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[ninefox]

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[magician_king]

"It's a joke."

Anyways;

"The point is, all individual rights are not a fiction, all literature and art is not propaganda-"

[ninefox]

"Jokes can be revealing. And of course rights are a fiction."

His opinions on art, at least, are more forgiving.

[magician_king]

"You are so frustrating, I swear to God."

Says Quentin, irrepressible sentiment leaping right past that initial caution. He never falls down for long.

"Well the book is by David Sedaris, he's a writer who does funny absurdist stuff about American life and nervousness."

[ninefox]

"Rights are the fiction that what you have determined to be moral treatment has some objective and inherent quality that can be observed in the recipients. The benefits of such a fiction are saving time re-deriving one's positions, erring on the side of generosity, and strengthening cultural commitment. The detriment is that if you forget it's a fiction, and anyone ever notices that there is no such objective quality, you have also forgotten how to show your work."

He wrote an essay about it once, as a refutation of a Liozh treatise that was old even four hundred years ago. Perhaps he won't take the white. He's smiling, a little, even if only because he's certain that answer is at least differently frustrating than Jedao's would have been.

"That sounds wonderful, though." And he means it: he reads very little comedy, although he semi-secretly loves the silliest dramas Hemiola has in its roster. He probably ought to laugh more.

It's time, and he pours. "I'm sorry, Jedao wrote a lot about you, but not how you like your tea?"

[magician_king]

"Black."

He says, distracted by the fact that;

"Wait, Jedao writes about me?"

It never would have occurred to him in a million years.

[ninefox]

Jedao snorts.

"Well, he left his flood selves profiles on like half the ship, which I think are probably only about 15% intentionally misleading as a precaution against being replaced by an asshole, but yours is extra long. After several paragraphs of introductory swooning, I've been thoroughly assured that if I do anything to hurt you, you'll turn me into a gadfly and feed me to the carp, but also that you're a bit misty and need looking after. I'm supposed to bring you food at least once a day, carbohydrates and protein, preferably snackable finger food. But I haven't yet because I hate people pushing food on me. Should I?"

[magician_king]

"No, I'm okay."

He says, lifting the teacup to his mouth, thoughtfully, thinking back mentally and wondering, does Jedao really feed him once a day? He definitely knows he ends up snacking with him in bed often while they read, it hadn't occurred to him where that food all came from.

"He's swoony?"

[ninefox]

"He calls you an oasis of the soul. It's genuinely mortifying."

Worse because Jedao can kind of see it.

[magician_king]

"Oh my God."

Says Quentin, going tomato red.

"Jesus Lord, he's. That's." He takes it about as graciously as he takes the 'thank you,' but Jedao isn't here for him to argue with about it. He just up and says; "Is it inappropriate if I admit to you that I didn't think I'd be able to feel like this again? The last time I loved someone, people got hurt."

[ninefox]

Jedao swallows.

"I...don't know what's appropriate. But I can understand the feeling."

[magician_king]

"He has, and you seem to share, this ability to just. Exist with this tremendous density. Gravitationally. Magnetic. Like of course it's all proper and good that we slide into your orbit."

And, clearing his throat, trying to control his blush.

"It's nice to hear that he values me too."

[ninefox]

"Have I?" he asks softly, a wistful thought given breath. It's funny to imagine. His world is so small, now. And the rest, with his swarm, always felt like walking around in his big brother's jacket.

He focuses.

"If he hasn't said he loves you, it's entirely because he knows or figured out the bad history thing, and he doesn't want to hurt or pressure you."

[magician_king]

"Do you think he knows I love him too?"

He asks. It's written all over his face, but;

"I never remember to say it."

[ninefox]

"It's - honestly really hard to tell." Jedao only talks to Quentin so much on the comm instead of in person, and Jedao himself has never been confident in love, so he doesn't know how it makes them think, makes them speak. Jedao writes about Fives and Quentin very differently, but that could just be them.

[magician_king]

"I'll make sure."

He promises, smiling, wide and rare and special.

"Thanks for telling me."

[ninefox]

Jedao ducks his head, pleased and self-conscious, awkward with it.

"Well, you asked. And I don't feel particularly beholden to his secrets, especially when he has terrible security on purpose."

Jedao sips his own tea, scowls, dumps about four tablespoons of lemon juice in it, and then keeps drinking without seeming to appreciably enjoy it any more than previously.

[magician_king]

He watches this, then looks up at him, blinking at the odd behaviour.

Doesn't matter.

"So David Sedaris. Do you want me to- can I read you the first story?"

[ninefox]

"That sounds nice," he agrees.

[magician_king]

Quentin settles in, sipping his tea and reading him story. He's gotten better at reading out loud lately, with all the practice, slow and patient.

He doesn't normally love non-scifi, but he does love David Sedaris.

[ninefox]

He pillows his head in his arms on the table, gazing back at the fish again as he listens. He barely has any reference for it: Mikodez and his execrable candy, Kujen and his jewels. He's never met anyone who wasn't physically healthy in his entire short life. Unless you count the way Mikodez's eyes are sometimes too quick, or too bright. It seems - inexplicably, bewilderingly sad, that anyone could die of anything other than violence. To succeed at a peaceful existence, and still whither.

"I think I might be too young for this book," he says softly, not sure himself if he's joking or not.

[magician_king]

"Why?"

Asks Quentin, looking up tenderly at him, deeply involved in the story.

[ninefox]

"I've never really had any vices." Unless you count men. (One man. He's finished.) Or murder.

"I didn't know sickness could be like that. Or parents."

[magician_king]

"I'll read you a nicer one."

He promises, thumbing through to another page.

"This one's about love. Er- ish."

[ninefox]

"I don't not like it," he says, which is true. He likes the rhythm of it, the strangeness and the mood. It's not entirely off from how he felt when he talked Hemiola into writing an original composition, instead of always matching its music to remixed human dramas.

"I just don't think I'm responding to it properly?"

[magician_king]

"You don't respond to fiction properly in my world. It's anarchy too."

He promises, smiling as he searches for a good spot to begin.