*The phone was ringing. How... no, -who-. Who, in the throes of insanity, had put the receiver back on the cradle? Oh, yes... He had. That made it even more vexing... Plucking the standard almond-colored handset from its resting place, he pulled it into the small cave formed by the blankets arcing over his face. Beej mutters a sleepy greeting, trying to remember who was going to be calling him.*

Yeah? So? *He listens to the voice on the other end, allowing the tirade to sooth and lull him... He was ready to fall headlong into sleep when a sharp exclamation jerked him awake.* Hum? Yeah, I'm awake, yeah, titanium-borocarbonate and silicon, with a Kevlar overlay... Maybe. Maybe. No, that's... Because it's -illegal-, that's why. Forty up front or you find someone else who'll be less discreet...

*His eyes weren't open, and he'd still much rather be sawing logs, but he sounds rather more alert now.* Look, -you- are bothering -me-, at a point in time that I specifically -reserved- as time during which I am -not- to -be- bothered. I am telling you this, not because I am trying to flaunt some sort of high-and-mighty attitude and demand you grovel your thanks that I decided to speak to you, but so that you might better appreciate my position. *This prompts another silence from the trader, whose closed-eyed scowl looks a trifle odd. Shifting slightly, he squints at the small clock sitting beside the phone, then cranes his neck, glancing past the foot of the bed to where honey-warm evening light spills across the floor.* I can understand that perfectly well, but-- It's not -my- fault that you chose to mine without filing for the prop-- No, I will -not- take a sixty-forty split-- *He sighs as softly as he can manage, tired of being interrupted.*

Nor ten-ninety, or five-ninety five, or two-ninety eight. Forty thousand, cold hard cash, up -front-. The other thirty on delivery. *Rubbing at his eyebrows, he turns over and blinks blearily at the ceiling. This guy was both persuasive and persistent, he'd give him that.* Would you prefer that I draw up a contract of payment and mark off installments as they are made? I could... No. I have told you three times already. It is -not- legal. I could, and my associate, as well, get several years, or at least an unthinkably large fine for doing this. I would like -you- to make the reward worth the risk. *He -is- annoyed, as evidenced by the tone of his voice, cool and pointed, and the precision of his words. He disliked having to spell things out for people.*

It was the first number I thought of off the top of my head. I suppose, though, if you could demonstrate that you'd be unable to fulfill that debt, that I could think of -some- way of bringing it down. Just how many of these... What were they again...? *Another ninety seconds of panicked blithering. Blackwater considers simply hanging up on the man, but manages to restrain himself.* Bits, yes. Now, how many of them do you actually -need-?

Well, see? If you could get by with only -three-, then I'd only be requesting, oh... *Blast. He turns over again, writing invisible numbers on the sheet with a finger.* Say, twenty up front, with thirty on delivery. Fifteen? No, you don't understand... I'm not halving the entire -total-... *Maybe he -would- just forget it, if the guy continued to whine. His mood, or what mood he'd had having been sound asleep, was being rapidly soured by this infringement. Doing his best to maintain a calm dignity, he settles back onto his back and checks out the cobwebs overhead once more.* Shall I go over the 'why' one more time, sir?

Well, how many do you -want-, and how much do they usually cost? *The pertinent information is tangled up in the man's prattle regarding the state of the business world. Beej ignores everything but the facts, pinning the phone against his face with his shoulder and dropping a hand over the side to rummage in a small duffel bag. The bag, an odie green, cotton-canvas affair had probably been military surplus at some point in time. Now, though, it held things normally found on and in most bedside tables, including a notebook and a pen. These two items were eluding the grasp of the man searching for them, which in turn was causing him to count slowly to ten before he said something rude.* I'm terribly sorry, I missed those figures. Run them by me again? *There! Having found what he was looking for, he's relieved to hear the requested info is being given to him sans diatribe.*

All right, then. *He underlines the totals he's come up with, then doodles a bit, his mind straying to a completely unrelated topic before being forcibly returned to the matter at hand.* So, if you desired all six, it would run you approximately eighteen thousand dollars. Now, as I'm sure you're aware, they'll run me a little more because, as I've mentioned- Very good. *He grins, briefly, before cutting of the grumblings on the other end.* So, call it... twenty-five for all six. Add in the risk-rate which is highly variable and isn't written in stone even when we've agreed on an amount-- *Beej's shoulders would be slumping, were he upright. As it is, he buries his face in his pillow and bites back a groan. Trust this clown to blunt the point he was trying to get at...* Because circumstances are not fixed, they are fluid, and they are nowhere more fluid than the grey realm of the not-quite-lawful. Anyhow, as I was attempting to say-- *Gods, smite him, -please-. Or at least give him a nasty case of laryngitis. Lockjaw. Something...*

I will point this out to you one more time as well. _You_ called me. _You_ took the time out of your day to track me down, dig up my number, and call it. _You_ braved the multiple answering services and transfers that it took to -get- your initial inquiry taken down, marked 'probably important', and forwarded to -me-. _You_ ran the same gauntlet in order to be speaking with me _now_. So, _you_ can either let me finish and -then- make up your mind, or you can continue to be the timid, panicked miner that you're being right now and forget about it. You have thirty seconds to decide, and if you have not, I am hanging up. And I will instruct people that your calls are to be declined. Your time begins now. *He's sitting up by this time, face grim, brows drawn together. The pen is gently placed atop the ruled paper balanced on his knees, both hands flexing to keep from curling into impotent fists.*

*Stunned silence greets the announcement, followed by a few splutters.* Fifteen. *The sputters become full-blown gabbling, which is interrupted by the trader once more.* Ten. Really, sir, this -is- ridiculous. Yes or no? Five. Four. Three-- Ah, very good. Now, interrupt me again and I will consider this deal null, void, and not worth my while. Agreed? Lovely. As I was saying... Taking the risk of legal action into account, I'd require a -minimum- of fifty, total. Seventy isn't that much more, after all, and to be honest, I think I would decline it for less than sixty. Total. So, my opening bid is seventy, forty now and the rest after. Your turn.

Sixty? I don't think that's quite enough to justify it. Well, I'll ask my partner, then. *Really. Covering the mouthpiece, he glances down to where is associate is curled into a quiescent ball. After a short study of his sleep-smoothed countenance, he replies.* He says it's not quite enough, either. I don't know, maybe he's secretly, madly in love with me! *Whoops... Snickering -now- would _not_ be conducive to convincing this guy he was competent enough to find his stupid drill bits. Recovering, he rolls his eyes at the disgustedly distasteful comment inspired by his exasperated remark.* I was kidding, of course. I hope so as well... At any rate, how's sixty-n, er, eight strike you? *No baiting the customers. Mustn't bait them, mustn't retaliate, no matter how fun it would be...*

*Resolutely looking towards the front of the room and noting that the twilight had deepened considerably, he ends up having to count to ten in three different languages before he thinks he can be civil.* Precisely why I suggested sixty-eight, -sir-. Will you accept that price, or...? *That's it. He tries to remember what time he'd answered the phone, makes an rough estimate, and scribbles it down. The time spent arguing with this guy was going to be appended to the end of this week, even if he -did- have to reschedule some things, and everyone else could go jump in the lake.* Sixty-three? Let me check... *And now he was being handed excuses to look at Neets. A loopy grin takes hold of his face for a moment, before he glances back to the clock and composes his voice.* No soap. Sixty-eight?

Sixty-four doesn't wash, either. *He reaches over and brushes a few strands of green hair back over one ear, only half-listening to the man on the phone's dithering.* How about sixty-six, then? No? Sixty-four five... Eh, I don't know. Vinnie says 'no' to that as well. He does say, though, that sixty five-five is our final offer on the matter. *_Vinnie_? Igh... Where had he dredged -that- up from? Beej writes the name down, drawing an arrow to a rather artistic rendering of his beloved's proper moniker.*

Sixty-five five is the final offer, Mac. Unless you want to pay more, which of course would -not- be sneered at. *He blinks, then allows himself the snicker he'd fought off earlier.* Actually, I've always been under the impression that humans were made of mostly carbon and water. You, sir, are in the mining business, are you not? I may be laboring under a misconception, but indulge me... Isn't it a rather -expensive- profession?

My point was, actually, that you -could- afford my services in the eighty to one hundred range. But, as I've offered you sixty five-five, the ball is in your court. Yes, no, or put this off until later...?

~~Stirring a little under the attentions of his lover, he murmurs quite sleepily.~~ Beej? Wassa m'tt'r?

*He grins in surprise as Neets stirs, but he merely listens to the nimblewit on the other end lay out his many financial woes.* I stand corrected, sir. Very well, you have the next twenty-four hours to decide. When you have, inform one of my answering services and tell them to mark it 'Yellow hat'. Yes, they'll understand it perfectly, and I'll get the message. *More discourse. Beej's mouth flattens in annoyance, and his free hand rises to flap in imitation of the caller's mouth.*

~~Neets, grumbling audibly, reaches for the phone with little preamble and steals it from Beej's hand. His voice already sleep-rough, he glowers.~~ 'ey! 'e sed 'e'd git t'mess'g! Shadd'p 'lre'dy. ~~Not one for having his hard-won sleep interrupted, Neets makes little effort to apologize, since it's obvious that the transaction itself was over with.~~ G'-ni't-! ~~The phone itself is slung back into its cradle.~~ Gaaaaah!

*A rather startled Blackwater blinks at his lover's ferocity before collapsing into laughter.* I thought he'd -never- shut up... Maybe I should've let -you- answer the phone, 'Vinnie'... Hmmph. *He leans over a bit, shaking his head and propping himself up on an elbow.*

Naaaah...m'sleep'n... ~~Nevermind that he -isn't- anymore...~~ 'Sid's. I wou'd'na kn'wn w'at t'say t'im f'e re'lly want'd som'th'n.

Are you? *He brushes at green locks once more, a bit of a smile still on his mouth.* He really -did- want something... As much of a discount as he could wrangle. *Snorting, he stretches and drops the notebook and pen back into the bag.* Work is officially over. *He can't decide if he's sleepy or not, but he does feel rather lonely, all of eight inches away from Neets, whom he puts an arm around and draws close.*

'Co'rs' 'e did! S'w'at th'y'all wan', ain't't? ~~Grinning happily, he takes the invitation for what it's worth and snuggles close to his lover's side.~~ W'at'd 'e wanna buy?

Seems like... *Ah, there was somnolence again... He defers sleep, however, in favor of studying Neets' profile for what surely must be the million-and-fifteenth time. Give or take three hundred.* Drill bits... Expensive ones, that require permits to buy. He didn't have the permits, and he couldn't get them...

Bet 'e's us'n'm t'crack int'a saf... ~~He played this game with himself rather often, trying to fit odd purchases with incriminating acts.~~ S'late, innit? E'rly? ~~He doesn't bother to look at the clock, since they made their own hours anyway, but it didn't seem like so long ago that he'd lain down beside the trader and tripped off into dreamland.~~

He is, after a fashion... He's not supposed to be mining where he is, and rocks keep minerals safe for millions of years. *The thought of someone assaulting a regulation-size office safe with drill bits the size of the ones requested gets a snicker from him.* Late. Later, anyhow... *It hadn't been that long... Just enough to ensure that one or both of them would be well-entrenched in their dreams before the phone rang. Speaking of which... Beej blinks and flips a small frown at the offending object.* I wanted to see how the end of that dream turned out... *This is said mostly to himself before he looks back to the young man beside him.*

See? M'not th't f'r off t'm'rk. ~~His smile is small, hidden by the dark and the fact that he's mumbling things into Beej's ribcage right about now.~~ W'tcha dre'm'n 'bout?

Nope... *He doesn't care if things are being mumbled into his ribs, the feeling of the smile almost enough to distract him from the subject at hand... Of course, the question brings him right back around. Shaking his head and cupping the side of Neets' head with a hand, he speaks.* From what I can recall, you were waltzing about the living room in what seemed to be a black velvet merry-widow with an anthropomorphic lamp. *Yep. That sounded just as stupid aloud as it had in his head...*

~~What little light there might be in the room seems to collect in Neets' eyes as they widen. His giggling is still, always, a fairly uncertain thing, his laughter a part of him that he keeps to himself most of the time.~~ A bl'ck velv't -wh't-? ~~Street slang led to so many misunderstandings for him...he was fairly certain his lover hadn't been picturing him wandering 'round the house in a plush contraceptive device...~~

*A snicker of his own mingles with Neets' laughter, a flicker of the odd image crossing his mind's eye once more.* Merry-widow... It's basically an excessively fancy bit of underwear that is normally worn by women... I can't remember what one looks like, exactly. *A smallish shrug, fingers wandering through green fuzz to tangle in the longer emerald strands.*

~~He makes a small noise of curiosity, considering. So he'd been -close-...~~ S'not w'at'a tho'ght't was. ~~Arching under the touch and purring like the cat he seems bound to prove he is. He'd known he'd like having his hair this way, and he was certain one of the least known sensual delights was having the touch of fingertips on his scalp.~~ 'appy ann'ver's'ry...

Ah. The lamp had been adamant that you wear it. *His tone is an interesting blend of half-serious and teasing; fingertips wandering through the shorter hair at the murmur.* It was a very strange dream... *For his part, Beej liked the differing textures provided by the varying lengths, finding the prickling against his mouth a very intriguing one indeed. As the angle is wrong for kissing, he settles for moving his fingers to the nape of his young man's neck and scratching softly.* Happy anniversary, indeed... *The words feel strange to him, but there's not a moment's hesitation in saying them. His free hand walks up over ribs to settle over the pale skin above his lover's heart.*

T'lamp? N'v'r did lik' th't lamp. ~~Lazy word, lazy fingers...the words are directed towards Beej's ear, the fingers trailing over his lover's bare chest.~~ 'ow'd we mek't a 'ole ye'r?

It is kind of ugly, isn't it...? It works, though, which is always useful. *He doesn't move his head, his small smile widening a bit at the sound of that voice. The hands over his skin induce a bit of a stretch, pressing up into them.* I'm not entirely certain. This... When I first met you, none of this ever occurred to me... *He shakes his head gently after this, moving the hand at the back of Neets' neck to brush his thumb across cheekbone...*

S'or'ng' 'n p'nk! ~~His exclamation is disapproving, tongue clucking against the roof of his mouth.~~ Y'th'nk -I- tho't it'd t'rn out lik't 'as? M'appy't d'd tho'. ~~A year...a year since he'd scrounged food from a rubbish bin, a year since he'd had to sell another piece of his soul to survive...a year since he'd been made to believe that there -were- decent people in the world, and that he'd found the best of them all. A year...~~

And it was on sale for three bucks when I got it, too. *For some reason, he sounds almost absurdly pleased with this.* I don't think anyone would've... Good, so'm I. _Very_. *A whole year. He couldn't even begin to list the ways it differed from past years, they were far too tangled and not precisely something he wanted to contemplate at the moment. Instead, he tries his best to get even closer to Neets, slipping a leg over the younger man's.*

Figg'rs...s'ugly. ~~Neets shakes his head a little, sitting up only to resettle himself in a comfortable sprawl over his lover.~~ Gotta pres'nt fer'ya...lat'r.

Can't help it... I -needed- a lamp and it was cheap. *Not that Neets' proclamation offended him... Or, if it does, he's not letting anyone know about it.* Mm... *The soft little sound and a rearranging of his arms accompany his lover's draping himself over Beej.* Oh...? Much later? *He manages a bit of eager curiosity despite the inherent somnolence in his voice, his hands sliding to the small of that pale back.*

~~Thinking of the lamp in question gives Neetlemyre a faint queasy feeling, quickly discarded in favour of warm, collected joy.~~ N't much lat'r...b't aft'r we g't som' sle'p. ~~Yellow eyes widen in the dark, and he gives another small peal of laughter.~~ M'too t'r'd fer s'x...now a'kno' m'marr'ed.

I -do- try to keep it out of the direct line of sight... *This is delivered in the same gently teasing tone as before, in response to the slight unsettling of the general feeling of good cheer.* I can deal with that. *Beej nods as solemnly as he's able, given the fact that he's trying to slide into Morpheus' arms as he speaks. He rouses a bit at his love's laughter, snickering a bit himself.* Either that or too randy for your own good... *Work-hardened hands slink back up scarred skin, each finding a resting spot over sharp scapulae, lightly tracing the shape of the bone before stilling.* Silly...

~~He lets talk of the lamp go with a snort, resting his hands alongside Beej's face and laying his cheek on the older man's chest.~~ Too r'ndy...~~The words punctuated by a yawn hold the same humour, eyelids slipping shut and leaving emerald lashes curled against alabaster skin.~~ Lov'ya... ~~Last words on the subject it would seem, as he contents himself with dreams of sand and starlight.~~ ~~GONE IC~~

*For his part, he keeps smiling; a small I-know-a-secret smile, the sort that sticks around even after the wearer falls asleep. The trader turns his face into the light touch, lacing his own fingers together across Neets' back.* Mm-hm. *Beej sighs softly, utterly content with the whole situation.* L've y'too... *The little sentence is mumbled so softly as to be unintelligible, but it's of no consequence... He knows his meaning is understood perfectly. His own dreams would seem to involve more of the aforementioned lamp, joined this time by moonlight and the improbable figure of his accountant in a tennis tournament.* *GONEIC*