Caroline and I have decided, rather than RP countless scenes in which Cal and Jasper's friendship develops slowly, we'd do a few scenes in dialogue form, by IM, and make a sort of montage collage. Et voilà, Scene One.

To set the stage: Jasper has taken Cal shopping, and suggested skinny jeans.

Pan to: interior, spacious dressing room at a local high-end clothing shop.

Cal: *staring at skinny jeans* Those go on a person's body?
Jasper: *exasperated stare*
Cal: It's just that these things look like they'd make you sterile.
Jasper: I can testify that they don't. *thinks* which you could find out if we weren't "developing an important friendship"...
Cal: Are you sure? Because your constant bragadoccio indicates some sort of... oh, well, Freud was an idiot anyway. But people really wear these? It isn't some sort of joke?
*thinks: I'd really like to see Jasper without pants*
*thinks: ohGod, what the hell's going on*
Jasper: Just wear the skinny jeans man, its not a psych course.
Cal: *stares* Fine. *goes to change, then comes out, looking very uncomfortable* But you're next, you know.
Jasper: what, you're going to find a store that sells mismatched socks and clothes pre-stained with chromium?
Cal: Well, I have spent far too long thinking up a way to get you to wear something like that, but...
Jasper: Did you consider how you would freeze hell over? Becuse that would be the first step
Cal: There you go confusing causes and effects again.
Cal: Hume would be horrified. I think the freezing-over would happen directly after, once you'd gotten angry enough.
Cal: But seriously, I could buy a month's worth of supplies with the money these things cost, are they *really* worth it? They barely cover my legs.
Jas: *thinks* that's why I picked them
Jas: I'll buy them, obviously. Have you seen my house?
Cal: *looks around* It's in here? *sighs* Yes, I get the point, you're up to your elbows in filthy lucre. Not that I'd say no to free things, so go ahead.
Jas: Oh, I'm sure you'll pay me back somehow. *proceeds to imagine how, then realizes this can't happen because of aforementioned very important friendship*
Cal: *tries to be lighthearted, having noticed the odd look on Jas's face* Now I'm worried! *thinks: all right, definitely not the time to be wearing tight pants* *runs back to change out of them*
Jas: *thinks he disappeared with rather incredible speed*
Cal: *comes back out* Right, what's the next item on the list, then? *is slightly flushed, has pants over his arm*
Cal: because this really isn't my natural habitat. Unlike you, I wasn't raised as part of a Ralph Lauren display.
Jas: As though. It was clearly Galliano. Speaking of, where was that suit I picked out for you?
Cal: Suit? Ah... the bags... *turns in a slow circle* Come to think of it, where'd I put my left sock...?
Jasper: Oh, luckily I found it when you tried to hide it in the trash can earlier. *shoves said suit at him* Go change. Don't make me come in there...*thinks* like I want to
Cal: *shoots a glare* Right, right. You know, I think you're enjoying torturing me far too much. *goes; returns, strikes a pose* All right, all right. I admit this actually looks good. *bemused glance in the mirror* You know, Jas, I sort of look like YOU.
Jas: *recovers from gaping at Cal in a suit* That was the point, of course. You never seem to tire of telling me what a narcissist I am.
Cal: Well, you haven't let up on BEING one for a minute, so it's really only the reality principle. Hm. Does one wear a certain kind of shoe with this sort of thing?
Jas: *glances down* well, I'm going to say that *appalled* white athletic socks arent the appropriate footwear. Were you raised by wolves? *hands over chelsea boots*
Cal: Hey, I'm proud. I did find the left sock, at least. *takes boots* Jasper! I'm touched and surprised. I didn't actually know you had feet. It hought there'd just be anther pair of chelsea boots underneath.
Jas: I haven't worked out that spell yet. Maybe you could give me some pointers on skin-to-leather transformation later
Cal: I won't enable your chelsea-boot addiction that way.
Jas: it's not an addiction, it's a necessity. you're one to talk, anyhow
Cal: Well, you're not enabling, quite the opposite, I won't be able to afford any kind of drug for the next six months after I'm finished clothes-shopping.
Cal: ... or any food...
Jas: I told you I'm paying for it, go put on some Dior. *thinks* I'd pay for drugs too if I thought it would get you to make a move...
Cal: Some Dior? *looks puzzled* I thought that was for women.
Jas: Dior Homme? Hedi Slimane? *despairs* I'll never succeed
Cal: *has no idea what he's talking about* Right... right. *takes whole pile of clothing into dressing-room and puts on things at random, comes out totally disheveled* Voila!
Jas: You're wearing a pocket square as a hat.
Cal: I'm innovating.
Jas: I'm killing myself.
Cal: *whips off pocket square* (defensively) Innovation's a great American tradition.
Cal: *consideringly* Of course, so's drag racing.
Jas: I'm British, did you miss the accent? We like when ties aren't used as makeshift bracelets
Jas:....drag racing? *looks eager*
Cal: Hey, I was proud of that. Didn't I see that strange Sinistra bloke wearing a tie as a hat once?
Cal: ... it's not racing while dressed as a woman, so don't look so excited...
Jas: I can't be responsible for Apollo or the travesties he's let loose on the world. And it was more the racing that I was looking forward to.
Cal: Yeah, it's only Muggles and their carefully fortified cars, really, nothing that special. I don't think it's your--aesthetic.
Cal: ... I do look ridiculous, don't I? I like the shirt, though.
Jas: *thinks* I'd like you out of it. *scrutinizes* It's nice.
Jas: Now about Muggle cars, have you got one?
Cal: ... er, yeah, but it's about twenty years old and totally dilapidated. Not up to your exacting standards, I'm sure.
Cal: You might sully your Dior dress, I mean suit, getting in.
Jas: ...we could go car shopping.
Jas: Once you've tried on that houndstooth coat
Cal: I've actually got it on under this duster. *shrugs out of one of his several layers* There, see?
Jas: If you ever layer like that again, I wont be responsible for my actions
Cal: *exaggerated show of fear*
Jas: Don't mock me, Ferox. You're the one wearing earmuffs around your waist.
Cal: I honestly thought that was a belt.
Cal: *pulls off earmuffs* Really, you'd have to have a remarkably big head to wear these. *beat* Here, you ought to try them.
Jas: Clearly you weren't ready for McQueen yet. We're going to have to take baby steps. Try this. It's called a fedora. Put it on your head.
Cal: Wait, wait, let me get rid of some of the layers first, it's sweltering. *gets down to a t-shirt and pants* Right. Fedora. *puts on, pulls low over eyes* Bond. James Bond. ... this is ridiculous.
Cal: I suppose I could hide my gun in it.
Jas: You're stripping for me now? I don't really think that's appropriate in public.
*thinks* but by all means, continue...
Cal: ... *blush*
Cal: Anyway, this fedora...
Jas: It's terrible. *disingenuous smile* Take it off.
Cal: Fine. *takes it off and flings it, frisbee-style, at Jasper, but, being very uncoordinated, misses*
Jas: *reaches up and snatches it in mid air, puts it on at a jaunty angle* You're right, it is better on me.
Cal: Right, it covers more of your face. Always a good thing. *thinking: he looks incredibly good in hats*
Jas: *thinks* I look incredibly good in hats
Saleslady: *smiling in at them, clearly assuming they're a couple* Can I help you two gentlemen?
Jas: *studies self in mirror, forcing Cal to field awkward couple assumption*
Cal: *stares at her; shortly* No.
Saleslady: *recognizes Jasper* Oh, Mr. Christie. I'm so sorry to bother you. *glances at Cal in a puzzled way*
Jas: Not at all. He's my...fit model.
Jas: Aren't you Cal? Here, turn about so I can see the pants from the side...
Cal: *blushing, looks down, wondering what this subterfuge means, but turns* Right. *shoots a slightly disdainful look at the woman. She, in turn, looks about to say something else, then flees*
Cal, back to Jasper: You're a total ass.
Jas: And your ass looks good in those pants, fit model. So glad I've employed you.
Cal: *flips Jasper off, face burning*
Cal:... well, I suppose if you're willing to pay me in doxy powder...
Jas: It can be arranged, I'm sure
as: As soon as you try on these other 40 suits I've been considering
Cal: Right, that's it, I'm leaving.
Cal: *attempts to storm out, realizes he's wearing unpaid-for clothing, does an about-face*
Jas: Okay, one more? *pleading look at J Lindberg tux*
Cal: Dear God, what's that for, your funeral?
Cal: You know, after I've grown desperate to get out of here and killed you.
Jas: It's for our wedding, dahhhling. At least thats what I'm telling the sales lady
Cal: *bursts out laughing and collapses against the fitting-room door* ... She'll be devastated, you know.
Jas: I'm hoping for a good look of gaping shock, at least
Jas: Utter devastation if you kiss me while we're in line
Cal: *stares, feels ears turning red* Right, I'll go try on the tuxedo... *does so, taking quite a long time to change, then comes out with great diffidence*
Cal: *has at last recovered from shock* I'll tell you what... I can inform her we'll need a bridal gown for you.
Jas: J Lindberg is a god. And don't kid yourself, if we got married, you'd wear the gown
Jas: I've got the tux thing down
Cal: But I'd still need the tuxedo, for aforementioned funeral--which would take place about five minutes later.
Jas: I'm not sayng you're a gold digger, but you're holding a shovel
Cal: *very uncomfortable with the tenor of the jokes* That was minorly clever. But come on, I want to get out of here. *holds out arms* Take or leave?
Jas: Do you have to ask? Go change and we can watch my credit card have a heart attack.

(Exeunt omnes)

Scene Two, in which Jasper invites himself over to Cal's lab and encounters the hassock of doom, and the two catch an IAMX gig.

Pan to: cluttered lab, no discernible sign of Cal, Jasper apparates in.

Jas: Cal? Are you here? *notices some flurry of movement from the corner* Hello?
Cal: *turns around holding two beakers after too much time has passed* What? What? What's going on? *one of the beakers is steaming* Oh sh*t--
Jas:...Are we going to die?
Jas: Because I had plans tonight, and an outfit picked out...
Cal: *dumps the beaker into a bucket of cold water* We will eventually, I imagine. Jasper! Hello.
Jas: Getting philosophical before you've even said hello, I see.
Cal: You brought it up.
Jas: Thought I might stop by and see if your lab was like the one in Muggle movies. Have you got a hunchback assistant?
Cal: No, would you like to volunteer?
Jas: I would, but I'm far too attractive, obviously. And lab coats are so unstylish
Cal: Lab coats, I never bother... *glances down*
Jas: It's quite apparent
Jas: What's that green stuff? I think it's eating a hole in your pants
Cal: Yes, I know... so would you like the tour, or is my clothing too offensive to you?
Cal: Oh, that? *swipes at it* No, just some manticore bile.
Jas: oh, the hole was inherent. I'd love a tour, actually. Can i blow something up before I leave? *makes puppy eyes*
Cal: Well, I did have to get rid of the rest of manticore somehow...
Cal: Are you a fan of quicklime? It makes me feel so terribly Dorian Gray, when he disposes of Basil's body. Er, anyway, this is the centrifuge... this is where I'm brewing a mercury and onyx solution--watch out, that's methyl mercury! Do not touch it, it poisons you slowly... and... here are my pickled organs!
Jas: You are a strange and terrifiying man. The enthusiasm you have for the phrase "pickled organs" concerns me
Cal: Well, they aren't from people, obviously. That's a dragon spleen... that's more from the manticore... that's a whole clabbert there... what, they're amusing.
Jas: Let me contain my laughter for a moment.
Cal: Are you mocking me, Christie?
Cal: Never mock a scientist in his lab, it's dangerous!
Jas: Me? Never. I'm as genuine as the diamond necklace I sold to that rich MP's wife last week.
Cal: Ha!
Jas: I am a beacon of honesty and sincerity, as I'm sure you--*catches a glimpse of The Hassock* What the hell is that?
Cal: It's a hassock. A couch. I sleep on it sometimes...
Jas: Is it alive? *prods with foot*
Cal: Not until I have Igor rig up the lightning rod.
Jas: I think it IS Igor...
Cal: It's really not that bad! I mean, maybe it smells a bit off... I ought to have it cleaned... but it's very comfortable. *flings self down on it* See?
Jas: Don't touch it! You'll get a disease!
*drags Cal off*
Cal: God, I can't tell if you really care or you're just that stuffy!
Jas: It's rotting! It's hungering for your tender young flesh!
Cal: I'm twenty-nine.
Cal: And it's had plenty of opportunity to have a go at it before. You know, this reminds me of a Maupassant story...
Cal: Furniture all comes to life. I love Maupassant, poor, mad Muggle that he was... got Obliviated one too many times, but a great author.
Jas: Okay then, its coming for your stringy aged flesh, Professor Ferox. Let's not argue logistics when youre moments from being lunch for a sofa
Cal: *looks around vaguely* Is it lunchtime already? I thought you had work today.
Jas: It's actually...well after ten. Notice the lack of that giant orb we diurnal folk call the "sun"
Cal: I had read about that. And begun to believe it was a myth. This will revolutionize my astrophysics. *deadpan* Oh, so did you--you'd wanted to do something tonight? *casts a glance around lab* Nothing seems to be on the brink of combustion...
Jas: Let's go before one of us, probably me, loses a limb. Anything you feel like doing?
Cal: Various illegal substances? No, really, it's up to you--there was some band you wanted to see... yeah?
Jas:Well, IAMX was playing in Shoreditch...
Cal: We didn't miss it, did we? I'm sorry, I always forget to look at my watch.
Jas: If we apparate, we should just make it in time for the set. And that might be because your watch it encrusted in dried chemicals
Cal: Sure, I don't mind side-along. Let's go.
Jas: Don't squirm, I'll splinch you. *pop* Limbs accounted for?
Cal: *pats himself down a little frantically, since he doesn't do side-along often* Yes. Whew.
Jas: Oh dear I've--*waves wand, Cal is suddenly head to toe Slimane* That's better.
Cal: Gah! What the hell did you just--what is--is this a cravat?
Jas: Well spotted. You look quite fit in it.
Cal: Thanks, I feel very... nineteenth-century... *adjusts cravat self-consciously* That's probably why I know what it is, if you'd done something modern I would have been lost. So where are we?
Jas: We're in Koko. Gracing my usual table with our stylish presences.
Jas: I don't think I really need to ask, but do you want a drink?
Cal: Very much, what's good?
Cal: ...what's strong?
Cal: *thinks back to birthday* Not... too strong.
Jas: You learn quickly.
Cal: I'm quite clever, you know.
Jas: I have a hard time justifying that statement with your ownership of that upholstered atrocity in your lab.
Cal: Naturally I can pay... where.... God damn it.
Jas: Oh. May have transfigured your wallet into...something. If your pocket square is leather, you know why
Cal: Clever enough not to waste my time on interior decorating instead of important thaumaturgical advances!
Cal: Christ, Christie, I had about a hundred Muggle pounds in there.
Jas: Here...*pulls an old receipt out of his pocket and taps it subtly with his wand* You've just doubled your investment
Cal: It's all right, I'm sure the style makes it worthwhile. *wry*
Jas: *hands over some bills* This means youre getting the drinks, you know
Cal: *laughs* You know, I thought you were this sort.
Jas: *innocently* What sort?
Cal: Of course, of course. What would you like? *waves over a waitress*
Cal: The sort frankly sleazy enough to counterfeit!
Jas: I see, if you're so morally upright. *plucks money from Cal's fingers* And I'll have a gin and tonic, thanks
Cal: *stares at empty hands* Right, I suppose I'll just have to go and see if they take payment in sexual favors, then! *colors*
Jas: Well, I've got some unexpected money on my hands, depending on what you offer...
Cal: *head in hands* Fine, fine, I'm sorry I called you sleazy--not that you're doing much to redeem yourself--just give me ten pounds and I'll get us gin and tonics.
Jas: *holds note contemplatively* Ten pounds...*hands it over and winks* You owe me...later
Cal: *stands up quickly, snatches note, and makes for bar before Jasper can see how red his face has gotten... returns five minutes later with drinks* They put cucumber sticks in them. *hands one over*
Jas: Prompt service, I like it. *raises glass slightly* Cheers
Cal: Cheers. *takes a long drink*
Jas: Don't drink it too fast. You're going to have to earn your next ten pounds pretty soon.
Cal: *wry face* Precisely why I need to drink it so fast. *laughs* Now, the band--who are they, again? *peers*
Jas: IAMX? The usual Camden sorts. Bit of electro, bit of rock, bit of androgynous lead singer in top hats...
Cal: I was admiring the top hat. I've always liked those.
Jas: It would suit you, I think...I could do you one up if you like, give me your glass--
Cal: *laughing, drains his drink, sticks the cucumber into the side of his mouth, and hands the glass over* Really? I'll look absurd. *unable to say no to Jasper*
Jas: *taps the glass and produces a tophat, then contemplates the cucumber and transfigures it into a cigarette* That's better. *hands the hat over*
Cal: Cucumbers are healthier, but I must admit they don't light as easily. Cheers. *lights up, puts on hat a little self-consciously, makes a face* Ha.
Jas: Smashing. You've got the bone structure for it, I think
Jas: Can I--*plucks the cigarette from Cal and takes a drag, returns it to his lips* Thanks.
Cal: Everyone has the bone structure for a top hat, they're bloody--*mouth hangs open while Jasper borrows cigarette, and, upon its return, he looks away for a moment, blinking*
Jas: Bloody what? I'm hoping you're going to say spectacular, or I'll be quite heartbroken
Cal: I was going to say awesome, but I'd have had to kill myself for being a gauche American.
Cal: Let's go with spectacular.
Jas: Sounds good. *looks up as someone stops at the table* Cheers Julian.
Julian: All right. *to Cal* Cheers mate
Cal: *blinks up at him* Oh... hallo. I'm Cal. *glance at Jasper*
Jas: Cal, Julian. Ju works for the NME. Cal, er...does science.
Cal: Potions research. NME?
Jas: The Mug--er, the music magazine. You here covering the gig Julian?
Julian: Potions research?
Cal: *thinks: oh, sh*t* Joking. I'm a chemist.
Julian: er...yeah
Jas: *mouths to Julian, subtly pointng at Cal* Bit drunk...
Cal: I'm a bit mad. Don't mind me. Great band.
Cal: *ostentatiously reproachful look* That too...
Jas: He's more fun when he's drunk, if I'm being honest.
*cheeky smile at Cal*
Cal: Everyone else is more fun when I'm drunk... *brief glare*
Cal: *to Julian* Sorry.
Jas: Oh, I'm fun all the time. Ju can attest.
Julian: S'okay. Nice...tophat
Cal: Thanks, Jasper m--got it for me.
Cal: I note that you did not attest to Jasper's round-the-clock fun.
Jas: I note that you failed to mention you traded the hat for various sexual favors.
Cal: *drops head into hands; top hat falls off* Right... naturally.
Julian: *raises an eyebrow, picks up the tophat and looks uncertainly from Jas to Cal, who are sitting a bit close* So are you...?
Cal: *aghast* What? No.
Cal: Er, I mean... not that.... no.
Jas: I've yet to lure Cal into my life of debauchery, I'm afraid. Speaking of which, is that Kate Moss in the corner doing lines with the bloke from Maccabees? You might want to catch that story Ju-
Julian: *gone, clutching a camera*
Cal: I hate you.
Jas: *taps his glass and splits into two new drinks, pushes one toward Cal* No you don't.
Cal: *takes the drink* Hm, what does that do to the alcohol content? Gamp's law would-- *shakes head* Well, you didn't even warn me he was a Muggle!
Jas: What, do you want me to have some secret hand signal for it? Or maybe he should wear a sign...
Cal: A discreet whisper would--the Ministry is already to drag me into court for ridiculous Statute--it's fine, never mind, he seems like a nice chap. *takes a drink, calming down from earlier agitation, which was not in fact caused by Julian's Muggledom* I like this song.
Jas: Do you? *takes a sip of drink* It's called Kiss and Swallow
Cal: *twitches slightly* Oh, that's... classy...
Jas: If the rest of the line happened to be "for ten quid...", I'd say it was meant for you.
Cal: *after regaining composure* I would call wishful thinking on that...
Jas: *appraising glance* I suppose I'd go twenty...
Cal: ... but I, unlike you, don't liev to embarrass my friends...
Cal: *drily* I'm flattered.
Jas: As you should be.
Cal: I might be more easily flattered after a few more drinks... say, twelve...
Jas: You'll owe me 120 pounds then...the offer has distinct possibilties
Cal: Don't worry, I can pay it back in manticore bile.
Cal: You'll love it. Maybe I'll use it to upholster one of your couches.
Jas: *look of disgust* Or I could make you a jacket to match those pants from earlier
Cal: That'd be wonderful! So handy for the lab.
Cal: Thanks, Jasper, I'd say you were a pearl but you're obviously a jasper.
Jas: Oh, I've never heard that one before...
Cal: *winces* Yeah, I'm sorry. I should never attempt puns after more than one drink.
Cal: Or possibly at all.
Jas: You've only had one drink? I'm not doing my job here
Cal: *finishes his second* Two. And yes, why don't you get another round?
Jas: *motions to the waitress, who brings two more drinks* If I didn;t know better...
Cal: You've used that line already, Christie, try again.
Jas: They do say third time's the charm...
Jas: But I was always a bit rubbish at charms, so I guess I'll just have to get you drunk and take advantage of you the old fashioned way
Cal: *laughs* You're absurd.
Cal: *grabs top hat and puts it on Jasper's head*
Cal: You've earned it.
Jas: *produces a mirror from coat pocket* I look amazing.
Cal: You don't leave anyone else any room to compliment you, you know.
Cal: Now I've got to resort to lame raillery at your vanity.
Jas: Were you going to say I looked amazing? *bats eyelashes* Oh Cal, how sweet
Cal: *dry* Like a drag queen showgirl. But... yeah, rather. Amazing. Go get us drinks, will you? I want to hear this next song without your hubris drowning it out.
Jas: I'll have you drunk and dancing on the table yet...*produces more drinks*
Cal: You really don't want me to dance, I've always been a disaster in that area. But if you'd like to get up and cancan, don't let me stop you.
Jas: I can't high-kick in skinny jeans, obviously
Cal: You could start by transfiguring them into that poufy skirt you'd obviously prefer...
Jas: Although I do have nice legs, I really dont think it would compliment this blazer
Cal: I appreciate eclecticism.
Jas: You appreciate crossdressing?
Cal: Jasper... *leans forward earnestly* Since it's s obviously what you want, I support it wholeheartedly, even to the point of appreciation.
Jas: Of course, you'd have to appreciate me under any circumstances. *strikes a pose* I'm quite stunning, really.
Cal: So stunning, I think you've just silenced the band.
Cal: I think you've terrified them.
Jas: Alternately, the set is over already.
Cal: It's possible, but I prefer my theory.
Jas: I can humor you, I suppose.
*people begin milling around; someone drunk knocks into their table*
Cal: *with regret, thinking--'where they like you, go a little....'* Well, thanks--as usual, I come out of this totally beholden, but it was--fun.
Jas: It was. *pauses and hands the hat over* It looks better on you
Cal: I'm shocked? Hang on. Repeat, please. Jasper Christie--said something--looked better--on someone else?
*shocked.
Jas: Youre not drunk enough, so I'm resorting to outrageous flattery.
*steps a little closer as they exit* Is it working?
Cal: *thinks: if only you knew... low groan...* Gosh, Christie, do you try this hard with all your d--friends?
Jas: Of course not. I usually don't have to try...
Cal: Well, I've read 'thus spake Zarathustra,' I'm wary of adulation--not that you wouldn't be the first I chose, if it came to it. Hey, are you in shape for apparition or shall I call a cab?
Jas: I'm in shape for anything. *rather salacious glance, offers his hand* Arms in, if you don't mind.
Cal: *clasps hands, too tightly, shuts eyes, tries to control breathing* Thanks. Do try not to kill us.
Jas: *pop, they appear in Cal's lab* Not missing anything essential, are you?
Cal: *feels for top hat* Got everything important. Night, Jas. *suddenly aware of how dark it is, and how quiet* I'll see you in a few days, yeah?
Cal: --if you want me to pay you back, I've got a few pounds about--
Jas: *waves him off* You can get the drinks next time, yeah? *as he closes the door* If the hassock doesn't eat you before I see you again..
Cal: Ha. Ha! *collapses on aforementioned hassock and stares straight at the ceiling for a very long time*

Scene Three, in which Jasper takes Cal out to a Muggle club. Again. And acts like himself. More to be filled in as we RP it.



Cal wasn't sure he liked the changes in daily rhythm that accompanied his suddenly much more social life. Not that he had what one would call a 'social life.' The parts of his life were not nicely delineated. The all bled together. If they hadn't, he would have been terrified, because segmenting it--cutting it up--reminded him of constraint and made him anxious.

He was sitting in his bathtub, which was empty. Above him, the shower drummed a rainy beat into the tub. He was smoking a dampened doxy cigarette; the smoke mixed unpleasantly with the heavy humidity of the air. Beside the tub he had a cup of coffee, likewise diluted. He dropped the butt of his cigarette absently into the coffee and leaned back, staring--squinting--blinking--into the shower nozzle. His head ached, a low drumming thrum behind his eyesbrows, which seemed to be made of felt.

Jasper Christie. He had agreed to see him at ten o'clock that evening. Cal was unsure whether he ought to get out now and had no idea how much time had passed all that day--he had spent it unable to sleep and unable to do much of anything, actually, except pace, smoke, and think. Thinking--but it was jumbled, fragmentary, and frantically pursuant of, pursuant to, pursuant, chasing itself, ipsicaudality, chasing his tail. Vulgarity wound its way into his head and he brought the back of his skull down on the edge of the tub. Ouch. His teeth were porcelain pain.

Cal sat up some minutes or hours later and ran his hands through damp, stringy hair. His whole body was damp and steamed. He stood up and looked at himself in the foggy mirror, not in an evaluatory way, but, as he sometimes did, trying to find some connection between the puppet he could see and the one he was. When he was alone, he could become, slowly, a little conscious of things like the movements of his hands, though he usually tried not to think about any of It at all. Fleetingly, one of those stomach-sinking thoughts ran through him, he wondered: was Jasper Christie doing the same thing--staring at himself in the mirror--and what did he see? It was burned into the back of his forehead, Jasper--naked--a burnt-white superimposition, torso, shoulders, black hair smile and eyes.

Cal turned around and stumbled toward the sink, knees buckling, to turn on the cold faucet. He stuck his face under it and grabbed for his towel, which went over his head. It was calming. He was jealous, obviously, he thought Jasper had those things--muscles, of course, he didn't, he was going out in public again--of course he went out, but not for any social purpose (superimposition).

By the time he had gathered the shattered bits of himself and swung slowly roomward, cold and steam had made a storm front in his sinuses. He'd be all right, though, he'd... it would be a bit like college, like when Rosa took him out. He recalled her with a strange detached disinterest, with a bit of embarrassment. Had he... that was the worst--he thought--when you didn't really want something and you humiliated yourself trying to get it--it was a double frustration, left with only imagination and anger--and anyway, why was he thinking that, it wasn't--but he could recall how it had felt to be at one of those parties, and in clubs, and the ideas, dual, treble, of sex, kissing, and humiliation, all--sort of--anyway--

Cal got dressed.

None of his clocks were accurate.

It was an unusually warm day, he'd learned from the yammering television when he had wandered in, dry-eyed and sleepless, early that morning.

He took the bus to Jasper's. There were drunks on it already, younger university sorts, and he sat far back to avoid them and knocked his head against the bus window, staring out at streetlights and stars, which were all jewel-like, and thought that he was quite lucky, really, to have a friend, and how humiliating that would continue to be, until, somehow, he figured out what Jasper really wanted from him, aside from tenuous entertainment. It was probably later than it should have been. Getting into Diagon, he flashed his Squib card but neglected, proudly and anxiously, to ask the time.

At Jasper's he paused outside the door and patted at his pockets--he'd brought money--Muggle, Jasper was particular about Wizarding bars, or... anyway, Cal preferred not to be out and about in that sort of society. Cal rang the bell and leaned against the entryway, breathing out into his turned-up jacket collar (a wind had come up)--and the door opened and

and Jasper.

He was a verb. Cal jittered upright and held out a hand and wondered why his stomach had gone so tight. He didn't deserve to be nervous--

"Hey, Jas--" No. "--Jasper."

Jasper stepped out of the shower and ran his hands through his wet hair, nails on scalp to wake himself up. He'd made the mistake of falling asleep, facedown and fully dressed, after he closed the shop. That had been the result of mistakenly staying out until nearly five the previous night, but who was he to turn down Ed Westwick's loft party? It had been good fun, he thought as he dried off and stood in front of his closet. Well worth the three hours of sleep he'd gotten, although he did feel a bit bad that he'd be in less than top form when he and Cal went out. Maybe that was a good thing. Cal seemed easily overwhelmed; Jasper in top form was about at his threshold for painful overstimulation.

He pulled a dark grey suit from the closet, then shoved it back in favor of dark blue. Tie, no. Ascot, yes. More colorful. He dressed then headed downstairs for a drink before Cal arrived, collapsing on the study sofa.

He wasn't sure why he kept inviting Ferox places. Maybe it was that he was so remarkably different from his other friends. Maybe the mutual adoration of Wilde. Maybe because he enjoyed flirting just enough that Cal became amusingly embarrassed. Which didn't require much flirting. Or maybe because he was the perfect, modelesque combination of thin and pale and strange looking, as though he'd stepped directly out of a D&G ad. Jasper wondered if people thought they were together sometimes. They probably made that assumption about anyone Jasper showed up with. Oh well. There were worse looking people the assumption could have been made about.

In the end, he fell asleep on the couch, head tilted back and feet toward the fire. The doorbell woke him and he bounded down the stairs, throwing a glance at the clock. Ten forty. He'd assumed Cal might be late; he wasn't exactly the most punctual person. Possibly the least punctual person. In the dim shop he opened door quickly, jarring Cal from where he was leaning against the frame.

"Hey, Jas--" He put out a hand, which Jasper took even though he thought it an oddly serious gesture between friends. "--Jasper."

So formal, still. Jasper wondered why he made Cal so nervous; he'd always assumed his presence was a welcome one.

"Cheers, come on in. D'you want a drink before we go?" He gave Cal a quick once-over. His face was slightly pink, as though it had been damp and scrubbed too hard. Ends of his hair just barely damp still. The suit from their shopping trip the week before, minus the stunning hunter green tie Jasper had convinced him to accept. He grinned over his shoulder as they climbed the stairs. "No tie? I know you hated it, but it really was ace."

"When don't I want a drink?"

In fact he didn't want a drink. But Jasper had a way of coaxing desires out where there weren't any; Cal would never have gone out to a club, never would have spoken to well-groomed strangers, never would have gone clothes shopping, of all things--but he had. What one wanted around Jasper was whatever Jasper wanted. Cal thought--how strange, to know what you want, and for what you want to be simple. He would have been anxious, inferior-feeling--because Cal never knew what he wanted, he wanted to want, he suffered from inchoate wants--but--

--it was impossible to be nervous around Jasper for too long, except in fitful bits and he noticed those and would tease him about it. Would tease him in a way that made the bad feelings vanish. He was too aware. Aware but aloof but warm. He was actually a very good friend, not judgmental in the ways Cal had expected, or was Cal only making more of an effort? It was hard to say, but whatever the case, something about him enveloped Cal. He felt comfortable in a way he imagined, dispassionately (impossible) everyone felt around Jasper. That was just the Christie quelquechose.

Jealousy, familiar, purple-green, like an insect. He followed Jasper up the stairs, turning his feet out carefully so he wouldn't stumble. It was strangely elating to watch Jasper's shoes as he went up the stairs. For him it took no effort, just a glitter of black and white shine. He wasn't unconscious, he was probably self-conscious--unconsciousness had its own charm, of course, but Cal rather thought that thinking people, and everyone was a thinking thing, all had to be actors, better or worse or fuller of emptier versions of themselves. Cal was an empty version of himself, himself was bottled up in his head. Jasper was Jasper. It was remarkable. Cal wasn't sure he wanted to be an actor, could risk it; but it was unexpectedly pleasing to watch it. Jealousy was not sharp now. It was only lemonish, when he thought about how he was trapped behind the mask of his own face, but Jasper wasn't, but those sorts of people weren't. They could blink out with eyes that worked both ways, at themselves and at people, and they were people, they were themselves and other people, but he, who couldn't successfully act the part of himself, was more himself (was forced to be himself), than anyone. He didn't trust anyone else to be him.

"No tie? I know you hated it, but it really was ace."

It was in real color; Jasper grinned back at him. Cal wanted to have that grin, he wanted to have all of it, superimposed, close, over his own skin.

"Oh, I--" He looked down, and stumbled, but righted himself against the wall. There was something he had forgotten, but he didn't know how to tie a tie properly; when had he occasion to wear them? Graduation... his dissertation... disaster, failure, he'd been incredibly high but it was just meant to be how it was, how trite. "I didn't notice. I'll try for it next time. Really, you're lucky I've managed to get most of my clothing on at all; sometimes I find myself with one foot stuck in my jacket pocket. Totally heathenish" parodying Jasper's expected response. It was thrilling. Pink happiness welled in his chest. "--totally heathenish, I know."

They'd reached the top of the stairs and arrived in Jasper's study. Though Cal didn't want a drink, he settled onto the couch, as usual, crossing his legs awkwardly. He had to restrain the urge to reach down and grab one of his feet, a comforting gesture but not a suitable one. "Gin, how's that? At all redemptive?" He had no idea of the social code for drinks; he always bought hard liquor in the largest size.

Can we please stay in, just to talk and smoke and pretend I'm you because he had some idea, after all--that people like Jasper were the players and he was the audience and it was strange how much more beautiful everything was through him. Going out might shatter the whole thing but the empty stage, wrong theater, wrong area code, wrong country.

Shut it, Ferox, he or some other voice told himself, No more Theories of Theatre before you go out in public. Anyway he thought mercilessly, shifting on the couch, the slick fabric of his pants cold against the leather anyway, you're on stage too, you just don't like the part.

He smiled up at Jasper and took the drink, because it really didn't matter; nothing mattered in quite the same way with him. Despite the same Cal-thoughts he had none of the underlying sadness. Everything was clear and gin-flavored. He watched Jasper sit down, a ballet of slight clothing adjustments.

"You know you have an extraordinary talent for making unreal things real." What, Ferox? What? He shook his head. "Sorry. So where are we going?"

Cal settled onto the couch, in the place still indented where Jasper had been napping. He spent a moment folding and unfolding himself in that awkward way he had, then looked up speculatively.

"Gin, how's that? At all redemptive?"

Jasper smiled and poured the drink. "Not good enough to make up for the lack of tie, but I guess I'll let you stay."

He handed Cal his glass and sat cautiously in the deep chair that matched the sofa. When he'd gotten the suit he hadn't realized that it was made of some oddly slick blended fabric that wrinkled within instants of being removed from the closet. Sitting down was an exercise in arrangement. He finally settled, realized he'd left his drink on the bar, and Accioed it.

"You know you have an extraordinary talent for making unreal things real." Cal said it suddenly then seemed to realize how bloody odd it sounded, shaking his head like he needed to clear the thoughts out. Jasper tried to not look too surprised. But--what? He had never concerned himself with reality and its various paradoxes in the way some people did. Everything for Jasper was real; nothing had ever been out of his grasp. It struck him, every once in a while, that Cal was operating on an entirely different plane from most people. Whether it was from the drugs or simply from being so smart that he was a little bit mental, Jasper hadn't determined. He had no idea how to reply, so he took a sip of his drink to stall and Cal thankfully spoke again.

"Sorry. So where are we going?"

"333, over in Hoxton. Supposed to be some new bloke djing who's great."

He glanced down at the open collar of Cal's shirt. Okay, incredibly shallow, but the lack of tie was really bothering him. Especially since it had been new from Hermes and the perfect complimentary color for the suit. They would just have to sort it; he had at least five similar ones. Finishing his drink, he stood and Summoned them from the closet upstairs. Ties in hand (including an odd red one that had been entangled with the others), he sat on the edge of the coffee table across from Cal and held them up against his lapel.

"No, too dark--last season--" He tossed them onto the couch as he rejected them-- "too wide--there we are."

It was actually the same tie Cal had been intended to wear; he'd liked it so much that he'd gotten one for himself during his next excursion to the store. He looped it around Cal's neck and tied it rapidly, hands unconsciously forming a Windsor knot, then leaned back and surveyed his work. Much better. He wondered suddenly if that had been uncomfortable for Cal. Probably. He seemed to find most of life uncomfortable.

"There we go, your shirt was gagging for that." He nodded at Cal's mostly empty glass. "Another, or are you ready to go?"

The street address--or was it the name of the club?--meant nothing to Cal. He only nodded. One hand worked its way into the lining of his pocket. His fingers opened and shut on the seam, cramping and uncramping. Jasper was looking at him in that open way he had; Cal always assumed his own face, when he looked at people, was an unforgivable scrunched sneer, of jealousy, discontent, self-effacement... but Jasper's brows were up and he looked so unconcerned, almost as though--but of course he did--as though he thought Cal worthy of his attention.

And he was, why not, just because he knew none of the names of clubs had lived a cramped small sort of life--but he'd accomplished things--but that simply wasn't the standard. In some areas he just wasn't--what Jasper was in everything, naturally, everything.

He was still looking, and Cal glanced down in posed self-consciousness at the open collar of his shirt. He didn't like ties; they were constrictive. Was something else grievously wrong? A coffee stain? He'd even tucked them in and put on a belt.

No; it was just ties. Jasper summoned a few and came over--that relaxed gait--and balanced on the edge of the coffee table. Cal would have fallen off or tipped the thing over somehow; that was the thing about it--about uncertainty. He leaned forward stiffly, neck extended and one hand clenched on the couch and his mostly-empty gin glass, the other on his own leg, and for some reason tried not to look at Jasper. Who finally chose a tie. He cared so much--about what? Just like an experiment, or...

He tied it off with a flourish, a little too tightly (throat moved outward, inward). Cal nodded in self-conscious thanks.

"There we go, your shirt was gagging for that."

Sickly smile. What sort of joke?

"Another, or are you ready to go?"

"Go, if you are. I don't--" Something else witty to say died on his palate. It is perfectly natural to feel that sort of tension when you've been lonely long enough; it's a symptom, it is not the problem, and it is no more real than anything much less real than real things. "--sure, I'm up for it." He adjusted his newly-knotted tie, careful not to tug too much (would upset Jasper) and stood. Damn innuendo--but no, maybe he should joke? No, it clearly hadn't been a joke, too obvious. "Thanks for the gin, sorry I was late." You know how I get--too familiar and too obsequious at once.

He smiled and offered Jasper a cigarette. "So I'm assuming apparition...?" He'd no real idea of the official apparition points, but Jasper would. He hardly seemed the type to take cabs anyway, even if it meant bending a law or three.

Jasper plucked the offered cigarette from Cal's fingers and lit them both with the lighter he always kept in the inside pocket of his jacket. It had a C engraved on its silver front. When he'd bought it, the shopkeeper told him it had once belonged to Capote. He suspected that was total rubbish, but he liked the thing anyway. He was quietly glad that Cal had suggested apparating; he always felt a bit awkward offering to do magic on someone so directly. Letting his cigarette dangle loosely from his lips, he offered an arm to Cal and thought about apparition points in Hoxton. There really weren't any. Oh well.

"Don't move, yeah? I don't do this especially often."

His warning made Cal tighten his grip a bit compulsively, but they reached the club in one piece, appearing in a deserted alley behind a chip shop. When they rounded the corner, the doorman nodded to him and they bypassed the long line of cold clubgoers straggling down the sidewalk.

Inside it was almost too warm in the crush of bodies. Jasper paused a moment and listened to the DJ, then turned to Cal.

"Only a bit rubbish, I guess. Sounds like Sam Sparro from two albums ago, but that wasn't terrible." He jerked his head toward the bar. "Drinks? It's that or dancing, I think."

He didn't even wait for Cal's answer, since it would quite obviously not be in favor of dancing. Thank God. Cal was much easier to go out with than models sometimes. They were forever wanting to dance, and Jasper was forever horrified by the thought of looking that idiotic in front of other human beings. At the bar, he saw Cal reach for his pocket and waved him off quickly.

"I've got a tab here, don't worry about it." He turned and leaned against the bar on his elbows as the drinks were mixed. "Sorry about the DJ, I don't really come here for the music anyhow. Mostly--" He nodded at a tall redhead laughing on the edge of the dancefloor with an equally stunning blonde--"for the models."

He waited for Cal's response rather curiously. So far it had been hard to tell who Cal went for, exactly. He'd never really displayed an interest in anyone, so Jasper had a sneaking suspicion he was gay. If he didn't have an interest in models-- well then, clearly.

The club was loud, enveloping in a way he didn't enjoy. He skirted the dancefloor with Jasper, who paused to comment on the deejay. Cal had no opinion himself, but nodded and accepted the offer of a drink. Jasper never let him pay; that was one of the things about him. It kept up the sense that he was... that he was somehow inferior, or that Jasper's magnanimity itself made a debt he could never repay. At the same time, it was all buoyant fun, and that, too, was a debt he could never repay.

Jasper lounged against the bar, and Cal ordered a raspberry-vodka drink. With luck it wouldn't be as potent as the cocktails at Jasper's birthday party. He was a drinker only occasionally; he found drugs easier to modulate and less nauseating, on the whole.

Cal turned to stand awkwardly half-sideways, eyes darting. He felt very watched. Was not sure whether to slouch or stand straight. Either way would draw too much attention. He settled for turning toward the bar, and toward Jasper, who leaned nonchalantly against it scanning the crowd.

"Sorry about the DJ, I don't really come here for the music anyhow. Mostly--"

He nodded toward a cluster of people; Cal focused down and spotted two tall, well-dressed, polished women. He had seen some who looked like that at college, but not quite like that, not--the polish. For a moment Cal thought he was going to say something else, but no--

"for the models."

"Ah." Cal nodded and buried his nose in his drink, watching the two women. They only made him angry; but then why should he have to feel lust all the time. He barely came out, it was too much, accablant. He needn't deal with all that onerous and unpleasant business, and besides he never had--never had-- Besides, he'd never--he had never liked those sorts of people, sorts of people like Jasper.

"I... I'm a physicist" recalling that t was a muggle club "Jasper, I don't get on with models."

"I... I'm a physicist, Jasper, I don't get on with models."

Cal looked down at his drink, something violently red that Jasper would have associated mostly with Apollo Sinistra. Odd choice; he usually drank something straight and searingly strong when they had drinks at Jasper's house, but maybe that was because Jasper wasn't really the sort to mix up all sorts of complicated, fruity drinks. Apollo had taken to bringing his own ungodly fruit syrups to the Boy's Club. Jasper believed in the power of a simple, strong martini above all other drinks.

He looked over at Cal, still focused on his drink, then back at the dancefloor, where the two models had their heads together in conversation. The redhead looked over at him then away quickly when she realized he'd caught her. She and her friend laughed, lips arching around perfectly white smiles. Jasper turned back to Cal, who "didn't get on with models." Totally gay, then. Everyone got on with models. You didn't even really have to get on with them; the interest was almost solely visual.

"What, are the Cambridge scientists better looking? If they are I'm going to make you give me physics lessons."

He watched Cal, carefully noting who his eyes fell on in the crowd. That pale Russian bloke everyone was mad for, Svetlichny, was off to the left but Cal didn't pause. Maybe they looked too similar; there was a certain likeness in the unearthly cheekbones. Jasper wondered if he should introduce Cal to one of his agent friends. He'd hate it, but he had such potential. Someone else, then--no. Cal had ignored everyone and turned back to Jasper, alternating with looking down into his drink. He looked to the side and saw the redhead on her way through the crowd. She caught his eyes and half-smiled. In the background, the DJ thankfully switched it up and put on some Arctic Monkeys.

"She's taking the Burberry campaign from Lily Donaldson this fall," he said, nodding subtly at the approaching woman. "You sure you don't want a go? I won't tell her you're a physicist."

Cal supposed he ought to think about women, or dating. Did anyone actually 'date' any longer? If not, he didn't see the fuss. He could simply avoid the issue, which seemed to be, principally, a matter of clandestine nighttime liaisons. Sex, as a part of life, simply didn't interest him; that was all. He preferred... anyway, they'd only reject him, and he, aware of it, knowingly preempted; he disliked the tall blonde girl and the redhead on sight. Even if they did, or one of them did, favor him, or flirt, there would always be that knowing superiority behind the eyes. He couldn't get past it. And Rosa, of course; every encounter since had been a knowing excursion into a realm delineated already by the pain of disappointment and frustration.

"What, are the Cambridge scientists better looking? If they are I'm going to make you give me physics lessons."

It was a few moments before Cal mustered up a response, alternating glances between his glass and Jasper. He'd drawn in on himself. Spots of light hit him and he blinked down, then back up, following Jasper's gaze.

"Actually they're quite frightening, scientists. Persistent." Helen the astrophysicist loomed in mind, all wide red lips and hair styled so it was all of a piece. "They'll attack you by the telescopes."

Jasper wasn't paying attention. He'd caught the eye of the red-haired woman, who undulated narrowly nearer, eyes caught in predatory coquetry. Cal was jealous. Why hadn't she looked at him? but then he just wished she would go away.

"She's taking the Burberry campaign from Lily Donaldson this fall."

Cal failed to care, except to feel further envy. The woman bent to catch a friend's whisper, her eyes roving over Jasper; she looked self-assured and happy and of a world in which he wasn't, a world above; Jasper's world, from which he was alienated.

"You sure you don't want a go? I won't tell her you're a physicist."

How could he suggest it like that--cavalier, smug--as though he needed, or wanted--

She arrived, slipping into place at the bar beside Jasper, one white forearm laid the length of the bar. "Hello." Smile, smile. "Jasper, isn't it? I'm Alicia." Such reservoirs of silent eloquence. Cal edged away.

She turned to him for perfunctory introduction.

"I'm a physicist," Cal said. Shortly.

The redhead reached them before Cal could reply to his last comment. She'd lost (more likely ditched) her friend along the way, and squeezed into the space at the bar next to Jasper. Cal took a rapid step away as she did, as though she was in grips of late-stage leprosy. Jasper turned toward her and her bright smile. The scenario seemed quite promising.

"Hello. Jasper, isn't it? I'm Alicia."

"It is indeed. Jasper Christie." He took her hand lightly for a moment, smiling back. "Lovely to meet you."

Alicia looked past him at Cal, and Jasper turned back so he could introduce them. The look on Cal's face surprised him; he wasn't even trying for pleasant, settling instead on "I've just eaten around six slices of lemon." Before Jasper could say something, Cal had looked around him and focused on Alicia.

"I'm a physicist."

Alicia looked confused, and Jasper bit back a laugh. At least he quite clearly wasn't interested, giving Jasper free reign to pick her up. That also meant he'd have to find a kind way to leave Cal behind-- he scanned the crowd for familiar faces. Someone who would get on with Cal. Easier said than done. He thought he spotted Chris, an old business associate, in a distant corner, but he couldn't be sure. It would be better to not do it so quickly anyhow; Cal would be offended. But Alicia seemed like the assertive type, she might not be endlessly patient.

"This is Cal, a good friend of mine. And as you've probably already deduced, a physicist."

He turned back slightly toward her. "Can I get you a drink?" Okay, stalling a bit. Good. Maybe Chris would come over on his own. Would Cal like him? He was affable, American, handsome in a way that people said reminded them of Jasper himself. And a rather aggressive flirt, so he could prove to be something of a test of Jasper's theory about his friend. In the mean time, he focused back on Alicia.

"I saw you in the Cavalli show last spring, didn't I? The line with all those beautiful diamond accessories-- I'm a jeweler, so I remember that specifically. Well, that and the fact that you were the best looking girl in the show." Their drinks arrived and he handed hers over. "Are you in London shooting?"

He knew Cal was probably offering him an absolutely acid glare right now, but he had no idea how to bring him into the conversation. Unfortunately he wasn't quite the wingman that Wendell was, probably because he couldn't amuse himself by ogling all the other models as Jasper chatted up his conquest for the evening. Perhaps he and Cal would have to have a chat about appropriate wingman protocol later. He might be open to the idea if Jasper's introduction to Chris went well.

Jasper made conversation with his model and Cal melted back, doing a nose-dive into the deep-red contents of his glass. Through it, a lit spot on the floor stared at him merrily. He took another sip and the red receded. Another and it was more like pink, and then it was just a scum of leftover alcohol. Jasper was flirting, he was in the club scene, something like that.

Cal couldn't help but find it rather pathetic and sordid, really. What was he supposed to think--was he supposed to be awed by the conquest? No. It was such a shallow dance, really. Hardly different from college. There was nothing of value in it, except the joyfulness of the moment, but that could be as false in retrospect as... not that Jasper probably thought it so. He didn't respect--

but he couldn't stop watching them, either, the stem of his glass between his fingers now, twirling back and forth. A drop of drink landed on his hand and he shook it off.

Jasper's performance made him ill. It seemed so false. It was not the friend he knew or wasn't directed at him the focus, anyway, was not... he was on the outside, he should...

"Hey, Jas." He set down his emptied drink and, arms enfolding his body, nodded toward Jasper, who had somehow, subtly, entangled himself in the redhead's octopus-arms. "I'll just go, I--" Go home, get some doxy powder, turn on the television, do some work, take off the stupid jacket and tie--it was pointless, why did he do this, anyway, he should just... maybe he shouldn't see Jasper at all; they were only friends in the way Cal had always had friends, or a friend, that was, he was left behind.

Hey, Jas. There was the sound of a glass settling onto the bar and motion in his peripheral vision. "I'll just go, I--"

Jasper turned slightly toward Cal, away from the immediacy of Alicia's hand on his arm, warm through the fabric of his sleeve, and the vague throb of the music (Pigeon Detectives now, the drum backbeat heavy and simple) coming through the floor to his feet. Cal looked outside the whole thing somehow, still and miserable and conspicuous in the happy, buzzing crowd.

Jasper realized suddenly that he felt bad. This was an unusual sentiment in his experience. He was usually quite confident in his actions, but in this case he felt like he'd made a misstep. Cal obviously hadn't known he'd be in this position, but they'd been going to a club--but he didn't go out, really, without Jasper, and their previous evenings had been fairly Boy's Club-esque. In fairness, he also hadn't known that Cal would be so against a model of his own; the rest of his friends could peel off easily in this sort of situation. Well, except Will, but he always knew what he was getting into.

Turning to face the crowd, he put a staying hand on Cal's arm. "No, wait, you've got to meet my friend--"

Conveniently, Chris had spotted him and waved above the crowd, pushing his way past the press of people around the bar. He and Chris had met just after Jasper had left Hogwarts, on a trip to New York. Much like Will, their first encounter had involved some misguided advances (turned down because Chris really looked a bit too similar to Jasper for comfort), but they'd hit it off enough to stay friends. He had a suspicion he and Cal might get on, which would have the added advantage of getting him off the hook for the night.

He leaned over toward Alicia, slipping an arm around her waist. "I'm really sorry, love. Just give me a minute, don't go anywhere, yeah?"

Back to Chris, who had reached them. "Cheers mate! Haven't seen you in London for ages, why didn't you ring me up? This is my mate Cal. Cal, Chris. He's an agent in New York."

Jasper neglected to mention that Chris was, more specifically, a modeling agent. If asked later, it had slipped his mind.

Really should, really should, really should--

he repeated. It was the only way he could get himself to go. He was fixated on Jasper and the red-haired woman as though it were some glittering catastrophe. It was all old jealousies. This was why he didn't attach to people; it was so much easier when jealousies were general and not specific. As it was, Jasper flirting with a model was a world he'd never break into.

Really should go, really--

"No, wait, you've got to meet my friend--"

Jasper set one hand on his arm and looked at him with such concern. Cal stared back. It was impossible to disagree; what if Jasper never wanted to speak to him again? But didn't good friends let their friends go off with girls? He should get out of his way, he should...

He opened his mouth, (really should), then shut it again. It wasn't his choice. Someone was waving to Jasper through the crowd. Cal blinked; for a second he thought the face and hair familiar. The familiarity dissolved and resolved into a stranger, slightly Italian in looks.

While he was pondering the strangeness of the stranger's familiarity, Jasper had leaned away again. Should he make his escape? No--no-- the man was in front of them, now, smiling; Cal did not hate him on sight. Unexpected. Maybe because he was a kind of salvation from the woe of total lonesomeness... maybe because he reminded him a bit of Leo, for some reason.

"Cheers mate! Haven't seen you in London for ages, why didn't you ring me up? This is my mate Cal. Cal, Chris. He's an agent in New York."

Cal blinked. The man was smiling at him in a... in a way that meant he had some sort of expectation. Wizarding? No; Jasper would have said, in the margin of time before he'd approached. So he stuck out one hand warily. The man's shirt was a little unbuttoned, a detail he wished he hadn't noticed, it was too much of staring for a first acquaintance; he always did that, always stared, it was one of the dangers of perpetual audiencehood.

"Hi." He let go quickly and shifted along the bar so he could still see Jasper. What was... he'd turned back to his model. She was looking at Cal. His face twitched into a scowl, then back to twitchy normality. Belatedly: "I'm a physicist. At Cambridge." Pause. He was making a parody of himself. "Sorry. I don't get out much, Jasper's just--" Right, appeal to your authority. When you want a different truth-- "--you know... helping. I'm not a... club person."

Jasper felt, as he often did considering his propensity for parties, that he was being pulled in ten directions. Usually the sensation didn't bother him; he could juggle four or five conversations without a problem, but sometimes, like now, it was just overwhelmingly awkward. He kept his fingers crossed that Cal and Chris would somehow, miraculously, get on. Turning back to Alicia, who was glaring rather viciously over his shoulder at Cal, he kept one ear tuned to the conversation.

"I'm a physicist. At Cambridge," Cal was saying, flatly. Off to a bad start. "Sorry. I don't get out much, Jasper's just--you know... helping. I'm not a... club person."

He smiled at Alicia, still listening to the pair to his left. "How's your drink? They do a nice martini here, but I've been known to make a better one. You're shooting tomorrow, aren't you?" He paused and listened to Chris, who was saying something about Cal's accent. At least they could bond over being (in Cal's case, nominally) American. Hopefully that was good for a few minutes of conversation.

"My grandparents had a summer house on Cape Cod," Chris commented. Apparently they had gotten to 'where are you from.' Good sign.

Alicia had nodded in affirmation to his last question, and Jasper took a step away from the bar. "So I shouldn't keep you out too late then. Lagerfeld will get angry, he'll throw his glove at you or something." Another step edging away from the bar, watching carefully in case Cal tried to make a break for it. Luckily Chris and his aggressive conversational skills seemed to have ensnared or at least temporarily stunned him.

The last thing he heard was, "So I'm an agent, have you ever done modeling Cal?"

Jasper choked down a laugh. Keeping one arm around Alicia's waist, he made his escape through the crowd. She shot a final glance at Cal, bright hair brushing over Jasper's shoulder as she turned her head, then leaned against him with a slightly smug smile. Near the door they passed the blonde friend, who was rivaling Cal for best bitter expression. Jasper took a deep breath of the cold night air when they stepped outside. Another day in the life.

"Your friend," Alicia said, glancing back as they exited the club. Her hair whipped in a sudden cold breeze, and she edged closer to Jasper. "He was positively glaring at me. Now, do you want to get a cab... or..."

Some men had their own cars, or limos. Jasper Christie was obviously wealthy; there might be a shot at it.

--

Cal stared despairingly after his departing friend. Jasper... why. Why would he take him out only to spend all of five minutes actually talking to him, then run off to have sordid--with a model? And Cal was left behind with someone he barely knew. Probably because he was an American. Did Jasper look down on Americans, for all his jokes? Was this a sign that he thought Cal unworthy of his company?

All he knew was the relative pain of absolute confusion.

They exchanged pleasantries, Cal's stunned and Chris's oddly knowing. Cal had edged back so his spine was pressed against the bar, and while they spoke he kept turning sideways, about to order another drink; then stopping. Turn, stop, look back.

He hadn't been listening, he'd been looking after Jasper and then back to the bar and generally feeling as though he'd just found himself in a car and the brakes had just been cut. He needed Jasper, he'd be lost in this sort of scene without him, and he didn't even like it. He couldn't leave now. Loneliness? Or just a sense of decorum. He couldn't break things. Besides, Chris wasn't a terrible... he... he was lonely. And then again it didn't matter to whom he spoke or how, sometimes he just needed it.

"So I'm an agent, have you ever done modeling Cal?"

"What?" Cal squinted at him, sure he'd misunderstood, then embarrassingly pleased, then skeptical, then simply at a loss. "Obviously not. Um... do you want anything to..." He patted his pocket, turning to the bar.

"Your friend," Alicia shuffled in close as the wind ruffled her dress and hair, one heel catching on an uneven spot in the pavement, "He was positively glaring at me. Now, do you want to get a cab... or..."

Jasper laughed. "That's just--Cal. He glares at everyone, it's really nothing personal."

It was, of course, quite personal, but he couldn't say that. Seemed too weird, a bloke being bitterly jealous because his mate went off with a girl. That just wasn't the etiquette; you could be jealous, but you had to hide it. And you had to be jealous of your mate's luck in pulling a model, not of the attention she was getting. He paused at the curb, quieted for a moment by his thoughts.

"My car is around here somewhere--"

It wasn't, but Jasper had devised a system for this sort of scenario a long time ago. Having a Muggle driver was too complicated, so he usually just Confunded one of the drivers waiting outside a club, had them drive him home, then sent them back. They would wake up by the curb thinking they'd gone for a quick drive to the chip shop while waiting for their employers. He scanned the cars for a likely one and settled on a silver Bentley with a driver who wasn't looking especially aware.

"There he is. Did you drop your phone--" She hadn't, but he needed a moment of distraction to slip out his wand while she looked at the pavement. As she leaned over he went up to the car and tapped the window, muttering a quick spell. So this was fairly illegal. Taking Muggles into Diagon was too, but he did it all the time. If he stopped doing illegal things, he would never leave the house again.

Driver duly confused, he opened the door for Alicia, who had located her phone in her bag.

"My mistake, sorry." He ducked in and shut the door, and the stolen car pulled away from the curb.

--

"What?" Jasper's friend looked oddly surprised. Chris had assumed they'd be introduced precisely because he could be a model. Surely this wasn't the first time someone had said it to him. "Obviously not. Um... do you want anything to..."

"Here, I've got a tab--" He waved Cal's hand away. "You could, you know. I'm sure Jasper's told you that. He's all about models." Glance at the door and Jasper's rapidly retreating figure. "Clearly. Haven't seen him in two years and he hasn't changed at all."

So, not a model. Jasper had been setting them up, then? It wasn't entirely unlikely. He was good to his friends, unless he was ditching them for gorgeous redheads. And Cal had seemed remarkably disinterested in the gaggle of beautiful women who formed a loose orbit around Jasper whenever he went out. Nothing to lose, anyhow. It wasn't as though he spent loads of time in London and have an embarrassing run-in with this guy on the street. Plus he was really good looking, in a fair, otherworldly way.

"I'm not a massive club person either, honestly. I keep a flat in Hoxton though, for when I'm here on business, if you'd like a drink without all this--" He gestured toward the ever increasing crowd and music that sounded like Hot Chip being tortured-- "club."

"Here, I've got a tab--" He waved Cal's hand away.

Would no one simply let him buy his own drinks? It lent an unpleasant air of classism to the whole affair. Or--not classism, but did he expect that Cal was poor, or unable to navigate a bar? He did go out sometimes. He could order and pay for a drink. He hoped the man didn't pity him, left behind by Jasper, he could see no real explanation for... but he was already drunk, maybe he was just looking too--too frayed.

Still. Kindness. He could never understand it, not unless it came from pity. Nonetheless, he ordered. Why had he wanted to order a martini? That was Jasper's drink, that was really quite pathetic, it shouldn't have come to mind immediately.

He ordered a brandy and clenched his hand around the sides of the snifter, chosen chiefly because he couldn't spill, it was getting to be that time of night, he didn't really like drinking, depressant, but he could hardly put down a line on the bar here, maybe he should... no, he should go home--

"You could, you know. I'm sure Jasper's told you that. He's all about models."

He was. Cal's gut doubled up around a stab and he swallowed more brandy, then blinked through the half-dark and looked away from Jasper and the model. Sideways look at Chris. He could not made eye contact easily with people he didn't know. He was all about models. It sounded so horrible and so much not what he had expected (wanted?) from Jasper; but then he had wanted him to be lonely, hadn't he, he had wanted best of both worlds, transcendent strength and all of his weaknesses in one person, it was quite impossible. Jasper was his own person, he was shallow, he liked models. God.

"Clearly." Thanks, really, thanks. "Haven't seen him in two years and he hasn't changed at all."

He knew him so much better, then, did he? No, no, why was he thinking like this, he was too possessive, he should... but that was the only way out of loneliness, finding something and clinging on, not spreading it out.

"Well. People." Cal stared into his glass.

"I'm not a massive club person either, honestly."

"Yeah?" Cal squinted up at him. His view was segmented by matted lashes and drunkenness, and sparkled in broken facets; Chris looked, momentarily, a little like Jasper, who had, naturally enough, become his archetype for friend. He felt a sudden sympathy and then drew back, somewhat rebelled at his suggestability.

"I keep a flat in Hoxton though, for when I'm here on business, if you'd like a drink without all this--club."

What? He wasn't that lonely, he was hardly... "No, no, no need to make... I'm fine, I can get home on my... I don't need your--" He shrugged and settled back against the bar, shoulders hunched, feeling, suddenly, unaccountably lost and a little sad.

Cal looked at him oddly for a moment, somewhere halfway between drunk and friendly. Chris was a little bit surprised that Jasper had set them up; this guy was definitely not his type. Well, in personality, anyway. Maybe he was just in a bad mood because he had been summarily ditched by his friend. He should have known, with Jasper. He was a good guy, and a good friend, but in the end he always came first for himself.

"No, no, no need to make... I'm fine, I can get home on my... I don't need your--"

The brief hint of pleasantry faded from Cal's face, replaced by a sudden twist downward at the corners of the mouth and a defensive switch in posture. Oh, well then. Chris had assumed Jasper's introduction meant that Cal would be up for drinks (or whatever) that evening. Either he had entirely misread the scenario, or Jasper had, which seemed unlikely given the man's ironclad grip on social nuances.

Or maybe he didn't know Cal all that well yet. It seemed Cal wasn't overly familiar with him. He'd been entirely too surprised by Jasper and the model of the day, which really shouldn't have been a shock to anyone who'd known him for more than about forty five seconds.

He looked over at Cal, who was leaning stiffly against the bar, clearly put off. Chris felt a bit bad; maybe Jasper had introduced them because he thought they might legitimately get on in conversation. Not everything had to be so sordid.

"Look, sorry. I assumed because Jas introduced us--" that you'd be up for a random hookup? Can't say that, obviously. He took a sip of his drink and started again. "It was out of line, sorry. You don't know him well, do you? You didn't expect--her."

There was some sort of cue Cal wasn't picking up, something...

I assumed Jasper

I assumed because Jasper

"You don't know him well, do you?"

Cal flinched. He knew he didn't--hadn't spent very much time with Jasper, but he had thought, in that way he had, that he could condense a personality into a momentary epiphany. He'd thought once he'd pinned Jasper down (the birthday party, oh God)--that he'd have him. Because he, Cal, based himself off of his own epiphanies... but he supposed Jasper was... completely and fundamentally different.

He finished his brandy and nodded to the bartender, who filled it again.

"You didn't expect--her."

"Well." Cal made a motion and a face; his cheeks felt hot inside from the drink. "Well, she..." He shook his head and looked down again.

"I'm sorry, it's just so--you know. How one can know anyone. It's complicated, made more so because there's no one to know, really, at the bottom of it, you know, no one to know. I'm sorry." He said it viciously, more a barb than an apology, but his shoulders had relaxed. "You're only an agent, I shouldn't... agent. Ha."

Cal looked up at him, hazily. It was clear he'd been drinking a lot, and intended to have a lot more, considering the way he was downing the brandy. He'd downed the first one practically in one swallow as he'd watched Jasper walk out.

"Well, she..." He paused and collected himself. "I'm sorry, it's just so--you know. How one can know anyone. It's complicated, made more so because there's no one to know, really, at the bottom of it, you know, no one to know. I'm sorry. You're only an agent, I shouldn't... agent. Ha."

Chris shrugged. "It's not physics, I guess, but it pays for things."

He could have been offended, but it wasn't worth it. The guy was drunk, and clearly upset about something, and even more clearly didn't want to be a model or to be hit on by whoever Jasper had pawned him to for the evening.

Watching Cal looking into his nearly empty glass rather miserably, it dawned on Chris that he clearly had a thing for Jasper. It wasn't so unusual; Jasper had the kind of magnetic presence that drew people in, mixed dangerously with an openness that made them believe they actually had a chance with him. Chris himself had fallen prey to it at their first meeting, although he'd had the quick wit to recover from rejection. Well, he also wasn't the sort for the wistful staring that Cal seemed to engage in around Christie.

Christ felt, suddenly, like it was his duty to say something conciliatory. He knew Jas well, maybe he could explain to Cal that it was nothing personal, just Jasper, unwittingly drawing people in then letting them down.

"I mean, yeah, I guess you can't know people, and I'm just a dense agent, but I do know about Jas a bit, he's just--he's lovely, but you never know with him. I mean, I thought you were-- when I saw you two come in--" This was derailing toward awkward again. He'd turned Chris down, so he obviously wasn't. But the obsessive staring at Jas-- "Look, anyway, don't feel bad about it. Sorry, again. D'you want another drink? No ulterior motives, I promise."

Something about the way Chris was looking at him struck Cal as odd.

He should go. He set aside his glass.

"I mean, yeah, I guess you can't know people, and I'm just a dense agent, but I do know about Jas a bit, he's just--he's lovely, but you never know with him. I mean, I thought you were-- when I saw you two come in--"

Wait.

What? Cal shut his eyes and opened them, thoughts moving with liquid speed. The man gave off a vibe he thought he recognized, but couldn't be sure, and it would be rude, anyway, to... but he'd complimented his appearance, the way he was talking... but then why had Jasper... he probably hadn't thought at all. Just left Cal with the nearest person. He was confusing himself and ought to leave. He was suddenly very angry. He wanted to smash his glass on the floor and storm out.

"Look, anyway, don't feel bad about it. Sorry, again. D'you want another drink? No ulterior motives, I promise."

Definitely, definitely--Cal looked aside, blinking rapidly. "No. No. Look, I'm not... I'm sorry, what just happened?" He sounded so dim, but he had been floundering in the miasma of social confusion all night and he didn't know what was going on. "What are you talking about?" Meantime he silently accepted the new drink the bartender poured him at Chris's unaccountably nice offer.

It was surely pity. Jasper had probably... it was pity. Besides, Cal wasn't gay, he'd been in love with a girl, he was only lost, felt at loose ends, didn't know how to comport himself. And the setting was all so strange and alcohol-haloed; it was just confusing him, but if he left, he would be alone with his thoughts, so he'd stay and nurse his brandy and his anger. All likewise entangled. His grip on his glass was so tight it squeaked, but his face was unused to showing expression to others and his cheeks were flushed with alcohol, not anger, or, well--both--

"No. No. Look, I'm not... I'm sorry, what just happened?" Cal's grip on the new drink was white knuckled. He was blushing violently, whether from anger or embarrassment, Chris was unsure. "What are you talking about?"

He understood it now. The denial had been so vehement, so short. Chris had been far too obvious with him about the whole thing. Jasper could have warned him somehow; Chris wasn't utterly incapable of subtlety. He wouldn't have hit on Cal so blatantly if he'd known that he wasn't entirely open about who he went home with. Not so different from other people, including certain jewelers, that Chris was acquainted with.

That had to be the hitch in this whole thing, there was no way he was straight. Not with this many models in the room. And not with the way he'd positively stared at Jasper on his way out, so incredibly covetous and desperate. Chris wondered if Cal knew about Jasper, and that he likely had a chance with him, then why Jasper himself hadn't made that obvious. He was good with social nuances, but when he wanted something, he could be remarkably unsubtle. This evening's model, for example, hadn't been the most socially gracious thing Chris had ever seen. From the very few examples of blokes that Chris had to go on for Jasper's type, Cal seemed to fit the mold. Slim and slouchy, the sort of drugged up, louche rock and roll thing he preferred.

Cal must not have known. Or maybe Jasper was still feeling him out. He was rather...reticent. It wasn't impossible that Jas was waiting until he knew he wouldn't be rejected.

"I get it, sorry, I was honestly being dense. I just assumed--but okay, you're "not--"He airquoted for emphasis. "Just like Jasper "isn't".

In retrospect he couldn't imagine how he'd missed it. Chris had all of the exaggerated mannerisms of--and Cal didn't care that he was being bigoted.

"--okay, you're "not--"He airquoted for emphasis. "Just like Jasper "isn't".

What was that supposed to mean?

He was probably just--probably just thought everyone was like him. Modeling agents from New York. Didn't gay people always think everyone was like them? Cal had heard that from some deplorably and deeply biased source, one he was prepared to believe in wholeheartedly if half-stomachedly at the moment. He put down his glass very quickly and loudly and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, you've misunderstood."

As if it were a question of that, as if that were what he wanted, what he wanted was something much deeper and much more impossible to attain, he wanted--just to be left alone, just to attain an ideal equilibrium with the world. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out twenty quid, which he flung onto the table.

"Don't--I don't need anyone to pay for me. I'm not--I have no idea what you're on about and I'm drunk, please forget anything--please--" He shoved past Chris and stuck his hands in his pockets. Behind him, he could hear the bartender make an abortive, half-hearteded attempt at giving him his money back, which he ignored. Instead he stormed steaming and lightheaded out of the club and into the sudden autumnal chill of the street. It had rained a little. He gritted his teeth in the wet and thought how angry he was, and how he wasn't thinking anything, anything in particular, anything at all.

And then, because he didn't want to be left alone with his thoughts of nothing while he walked or waited for a bus, he called a cab.