Just Your Everyday Walking Contradiction

In lieu of hard evidence, Omicron did what he did best: quietly observed and amassed information. Thus far his dossier on EJ included practical information offered freely when Omicron asked, and a chaotic assortment of facts the man volunteered on his own. Through this he’d catalogued a rolodex of knowledge.

EJ was hired about four months ago with previous experience in facilities. He spent his teen summers as a part-timer learning from the janitorial staff at his high school. Not to mention his considerable experience on his family’s farm, upon which he’d lived his entire life waking at the crack of dawn to bale hay and scoop muck. Omicron clocked EJ as dedicated to his work, gifted with ingenuity, and good with his hands. He spent his free time building tiny plastic robots and reading comic books. He liked sweets, specifically saltwater taffy. Horses were his favorite animal. He missed his family.

Somehow it annoyed Omicron that he knew all this. Most of it he didn’t even ask for. EJ just told him.

There was only one occasion that Omicron found something EJ wasn’t willing to discuss — when he asked why EJ moved here to the city, the man was strangely cagey. He said something about ‘needing a change of scenery,’ and Omicron filed that particular interaction away with the tag SUSPICIOUS.

“Um… Omicron?” came EJ’s voice.

Omicron blinked and pretended very hard like he’d been listening. “Yes?”

“Didja still wanna show me some spy stuff?”

A zing of purpose prickled the nape of Omicron’s neck. This was his opening, the cue preceding what would be a flawless performance. It had to be, after his disastrous series of introductions to this man. Omicron spent several evenings pouring over the E-Impact Initiative requirements to construct the most mind-blowing, impressively arranged presentation of spy-related information he could possibly offer (within the limits of classification clearances of course).

It’s show time. Omicron straightened his cufflinks, tugged his lapels into place, and folded his hands behind his back with a lift of his chin. “Of course,” he said with a pivot on his heel. “Follow me.”

“Oh, where are we goin?” EJ asked, catching up with three long strides. Omicron glanced up and allowed himself just the slightest edge of a smirk.

“My office.”

---

“Whoaaaaa…”

The word washed over Omicron like a beam of sunshine. He tried not to preen, but it was hard to resist when EJ was rubber-necking every square inch of the room just like Omicron hoped he would. His office was the most meticulously curated space he occupied — his pride and joy, far above that of even his own apartment. This was, after all, the place people actually saw and associated with him. It couldn’t be anything less than exceptional.

“It’s like out of a movie,” EJ gushed, running a hand along the smooth wood of Omicron’s desk.

An imported walnut desk to be exact, rich in color and stately in appearance. It was framed by an arching palladian window overlooking the campus green, where the agency’s many employees scurried to and fro. His french press sat on a rolling stand nearby, complete with porcelain cups and spoons. Diplomas, commendations, awards, and certifications framed and arranged in an aesthetic cascade along the wall. All from a life before this one, his civilian name artistically redacted from the paperwork. Towering shelves of hardback books, every spine sporting a title no self-respecting secret agent wouldn’t have read at least once. An air purifier (a peace offering to appease his nose) was placed inconspicuously to the side of the room, the only blemish to an otherwise perfect picture. On the other side sat a small, round tea table with cushioned stools to conduct business.

And most notably, laid out across that table, was a collection of retired tools of the trade. EJ nearly tripped over himself when he noticed them. “Holy moly.. are these..?”

“Spy gadgets,” Omicron affirmed, arms crossed with a straight face even as his stomach fluttered with glee. “I thought you might be interested.”

EJ turned around, peeling his eyes off all the shiny lures to look squarely at Omicron. And then he smiled. Big. Warm. So wide it wrinkled his eyes. “You remembered I wanted to see ‘em. That makes me happy, ya know? Thanks for doin’ this.”

Omicron immediately flushed, a surge of heat coloring his ears. It was the verbal equivalent of being slapped with a fish — shocking, unexpected, and he possessed no prescripted reply. People don’t just say things like hey, this thing you did made me happy. Not without some ulterior motive. Was it another attempt at disarmament? A finessed ploy to lower Omicron’s guard? Flattery. Ingraciation. A long con to whittle down Omicron’s defenses and infiltrate the field intelligence sector to mine for sensitive information.

No, Omicron counseled himself, massaging the bridge of his nose. That’s ridiculous…

He chanced a peek at EJ; the man was already perched on a stool, looking comically large at the tiny table, still wearing that wide smile as his gaze roved over the gadgets. Priority 1, Omicron decided, was to play it cool. He could work out the logistics of EJ’s questionable behavior later. Right now he had a show to put on.

Which is of course the moment his nose decided to twinge.

Omicron froze for half a second, realizing that touching his nose had been a mistake. It had churned up the urge, woken the beast from slumber, after all the trouble he went to this morning to satiate it. He’d steamed his morning shower to tempt his sinuses into an indulgent mood and then let his nose run wild. Deep, slow sniffs of thick air earned him a dragging fit of sneezes he’d heaved toward the floor with full abandon while he braced a palm on the shower wall. As hard and as many as his nose wanted, all in an effort to persuade it into obedience today.

No such luck. Never such luck, frankly. He gritted his teeth. Not now, he informed his nose as he felt it prickle with interest. Not in front of him again.

“Are ya sure it’s okay to show me all this stuff?” came EJ’s voice from the table. “Ya said it’s classified, right?”

“These are exceptions,” Omicron replied. He subtly maneuvered himself to lean against his desk, snatching up a handful of tissues when EJ’s attention rerouted back to the table. “Everything here is retired technology. No longer standard issue.”

“Kinda like a spy history lesson, huh?” 

Indeed, the arranged items exuded the air of a museum exhibit. EJ asked about every little ‘doohickey’ and ‘thingamabob’ with childlike fascination. Between increasingly desperate pinch-wipes of his nose with crumpled tissues, Omicron explained each one: tiny disc-like microphones that transmitted sound through walls via vibration; a grappling device in a holster shaped like a cigar with a 60-foot microfiber line that could lift up to 250 pounds; a chunky car key fob capable of emitting an EMP pulse that easily disrupted cellphone communications or wiped data transmissions off of hard drives. 

By the time they reached the last gadget on the table, Omicron felt drunk on the urge to sneeze. The itch had suffused deep into the walls of his nose, everything inside him squirming now with anticipation. He squelched his nostrils shut in a futile hope of quieting the sensation. It was so distracting he didn’t notice EJ picking up the final tool and turning it in his hands.

“And what’s this one do?”

Omicron knew the gadgets by heart — what they did and which ones he’d selected for display — so he didn’t bother to look. His eyes stayed shut, steeled against the insistent feeling of something soft and enticing behind the bridge of his nose. It was light, maddening, like inhaling a vortex of feathery down. All of it sticking to his slick, trembling membranes, already blushed pink with need. Not enough to make him sneeze. Just enough to make him want to. 

“..huhhit’s.. uh.. pen that you can write with, but..” Here he paused to sniffle, the sound wet enough to make him wince. Tears clung to his eyelashes when he cracked open his eyes to find the tissue box. “.. ugh, one’d mbidute..”

Blowing his nose wasn’t ideal but it was better than a sneeze leaping out of him. There was no way his nose would stop at one if he gave in. Omicron evacuated his sinuses as quietly as he could manage, and that was the only reason he heard the soft ffssh, startled gasp, and sudden clatter behind him. 

He whirled around, eyes wide over tissues still cupped to his nose.

EJ was pawing at his face, reflexive and urgent. On the table laid the pen, the cap twisted in a way that made Omicron’s heart skip and the urge to sneeze dissolve. He jerked the tissues down to his side. 

“Did you activate it?”

EJ squinted at him, struggling to see through a liquid gaze. Omicron catalogued the signs: watery eyes, ruddy patches of irritated skin, nose beginning to run, trying not to cough. Definitely dosed himself. Dammit. Teeth gritted, Omicron snatched the tissue box off his desk and, after a moment of dithering, thunked it on the tea table.

“M’sorry,” EJ rasped, snuffled, and then turned his head to cough into the crook of his elbow. He wiped his eyes, but they immediately teared up again. “.. didn’t know it was.. would—..” His voice tightened around another coughing fit.

“I was going to explain,” Omicron said as he fumbled with distilled water from the carafe sitting beside his french press. After nearly spilling it onto the floor, he wetted a stack of napkins and held it out to EJ, who immediately pressed the sopping wad to his face with muttered gratitude. 

Omicron retreated, arms crossed tight to his chest, and continued, “When you twist the cap, it produces a mist that irritates mucus membranes. Similar to pepper spray. The model is so outdated, I didn’t expect the canister to have anything in it. That was my oversight.”

But for the record, fiddling around with tools like they’re toys isn’t the wisest choice, Omicron thought. He almost said it aloud, but an unfamiliar impulse of restraint silenced him. It felt unproductive to chastise EJ, who was still apologizing between coughs and sniffles with a voice muffled by a soggy pile of napkins. At least the potency of the compound waned with age; EJ’s reaction wasn’t nearly as pronounced as Omicron feared it might be. 

“Feels like I ate a plate of hot wings without my hands,” EJ choked out around a chuckle. He snorted hard and deep, then swallowed. A month ago Omicron might have recoiled, but lately he wasn’t one to talk — even as he stood here his own nose was beginning to tingle impatiently again.

“It will take some time to subside,” he replied. “You may want to stop by the infirmary for a rinse, if it got into your eyes.”

“Naw, I’mb okay.” EJ sleeved beneath his nostrils again, and then noticed the tissues by his elbow. He plucked several, and without any reservations, blew his nose with a trumpeting force that made Omicron jump. When he finished the man wrinkled his nose, blinking wetly with bloodshot eyes. “It ain’dt too bad.”

“If… you say so,” Omicron replied, the words stiff as his posture. He had the urge to insist in the infirmary, but the awkwardness of doing so made him waver.

 He wavered long enough for the siren call of his waiting sneeze to catch up with him. When it teased the tip of his nose, he swiveled his head to disguise a dissuading rub with his knuckle. Only when he looked back did he realize EJ wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. He’d gone still, swollen glassy eyes locked unwavering on the tabletop, and as Omicron watched he saw EJ’s nostrils flare with delicate, wavering uncertainty. A tiny notch appeared between his eyebrows. His lips parted, a sliver of teeth visible between them.

And because Omicron saw this expression on his own face at least a dozen times a day, he knew exactly what he was looking at: a sneeze was brewing. The discovery germinated a sense of weary relief — For once, it’s not me — that grew into vindication — It’s him this time — and at last bloomed into thorny, juvenile schadenfreude. 

I want him to feel embarrassed in front of me for a change. 

Years of discipline smothered Omicron’s smirk before it could form on his lips. He busied himself with tidying up the gadgets, keeping EJ in his periphery with the steadiness of a sniper scope. The man looked lost inside himself, listening closely to a sensation still echoing in Omicron’s own traitorous nose. It was a game of endurance now. Seeing the slow creep of a sneeze sink through EJ’s expression made Omicron’s nose hungrier, eager for its own relief. He cemented a fist beneath his septum like he was laying a brick. His nose twitched, irritated to be denied. Omicron squinted, watching. The tickle paced, waiting.

The furrow between EJ’s brows deepened from confusion into concern. His nostrils peeked open. Wide, then wider. His eyelids grew heavy. His breath snagged.

And then EJ shoved away from the table so quickly his chair nearly toppled. It scared Omicron’s sneeze away; the tickle retreated far into his sinuses with a sting that promised its return. EJ surged to his feet, one hand hovering in front of his nose and mouth as the other steadied his chair and snatched up his satchel.

“Actually I should.. I gotta hit the infirmary, I think,” he said, already moving for the door. His nose wrinkled behind the loose curtain of his palm, his entire expression scrunching with restraint. “Still, uh.. burnin’ kinda bad.”

That’s a load of shit, Omicron wanted to snip, because he was trained in statement analysis and knew when someone was talking out of their ass. He took a breath to reply, to detain EJ long enough that his sneeze would squirm free, but the man turned at the doorway to give him a watery, wobbling smile.

“.. Thanks again for..hh- doin’ this.” He spoke around the urge, his expression weaker by the second before he rushed his sleeve up to scrub his nose into submission. His parting words were rushed, muffled by fabric. “Sorry seeya round!”

“Wait-”

Gone.

Omicron, hands fisted at his sides, stomped up to the door and glanced out to watch EJ’s hulking frame sprint down the hallway at an impressive speed. Not in the immediate direction of the infirmary either. Omicron’s eyes narrowed. Suspicion mingled with the sour, petulant disappointment of seeing this man slip away rather than endure the indignity of sneezing in front of Omicron when Omicron himself has done nothing but humiliate himself with outbursts on every occasion.

Case in point, his sneeze impatiently barged forward. He didn’t even get the courtesy of a build up. Omicron gasped, held tighter to the doorjamb, and staggered over the threshold with an echoing, “-ig’GIZZSCHue!!”

It was loud enough that someone from a neighboring office called out a startled ‘bless you!’ Omicron barely suppressed a growl as he knuckled his dripping nose, still glaring down the mouth of the hallway where EJ disappeared.

You’re not what you seem, he thought with a sniff. And I’m going to find out why.

/tbc!

Thanks again for reading and sticking around! 💕 Hope to see you again soon at Part 3 ^w^

“Bless you,” Sue said, closing up the door to the basement and looking down at him softly.

“Thank you,” he sighed into his handkerchief. Sue gave him a minute to recover, then helped him to his feet and led him down the hall. She began leading him up a grand staircase to the second floor, keeping a hand at his back all the while to keep him steady on his feet. The exhaustion seemed to be hitting him pretty fast.

“There now, we've finally made it in, properly. I'll get you settled into my day room, and I'll put up some tea. How does that sound?” she asked.

“ihh–hH! h’ATSHHYUUe!!”

Raizenauld opened his mouth to reply, but a sneeze came out instead, sneaking up on him and nearly taking both of them for a tumble in a shower of sparks, if not for Sue's readiness and strength in supporting him.

“Good catch... Thanks,” Raizenauld panted as he recovered yet again.

“I've got you,” Sue assured him, patting him on the back and getting him steady on his feet.

Sue's day room was quite sunny and airy, with many windows and an extremely high ceiling, and it was just off the stairs’ landing, to the right. Ushering Raizenauld along to it, she put her hands on her hips, considering the place.

“I'd like to offer you a chance to get more comfortable, but I'm not sure of your actual size... Can you tell if you would fit in here?” she asked.

The room wasn't enormous, but perhaps if she moved the coffee table to the side, and shoved the sofas against the walls... depending on how large Raizenauld was it might work...

Raizen looked around curiously, taking in the place, but shook his head, taking a seat and opting to remain human shaped.

“I'm alright. I don't like tight spaces,” he explained.

“Very well, then you just remain as you are. I'll be back in a moment with tea. Can I get you anything else?” she offered. Raizen smiled at her.

“No, you're already being very kind. Thank you,” he said.

As Sue went about her kitchen, she spent some time puzzling over the situation.

The poor beast in her sitting room almost definitely needed sleep, that much was true. He'd as much as admitted he was tired, and he'd been practically dropping with exhaustion by the time she got him sitting down. With the time of things he'd been having recently, Sue could hardly blame him. Being chased by a marauding band of murderous adventurers was bound to cause an adrenaline crash, and flying the span of the ocean three times all told can't have been easy. And the poor dear had a cold on top of it all. That sneezing fit earlier had seemed particularly punishing, too...

But he wouldn't be able to get any sleep if he didn't feel safe to transform. Even some of the oldest and most powerful dragons aren't able to hold their shape if they're truly sleeping, and Sue wasn't quite sure she had any space large enough to house a dragon who doesn't like to be enclosed...

As she pondered over this, making tea, she heard the poor thing sneezing again. At least he wouldn't need to worry about toppling over now that he was sitting down.

Sue was just about ready to bring everything back into the day room when a familiar, friendly voice popped into her head.

‘Hello, Sue, good evening,’ came the voice. ‘Are you free? I was just thinking of popping around to show you what I've been working on lately for the shop. I think you're going to like it.’

Sue's features softened. There's always something so comforting about hearing from your best friend. Smiling, she set down the tea tray on the kitchen counter so that she could respond, taking hold of the little green stone that hung from a thin chain on her neck and running her thumb over it.

‘I have a guest over right now, but I'm sure it would be fine. Just let me tell him you'll be joining us,’ she thought. ‘Actually, it might be for the best you do come, he may be a bit in need of a way home.’

‘Oh, really? Well that does work out well, then. Is he a friend of yours?’ came the reply.

‘In a sense. I'll explain all once you've been properly introduced,’ she thought back.

Taking back up the tea tray, Sue joined Raizenauld again in the sitting room, passing him a teacup and filling it for him.

“I hope you like earl grey. I always find it useful in chasing off a cold,” she said, before pouring herself a cup and having a seat.

Raizen sipped at his tea, sighing at its warmth and sniffling as the steam made his nose run.

“I don't know him. This is very nice though, thank you for the tea. And for having me over, your house is really nice,” he said.

“You don't...? Oh, no you misunderstand. Earl grey is what the tea is called. I'm not sure why, really, I never thought of it. Perhaps someone named Earl Grey discovered it. It's just the flavor of it, is all,” Sue explained.

“Oh, I see,” Raizen said, sipping his tea again quietly.

“Now, I hope you won't mind but I've just heard from a dear friend of mine who'd like to stop by and show me something he's been working on. Would you be alright with that?” she asked, “I know you aren't feeling well, and you've just been through quite the ordeal.”

Raizenauld looked up from his tea and tilted his head in thought.

“Is he nice?” he asked, giving a sniffle.

Sue's face lit up with a warm smile.

“He is, Eduin's the nicest person I know. And he's very accepting of others, you wouldn't have anything to worry about with him where your nature is concerned,” she said.

Raizenauld tilted his head farther.

“My... nature? Oh, because I'm a dragon? Is that what you mean?” he asked. Sue gave him a nod.

“I know for a fact he's alright with dragons. One of my housemates—he must be off somewhere right now—but he's a dragon as well and they've only ever gotten along nicely,” she explained.

Raizenauld smiled, relaxing back a bit in his seat with his tea.

“That's nice. I think that should be fine, then. I won't mind,” he said. Sue smiled back, glad to have things coming together smoothly and pleased for the opportunity to see her friend.

“I'll just let him know, then,” she said, reaching for the telepathy stone around her neck.

Raizenauld sat straight as another realization hit him.

“Wait, you're housemates with a dragon?” he exclaimed nervously, “He won't mind me being here, will he? I don't want to encroach on his space. I should go. I should probably— eihh– oh no...”

Raizenauld cut himself off mid-panic, wiggling his nose and sniffling as another sneeze started coming on.

“heiHh! snffh! hhHHhhEIHHhhh—!! hAHHTSSHHYUE!!”

Sue collected his teacup at the last minute to help keep it from spilling, and now she laid a hand on Raizenauld's shoulder, a reassurance that he should stay right where he was, collapsed into her couch cushions and not off running himself ragged someplace else.

“It's alright. Montie isn't going to mind if I have a friend over. Even another dragon,” Sue said, adding this last as Raizenauld seemed to want to protest. “He understands that this is a space we share, and he's very friendly and curious besides that. If he gets back while you're still here I suspect I'll have to warn him off you with your cold.”

“Oh,” Raizenauld said, taking this in. “Is he very young?”

Sue passed Raizenauld back his tea and settled back down into her seat, now that he didn't seem on the verge of fleeing.

“No, I don't think so. He is very small and he doesn't talk, and I've never seen him take another shape, so I can't ask him his age, but he's also very bright and clever, and he seems to be fully grown,” she said. “At least in all the time I've known him he hasn't grown an inch. I'm given to understand that young dragons grow very quickly, so I don't believe him to be a youth. I think he's just very quiet.”

Raizenauld nodded and sipped his tea, once again relaxing a little.

“Some dragons are like that,” he said. Another thought struck him and he tilted his head at her then, considering her. “Are you... his? Does he keep you?” he asked.

Sue laughed, the sound like an old crow who'd just played a joke on someone.

“No, no. We're friends, companions that's all. Montie doesn't keep humans, no. We just share a space,” she said.

Raizenauld smiled and nodded his understanding, sipping some more of his tea. He looked around at the sitting room, then, searching it, peering curiously at everything in a new light.

“Does he keep a collection?” he asked, sniffling.

Sue nodded.

“He does, yes, down next to his den. You don't need to worry about disturbing it here,” she said.

Raizenauld let his breath out in a sigh. He nodded and settled back into the couch more comfortably again. Sue patted him on the knee.

“You're safe here, I promise you,” she said. “You can relax. Now, I'm just going to let my friend know it's alright to come over, this will only take a moment.”

Once again she took up her necklace, running her thumb over the stone pendant.

‘Alright, now you're free to visit. I've let my guest know you'll be over. We're in the sitting room, but perhaps it would be best if you arrived into the entryway... He's been through quite a lot and he's a bit jumpy from it I think,’ she thought.

‘I might be a moment,’ came the response, a few moments later. ‘The last person into my shop was ... ... ... Pardon me. They ... ... They were wearing this strong perfume, and it–oh again ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... I'm going to need a minute.’

Sue sighed, still smiling fondly. That was her Eduin. Always something with that man.

‘Take your time, dear. We're just having some tea, there's no rush,’ she responded.

Dropping the stone, aloud she said, “I'm afraid he's been held up, but he'll be joining us for tea in a little while.”

Raizenauld was looking at her curiously, or more accurately he was looking at her pendant.

“Does your friend live in that rock?” he said, and then, “He must be small if he does.”

Sue couldn't help but chuckle at the notion.

“You have the most creative ideas. No, dear, this is a telepathy stone,” she explained. “Basically, it lets me communicate with him no matter where he is, using our minds. It's very convenient for someone who travels as much as he does. I enchanted the set, myself, a very long time ago.” “

Oh, that must be nice,” Raizen responded. Sue nodded her agreement.

“Very nice, indeed. More tea?” she offered, seeing Raizenauld's cup nearly empty.

He smiled back at her, obviously pleased by the attentiveness and care.

“Yes, please,” he said, holding his cup out for her to refill.

With the opportunity at last for Raizen to rest someplace comfortable, and without sneezing every minute or so, Sue had the chance to get to know him a little better.

Ordinarily, he taught choir, band, and orchestra at a university near his home in Praglyn, and when not in this role he mostly acted as a conductor for the local heritage theater. Raizenauld, as it turned out, was actually quite skilled and talented when it came to matters of music and instruments, and had quite the collection of his own instruments in his home on the large hill that overlooked the city.

“I love it up there,” he said. “You can— hh- hhuh! hATSSCHhue!! snf! ‘Scuse me. You can play anything to your heart's content and the neighbors never come knocking. Mostly because there aren't any neighbors. Or at least no one close enough to come and knock.”

“Bless you,” Sue said. “So is that what you keep, then? Musical instruments?”

Raizen tilted his head thoughtfully.

“Partly. I mean I definitely do, but they're only part of my collection,” he said. “I keep music, really. Musical instruments, yes, but also musical experiences. I just love going to concerts, snffh! ballets, musical theatre, oh and pubs have some wonderful musical guests at times too! Oh and records, I love records, and record players, phonographs—Anything that makes music really, I just can't get enough of it.”

Even sniffling and exhausted, his eyes lit up talking about the subject. It was clear that music was this dragon's lifeblood. It made sense, then, why he'd been so drawn to the enchanted flute she'd sold him, even in the middle of what must have been a very frightening situation for him.

“What a wonderful thing to collect,” Sue said, offering him a warm smile.

“It really is wonderful,” Raizen said, practically aglow thinking of his hoard. “I'm usually humming something, too, but with how full my sinuses are it just wouldn't sound right. Notes get all nasally when I have a cold, it's terrible.”

Sue was distracted from his last few sentences by Ed's voice floating back into her head.

‘That's better. Ready for me to come by?’

She smiled and raised a finger to Raizenauld asking him to pause, then picking back up the stone around her neck.

‘Yes, dear, come on over. I'll—

“hAAHHTSCHHYUe!!”

‘—meet you by the door,’ she thought back.

“Bless you, dear,” she then offered aloud to Raizenauld as,

‘Oh dear, is he quite well himself?’ floated into her mind, Raizenauld's sneeze having interrupted her thoughts sufficiently enough to have come through over the stone.

‘The poor thing's picked up a bit of a stress cold, but everything's been taken care of now so it should clear up well enough soon. I'll fill you in on everything when you arrive,’ she replied.

Then, turning back to Raizen, who was truly eking the last scraps of usability out of his handkerchief, “I'll just be back in a moment, I'm going to meet my friend at the door. Do you need anything?”

Raizen shook his head.