paradisalogs | He's got something to say

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He's got something to say

Who: Gren and Vicious
What: Waking up on Valentine's Day
When: 02/14
Where: Vicious' room, very much altered
Rating: PG-13

The first thing Gren notices, before he even opens his eyes, is that he has a headache. This seems to double in strength when he finally does, and notices the second thing - the blinding amount of red he seemed to be surrounded by. Red patterned walls. Red quilted cloth ceiling. Red silk sheets. He turned his head, noting the shape of a few instruments at the corner of his vision, but the third thing he really noticed that he was not alone in the bed. It wasn't the first time this had happened, but the realization brought a different kind of shock. That meant it was Valentine's day, or something close to it, which also meant he'd been unconscious for quite a while. Memories of just before he'd been knocked out flooded back, and he groaned. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What had possessed him? Gren suspected the answer even as he asked it, but all he could think about was how furious Vicious would be about it. He'd find out soon enough, he was sure.

"My head..." he muttered, pressing a hand to it.

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"Does it still hurt?" There was no sympathy in Vicious' voice as he got up from the bed. He also gave no indication that there was anything amiss with the room, but that was owing more to the fact that he'd already been awake and glaring at it for awhile than anything else.

And Gren's new-found conscious state was more important, anyway. He turned back towards the bed and crossed his arms, waiting.

"A bit," Gren answered, clearly downplaying. He squinted at the walls with slightly less force than Vicious might have been leveraging at them, knowing it was only going to make the other man more irritated than he would be normally.

"Has it been as long as I think?"

"Likely." Longer, perhaps. It certainly felt that way, to him, though once he'd ascertained there seemed to be no medical reason for his unconsciousness, he'd concluded it was the castle's doing, and left it at that. He hadn't been neglectful, but he hadn't exactly been keeping vigil, either.

"I was beginning to wonder if you were going to come back at all."

He wasn't fool enough, this time, to mistake that for sympathy. He wasn't expecting it, in any case. Not after what happened.

Gren sat up in bed, frowning slightly. "It wasn't my idea," he said, referring to more than just his apparent coma.

"That's not how it looked to me." As far as he'd witnessed, it had seemed very much what Gren had wanted.

In a sense that was true. Everything he'd said and felt was real, in a way. He had wanted to thank Spike for what he'd done, but circumstances had led him to hold that back whenever they spoke, maybe in part because he wasn't sure the other man had wanted to hear it. A part of him had also wanted to hurt him for nearly killing Vicious. That the castle had maybe played a part in that seemed not to matter.

"It wasn't-" he started, shifting a bit as he pressed a hand to his head again, "--it was like I wasn't in control of my body. The words were mine, but I wouldn't have crossed that line like that without thinking. Not a second time."

Vicious had told him the first time - stay away - and for the most part he'd obeyed that order. At least in terms of starting fights.

There was no shift in his posture or expression to indicated whether he really believed Gren or not--though it did make more sense of things, and he'd been on the receiving end of the castle's manipulation enough not to simply discredit it. He didn't really think Gren would bother to lie about it, anyway.

"It's done with now."

For good or ill. He hadn't seen Spike since, so it was hard to gauge how much damage might have been done.

It could have been an order as much as anything else, but since Vicious didn't normally hide his motives, Gren figured that was permission to breathe a little bit easier. It did not remove his guilt entirely, though what was left was more for Spike's sake and those of the people on the floor where he'd started a gunfight.

Sighing, Gren moved to his legs over the side of the bed.

"We can hope. The real question is, where are we now?"

At that question, a definite scowl crossed Vicious' face.

"It was my room." At least, it had been before he'd made the apparently poor choice to sleep for a few hours. "I haven't investigated enough to know if that's still the case."

In truth, he hadn't been awake for much longer than Gren had, and hadn't gotten much past glaring at the decor.

"Only one way to find out," he said, moving to stand. Weeks in bed had left him a bit unsteady, not unlike a long night at a bar, but without any stories he'd like to repeat. The red was overwhelming and a bit tacky, but the instruments were what really threw him off. It felt like a personal jab, but for some reason he found himself drifting over the saxophone on the side table rather the door like he's meant to. His fingers moved over the keys with almost palpable longing. The machinery attached to it drew his attention soon after, and he traced the wires with a frown.

"Looks like it's set up to be automated..."

"You would know better than I would."

He hadn't bothered to give the instruments more than a cursory glance. He wasn't musically inclined, and didn't share Gren's interest. That the room was horrible and tacky had been the whole of his feeling on the subject.

"The extra machinery is the big clue. Hm...coin operated..." he said, finding where all the wires led to. Conveniently, there was a tray of coins nearby. He picked up one up, thoughtfully, clearly having forgotten about checking the door for the moment.

"How charming."

His utter lack of enthusiasm practically dripped from the words, but he stopped short of actually preventing Gren from investigating it further.

Maybe he should have. A part of Gren knows that when it comes to the castle he should just leave well enough alone, but the lure of music is hard for the musician to resist. He picked up a coin and dropped it into the slot before Vicious could say anything.

Slowly, the machine whirred to life and began to play the tune, the keys clicking softly and producing a slow, haunting melody that Gren recognized within only a few notes. His mouth opened in shock and his heart twisted itself into a knot, but he couldn't quite bring himself to move or make it stop. Wasn't sure he wanted to.

Vicious doesn't even seem to react, at first, though the melody is utterly unmistakable. He simply goes completely still, without any hint of emotion on his face. After a moment, however, he turns enough to look at Gren.

"There had better be a way to shut it off."

Because if there wasn't, he was going to make one.

Numbly, Gren leaned closer to inspect the mechanism, but what he already suspects seems to be true. "It's automated. Like a..." he pauses, glancing sideways, "...a music box. It just has to play through."

"Wonderful."

Whether his ire was directed more towards Gren for poking at it in the first place, or the castle for playing such a poor joke, even he wasn't entirely sure. He was, however, eying the contraption suspiciously, as though he might be able to work out some way of dismantling it.

Gren actually flinches, just a little. The implied venom in his direction was more than enough to shock his body back into motion. He wasn't an expert on this kind of thing, but a few years alone, coupled with enough determination, had given him some experience in wiring. Enough to set up a certain bomb. A mechanical music-player, by comparison, shouldn't be that hard. His hands trailed from the coin slot to the mechanisms that fed into the saxophone. He kind of admired the decision, but that didn't stop him from finding a weak spot where the two parts connect and ripping.

That was, he supposed, a very efficient way of stopping the mechanism. His own approach would have been far less precise (there were a few chairs that might have done the job) and carry less risk of electrocution.

The machine certainly doesn't seem too happy about being tampered with, but at least it interrupts the tune, enough for him to finally unroot himself from the spot where he's been standing and cross to where Gren is.

Even though it was needed, the sound of the music grinding to a halt leaves him feeling just a little bit mournful. He hasn't heard a real saxophone play in years, which feels like the crueler part of the scenario.

The sight of Vicious moving makes him tense on the spot, his hand clenched on the edge of the dresser. The look in his eyes is both fear and expectation. He doesn't say anything, just holds his comrade with a wide sideways gaze, awaiting either orders or violence, or both or none of those at all.

He raises a hand slightly as he comes near, as though he might rest it on Gren's shoulder, or some other, similar gesture, but then drops it again, instead looking past Gren and towards the door.

"We should see if we're truly captive here." Because if they're not, he has no intention of hanging around in what is clearly the castle's idea of a terrible joke.

To his credit, he doesn't flinch. He wasn't sure what Vicious had intended, but the lack of anything makes him feel a bit disappointed, and once he's withdrawn again Gren has the urge to draw him back again.

But he doesn't. Not in this room the way it was, playing at romance while preying on their hearts instead.

"Right," he acknowledged, and finished his move towards the door. His hand lingers on the doorknob only a few seconds before he pulls it open without any resistance at all.

The familiar castle hall is there to greet them, and a glance at the door confirms it is, in fact, his room.

If he were the type to sigh long-sufferingly, now would have been the time. Instead, he simply glares at the door, and then the hallway again. "This had better be temporary." He'd spent a lot of time getting his room the way he liked it.

"Usually is," Gren said, stepping back into the room for a moment to swipe the sheet from the bed and wrap it around his shoulders. Not the best look for being seen out in the open, but it was better than being seen under-dressed.

"And if not, we'll figure something out." The thought of Vicious moving to town with him on a more permanent basis was not unwelcome.

He stepped back to the doorway and glanced outside.

"We could always burn it." Which was a tempting thought, really, if not for the fact that Gren was probably right, and it would return to its former state soon enough. Almost a shame, since it looked like it would burn wonderfully.

"We might want to relocate." Which was the most neutral way of saying he wanted the hell out of that glaring red monstrosity of a room without letting on how much it was getting to him.

"Maybe if it's not back to normal by tomorrow," he said with the shade of a smirk. And if it meant Vicious moving in with him for a change, he wouldn't exactly mind if it was permanent.

"Town is probably safe."

"Probably."

He glanced back at the monstrosity of the room, and then at Gren. "You may want to see if my wardrobe is still here somewhere."

Although if Gren decided he wanted to parade about wearing a sheet like that, it was his business.

That wasn't what he had in mind, but the business with the music player and the change in environment had made him assume it wasn't an option.

"Good idea," he said, moving back into the room to locate the closet. Thankfully, Vicious' clothes were still there despite the redecorating.

"We could come back in a day or so. See if everything's back to normal."

"That seems as good a plan as any."

He certainly couldn't think of anything better to do about the situation, and at least there was a ready alternative to staying in his room while it was in its current state of... redecoration.

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He's got something to say

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