When the table is nearly filled, Cyren dismisses Wicker from helping, letting him settle with the others. Wicker takes this opportunity to sit on the ground, against the couch.
He looks up at Bartholomew, “How have you been?”
“I’m alright!” he purrs, finding comfort in being able to talk to someone he knows.
“I’m glad!” Wicker beams, “I think people are gonna start showing up in an hour or two.”
Bartholomew nods along as he listens to the plans.
“If you ever need some chill time, you can let any of us know. Even Varhanna will help, despite everything.”
Nirium laughs at this and Wicker continues, “If you get snacks or anything, get them from the left side. Drugs are on the right.”
“In the food?” Bartholomew tilts his head.
“There’s a lot of different ways to do it! Cyren’s got some other stuff, but we’re just getting the food part ready now. You have less experience so you need to be careful, though.”
“No problem!”
Wicker taps the side of Bartholomew’s cup, “Don’t go asking Cyren for a refill, though. She won’t cut you off.”
“Got it,” Bartholomew glances into the cup again, “Is there stuff in here too?”
“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to. She just wanted to get you started.”
“I don’t mind it,” Bartholomew waves his tail.
“If she does get you more, tell me,” Nirium interjects, “You don’t need the pure shit.”
Wicker agrees plainly, not having anything else to say. Nirium and Varhanna stay quiet too, aside from playfully messing with each other’s hands. Bartholomew takes another drink and goes over the plans in his head, anxiously excited to see how the party goes.
Bartholomew stands in a corner of the living room, empty cup in hand. A variety of different people have placed themselves throughout Cyren’s house, some idly chatting and others finding creative ways to pass time, filling the house with life and noise. Bartholomew’s head buzzes as he tries to process everything going on. He feels vaguely calm, managing to feel comfortable in how overwhelming the room is. With how focused everyone is on their own tasks, Bartholomew is able to have alone time while watching over the sometimes silly things others do.
Someone familiar approaches him, though his thoughts are too slow to immediately recognize them.
“You doing alright? Nothing’s too crazy?”
After focusing and unfocusing his eyes a few times, he notices Nirium standing in front of him.
“It’s a little loud. I’m fun.” Bartholomew slurs.
Nirium nods, looks back at someone, then focuses on Bartholomew again, “Varry and I are going upstairs if you need somewhere quiet.”
“Cool.”
Bartholomew finds himself laying on the ground, realizing the party has gotten a lot quieter. He lets his head fall to the side, only seeing a few people around him. Everyone’s talk feels much more distant now, coming from outside the new room he found himself in.
Bartholomew slowly sits up, seeing Nirium and Varhanna sitting on a bed together. They look over at the dazed boy curiously.
“Bartholomew?” Nirium tilts his head.
He stares vacantly back at them. He hears them continue to talk, but has a difficult time processing the actual words. Despite this, concern is apparent on both of their faces.
“I’m gonna go find Wicker.”
As Bartholomew shakily stands himself up, Varhanna notes, “He should be in the kitchen.”
His whiskers feel heavy with overwhelming senses. No one attempts to talk to him as he walks through the house, but he feels their attention burning into him. He simply focuses on his feet as he continues.
Bartholomew sinks to the ground floor, wondering how he managed to get up the stairs in the first place. He leans against the walls to lead him through the living room. At least until a table blocks his way.
The different plates and bowls are marked by unreadable words, whether it’s because of Bartholomew’s mental state or poor handwriting. Seeing the food in front of him makes him realize the hunger stabbing into his stomach. He hums monotonously for a moment, trying to differentiate between the snacks, then picks up two sugar cookies from the right side of the table. Bartholomew makes his way around the table and into the kitchen while he eats.
“Mewmew?”
Bartholomew locks eyes with Wicker. He wobbles over to the daemon in a rush of excitement.
Wicker laughs and ruffles the fur on Bartholomew’s head, “Where have you been, dude?”
“Up with Nirium and Varry. Laying down. I missed you!” He purrs into Wicker.
He holds a cookie up as an offering, which Wicker happily takes a bite of. Bartholomew wiggles his body around, hardly managing to keep himself upright.
“You’ve been up there for a few hours,” Wicker says while chewing, “You fall asleep?”
Bartholomew pauses for a moment, his vision rippling, “I guess so.”
“If you wanna rest we can get back home,” Wicker suggests.
Bartholomew nods happily.
“Alright!” Wicker claps his hands together, “Let me go grab something and we can go.”
Outside, the air is cool. Bartholomew stops walking for a moment, feeling gentle drops of rain on his fur. His legs start to wobble when he remembers he’s standing.
Wicker, holding a pouch in one hand, looks over curiously, “You alright, dude?”
“Mhm. Feeling water.”
Bartholomew closes his eyes. He listens as the rain gets louder and feels more droplets falling together. A sudden breeze startles him, causing him to stumble forward.
Wicker laughs, “I guess we should just get going, huh? Don’t wanna be too wet.”
“Too wet,” Bartholomew repeats. “Too wet, too wet.”
Suddenly, they’re at Wicker’s front door. Bartholomew puts a hand on his head, trying to remember the walk there. Thunder pounds overhead as Wicker opens the door.
“Your party was fun.”
“You told me,” Wicker leads Bartholomew inside, “I’m glad you liked it!”
“I don’t really remember it, but it was fun,” Bartholomew yawns, “I’m hungry.”
Bartholomew stares at the half-empty plate in front of him, feeling as if he’d just woken up. His tail sways back and forth with frustration while he tries to remember the countless moments he’s forgotten tonight. His fork clinks to his plate, which sits next to him on the carpeted floor.
“...I just think it’s exciting,” Wicker finishes, gazing down at his own food.
Bartholomew’s brain spins aggressively, somehow not letting him know what they were just talking about. He listens to the now silent room around him.
“It stopped raining,” he states calmly.
Wicker looks up at him and smiles, “Yup, you’ve noticed a few times now.”
Bartholomew’s face heats up with embarrassment. Wicker sets his own fork down in response, scooting himself closer to his partner.
“It’s alright, you’re good!” he comforts, “Memory issues happen. We don’t have to know anything.”
Bartholomew nods along, gripping the bottom of his shirt in his paws.
“If you’re overwhelmed you can go take a shower.”
He nods, feeling warm water hitting his back. Bartholomew picks himself up carefully, trying not to slip on the shower floor.
He stands alone in Wicker’s bathroom, fur completely soaked. A sigh escapes his mouth. The memory lapses may still be hard to get through, but they’ve started to feel more normal to him.
Bartholomew looks at his paws, watching small streams run through his fur. Though the water is hypnotizing, he shakes his head and turns off the shower.
A soft towel waits for him, perched on a rack on the wall. He takes it and thoroughly scrubs his body. Being able to dry off eases his mind, clearing any worries he had before. The towel gets discarded into a laundry basket and Bartholomew gets himself dressed.
Wicker stands in the kitchen, smoking while he leans against the countertop. He happily greets Bartholomew when he enters the room.
“Welcome back, I’ve got a snack for you!” he smiles, nudging a small plate forward.
“Oh, thanks!” Bartholomew responds, settling himself next to Wicker and picking up the cold brownie.
Wicker blows a cloud of smoke to the side, “How are you feeling?”
“Pretty good,” Bartholomew munches away.
“Cool, cool.”
Looking at the desert in his hand, Bartholomew is hit with a sudden thought, “Man, I never got to tell Cyren her food was good! I should’ve thanked her for the party.”
“I’ll let her know next time I see her! She won’t mind, I promise.”
“I’m sure, I just meant to let her know.”
Wicker takes another drag, then puts the blunt out on the counter, “You wanna go look at the clouds outside?”
“Sure!”
Bartholomew finishes his brownie and sets his plate in the sink. Afterwards, the two make their way outside. They lay next to each other in the surprisingly dry grass. Wicker puts his hands up and behind his head, while Bartholomew sets his on his stomach. The sky is mostly clear, but pink, soft-looking clouds float past them.
“The sky is really pretty here,” Wicker notes, “I used to live in Quatorum, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the sun being so low.”
Bartholomew keeps his eyes on the clouds, “I’ve always lived in Vacus Trium. It’s really nice. I’ve never seen the sun anywhere else.”
“Would you want to?” Wicker asks.
“Maybe,” Bartholomew threads his fingers together, “I’d prefer to be able to help my family here, though.”
“That’s fair.”
A couple larger clouds begin to roll in. The two watch them glide against the sky, oblivious to anything happening around them. The only sounds around them include rustling trees and chattering birds.
Bartholomew shuts his eyes, letting the comforting feel of nature surround him. He smiles, happy to be where he is now and appreciating the people around him. The gentle sounds let him sink into a calmness he didn’t know he needed.
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