list any more. He's used his passport ( Read more... )

While there's a sort of lyrical beauty to waiting for things to develop on their own, there's only so much waiting he's willing to do. He doesn't usually look at himself as any kind of predator, but sometimes there's no description that could be more apt. Tonight, he's on the prowl.

Tonight, he's prepared. He's got a bottle of champagne, two ( Read more... )

Over the years, he's learned to both trust and not trust his intuition. It's much more of a female trait than a male one, listening to one's intuition, and while he might have been flooded with female hormones a number of years ago that hasn't been the case for a while. Testosterone takes over and wants to rush in and fix things without much ( Read more... )

When you were here before
Couldn't look you in the eye
You're just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You're so fucking special
Thank God for the privacy of his own bathroom again. Stepping out of the shower, he reaches for the towel and wipes condensation and fog off the mirror ( Read more... )

It's night, it's quiet. It's nice: Hotaru's tucked in, settling into sleep; he picks up his book (Charlie Parker: His Music and Life) and flips to the bookmark. He's read the book before, but not for a while, so it's time. Fluffing up the pillow, he leans back against the headboard ( Read more... )

The room looks like it's exploded with sheet music. He's got it everywhere: covering his bed, his bureau, all the available desk space. He's got one pencil between his teeth and another behind his ear, and he's scribbling furiously with the one in his hand, erasing nearly as furiously, scrambling through slips of paper. His saxophone's at his feet ( Read more... )

When he moves to Faye's door, he's not in his usual casual hi, I'm a musician clothes. No burgundy shirt and random trousers. No, tonight he's in a suit and tie -- black, of course -- and the off-white silk shirt beneath shimmers, and the shoes on his feet are clean and polished. His hair's loose because why not? He's not playing, so he doesn't ( Read more... )

"I'll come and check on you in a little bit. Wash behind your ears and don't forget to brush your teeth."

He closes the bathroom door most of the way behind him, having no real idea what he's gotten himself into. Hotaru's only five, he tells himself, she's just a little girl. This will be easy. That layer of calm rationality seesaws back and forth ( Read more... )

Ever since that little incident with Lin in the elevator, he's been taking the stairs. And just when taking the elevator was starting to be okay: for a long time after he left Pluto, he wouldn't get into any enclosed spaces at all. Even the ship he had when he landed on Callisto had one of those bubble pods where the view was expansive. At least he ( Read more... )

It's been a long time since theses types of memories have kept him awake at night. For years his insomnia centered on prison: being taken there, being thrown into a cell, being experimented on. Rarely if ever does he revisit this ( Read more... )