Work Text:
Dedusmuln holds the glass in their hand, admiring even the vivid gem hue of their beverage. "This juice is exquisite."
"Thanks," Somsnosa calls out from the kitchenette, the satisfaction clear in her baritone. "We've been trying out some new fortification processes. It's not too metallic?"
"Oh, not at all." They take another sip. "Believe me, I'd have noticed if it were."
"Haha, good."
She returns to the table, setting down a plate of cookies and her own glass. It's a fine morning to be spending with a friend. They sit and chat in her little apartment in a quiet district of New Muldul—having a secondary address somewhere less remote than her ranch is useful for many reasons. Such as indulging in a bit of gossip, as she knows and they're about to find out.
It's not the most honest thing in the world, inviting them over with a motive. But good lord, she can't let this go on any longer. The last time she talked to them they went on yet another tangent about him (do they even know they're doing it??), during which she had to keep a death grip on the receiver to stop herself from just hucking the phone into the ocean. Something had to be done, she resolved.
She starts off with a nonchalant, "So what've you been up to lately?"
"Nothing too exciting. Fieldwork's been keeping me on my feet, so it's nice to be able to rest for a minute or two." Their free hand gestures accordingly before occupying itself with a cookie.
"Yeah, I hear you." The agreement is genuine, but that's not the information she's hoping to hear. Perhaps she'll actually need to do some prompting this time. "You've, uh, you've taken on a new project, haven't you?"
"Oh. Yes, I suppose I have. It's, um, still in its nascent stages, very possible nothing will come of it..."
"Oh, come on. I know you wouldn't go for it unless you at least, like, had a good feeling about it."
"Regardless, it's best not to get one's hopes up at this point."
Ugh, they're being so cagey. Forget it, she's busting open this cage. "I mean, you got the funding to research this Waynology stuff, so—"
They sit straight up in their chair, the ends of their pliable horns going rigid as well. The words come out haltingly. "Oh, you do know what it is. That I'm working on. Okay."
Too much, maybe? Let's dial it back a touch. "Yeah, sorry, am I not supposed to?"
"It's fine, it's just..." Their horns flatten and they finish with an unconvincing, "Never mind."
"No, it's okay, go on."
"I don't want... I—I hope not to be viewed in a certain way because of my... friendship with one of the Waynes. This is a strictly academic venture, and throughout all my archaeological endeavors I remain committed, as much as possible, to objectivity."
"Oh, is that the issue."
"Yes. I'll tell you what I told the others. This is a veritable reservoir of knowledge that heretofore has gone criminally untapped. Surely the numerous Wayniform structures and organisms throughout this land have not evaded your notice. There must be some connection, some greater significance that's been lost to the ages!"
Of course Somsnosa had noticed them, but she'd be hard-pressed to recall a single thought that she had spared on them. Because, really, two horns curving inward... that's not such an unusual shape, right? "And you're sure you're not, like... seeing a pattern that you want to see...?"
"Yes! I'm sure—well, reasonably sure. But you're right, I do have a good feeling about this. And I'll tell you why." They lean in and lower their voice just enough to add an air of gravitas. "The very name... 'Wayne'... it is older than we think."
"Like, Pongorma old?"
"Oh, much older. Positively ancient! It may well have been used by the same pre-hylic societies that created those paper cups."
Okay, now that's wild. "For real?"
"Indeed! And, you see, it was their name for one of the faces of the moon."
"Oh, wow. Yeah, I guess that makes sense. ... Wait, 'faces'?"
"Oh yes, they seem to have participated in moon worship, the moon representing a single deity but possessing multiple aspects, each with its own face."
"Huh. Man, I don't get it, you know?" she says with a giggle. "Like, yeah, folks were different back then, but... I dunno, it just feels like a lotta fuss to make over a big hunk of rock way out in space."
"Well, that's how we may see the moon now," Dedusmuln is happy to explain (they are, after all, in their element here), "but an omnipresent, unreachable, luminescent disc meant everything to those people, and they regularly supplicated it to grant them strength, protections, et cetera. One bit of prayer that adherents would recite is, 'The moon is my GF.'"
"What's that mean?"
"So far we can only speculate. One source indicates 'GF' to be an abbreviation for 'guardian force'—it's not known to be related to this moon business, mind, but it would certainly fit. Although..." They sigh and fold their arms. "I don't mean to imply that the rest of what I just told you isn't also speculation. There's only so much data that we can work with. You know how it is with archaeology."
She doesn't, actually. And not that she wouldn't like to know, but it's dawning on her that the conversation had gotten quite off-course from the original topic of interest. Neither of them had all day—and she considers also that Dedusmuln might well have knowingly engineered this derailment. There's no choice left but to strike with laser-guided precision.
"Look, I think you should just talk to him."
Again they stiffen and their cadence falters. "Hm? Uh, n-no, the Waynes don't know anything either. I even spoke to Old Wayne, who told me there's no record—"
"No. No. You need to tell Wayne—our Wayne—how you really feel about him."
"How I feel about—!" There's a near-imperceptible tremble to their horns as they sputter out indignant fragments. "Why, I can't believe—What manner of baseless accusation is—"
"Dedusmuln, my friend, my pal. Today you opened the door and found out that the reason I wear ponchos all the time, is to hide how I can't be arsed to buy any new, non-video-game-referencing shirts. Can we please just be honest with each other now?"
They fall silent, pointedly avoiding her gaze. Are they fuming? Or are they really this shy about it?
She softens her voice. "Well... you could do worse, for sure. He's a pretty good person."
It takes a moment before they respond. Still without turning to her, they rest their head in their hand, a brace for their heavy sigh afterwards.
"He's wonderful."
Hoo boy, they are gone on him. She might actually be in over her head here... oh, but like hell she's turning back now. "Have you always felt this way about him?" she asks to keep them talking.
"I don't think so. I realized it only recently. An event which was a... a minor disaster."
She offers a sympathetic laugh; she's been there. "Did something happen, or was it more like, you know, a random shower thought?"
"It just came to me. Of its own accord, is what it felt like. But thank goodness I was alone at the time... Oh, if I had been in the presence of his stunning pleather-clad figure..." They stare at the table in abashed silence; Somsnosa takes a drink to suppress a snicker. "I, didn't, say anything."
"No, you know what, even I'd agree: he's packin' some junk in that trunk, isn't he?"
"Uh, umm, uh, I don't, I'm sorry—"
She laughs again, this time merrily, reaching over the table to give one of their frantic hands a squeeze. "Seriously though, I'm cheering for you. I'll be your winglady! You're gonna have an adoring Wayne on your arm before you know it."
"I... I think..." They're still nervous, but something about it seems different. "Oh, how to put this... While I very much appreciate your support, it's doubtful that—"
The sudden rattle of a key in the front door's lock cuts them off. Only four people have the keys to this apartment; two are in this room, one's abroad in Mocetul, and the last...
Her eyes snap to her companion. "Uhhh, so I guess he's here now?"
"What?! Why? Did—did you plan this?"
"No." And that's the truth of it. She hopes they don't hold this against her. They likely won't; they sounded more incredulous than accusatory.
Regardless, there's no time to explain herself. The door opens, and Wayne's high, sleepy tenor drifts in from behind it before he steps into view: "Yo."
"Oh hey, Wayne," she greets him casually. Dedusmuln offers a feeble wave.
"Uh, hi." His attention briefly lingers on Dedusmuln—he probably hadn't expected company—then he heads to the other side of the room. "Sorry, don't mind me."
Inclined to mind him anyway, they ask, "Um, what brings you here?"
Somsnosa answers for him, "Eh, he's gonna eat all my food. The usual."
"No," he says, offense exaggerated, "I'm picking up the thing that you literally ordered for me."
"Oh. Oh crap, yeah, I did do that, didn't I?"
"Are you serious," he mutters, examining the package that she had yesterday set down by the wall and apparently expunged from her memory.
"Oh, like you've never been distracted in your life? Look, I was in the middle of an engrossing discussion on Dedusmuln's latest expedition and—you're opening that right now, aren't you."
"Well, yeah." He's on the floor now, in his hand a box cutter that he must have brought with him for this express purpose. "Check it out." He slices open the package effortlessly, until the blade snags on something. "Check—check it out..." Frowning, he wriggles the box cutter uselessly against the obstacle.
Somsnosa spares a glance at Dedusmuln, who is gently yet anxiously fidgeting with the lamellae on the back of their head, and she resists the impulse to shake her head. God knows she loves Wayne to death and back; it's just that she never really imagined anybody being so completely smitten with him. ... Well, to be fair, she does have a biased perspective. Anyone who saw him back when she was rooming with him would have been wholly and permanently put off from... both of them, if she's being completely honest.
"There we go." The box is, at last, open. Inside it is a pair of black boots, not unlike the ones he's currently wearing. He takes one of them and turns it over to reveal the novelty of these particular boots: there is a wheel embedded in the heel of the sole. A swipe of a finger sets it spinning with ease. He says, "That's wicked," and he means it.
"Why, they have wheels," Dedusmuln exclaims. Right, they didn't know anything about this.
"Yeah..." She assumes Wayne will leave it at that, but he actually keeps talking while he swaps his boots. "When you were talking about that wheel-shoe thing... I dunno, I thought it sounded cool. So I had some custom boots made."
So that's where he got the idea... Yes, now that he mentions it, she remembers. The lulls during their adventures together were occasionally filled by Dedusmuln talking about their favorite artifacts, one of which being the remnant of a shoe with a hidden wheel. They all had been content to indulge them, though frankly the reception never quite reached outright enthusiasm.
With that in mind, she can't blame them for asking in amazement, "You were... listening to all that?"
"Yeah, why not?" He stands up, under his arm the box now containing his old footwear.
"Better not try those out in my apartment," she cautions him, though not severely.
"Nah, I got places to be." On his way out, he looks at Dedusmuln and says, "Let's catch up sometime."
"I'd—I'd like that."
"Me too," he says, hard as it is to hear over the sound of the door opening. "Well, see ya."
"Take it easy," she calls after him.
The door closes. Dedusmuln exhales and sinks in their chair, appearing to have every intention of remaining that way for the rest of time—till a pained yelp from outside has them rushing to the window.
Somsnosa joins them to see Wayne already scrambled to his feet and skating away. "I think there's a reason why you never found more of those shoes." She then fixes them with a serious look and urges, "You have to tell him."
They watch his unsteady egress into the distance a little longer, and they slump against the wall, horns drooping. "I can't," they murmur towards the floor.
"I'm so sorry, but a direct approach is really the only way."
"I dunno if—"
"Bless his heart, there's about a 30% chance he's paying attention at any given moment. Don't even waste your time on being subtle. Now, I can set up a—"
They speak up, "Somsnosa, I don't know if he can reciprocate."
"That's what the talking's for, to find out. I know it's—"
"No, I mean—" They huff a little breath of frustration. "His species doesn't reproduce at all, remember? There's absolutely no reason for them to have developed the capability of feeling... you know... romantic love."
Without missing a beat, she retorts, "Well, so what? There's no reason for any of this—" she gestures broadly with both hands to the world around her— "to have developed the way it is either. But here we are! You won't know for sure until you try, Dedusmuln."
"I... suppose... but it seems so unlikely as to be a foregone conclusion."
"But you don't know! Look, if you don't say anything, you're just gonna be suspended in this, like, lovesick agony for who knows how long. But if you do, then either everything's great forever—"
"Hardly a guaranteed outcome."
"Shut up, you're thinking way too far ahead." The tips of their horns flick backwards, roughly equivalent in expression to an eye roll. "Either it works out, or it doesn't and that's when you come to my ranch and drown your sorrows in a gallon of ice cream and, most importantly, start on your way to recovery."
"You'd really let me do that?"
"Course I would. I'll even buy you the ice cream. What do ya say?"
Once more they heave a great sigh, face pressed into their hands. And they say, "Fine, I'll do it."
For all that she labored to make them come around, their acquiescence takes her by surprise. Or... maybe they're just saying it to get her off their case. "You'll do what?"
"I'll confess."
"If you mean it, you have to say it." They groan as though physically pained. "I need your word, buddy. Tell me exactly—" she thinks to glance through the window, just to make sure Wayne hadn't, for some reason, decided to come back at another inopportune time— "exactly what it is you will do."
Even through their hands their desperate assertion is loud and clear: "I am going to tell Wayne that I am super into him."
"You swear it?"
"On the ghost of my progenitor."
Boy, they do mean it. "Dang, all right. Cool."
They slide further down the wall until they're sitting on the floor, knees gathered in a loose hug. She hands them their glass of juice and sits down as well.
After a few listless sips, they ask, "Will he think it's weird?"
"Think what's weird?"
"My new project. It could perhaps be construed as... obsessive."
"Oh, pff, no, you're fine. 'Cause it's not about him, right? It's about his species. Or not even that: it's more like their... like, cultural impact or whatever."
"Well, yes, but regardless one might..."
"Him, though? Nah, no way. At worst, his reaction will be... I'd say 'apathy' but that's not even the right word for it, because that still implies some level of, like, acknowledgment and... following what's going on." She chuckles at Wayne's expense, Dedusmuln joining her weakly. "You know?"
"Yeah, I guess."
Putting on an innocent smile, she leans closer and says, "In fact, I bet he'd be a perfectly willing volunteer for any closer examination you wanna—"
"You know that's not what my research is about!!"