I'm honestly feeling so much better

Name’s Lockhart. I’d tell you my job but I have a feeling you won’t know what I’m talking about. 

[ timbo’s second question throws him off completely and it takes him a moment to compose a reply. he glances at the kid’s clothes, trying to figure out his … date of origin. ]

Don’t tell me, pre-colonial? What a mess. It’s New York, don’t know if that’s telling you something but-hey, try not to fall down, will you?

[ the palm on timbo’s back tightens into a fist as he grabs the tattered shirt and pulls the kid backwards and away from the pothole. his finger is itching to show him the signs of pavement work, please stay away how obvious can it be, but he doubts he’ll get it. he sighs in frustration and gives the kid a gentle push to start walking again. ]

Almost there. Big house at the end of the street. Come on. 

[ oooo, fancy. timbo seems to hum at the name, completely disregarding the job thingie or whatever the other was mumbling about. lockhart’s name sounds sweet like candy. the fact that his name is more or less just a surname does not even cross timbo’s merry little mind.

his pace speeds up a bit when he feels a nudge and a rush, his boots scraping against the cement as his eyes stay attracted to the flickering lights on the device in his hands now for the longest time. his head finally cocks up again and to the side when he hears his new buddy murmuring again. ]

Calone..oh…wuh? -Woah!

[ at that moment, as he waits for a response, he is so blissfully unaware of the road bump in his path until he is abruptly pulled back to a stop…like an animal on a leash. a pout flashes on timbo’s face. he nearly dropped his new toy! his boot that had been successfully prevented from taking that disastrous step is slightly raised. it takes the boy a while before he realizes that lockhart saved him from drawing even more attention to the both of them. he briefly looks back at lockhart before being shoved again.

his feet continue to drag along the ground, his face glowing up a bit anxiously when he sees the massive home that lockhart is referring to. ]

There!? ‘S so big!

Can’t even fault you for thinking that. 

                                                It’s a bit unnecessary, isn’t it?

[ he brings them to a stop outside the building, brings out his card and opens the door. he withrdraws his open palm from timbo’s warm back and puts his hands in his coat’s pockets. he takes a glimpse inside, seeing the corridor empty. ]

Jesus, can you try to drop the Kamala act?

                                                 We’re almost there, just keep looking ahead. What’s your name?

[ a small frown purses his lips. he doesn’t know what a “Kamala” is…but it appeared to stand as offense judging by the tone of the man’s voice. timbo shuffles his feet back around and continues walking. ]

‘M Timbo…

[ he kept looking from the phone to the direction of the double’s pointing, as well as to a few people and sparkling places and things. it started to make his stomach churn as he keeps realizing the oddity of these different surroundings and the stranger directing him to go someplace safe. it makes his skin crawl… ]

Name’s Lockhart. I’d tell you my job but I have a feeling you won’t know what I’m talking about. 

[ timbo’s second question throws him off completely and it takes him a moment to compose a reply. he glances at the kid’s clothes, trying to figure out his ... date of origin. ]

Don’t tell me, pre-colonial? What a mess. It’s New York, don’t know if that’s telling you something but-hey, try not to fall down, will you?

[ the palm on timbo’s back tightens into a fist as he grabs the tattered shirt and pulls the kid backwards and away from the pothole. his finger is itching to show him the signs of pavement work, please stay away how obvious can it be, but he doubts he’ll get it. he sighs in frustration and gives the kid a gentle push to start walking again. ]

[ lockhart’s drowsy mind takes a minute to catch up but the moment it does, his eyes widen, mouth falling open. he probably looks stupid, frozen in the middle of the room, gaze following andrew’s personal belongings as they *fly* and store themselves inside various furniture. he finishes the cleanup manually and lockhart wonders whether that’s an attempt to freak him out less it’s random, his powers second nature, interchangable. for a moment he thinks andrew would have been the perfect goverment experiment. the thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth. weird, for a person he barely knows. ]

Thanks. I’ll … just put my stuff over there. Well, Harry’s stuff. 

[ he passes by the drawings, the video games, stops at the turtle inside the tank. he huffs. ]

Huh. 

[ andrew catches lockhart’s awed stare and can’t help but feel a twinge of pride along with slight embarrassment. he feels slightly more confident knowing lockhart is impressed, but that doesn’t stop him from licking his lips nervously when lockhart’s gaze falls on his turtle. from his spot by the closet doors he pipes up: ]

I thought it was a hallucination, honestly. 

                             But then again, I haven’t had those since I died.

There’s a first time for everything.

                                  Here’s how we’re doing this. You stare at this.

[ lockharts thrusts his phone on the kid’s hands, cradles his palm until his fingers close around it and with his other hand, lets go of his wrist and points towards the direction of harry’s house. ]

Head down, try not to look around too much, look busy. This is where we’re going. 

       It’s safe and there’s food, okay? 

[ at the forefront of his mind there’s the question of whether the kid has eaten at all in quite a while, given the overall state of him. lockhart fails to school his face into an expression of non-concern. what the hell, really. ]   

Have you eaten today?

[ there is a nervous expression that immediately flashes as soon as his wrist is clutched. a sharp poke in his senses gives away that this man is in a partial distress. he can smell the anxiety, even when it is quickly masked by a cycle of relief, a different anxiety, then a promptness to get away the latter of which timbo doesn’t quite grasp.

what’s with all the urgency all a sudden? he pondered briefly before cooing like a little toddler when a foreign, electronic device enters his hands. it is as if he has never seen a remote trace of a cell phone or any real technology a day in his insignificant hick life.

timbo is so intrigued by the glowing visuals, that he barely listens to what the dark-haired man is saying. he barely even understands what he tries to communicate anyhow. regardless, he starts his lanky walking in the direct of the point from his peripheral vision. but, he can’t just not look around. there are so many different things…and people…to stare at!

he keeps lifting his head from the screen to glance around for long periods of time, or attempt to,— hold on. did the older male just mention food? timbo does not even remember when his last hunt with the family had occurred! other than…

he has to stop to look back excitedly at his double. there is a big smile on timbo’s filthy, naive face as he nearly halts the traffic. his boots planted nearly at the edge of the crosswalk. ]

Ah sure haven’t!

Jesus, can you try to drop the Kamala act?

Do I look like a stranger to you?

[ it took timbo a long, hard time of staring…and partial ‘uhhh’ thinking, his head tilted as he presses his lips together. he looks hopelessly confused, but he does recognize at least a hint of the weird face staring back at him.

but then, something finally struck him…or at least gave him a bit more curiosity to all of this weirdness. timbo suddenly reaches out to press all ten of his dirty fingers on lockhart’s face, traveling it over his skin invasively. he’s quiet, except for a few elongated ‘uh’s and ‘oh’s as he pokes around quite roughly at lockhart’s mouth and nose. ]

‘D say so! Haven’t met ya before.

There’s a first time for everything.

                                  Here’s how we’re doing this. You stare at this.

[ lockharts thrusts his phone on the kid’s hands, cradles his palm until his fingers close around it and with his other hand, lets go of his wrist and points towards the direction of harry’s house. ]

Head down, try not to look around too much, look busy. This is where we’re going. 

       It’s safe and there’s food, okay? 

[ at the forefront of his mind there’s the question of whether the kid has eaten at all in quite a while, given the overall state of him. lockhart fails to school his face into an expression of non-concern. what the hell, really. ]   

[ lockhart staggers to a stop, awkwardly holding his mattress, half of it still on the corridor. he feels warmth on his cheeks and it weirds him out. he’s not doing anything secretive, andrew literally told him to bring his things over. he still feels like a child trying to sneak bed sheets into the washing machine after another humiliating bed-wetting incident without his mother knowing. perhaps he should have waited for him first. he clears his throat and follows andrew’s gesturing hand. ah yes, his supreme powers of levitation. ]

Not restricted to sharp and potentially lethal objects, are they? Your powers. 

[ he looks down at the mattress, collecting dust and dirt from the floor and he lets the part he’s holding fall on the floor with a thump. he does a theatrical bow. ]

All yours, Jean Grey.

Never heard that one before…

[ he grumbles with a good-natured roll of his eyes and a half-smile as he lifts the mattress with his mind and turns it on its side to better fit it through the narrow doorway. once it’s inside and still hovering above the ground, he begins to clear a spot for it beside his own, sending piles of clothes and books and papers flying into open drawers and closet doors and out of sight. he probably should have cleaned up before lockhart showed up, but this hasty sweep will have to do. once a space is made, the mattress settles on the ground and andrew steps off to the side to dump his towel and dirty clothes inside the closet before shutting it manually. totally clean.

with the door closet door closed behind him and his bottom lip clutched in his teeth, he looks around the room and shifts his feet for a shy second. ]

Uh, make yourself at home.

Thanks. I’ll ... just put my stuff over there. Well, Harry’s stuff. 

[ he passes by the drawings, the video games, stops at the turtle inside the tank. he huffs. ]

Eyes on me and no more weird dog yapping. We’re attracting unwanted attention.

[ not to mention that were they to be arrested, he doubts the authorities would be able to find his name on the records. for all intents and purposes he doesn’t exist and that could get him to a world of trouble. he puts an arm around the boy’s bicep and gently helps him get off the ground. ]

Come with me and I’ll explain everything. 

[ his eyes are trained, locked onto the dog and the elderly lady, even as lockhart attempts to block his view. timbo’s head is trying to crane itself to see through the negative space between lockhart, but he’s instantly distracted by the consistent snapping. his head twitches in a short shake and his face scrunches together uncomfortably. blue eyes shine into the man’s face; awareness for the severity of gaining too much attention eludes the boy.

there’s a standoffish nature that attaches itself to timbo. taking in the stranger’s appearance only makes him even more uneasy. a rough yelp escapes his voice box when lockhart grabs him. he doesn’t want to go anywhere. a reluctance is met with the scrambling of his feet to stand. timbo’s arm automatically yanks itself away from lockhart’s lenient hold once his boots firmly plant themselves to the grass. he takes a tiny shuffle backward, curving his body to reflect a poor posture. he isn’t so sure if he should trust such an oddly familiar face. a southern drawl flows like butter, ]

[ andrew emerges from the bathroom down the hall with his towel and laundry in a heap under his arm and his hair still damp from his shower. he’d ducked out of the party early to take off his armor and wash up after sweating in it all night, and now that he’s clean he’s ready to go back to his room for his sleepover with lockhart. what he doesn’t expect is to find lockhart already there, hastily shoving his mattress into the room before peeking out at andrew. a look both surprised and amused crosses his face as he approaches. ]

Oh, hey, uh… sorry, I was showering… I could’ve…

Not restricted to sharp and potentially lethal objects, are they? Your powers. 

[ he looks down at the mattress, collecting dust and dirt from the floor and he lets the part he’s holding fall on the floor with a thump. he does a theatrical bow. ]

[there’s a snoozer, a snorter, on the cold grass. the sun provides a warm blanket over his dirty skin and clothes. nothing but dried scum, blood, and grass stains mark up most of his lightly peached flesh.

this place…this warm place is peaceful for a sleeping Timbo. it’s not heavily populated here, but even he isn’t safe from the weird glances that briefly point his way from passersby.

a chilly, whistling wind shakes the leaves from the tree that nears him, guiding a copious amount of them to lightly whisk over him. he twitches as the leaves kiss the bare skin that’s exposed by a torn, mismatched set of a brightly colored tank top and beige trousers.

a few brave leaves dare to touch his face, causing him to sneeze himself awake after a tickle to the nose. Timbo sits up slowly, rubbing his nose and taking a look around with a perpetually confused gesture. he may not know many things, but he sure as hell knows that this ain’t Hotshot.

at first, he doesn’t recognize his own features and he’s attracted to his dopelganger simply because of how peculiar he looks. there’s no shortage of weirdness in new york, but a man sitting on his ass in central park, with a half-torn shirt and leaves covering him from head to toe as he looks around in a lost and drowsy manner is certainly worth at least a second look. and a third one, for lockhart, who’s already heading his way. the swear that escapes his mouth upon seeing his double’s face clearly and up close gets a shocked glance from an elderly woman sitting nearbu with her inexcusably small-sized dog but he barely notices that (and only because he’s trained to notice feedback) and instead lands softly on his knees and looks at the man. he clears his throat. ]

his head tilts to the side as if this weird looking runnin’ guy is speaking a completely different language. the younger boy shakes his head and looks around some more, mumbling back to the doppelgänger while he’s distracted with the different outside world. ]

Wuh..Where am I..?

[ his eyes catch the elderly lady and her little pup staring at the both of them. he instinctively goes for a small growl that is pointed towards them. he doesn’t like being gawked at by strangers if he notices it. 

Eyes on me and no more weird dog yapping. We’re attracting unwanted attention.

[ not to mention that were they to be arrested, he doubts the authorities would be able to find his name on the records. for all intents and purposes he doesn’t exist and that could get him to a world of trouble. he puts an arm around the boy’s bicep and gently helps him get off the ground. ]

[there’s a snoozer, a snorter, on the cold grass. the sun provides a warm blanket over his dirty skin and clothes. nothing but dried scum, blood, and grass stains mark up most of his lightly peached flesh.

this place…this warm place is peaceful for a sleeping Timbo. it’s not heavily populated here, but even he isn’t safe from the weird glances that briefly point his way from passersby.

a chilly, whistling wind shakes the leaves from the tree that nears him, guiding a copious amount of them to lightly whisk over him. he twitches as the leaves kiss the bare skin that’s exposed by a torn, mismatched set of a brightly colored tank top and beige trousers.

a few brave leaves dare to touch his face, causing him to sneeze himself awake after a tickle to the nose. Timbo sits up slowly, rubbing his nose and taking a look around with a perpetually confused gesture. he may not know many things, but he sure as hell knows that this ain’t Hotshot.

at first, he doesn’t recognize his own features and he’s attracted to his dopelganger simply because of how peculiar he looks. there’s no shortage of weirdness in new york, but a man sitting on his ass in central park, with a half-torn shirt and leaves covering him from head to toe as he looks around in a lost and drowsy manner is certainly worth at least a second look. and a third one, for lockhart, who’s already heading his way. the swear that escapes his mouth upon seeing his double’s face clearly and up close gets a shocked glance from an elderly woman sitting nearbu with her inexcusably small-sized dog but he barely notices that (and only because he’s trained to notice feedback) and instead lands softly on his knees and looks at the man. he clears his throat. ]

[ lockhart inwardly sighs in relief when julius replies to him. alright, so the silent treatment has seized. i mean, sure, he spent the last few days slipping in and out of depression naps, followed by bouts of anxiety where he obsessively checked any and all sources of water inside the house for leeches until his eyes burned and his legs turned numb, crouching by the toilet basin. so yeah, he wasn’t really present enough for any communication to happen but no one had sought him out either so it’s not a stretch to assume julius was ignoring his existence. judging from the surprised expression on his face right now, he probably was under the impression they had a falling out. lockhart smiles cooly, titling his head slightly to the side. ]

Library sounds nice. 

                   I’ve never … been. They have computers there, right?

{ eyeing him curiously as he closes his  bedroom door and starts walking down  the hallway, julius notices the concerned  wrinkles that have appeared on lockhart’s  face. judging by how close they had been  last time they spoke, you’d think julius  would’ve taken note of them… but he  didn’t. he does that now instead, seeing  the face of a man that’s overworked and  stressed. maybe he should’ve spoken with  him after all, instead of letting him come to  him on his own accord. god knows what he’s  been up to, and as he reacted so violently to  the bottled water he had handed him earlier  one can only imagine the worst. }

Computers? I’m… not sure.

{ he’s only gone a few times, and each time he went he didn’t see any. maybe they were in the back. guiding lockhart to the front door, he looks back at him. }

                          I’m sure the library will be quiet and peaceful.

[ the very thing that lockhart doesn’t want, for in the quiet, silencing his racing thoughts becomes more challenging. he does want to find his father though and what the internet won’t show, more traditional methods such as official records in slow-moving, dust-covered computers from the 90′s might. ]

[ seeing andrew’s positive (or at least not judging) reaction to his allusion of a pretty amoral lifestyle, lockhart’s shoulders relax and he starts listing right away. ]

Less leather jacket, more ties that are worth more than the average college student’s semester fee. Eating kale because you’re a fitness nutcase that balances work, family and the occasional new york half-marathon, or not eating at all because who has the time really. No tattoos of course, unless they’re safely hidden by your suit and tie. I would say we produce more casualties in suicides alone. But if you take these out, there isn’t much of a difference, you’re right. Guess I’ll fit right in.

[ with a bewildered grin growing on his face, andrew leads lockhart into the supermarket and steps off to the side to grab a cart and push it over to him. ]

That’s what you call a good life?

[ he shakes his head incredulously, but then adds with a wistful note of offhanded longing. ]

More than you can imagine. 

[ he pauses in contemplation for a moment, thinking of the labyrinth of a house he’s currently staying in. ]

[ lockhart moves towards the man’s general direction. he was never good at jokes, his voice either sounded toneless or sarcastic. given his response, he’ll go for toneless this time around. he tries again. ]

Your name is Jack and you’re um, blue … all over. 

[ he looks down at the man’s bare feet and blinks. is he for real? god, this is getting awkward really fast. ]

Anyway, I’m Lockhart. Nice to meet you, I guess.

[ he finally grabs his hand and shakes it once, his grip strong like he’s doing business. which, he is. ]

 You could say I’m unemployed at the moment.

[ lockhart hums at the question, shrugging his shoulder. he’s not one for self-congratulatory pats-in-the-back but. well, he totally is one for those. he grins at andrew and drawls his reponse. ]

I must say I was tremendously good at it. 

                                 Off the table even better than on the table. 

[ he sighs theatrically and titls his head towards andrew in a conspirational manner. ]

Maybe the next step is organized crime. I’m open to ideas.

[ andrew frowns as they cross the street, puzzling over lockhart’s words. sounds like he’s done some cheating – and andrew’s not surprised, not because he thinks lockhart himself is corrupt, but because the business he worked in definitely is. teasing, he scoffs: ]

[ lockhart can tell from andrew’s stance that he’s uncomfortable because of him and in turn, that makes him uncomfortable. he’s supposed to be a fun presence (ha ha) in the house, not a burden, otherwise he will be kicked out, dopelganger or not. special priviledges only go so far, he knows this from experience. the sight of the grocery store at the corner of the street offers an excuse for him to change the subject and so does andrew’s subsequent phrase. he claps his hands together, both in excitement (read: relief) but also to keep them from freezing. new york at its finest. ]

There’s always a silver lining.

                        You have cash on you, right? I’m still regrettably broke. Who knew your wallet doesn’t travel through dimensions but your underwear do, uh?

[ a small smile flickers over andrew’s lips at that, and with a nod he confirms: ]

Yeah, I’ll cover you.

[ one more crosswalk and they’ll be there. as they wait for the light to change, andrew recalls what little lockhart had let slip about the good life he left behind, andrew asks, only semi-serious, ]

I must say I was tremendously good at it. 

                                 Off the table even better than on the table. 

[ he sighs theatrically and titls his head towards andrew in a conspirational manner. ]