Chapter Text
“Ok, Mark. You can do this. Just fake it til you make it.” Mark Beaks pulled his old, comfortable Major Courage sweatshirt a bit more tightly around himself as he looked around the busy courtyard. He’d just finished new student orientation. That was easy. Sit down in an auditorium, watch some college deans speak, pick up some pieces of paper. Now, he was expected to just “mingle.” He’d never been good at that.
Maybe he should start with food? There was a decent spread here- little sandwiches, some raw veggies, a cheese tray, and an array of cookies which he ignored- he’d never had much of a sweet tooth. He filled a plate and looked around. He really should go up and talk to someone. “Just be like Mom…” he muttered to himself, nibbling on a radish. There were several small knots of people standing around. Why were they all already talking to each other? How was he supposed to just go up and join them? What if he just annoyed them? What was he supposed to talk about, anyway? He’d rehearsed several conversation starters with his mother before he’d left home, but now his mind was woefully blank. He glanced at the drinks table. There was no alcohol here, of course, though he wished there was. He had been fifteen years old the first time he snuck a glass of wine at one of his mom’s parties. It never helped him know what to say to people, Mom always still criticized him for being rude no matter what he did, but nevertheless, a drink or two always seemed to to take away some of the stress induced by standing in the middle of a chattering crowd. But that option wasn’t available for an official, school-sponsored orientation. He sighed, and grabbed a bottle of sparkling water anyway.
How did all these people walk around with a plate of appetizers in one hand and a drink in the other? Maybe he should just sit down somewhere before he spilled something, and made an embarrassment of himself. A lot of the tables were full already, but he spotted one that was empty in the corner of the courtyard. Maybe someone else would come and start a conversation with him.
He didn’t notice someone else approaching the same table from the other side of the courtyard until they both set their plates down at the exact same moment. He looked up at a tall, gangly, bespectacled chicken, who seemed just as surprised by the fortuitous timing as he was.
“Vell, Mr. Gearloose, I’m delighted to have you joining my lab, and I do think we can have your doctorate finished in a year or two at most. Your research has a very solid foundation already, despite your setbacks, and I’m happy to coach you through the writing of your dissertation.” Dr. Ludwig von Drake smiled at the young man in front of him, who was still perched nervously on the edge of one of the plush leather chairs Ludwig kept in his office.
“Thank you, Dr. von Drake. It really means a lot after… well after everything.”
Ludwig raised a hand dismissively. “Ve all make mistakes, Gyro!”
Gyro raised his eyebrows, disbelieving. Nearly burning down a major city was hardly a simple mistake. But he’d read of von Drake’s work, and the man was a great scientist, if somewhat eccentric. In any case, Gyro couldn’t really afford to be choosy- Dr. von Drake was the only one out of the dozens of potential advisors he’d contacted who was willing to take him on.
Ludwig glanced up at the clock. “Ah! It’s nearly five! The new School of Engineering undergraduates should be headed to the Welcome reception momentarily- you are of course more than welcome to join us- most of the rest of the faculty should be there, and maybe some of your fellow doctoral students as well.”
Gyro wasn’t sure he felt like socializing, but he remembered that he hadn’t been grocery shopping yet, and a Welcome Reception was likely to have free food. He followed Dr. von Drake down the stairs and out to the courtyard. There were a lot of people milling about, and yes, a table with a decent spread of snacks. He piled some cheese, veggies, and two cookies onto his plate, and then headed to an empty table in the corner.
Someone else set a plate on the table at the exact same time he did. Gyro looked up. A gray parrot, wearing a blue Major Courage hoodie and a startled expression was standing there.
“Sorry. Did you want to sit here?” the parrot asked.
“No! I mean, yes, I was sitting here, but you can sit here too! There’s six chairs and only two of us.” Gyro stammered.
The parrot sat down. He had a towering pyramid of radishes on his plate, which he carefully set down with one hand. The other hand slipped into into the pocket of his sweatshirt, and Gyro could just glimpse his fingers flying, flashes of brightly-colored squares between them.
“Are you cubing?”
The parrot gave a startled jerk, but nodded and pulled the miniature Rubiks’ cube out of his pocket. “Not really.” he shrugged. “I did competitions when I was little, but now I just like having something to fidget with.”
The parrot twirled it a few more times. “Oh. Right. I’m supposed to introduce myself. My name is Mark Beaks, it’s my first year here but I’m technically a sophomore, I’m going to major in Software Engineering, and I just moved here from Duckberg.” The words came out quickly, with a certain stiltedness to them, as if they had been rehearsed.
“I’m Gyro Gearloose. I’m a Ph.D. student in Mechanical Engineering, and I just moved here as well.”
Mark nodded, then looked down around, as if he was unsure what to say next. Gyro crammed another piece of cheese into his mouth. After a moment, Mark’s gaze landed on Gyro’s bag.
“Cool pins.” Mark muttered, nibbling on another radish, looking closer at the various little colored discs attached to Gyro’s backpack. Gyro’s face brightened.
“They’re magnets, actually.” He unzipped the backpack flap and showed his companion how the decorations were attached by another magnet on the inside. “Neodymium alloy that I designed as a side project. They won’t get lost, see?” he pulled at one of the pins, and it held fast. “Unless I discharge the magnet with an ultraviolet beam.”
“That’s awesome!” Mark looked at Gyro in admiration. “Did you make that here? Wait. No.” His face fell. “You said you just moved here, like, two minutes ago. I’m sorry. I’m really bad at talking to people.” The parrot hunched in on himself a bit, and began twirling the Rubik’s cube faster, but continued peering at the assortment of pins attached to Gyro’s bag.
“Hey, why’s that one backwards?” He pointed to the little rainbow-striped badge, which was facing the inside pocket of Gyro’s bag, with the plain silver backing facing the outside world.
Gyro’s face turned red. “Oh. Um… that’s…I turned it around… it’s...” he stammered, hands automatically folding the fabric of the backpack over the rainbow pin.
The parrot seemed not to notice Gyro’s anxious behavior. “Oh are you gay? Me too! I wish I’d brought my other Rubik’s cube- it’s a novelty one with a different Pride flag on each side.”
Gyro let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Mark was likely to understand, even if he’d lived in open-minded Duckberg his whole life. “I turned it around because I wasn’t sure how accepting people would be here. I’ve read there’s a pretty active queer community in Hamsterdam, but I’m not quite comfortable announcing it to the world just yet.”
Mark nodded. “Yeah, my dad’s really homophobic. I think it’s part of the reason Mom divorced him. That, and she really wanted to work on her career.” He paused, and shook his head rapidly, then drew his feet up onto the seat so that his legs were folded up against his chest. “Sorry.”
“What for?” Gyro wasn’t quite sure why the parrot kept apologizing to him.
“I do this thing, sometimes, where I’m trying to tell people a story to show that I can relate, but it comes out sounding like I’m just making it all about me. Mom says I have to work on that, if I want to make friends in college.”
“Oh.”
Mark stared at his cube forlornly and didn’t speak. Gyro looked around the courtyard. Everyone else seemed to already be talking in groups. He couldn’t see where Dr. von Drake had gone, either. He weighed his options. Option one: He could sit here in silence. That seemed awkward. Two: He could go home. But he hadn’t finished his food yet, and he had a feeling that his dining companion might find it rude. Three, he could try to go socialize with another stranger; or four, he could try to continue the conversation with the awkward young man across from him. Neither of these last options seemed ideal. He hated small talk. But perhaps… he opened his bag again.
“Do you play chess?”
The parrot looked up at him, as Gyro pulled out a miniature chessboard from his bag. “I love chess!” A genuine grin spread across his face. “Did you know that when the game first originated, it was in India, and they used elephants instead of bishops?”
“I- no, I didn’t.” Gyro grinned slyly. “Do you think that knowledge will help you win?”
“Maybe not, but it’s very interesting. Did you know that--” Mark’s voice faltered. “Sorry. I’m supposed to work on not info-dumping on people.”
“By all means, go ahead,” Gyro said, setting the pieces on the board. He’d much prefer to hear this kid prattle on about the history of chess than ask him about where he’d gone to school before coming to Hamsterdam. Because once he mentioned Tokyolk, he’d have to mention 2-BO, and then…
No. This was his fresh start. No one knew him here. Several of the faculty would know Akita’s reputation, of course, but the other students? Gyro didn’t need to be treated like a potential supervillian.
“Oooo, going for a Bishop’s Opening, are you? Modified Wing Gambit? Most famously used by the grandmaster at the 1993 World Championship? Very nice!”
The parrot continued to prattle on as they played. The sky was dark and the rest of the engineering students had disappeared by the time the game ended in a stalemate.
“Nice job,” said Gyro. “You really know this game.”
Mark grinned at him. “So do you! I haven’t played a game that challenging in quite some time.That was a very bold use of Egret’s Countergambit. You very nearly had me there, though luckily I noticed your knight. And I’ve never seen Merlin’s Trap used quite that effectively.” He stood up and stretched, then paused, tilting his head slightly. “Merlin’s Trap is very popular among Japanese players. Is that where you’re from?”
The question was innocent enough, but Gyro froze on the spot. He didn’t want to tell the truth, but he hated lying. His palms felt suddenly both cold and sweaty. He had to say something.
“Yes. Well, no. Not from there. I was born in Calisota. Small rural town, out in the boonies. But yes, I did live in Tokyolk for a while.” He gazed fixedly at the sky, hoping that his companion wouldn’t ask further questions.
Mark, oblivious to Gyro’s discomfort, went straight for the most logical continuation of the conversation. “Oh! You said you’re a PhD student, right? So is that where you did your undergrad?”
“Yes.” Gyro finally admitted. “I was studying at the University of Tokyolk last year, but then… I had to move here.”
Mark was giving him an odd, appraising look now. “I thought you looked familiar! You’re that guy, aren’t you? With the defense drone that went rogue?”
Gyro sighed and didn’t speak. It was just his luck that this kid kept up with the news. First possible friend in Hamsterdam, and he’d blown it.
“That is so COOL!” Mark’s eyes were practically glowing now.
“Listen, it wasn’t my fault that-- wait. Cool?”
“Yeah! I read about it! The fact that someone could make an AI so advanced that it just… turned evil, without any prompting? That’s amazing! What sort of matrices did you use in the code? How much RAM was needed? Was it probability-based, or…?”
“I’m a mechanical engineer. I didn’t actually do most of the software.”
“Oh, so you built the hardware? How did you balance the weight ratio of the CPU so that it could actually fly? What kind of fuel did it--”
“Look, I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“Yeah, but how did it--”
“PLEASE!” Gyro snapped. He could feel his face going red. Mark stopped talking and curled his legs up to his chest, grasping the edge of the chair with his feet.
“Sorry.” he muttered. “I got over-excited again.”
“Look, it’s getting late.” Gyro picked up his bag and stood, then turned back towards the parrot. “Are you staying in the dorms, or…?”
“Yeah. Goosewing Hall. On the west side of campus.”
“I’ve got an apartment across the street from the library, so I’m headed the other way. But maybe I’ll see you around?”
“Wait.” Mark paused and pulled a tiny notebook and a pencil out of his pocket. “Here’s my email address. In case you want to play again sometime?”
They met for a chess game every week after that, and Mark refrained from asking any more questions about Tokyolk or 2-BO. At the beginning, more often than not, they ended up forcing the game to a stalemate. Gyro was the first to actually win, but by the time they were about to depart for the winter holidays, Mark had a five-win streak. “I’m sure you’ll get another win eventually, Gy.” They were in the campus diner, the board folded up in Gyro’s bag and a basket of fish and chips between them.
“You’re getting to used to my strategies. I’ll have to find someone else to play with over break to refine my skills.”
“You’re not going home?”
“Not this year. Plane tickets are expensive, y’know? And Christmas with the family hasn’t really been the same since my Grandpap Ratchet died. So I’m going to stay here and take advantage of the quiet campus to really get some work done. What about you?”
“My mom’s coming here for a couple days first- she’s a journalist, you see, and she wanted to write a travel piece about Hamsterdam. Then we’re going to Storkholm for a couple days, then we’ll fly back to Duckburg. It’ll just be me and her for Christmas, though. Dad’s off with his new family.” Mark suddenly looked away from Gyro and down at the floor as he mentioned this. His feet clenched around the chair leg and he pulled a napkin out of the basket and began shredding it into thin strips.
“You ok?”
Mark closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath. “It’s just… Leah’s boys- my stepbrothers, I guess, are tough and athletic and they like racecars and… Well, they’re everything I failed at being. Dad always wanted a son like that.”
Gyro ate some chips, unsure how to respond. They hadn’t really talked about their families before. Should he share a relatable anecdote? Give an expression of sympathy? Ask Mark for more details? But all he could manage was, “Your drink is empty- want me to refill it for you?”
Mark nodded absently, fingers flying as he spun his ever-present Rubik’s cube around and around. Gyro picked up both soda cups and disappeared towards the fountain.
When he returned, Mark took a sip, then looked up at Gyro in surprise. “Wait. Did you make this with one-half sparkling water, one-third Pep, and just a splash of Berry Cool?”
Gyro set down his own cup, feeling his stomach clench unpleasantly. He and Mark had gotten dinner here at least a dozen times already. He’d seen Mark make the same mixture every single time. He couldn’t have gotten the ratios wrong, could he? “I thought that’s what you usually drink?”
“Yeah, but…” Mark sipped it again. “People usually think I’m weird for mixing them like that.”
Gyro exhaled slowly, heartbeat calming as his faith in his own observational skills was restored. “Who cares? It’s only soda.”
Though it was quite warm inside the cafe, Mark pulled his hoodie off the back of his chair and wrapped it around himself again. He pulled the zipper up and down a few times, not speaking. Gyro watched him, unsure of what any of this meant.
“Thank you for not thinking I’m weird.” Mark finally said.
“In case you haven’t noticed, people think I’m weird too. And they’ve got a much better reason than my soda preferences.” He gave a dry, sardonic, laugh.
“I guess you’re right.” A soft smile crossed Mark’s face. “I’m really glad we met, Gyro.”
“Of course you are.” Wait. No. That sounded stupid. There had to be a better response. It was too late to say something different, so Gyro shoved a few more chips into his mouth instead.
Mark’s phone chirruped an alarm, and he glanced down at it. “I should get back to the dorm and do a couple more hours of studying. I’ve got Programming Methodology AND Linear Algebra final exams back-to-back on Tuesday.”
“That sounds unpleasant. I still have to finish grading the Physics 107 tests for Dr. von Drake. You don’t happen to be in that class, do you?”
“No, I took physics at community college last year.”
“Probably for the best. He asks very tricky questions. I’ve run two red pens out of ink already. But,” Gyro stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder, “I’m sure you’ll do great on your tests.”
“Thanks. Pew pew pew!” Mark made finger-guns at him.
Gyro raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“I dunno. I’m trying to make it my thing, I guess? Mom says I need to work on my personal brand. I wanted something that Pew pew?” Mark waved his fingers again. “You don’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that.” Gyro paused. Mark was still awkward and nervous sometimes, but generally, the parrot seemed so much more confident now than he had been when they first met. And in a way, Gyro thought, he himself felt more confident as well. This was a positive trend, he decided, and he ought to encourage it. “It suits you. Keep doing it.”
“Marcus, stop pacing. Every time your shadow moves, my lighting gets unbalanced.”
Mark huffed quietly and sat down on a stone bench. He really wanted to get into the Engineering lab before they had to leave for the airport, but his mother was insisting on “documenting every unique aspect of the campus architecture.” They had stopped again so that she could take pictures of the mosaic-tiled fountain in the center of the University Quad. His leg bounced impatiently, the motion jostling some of the snow that had accumulated on the leaves of a nearby shrub. He watched the bits of ice crystals flutter to the ground. On the far side of the quad, a tall, thin figure dressed in an old brown overcoat and lime-green scarf was walking towards the Engineering Building.
“Gyro!” he called, waving a glove-covered hand and pulling down the hood on his jacket so he could see better.
The chicken waved, and walked over to them. He glanced at Mark’s mother, who was giving Mark an expectant look. Right. Introducing people. He knew how to do this one. “Gyro, this is my mother, Emma Glamour. Mom, this is my friend Gyro Gearloose!” .
“Oh, so you have made a friend?” Emma lifted her sunglasses and looked Gyro up and down appraisingly, then gave one slow nod. “Good to hear you’ve been working on your social skills as well as your studies.”
“We play chess every weekend and sometimes we get dinner afterwards,” Mark reported dutifully, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders release as his mother nodded again. He was pretty sure he’d gotten this right. And, he suddenly realized, even if he hadn’t, even if his mother had criticisms for him later, Gyro probably wouldn’t notice or care if Mark had broken some obscure social rule. Was that how real friendships were supposed to be like?
“Well, I should call for the airport taxi, but I’ll let you say goodbye to your friend before we go.” Emma pulled a trendy flip-phone out of the silk-lined pocket of her pale pink coat, and retreated towards the shelter of the building before she removed her gloves to dial.
“She didn’t like me very much, did she?” Gyro watched the woman’s retreating form.
Mark stared at him. “Are you kidding? You got The Nod . First time meeting her, too! She loved you!”
Gyro looked confused, but Mark set down his backpack and pulled it open. “Anyway, that’s not why I called you over here. I’m really glad I ran into you!” He pulled a brown paper bag, sealed shut with duct tape, out of his bag. “I would have left it in the grad student office, but this is better. Sorry I didn’t have actual wrapping paper. Don’t open it until Christmas, ok?” He shoved the parcel into Gyro’s hands.
Gyro stared at the gift, dumbfounded. “I… I didn’t get you anything.”
“It’s ok! I didn’t expect you to! I know you said you didn’t mind the peace and quiet so you can get your work done, but I thought… well, if you’re spending the holiday alone, you should at least have a gift.”
“Thanks,” Gyro’s voice came out quietly, and he slipped the bag into his coat pocket.
“Marcus, the taxi will be at the North Parking Lot in five minutes,” his mother’s voice rang out through the frosty air.
“Right. I should go.” Mark hoisted his backpack over his shoulders again. He impulsively reached out and wrapped his arms around the chicken in a quick hug. “Have a good holiday, Gyro.”
He was quite certain it was just the sharp cold wind that was making his face flush red.
