#dedalus 2

Time: March Location: Dates Status: Closed, for @dedalusdigg​

And this time he wouldn’t pay.

That’s what Dedalus Diggle had said, or implied, really, when Lu had lost their bet and agreed to this date. Date? Dinner. Dinner date? And at first, Lu had thought it funny, that Dedalus would waste his wish for winning the bet on something so plain and simple, when Lu was notorious for doing most anything if asked.

Well. If paid. 

And therein lay the genius, didn’t it? Never had anyone asked Lu to go on a simple, honest dinner, just like that. Or, really, never had Lu accepted. Their life had been a wild, golden and exuberantly eccentric one so far, and of course, not every experience had been driven by money. Not the wild experiences, anyway. Not the golden ones. Not the exuberantly eccentric ones. But the simple ones. The supposed-to-be-honest ones.

The ones people usually experienced without getting paid.

When chasing the impossible, Lu was the embodiment of that chase. When in the realms of the possible, that is, when following the wishes of another, they were the embodiment of that wish. So who were they without chase, without wish? The limitless had no limitations, only themselves. Their own imagination. If one wanted to shake someone like Lu by force of detonation, one needed to aim for implosion, not explosion. And as Lu attended the dinner date not as someone who was a shell of possibilities, not a vehicle of chase, but someone who was but themself -- they feared they’d find their limit.

Who were they when not getting paid?

Fear took over, yes, as they entered the restaurant. They were scared and it made their stomach feel weird. Scared to mess this up. To forget how to act. To disappoint Dedalus. They sat -- appropriately dressed -- and tasted the suggested wine, and ordered a meal, and enjoyed the dessert and happily held the witty back-and-forth of the. They did everything just as they always did. 

When paid. 

But the moment Dedalus appeared, visually loud with this Leo aura of his, the moment he had floated up to them, Lu had been just the same as always. Someone who laughed and listened and applauded long speeches. Or perhaps someone who had unlearnt how to be anyone else? But would their laugh sound this easily, then? Would they still be so eager to toss quips and see Dedalus’ smile? Would they still find themselves glancing at him over their wine glass’ rim as they sipped, unprompted, just because there was nowhere better to glance towards? Would it, if all this was but habit and routine, still feel so genuine? Or was the genuineness of it also part of habit and routine?