onebehind | magician's apprentice | been a hell of a ride but I'm thinking it's time to grow

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magician's apprentice | been a hell of a ride but I'm thinking it's time to grow

Dylan knew, coming out of the hospital if not going in, that getting sober wasn't going to be easy. He knew he'd have bad days and good days and days in between, and every therapist he's seen since then, every meeting he's been to has only reaffirmed that. They'd also armed him with a bag of tricks to deal with everything and everything in between, but -- well, today is one of the bad ones and nothing is helping. He's been pacing the house like a madman for the better part of the day, trying to find something to hold his attention long enough that he can stop thinking about running down to the nearest liquor store. He needs to get out of his skin. He's just shy of calling his sponsor. He needs to get out of the house.

He needs to get out of the house.

Stopping midway through moving a pile of books from one side of the living room to the other, he latches onto that idea and turns it over in his head. He needs to get out of the house.

He's moving again a second later, though this time, it's with a purpose, a clarity he hasn't felt like he's had in hours, days, weeks. He goes to Jack's room, tapping lightly on the door, and then after a beat and once he's been invited in, sticks his head in. Flashing him a smile that's equal parts reassuring and strained (he's fine, they're fine, this is nothing bad, he's just a little jittery, don't mind him), he tells him, "Hey. Pack your shit."

He has an idea. It'll be good for both of them.

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If it wasn't honestly cool and if it wasn't everything Jack had ever dreamed of back during his time in the system, he might be less enthused. As it is, he's really just not that jaded.

He laughs at Dylan's comment. "Yeah. I mean, I can sleep on the floor or whatever, but it sucks."

He would have been fine in a sleeping bag or whatever, but this is definitely better.

Dylan hums, and then finally steps into the room, narrow as it is, more fully. He drops his bag on the edge of the bed, to be dealt with later -- probably about the time he and Jack start getting ready for bed -- and then steps back out into the hallway, gesturing for Jack to do the same.

When that's all said and done, he notes, "Guess I probably should've brought something for us to eat." He was kind of in a state when they left, though. Getting out of town was about as far into the future as he'd managed to think.

Jack steps past him into the bedroom, dropping his bag next to Dylan's before he steps back out of the room - and huffs out a laugh. "Uh, yeah. I guess the pizza guys don't really come out this far?"

"Not so much." A beat. "Though, we could go get something and bring it back."

Or they could just go out, period. The sky's the limit, all things considered. The ceremony of the car was just for getting here, not what they did once they arrived. Either way, though, stay or go, it's Jack's decision.

"Oh, okay," Jack returns, tilting his head a little in thought. "Uh... I dunno, though? Whatever?"

Which is very helpful, he knows, but he also doesn't know what he wants to eat at the moment.

Dylan snorts.

"Helpful." A beat and then a little more gently, he offers, "Well, think about it while we look around."

He's pretty sure Jack's not done exploring yet, after all.

Jack pops his shoulders in a "what did you expect?" shrug at that and then nods.

He is absolutely not done exploring, though he figures a lot of it's going to have to wait until the next day when the sun's not all but set.

"There other buildings and stuff?"

He glances over his shoulder, as if he'll be able to survey the grounds through the walls. When he turns back to Jack, it's with a shrug. "There are some maintenance sheds, a couple of half-finished gift shops -- I think they started with a cafeteria style restaurant, too, before the money ran out."

They're all in varying states of construction, of disrepair, though. The warehouse is the real piece de resistance here; he really hasn't been out to look around the grounds in years.

Jack just grins. "Cool."

For a kid who's spent most of the last few years of his life running around on the streets of New York with the occasional bit of snooping around in abandoned buildings (it's not B&E if there's no breaking involved), having somewhere like this to poke around in is a dream come true. "I'll have to check them out tomorrow."

He pauses a beat and then, backtracking, says abruptly, "Chinese?"

Dylan takes a moment, looking thoughtful -- it's not that he's opposed to Chinese, it's that he's doing math in his head, trying to figure out the time it would be in Macau and what the restaurants might be serving then. The question as to whether or not they might be open never crosses his mind. It's a casino town. It's a town, like New York or Vegas, that never sleeps.

Either way, he glances at his watch briefly, before, "You want Chinese-Chinese or American-Chinese?"

This all may be a moot point if Jack is craving something a little less authentic.

Jack probably doesn't actually need to answer that outloud, considering both the interest that immediately pings down their connection and the excitement in his eyes. His face all but lights up at the question, and he rocks up on his toes a little. "Actual Chinese," he agrees immediately, because yeah, that's better than something out of a strip mall any day.

Dylan smiles, something secret and soft and sad all at once creeping onto his face. He jerks his head towards the door, the look lingering. "I might know a place."

It'll be the first time he's been to Macau in -- well, it's been awhile. It seems right in the moment, though, that this be the moment that he returns.

Jack's excitement doesn't fade in the wake of Dylan's answering smile, and he moves to follow him back toward the warehouse's door.

"Kinda guessing you know a place, like... everywhere."

Considering he had Known a Place in Japan, too.

Dylan makes a so-so gesture, then reaches for the door as they approach it. "Kinda? Dad and I spent a lot of time out East, so I know some good places in, like, Japan and China and shit. Not sure I'd be able to come up with something decent if we were headed to, say, Germany, though."

He's not sure he's ever been to Germany.

Either way, when he pulls open the door, there's an alley waiting for them rather than the graveyard around the warehouse.

Jack opens his mouth to comment on that - and then Dylan opens the door, and he steps through. The difference in sounds and smells is immediate - Jack knows New York, had started to get to know Vegas, and this is nothing like either of them.

He glances back at Dylan. "So where are we? Other than China, I mean."

He doesn't know that much about China - definitely not enough to know where they are within the country.

"Macau," he answers, something almost embarrassed tinging the edges of the smile he offers him. Maybe it's because like everything else he's introduced Jack to, he's half-afraid he'll find what he's showing him boring or stupid, somehow. "They call it the Vegas of the East.

"There's a lot of entertainment and gambling venues and old magic here." Among other things.

Jack doesn't notice that edge, if just because he's too busy looking around. "Nice," he says, grinning. "I've probably heard of it, but, like... nothing's really coming to mind, either?"

He has no preconceived notions about Macau itself - not like he did actual Vegas or Tokyo or whatever other major cities they've been to at this point.

"Maybe after dinner, I'll have to give you the grand tour."

By the time they've eaten, things outside of the places meant for tourists will start opening up for the day. He's not going to go beat down the door of Long's now, when it's somewhere around six in the morning here. He glances at his watch briefly, just to confirm that, and then nods quietly to himself. Yeah, too early to wake Bu Bu up just let.

Jack can't help it; he rocks up on his toes again, as close to actually bouncing as he'll let himself get. "Yeah, absolutely," he says with a grin - and then looks around them. "So, uh. Where's good to eat?"

He recognizes it's early, here - but just like they had breakfast in Japan, he's not too concerned about the fact that they'll probably be eating breakfast for dinner.

Dylan rakes his tongue over his teeth, growing slowly serious and thoughtful. After a beat, he nods again and then jerks his head towards the end of the street. "C'mmon. There's a place around here that serves food 'round the clock."

So maybe Jack won't have to eat breakfast if he doesn't want to.

Either way, after a short walk and a duck down an alley that, were they not New Yorkers, might read as sketchy as hell, Dylan's leading them into a hole in the wall that's barely big enough for its three tables. He glances back to make sure Jack is still with him as he weaves through the tight but thankfully empty confines, and stops in front of a counter at the far end. Below it, encased in glass, is a selection of uncooked street foods for the clientele to peruse, and behind it, a bored cook tends a tiny grill.

He looks up when they approach, however, and says something to Dylan in Mandarin; Dylan squints back at him for a moment before answering in surprisingly passable return. The cook hums and goes back to his work, and smiling wryly Dylan turns back to Jack with a gesture to the case.

"Anything look good?"

Jack continues to look excited by Dylan speaking Mandarin (he needs to learn something besides English and Bad English, clearly) - and then turns his attention to the counter, peering into the case and at the pictures scattered over the menu.

"Uh... I think it's a law we have to get some kind of dumpling, right? And the little pie looking things?"

He pauses another moment and then admits, "But I don't know what half this stuff is, so, like... a few different things to try or something?"

"We can do that, yeah," Dylan says, nodding.

He takes a moment following, to peruse the case himself, then calls the cook's attention back to them. As asked, he orders two orders of pork dumplings and pasteis Jack pointed out, then adds on a couple of skewers of roasted meat, another couple of what appear to be candied fruits and something that looks like a cross between a bun and a burger, stuffed with meat. The cook gathers them all up without comment and sets to work cooking, and Dylan shuffles down to a small register, separated from the heat of the grill by a narrow section of countertop, reaching for his wallet as he goes.

"I gotta start carrying cash again," he mutters, mostly to himself. Thankfully, as old as the register seems to be, they have no problem taking his card.

Jack smiles, stepping back as Dylan goes to order. He follows along after him as he goes to pay, taking a moment to look around the alley the restaurant is set up in - and then looks back to Dylan when he speaks again. "Honestly, they're probably more used to credit cards than American money."

This really doesn't look like the kind of place tourists frequent - which isn't a bad thing. There's a reason locals try to avoid Times Square businesses.

Dylan shakes his head faintly.

"I don't know that I could pay in American money, here, but I'm actually kinda surprised they have a card reader." Considering how off the beaten path it is. "China's a lot like Japan in the fact that if you're not carrying at least a little local currency, you're gonna be screwed at some point or another."

"Yeah?" Jack asks, interested. "I guess I'm used to people paying with credit cards. Why so many of us go for tourists: you know they're more likely to have cash on them than locals who just swipe and go."

It's an idle comment on what had been his main source of income until very recently and there's no shame in it, and no real apology. He was doing what he had to to survive. He would still be doing it now if not for Dylan.

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