fandomhigh | BWI Airport Portalocity Lounge, Saturday morning [05/04].

Entry tags:

!event: newbie shuttle

BWI Airport Portalocity Lounge, Saturday morning [05/04].

"What the ever-loving fuck is a Portalocity Lounge?"

Apparently, it was precisely the place where Wayne was standing, squared shoulders, thumbs in his belt loops, frowning up at the softest, most sparkliest banner he had ever seen...and he'd een to at least a baker's dozen of Dary's traditional soft birthday parties, so he knew a soft fucking banner when he saw one.

"That," he stated, to no one in particular, especially since he seemed to be the first one there (if you're not five minutes early, you're five minutes late, bud), "is fucking 10-ply."

But it was what it was. No going back now, ain't no reason to get excited, he supposed. Pitter-patter. So he turned his head sharply to one side of the lounge, eyed the chairs against the wall, and went to have a seat, one hand on his knee, tohe other around the smallest cup of coffee he could get, and settled in to wait.

[[ and the ocd ~~is incoming~~ has landed! Let's get at 'er. ]]

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Those eyes weren't doing anything by way of convincing him that this wasn't all just some sort of weird hallucination or dream or something of that kind. And Wayne wasn't so sure he liked the cut of that mostly, there, either, Barney-bud, and he had a side-eye just for you just to prove it.

"Y'know what I think?" he asked, his voice finding a bit of a higher pitched than his previous monotone seemed to allow. "I think it's a good idea, lettin' the bus drivers be the ones drivin' the bus. I'm a pretty good driver, too, but I don't think I'd want to drive. Leave it ta them, I'd say, gives you the chance to really just kick back. Maybe enjoy the scenerayyyy."

Barnabas would nip you so hard if you ever called him 'Barney', Wayne.

"I concur," he said to Delirium, "and also, perhaps, sit back and enjoy the scenery and kick nothing." Because he knew his charge and had caught her opening her mouth about to ask something that would undoubtedly give him a headache.

"I could help the driver," Del offered.

"No," said Barnabas patiently.

"But.."

"No," Barnabas said with slightly less patience. Delirium sighed and turned her attention back to Wayne. "What do you drive? Is it a big car or a truck? I bet you drive a truck. You look the truck-y driver-y sort."

Just be glad he didn't just drop this whole conversation to go all mush-mouth and start going on about what a good bo you were, Barn, because, so help him, sure as God's got sandals, he was fighting back that urge this whole damn time.

But for the time being, he just gave Delirium a nod. "That's a Texas-size 10-4," he said, which seemed even more appropriate when talking about trucks. "Got a nice truck back home on the farm, but I also know my way pretty well around a tractor, a combine, your basic hay-balers, skid-loaders, oh..." He squinted a little, looking away modestly, "just about pretty near anything you might need for chorin', really."

Barnabas was the goodest of boys and Delirium would tell him so her ownself. If he'd said it. Which he hadn't yet. Not that that ever stopped her.

But she was distracted by the truck talk. "Chorin'?" What a lovely new word.

Truck talk was good talk to get distracted by. Only thing better than getting distracted by truck talk was probably dog talk, really.

He wasn't too terribly surprised by the idea that someone like Delirium might not exactly be familiar with the word chorin', either.

"Ain't nothing like a good long day of chorin'," he told her with a nod, "except maybe the beer you have after it. Not sure what I'm going to do about that out here, but...I'll figure something out."

"It's a," pause, "quaint antimeria for the word 'chores', Delirium. 'To do chores'."

"Oh," Delirium said, "We do chores too. Probably not the same sort of chores because I've never seen you in any of my realms nor any of the other realms and you look sort of solid and reals-y and truck-y driver-y so you proooobably can't do the sort of chores I do but maybe you can. I don't know. Can you?"

Her nose wrinkled at the mention of beer. She was too polite to say anything about the habit of drinking a beverage made with rotting grain and water. It made people smell bad.

She went back to the better topic. "What do you combine?"

Wayne felt he could probably make a pretty good argument that it still didn't make people smell half as bad as cow shit and pig piss, to be faaaairrrr.

Delerium earned herself a bit of squinting as she went on about solid and real-sy and felt inclined to agree that the sorts of chores she was thinking of...whatever those were...were definitely not the sorts of chores Wayne was thinking about.

"Oh, you know," he said, "mostly corn. Some hay. Bit of a baaarleh."

Delirium would argue about the whole piss part of that. The tang of beer had a distinctly uric overtone.

"Are your eyes ok?" she asked when he squinted at her. "Did you get something in them when you were chorin'? Or maybe you're sad to not be chorin' now and you're squinting to try not to cry because you're homesick for corn and hay and barleh?" She was quite concerned. "What happens when you combine those? Do they turn into something nice? The corn and barleh sounds sort of cereal-y but the hay part sounds very yuck. Not for horses, they like hay, and so do bunnies but not people, not so much. Orrr," Del said, thinking, "Maybe you have fever in your eyes from the hay? Is that it? Are they itchy? You keep making a scrunchy-uppy face like maybe they're sore. Or itchy. You know?"

...yeah, okay. That wasn't doing anything to cure Wayne of his perpetual squint. If anything, Del, you've only gone and made it worse.

And after thinking of about a different answer for every little piece of that, all he came out with in the end of it was a squint-filled, "...kaaaaay."

Far as he knew, there wasn't really anything wrong with his eyes. That was just kind of his face.

"Cahmbine," he added, because he felt that, at least, should be explained, "not cuuumbine. That's a machine for a harvesting, not the same as just puttin' things together. Figgure it ouwt. And hay's good fer beddin', too, if you got lots of animals. Don't imagine it'll be much use out here, though."

But he kept squinting like something was bothering his eyes! She was trying to be helpful!

"Oh," Delirium said after a moment of thought, "Like the Corinthian."

Barnabas made a sound like he was about to choke up a hairball. "No, Delirium," he said when he was done making the shocked noise, "Nothing like the Corinthian. More like a tractor."

"Oh," she said again. Paused a moment and offered tentatively, "There are stables? On the island? They might need some combined hay." Her gaze went a little vague. "Other animals too but not so many that would want some hay. Some bunnies right now? Not wild bunnies, they have their own hay, but pet bunnies that don't have pet humans to go with them no more? And.. an Alot of hay?"

She cast a glance at Barnabas. "How did the Alots get out?"

"These," he said with a whole lot of patience, "are not your Alots. You have Alots of Stuff."

"Oh," Delirium said for the third time in a row.

After a long moment and a lot more squinting, Wayne almost just settled on another 'kaaay' but instead decided to go with, "I'd just like to see more dogs, m.k mostleh. Fuck, if I'm not going to miss my dogs."

So excuse him if the squint went a little focused on Barnabus again with a bit of wistful envy.

Barnabas gave a small sigh and offered, "You may pat me if you wish." It wasn't that he objected to pets. He was singularly concerned with the dignity of his charge - he had to be; she certainly wasn't.

"There are dogs," Delirium offered, still kind of staring off vaguely into an area of space. Her eyes tracked like she was watching something. Counting. "More than just Barnabas. Lots and lots of doggies and a big.." She beamed. "Person-shaped puppy! He's a puppy and he's such a good boy but he's people-shaped and he can talk like people too! And he has a friend like Barnabas!"

In her defense, Zack Fair was a human-shaped puppy.

Good luck closing this barn door now that it was wide open, Barnabas.

Because Wayne was wasting no time in crouching down and patting you and offering ear scritches, and, really, he wasn't messing around with them, either. He was kind of an expert. He had dogs and he loved them fiercely. Though he believed firmly in excerise, discipline, and affection, in that order, he did not skimp on the affection part when he got to it.

Plus, patting a pupper was easily much more comfortable territory for him than trying to parse out what in god's green earth Delirium was on about with people-shaped puppies.

Though he supposed he could think of a few people who might fit that description, really. Dary. Squirrely Dan. Which was ironic, if they were also calling him squirrely.

He thought about commenting on being glad that there'd be no shortage of dogs on the island, but...well...there was a dog right there, and he was patting him, and that was sort of sucking up all the retail space on this boy's brain.

"There's a good bo," he murmured at he pat, becaus ehe really couldn't help it. "Such a good bo."

Barnabas gave a goofy doggy grin at the patting. Speaking of human shaped puppies, there seemed to be one patting him right now.

"Do you think it's nice at the school?" Delirium asked, fidgeting with a button on her jacket, "The island's nice. People can be nice or not-nice sometimes but people can be talked to when there needs to be talking happening but schools are different and full of kids and sometimes they're nice and sometimes they're not-nice and no talking does nothing to help it and I've never been to a school before, have you?"

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BWI Airport Portalocity Lounge, Saturday morning [05/04].

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