2020sight | (no subject)

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There's a nice little park on 57th Street -- fountain in the middle, baseball diamond nearby. It's busy in the summers, with students and tourists and kids on the playground.

It's November now, though, and getting chilly, and the only person in the park is a figure on a bench feeding the pigeons, long legs stretched in front of him.

He's not exactly covered in birds, but he's definitely surrounded.

No Hitchcock jokes, please.

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Epimetheus has always had creative math skills. Prometheus knows this better than anybody. Doesn't damp down that grin any, though.

"So, yeah. The whole thing sort of happened by accident. It's been pretty nice, though." A beat. "Really nice, actually." A tentative glance at his brother's face. "You forget things."

Epimetheus smiles slightly -- a little wistful.

"Yeah. I know."

Leaning back -- "You been needing to forget anything lately?"

It's still conversational, casual, but he's watching carefully.

Prometheus looks at him.
We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when
Kind Mrs. Rowlands.
Here in November
The House was a sign it was--
You son of a bitch.
(Mercer.)
Don't! Don't touch that.
His smile is easy. "I was talking about how good it is to remember. Unless, of course, you were referring to the last time you decided it'd be a good idea to paint the town together."

"Nah, I figured you didn't remember most of that night anyway."

His smile widens a little. "Good for you, though. I promise not to tell any lies if I meet her."

Surely there's plenty of truth he could tell her instead.

Solemn: "I remember table-dancing. And that you do not have the legs for can-can, I'm sorry."

Aw shucks, he's glad enough to see his little brother that the proposition's making him... reckless, perhaps?

"Well, you know..." He drums his fingers on the counter. "The place where we met, it's a little out of the way, but there's a chance she'd be there. We'd miss out on the lanes, but maybe I just haven't found them there yet."

Epimetheus gives him a hurt look. "Crush my dreams, why don't you."

Then he raises his eyebrows, intrigued. "Lanes'll still be there later. Where is it?"

"You're gonna laugh at me if you haven't found it yourself." A pointed cough. "Not that anything ever stops you from laughing at me."

"True. So that doesn't exactly answer the question."

"End of the universe." Beat. "But I know a shortcut."

"--Wait, do you mean where I think you mean?"

"Great view from the window seats, prompt service, never a dull moment with the clientele? I hope so, 'cause I don't know if there's room for more than one like it."

He throws his head back and laughs. "Son of a bitch! It's been years since I was at the end of the universe."

(A couple patrons give him odd looks.)

Prometheus cracks a grin bright enough to light up a marquee. "Well, shit! How about that. We must have kept missing each other."

Which he punctuates with another punch.

Indiana, man. What the hell.

"I've never gone there real often," he admits. "More your kinda place than mine. But!"

He stretches, digs in a pocket, and slaps a few bills onto the counter. "Lead the way, brother. 'Bout time I visited it again."

"And not a moment too soon." He flashes a smile at the bartender, and at all the people who are going to be spared their antics, and heads toward the front door again.

No one matching their description emerges on the street outside.

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