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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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.

Dylan frowns but doesn't comment on Jack's recent job prospects. Instead, he takes a moment, trying to dismiss that note of sourness, before, "I never understood why local tourists carried cash."

And by 'local tourists,' he means domestic ones.

"I mean, if we were going somewhere in the States, I could just use my card."

Jack shrugs. "Dunno either. I guess they're afraid of scary New Yorkers getting their credit card numbers or something."

Never mind that it's a lot easier to cancel a credit card than it is to have to replace cash.

"At least I can replace a credit card. Money's a little harder." More than just convenience factors into Dylan's decision to carry a card domestically.

The thread of the conversation pauses as the cook finishes with the candied fruits, now lightly grilled, warm, and sticky, and hands them a skewer at a time to Dylan. He passes one to Jack, smiling softly. "Go ahead and try it."

Nothing wrong with doing dessert first.

Jack grins at him. "What I was thinking." He knows it's possible Dylan actually did say what he was thinking, but he needs to point out great minds thinking alike and all that.

"Ooh," Jack says softly as he takes the skewer and bites at one of the pieces a little tentatively, more out of fear of it being hot than any fear of not liking it. Just because he does have choices in food now doesn't mean he's entirely lost that fear that food could be taken or denied later. Still, he does like it, but it is hot, and he sucks a little air in before he takes another bite. "That's really good," he says around the mouthful.

Dylan mirrors him, taking a bite of his fruit and breathing around it in a belated attempt to cool it down a little. He still has his mouth full, too, when he asks, "What was that?"

Never mind the fact that he's just as unintelligible -- it's entirely purposeful.

Jack snickers - but also swallows before he says again, "That's really good. Also hot."

He waves the skewer a little - carefully, trying to cool it down without actually launching any of it into space.

"So do you just like... go get lunch like this a lot? Because I totally would."

"Sometimes," Dylan admits, shrugging. "It's easier to go grab something in New York as opposed to, like, India what with the time differences and all, but ... "

But he has, in fact, grabbed a quick lunch in New York while at work -- or a quick breakfast in Japan. It all depends on what he's craving and what time it is and how the time zones fall.

Edited 2025-02-19 15:28 (UTC)

"Still fucking cool," he insists around another mouthful. "It's all so cool."

Has he mentioned just how much he feels like he's lucked out, here? And considering he decided years ago that everything was going to be terrible forever and that there was no such thing as luck?

Sometimes he's still a little worried it's all just a dream, if he's being honest.

"One of these days," Dylan starts around another bite of his fruit, this one a touch cooler than the last, "I'm gonna show you something and you're gonna pull that blase teenage bullshit on me."

Never mind the fact that, like he told Jack, it never really does get old.

Jack pauses - and then finishes chewing the bite he had taken while Dylan had been talking. "That's for like... when parents are trying to convince you it's cool to do something that actually sucks. Or when their parent sucks. Kinda..." He flushes, dropping his gaze from Dylan for a moment, the momentum he had been trying to build dropping off all at once. "That's not. I mean."

The connection says what he can't bring himself to actually voice, considering he is still a teenager and considering no teenager has ever been in a hurry to declare their parent "cool". There's another emotion brewing in there, too, and his difficulty to voice it has more to do with his history than any teenage tendencies, though they probably don't help. He hasn't felt comfortable, felt safe enough, to love anyone since his mom died.

Dylan snorts, entertained by the not-quite-implication that he might suck. Any amusement he takes from the situation is quick to fade, however, the wind going out of his sails as surely as it does Jack's. His expression softens, and he shifts, telegraphing the fact that he plans on reaching for Jack before he sets a hand on his shoulder. "Hey."

The mental warmth that accompanies the word is meant to be a balm.

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