surfacage | trick or treat

Glen is caught mid-note inside one of the music rooms. He stops, a little disturbed. He didn't want to see this particular Jack again, not after that strange morning in which he had acted so affectionate towards him. Certain it was a trick of the mansion, he let it go and excused himself, but he knew that this particular Jack longed for such affections from him.

It was simply awkward, because Glen wasn't looking to give them to him, this strange and wicked Jack.

Perfect. Jack decides to actually try acting like a Jack, like he had always done - even if his hair gives him away.

"Glen!" He says cheerfully (voice wavering a little at the start), poking his head inside the room. "You should come outside more, you look so pale."

[heading out to lunch! bbl <3]

It unsettled Glen to hear such things from this Jack, if only because he could recall his own giving equal comments about him being a recluse or looking sickly pale.

He almost made a gruff retort, calling out Jack for his pleasant attitude despite their history, but decided not to. It would serve no purpose really.

Instead he asked, "Have you been behaving?" There is an almost-smile crossing his lips, but only those who knew him well would notice it.

And of course, Jack knew Glen's changes of expression like the back of his hand, and seeing that makes his heart suddenly pound in his chest.

He tiptoes into the room, leaving the door open behind him.

"As well-behaved as can be," he nodded, stopping to stand behind the piano. He's glad he's wearing gloves, because he's sure that his knuckles are bony white with nervousness. "You?"

Glen can see it, and it makes him smile. He enjoys having the upper hand, but it is so often with Jack.

"I have kept to myself mostly. After what has happened here, it seems my reputation as Glen Baskerville has dwindled even more." He sighed, yes, still pouting over this. It was not his reputation that mattered, just that nearly every one he came across treated him with hostility, and it was ridiculously exhausting.

"The ones you were mourning for, did they return to you?"

"The Mansion has already taken its due of that Glen," he murmurs, more to himself, tracing a finger over the piano's edges absently. He reaches into the bowl again, unwrapping a strawberry piece as he spoke.

"Not to me, but they did come back." Thoughtful. (Very nervous. Instinct told him to bolt. But he was here to prove something.) "Did - you lose...anyone....?"

"-And what do you mean by that?" Glen regarded Jack curiously. Had his alternate paid for his crime, then?

Did Glen lose anyone? He smiled behind his bangs bitterly, more to himself than otherwise. He certainly had formed small connections with others here and there within the mansion, but he no longer saw the same faces. It was no longer worth trying, even if he had resigned. Glen would be here a year, soon, and had given up on seeking a way out, but he made no effort to actually accept the place, either. It left him in a constant state of restlessness.

"People come and go here. I've lost nothing." What he truly meant is that he lost nothing he wouldn't have lost by some other means, anyway. Perhaps he was also referring to the lack of people he stood watch over, in addition. Jack had left, and Lacie, too. The somewhat friendships he had formed had dwindled to nothing upon the others' leave.

This place was a cozy little hell, but at least it provided plenty of wine, and plenty of staff paper.

"He's a Chain."

To unsettle him might be a good way to distract him. Besides, it would be better if Glen was prepared, if he ever did meet the other Jack's chain.

And he lost...nothing? Lucky bastard. Jack had lost everything more than once, and it took time to get them back - but at least he was actually getting them back, no matter how small of a step at a time. Glen deserved someone like that, too, no matter how antisocial he was at times.

"Are...you all right, though?"

"I have no complaints." He raised an eyebrow at the first part, but tried not to seem too bothered by it, though inside he was shaken a bit. He did not think it possible. It seemed so strange.

He decided he'd trust Jack, since he had after all eaten one, "May I try one." He nodded towards the candy.

"That doesn't seem very reassuring," he murmured, but he did come gingerly closer, almost as if he was still afraid of coming too close to the other man. Their previous encounter was still fresh in his mind, and he remembered how much it hurt for Glen to push him away.

"Oh! And - " He pushed the candies around some, smiling shyly, "Green is mint, red is cinnamon, pink is strawberry, orange is - well, orange..."

What Glen didn't know was that every candy that Jack was eating came from a sleeve, not the bowl - everything in there was poisoned with a weak plant toxin.

"I'll have a red one, then." He took it, unwrapped it, and put it in his mouth. It had a good amount of spice, and he liked that. "It's been quite a while since I've had candy. Thank you, Jack." He looked back to his sheet music, then, seeking comfort in the notes.

The poison, thankfully, should take effect in an hour or so, in order to avoid suspicion. Maybe he'd blame it on some - autumn bug or something.

In the meanwhile, Jack trotted back to the far side of the piano again, closing his eyes. "May I stay? I want - to hear you play again, even if just for a little while."

"Of course," he managed a small smile, and began to play a melody (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o5PV8YfwdmE) he had written while here in the mansion. Like Lacie, it had a simple melody that held an elegant sound and subtle joy.

Any hate for Lacie, he found, had faded into a dull pain some months ago. It was hard to realise that he couldn't blame a dead woman for the way his relationship with his Glen turned out to be, especially after she herself extended her friendship in the mansion.

Jack continued to listen, then, smiling back, not really speaking in fear of breaking Glen's concentration.

Glen finished the song, and waited a moment before turning on the piano bench to face him. With his own Jack, who now seemed so far away, he would always here a critique at the end of a new song. Oftentimes Jack would stand over his shoulder and point out places in the song where the tempo should pick up, or where the notes should be softer. He wondered if this Jack, this wicked Jack, had at all a similar experience.

"Between the second and third movements, you should try a higher note," he murmured, quietly, nowhere as near as confident as Glen's Jack would probably be.

But he'd done the same thing - but only upon Glen's prompting; he usually never spoke unless addressed.

Glen played the second movement, beginning the third with a higher note, "I like that very much." He smiled as he dipped the pen in ink and made the correction to the music.

"I was not sure about this segment," he played a part of the song towards the last measure and stopped, again waiting to hear Jack's comments.

Jack didn't need to see the notes, there, either; he was smiling from Glen's approval, eyes still closed.

"Use a lower chord on the third beat?" He offered hesitantly.

Glen tried a lower chord. Too low. He tried another, and it did give a subtle contrast that left the piece with a bit more variation.

"Thank you, now, was there anything else?" If not, he would play the song again, this time with the changes made.

It really did help to have another ear. He had heard the song so many times, he no longer heard what could be done to improve it.

Jack set down the bowl on the piano and came closer, before reaching out and pulling the corners of Glen's mouth upwards.

"That," he said, simply, before suddenly stepping back and colouring, almost as if realising what he had just done.

Glen looked up, a little startled. He had expected nothing like that from this Jack, especially given that he had been so timid the last they met, and he wasn't sure what to do with it. It would be in bad form to protest, as it was obviously meant without harm, so Glen complied, sharing with Jack small smile. They had been through a lot together, and truly had no reason to be as awkward as they were now, but Glen could never place this Jack. One minute he would do something so like the blonde he loved, but he would be harming someone the next.

His smile turned mischievous, "Are you not feeling well? Your face is red. Have you a fever?"

I just have a really horrid case of you.

Jack's psyche, thankfully, prevented him from saying that out loud, and he shook his head in reply instead, pressing his hands over his cheeks.

Why did he do that? Good lord.

"I - I'm all right," he stammered, backing away to his original, safe position.

"If you say so," the smile was unwavering. He almost wished to dismiss himself. It served him nothing to continually end up giving affections to loved ones only to have them disappear days later. It was tiring, and was doing nothing for his heart, which truly, was not so strong that he could live alone.

Glen turned back to the piano and re-played the piece, this time with the changes.

Jack listened all throughout as well, this time, silently, smiling to himself. He'd always loved to hear Glen playing, because he was so good at it, because it could express things that words couldn't say.

When he was done, though, Jack abruptly straightened up and looked over his shoulder, walking towards the door. "...wait. Don't talk. Let me get you a glass of water first."

Glen was about to speak up, but it was too late, Jack was gone.

How strange.

Are you staying up 'cause you aren't feeling well? *weep*

D: no no no I'm staying up because I miss you guys ;__; I'm fine now! ....I think.

oh good~ I can't stay up sadly though, I have an early start tomorrow again~

np!

off to class!

have fun!

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Are you staying up 'cause you aren't feeling well? weep