Waving offhandedly to the waitress behind the counter, Beej leads the way to a booth near the window and drops into it, sighing absently. He'd -much- rather be following Neets back to their rooms and wrapping himself up in as much of the covers as he could get away with, but he supposed that his brother was just as important. Or something.

'Dazzo eyes the surroundings suspiciously, but as they were the only ones there, he guessed it was safe enough, for the moment. The woman behind the counter nodded once and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving nothing but the soft sound of the door closing to mark her passage. Easing into the worn red vinyl bench across from his brother, he shrugs at him. "So we're here, an' you got rid of the brat. Now, you want to explain just -what- the _hell_ is going on around here? 'R home, or wherever?"

"He's not a brat. And I am willing to wager that if you two had met under different circumstances, he'd have been somewhat more polite. Shoving Neets around is not the way to win his delight with your company."

"I don't -want- his 'delight in my company'. He's funny-looking."

"You know, I always wondered why you seemed to have few friends. I think I know, now." "And so he looks a little odd. Did I say you had to fall madly in love with him? No."

"He's got green hair, yellow eyes, and the damnedest-looking teeth I've -ever- seen in my life. How can you sit there and say it's merely 'odd'?" Disgust. "I don't want to -hear- it, not from you, not from him, not from -anyone-. Okay? You've probably got yourself convinced that he's the best thing since sliced bread."

"Yes, he does. Easily... Because I've gotten used to them in the last... oh, year and a quarter or so." Shrug. "I like them, for the most part. I like him, too. Much more than I like sliced bread... Or bread period. Either definition. And you know, it's funny... The last person I thought I adored that you actually -did- approve of showed an intense interest in my bank account... To the point that she got into a snit when I told her that she'd have to make a few minor changes in her lifestyle if she wanted to be named as the other party in a joint account."

"Year. And. A. Quarter... Or so? You've... How long have you known him?" Blink, blink. "Hmmph. What constitutes the parts that you don't like?" Calculating, gears shifting and various portions of his mind warming up to catalog weaknesses. Sitting up straight, he glares. "So, what, lack of interest in your finances constitutes one of the cornerstones of a 'good relationship'?" He spits the words out, as if they were moldy. "And that -wasn't- my fault. I simply pointed her in the right direction and told her a few of your good points..."

"Yes. Well... We met approximately seventeen weeks before Neets' birthday, I believe, and it's been... eight, I think, since his last one, sooo... Eight and seventeen is...twenty-five, divided by..." He pulls a calculator from a pocket of his coat, blinking at the results. "Huh. We've known each other for one and a half years, plus a quarter of another month. So, one year, six months, and one week, give or take a couple of days. How nice..." Giving his brother a sardonic look, he slips the calculator back into its pocket. "In a way, yes. A better one is trust, you know." "Hm. Maybe you should have mentioned some of the bad ones... It's too late now, so it's not important anymore."

"You keep track of -weeks-? No wonder no one ever stayed with you long..." Rolling his eyes, he asks anyhow, tone implying how stupid he finds his query. "So, how long have you been in love?" This in turn reminds him of something else, which brings another grimace to his face. "And what were you talking about, that mother suggested the second wedding? Don't tell me you took him along with you..." "So his lack of interest in your net worth has convinced you to trust him, or something like that? And I -tried- to tell her, but she just nodded and said that it was the chance she'd always wanted -- to try to convert someone from their corrupt ways."

"Not always. Just recently... When I was trying to figure out when our anniversary was. One of them, anyhow..." "His name is Neetlemyre, Neetles for short. Do you think you could learn to use it? And I don't know... A year and five months. Five and a half, maybe. Forever." He knows it's not what Randazzo wants to hear, but he can't bring himself to care. It was his own fault for asking, after all, and he knew this wasn't going to be easy... He was somewhat grateful that it seemed to be going more easily than he'd feared it would. "Just that, and yes, I did. No one knew who he was, 'Dazzo, except what we wanted them to know. It was the second time I'd brought Neets along, so mother figured that I must be serious enough, this time... So she suggested, we discussed, and I don't even remember -how- we arrived at a 'yes'." "Not -that-... Thanks a -lot-, Randy. Why didn't -you- keep her?" Muttering, he absently picks up a stray sugar packet and toys with it, shaking his head.

"More than one anniversary. Blackwater, you're weirder than I remember you being... And why should I use his name? I don't care for him, I don't want to remember his name... No matter how strange it is. What kind of woman names their child 'Neetlemyre'?" He's just staring at his younger brother, now, eyebrows threatening to disappear into his rather short bangs. "I refuse- How can you say you've been in love with him 'forever' when you've only known him for less than two years? And you're also saying you fell for him a month, or -less-, after you met. This is... Even for -you-, it's... Warped. Messed up." But seemingly inordinately fascinating, as he refuses to shut up about it. "The second? -How-? How did you keep them from asking about that hair, or those teeth? Or the fact- Oh. No, you -didn't-... Did you?" He answers his own questions, for the most part, amazement and repulsion mixing in equal measure on his face. "Because she knew I was your brother and she was asking -me- about -you-. 'That cute guy in the yellow hat with the funny animal' is how she phrased it."

"Well, yes... I wasn't paying much attention to the calendar, other than for billing purposes... He hired me, you see, which is how we met. Not quite as romantic as, say, accidentally tripping and dropping flowers into his arms, but better than waking up as he was trying to kill me." He has no idea where the analogies are coming from, but as they seem to do the job, he won't complain. "Because it's a sign that you can at least be respectful, no matter how much you dislike him. Someone that didn't have very much in the way of maternal instincts towards their offspring, and who would just as soon see him dead than whole and happy." His vehemence doesn't surprise him, though he's sure it'll startle 'Dazzo. "I was wondering that myself. Maybe... Nah, you'll probably turn green if I say that." Another shrug. "Yeah. I wrapped him up and passed him off as a girl, how do you think?" He waves a hand, ignoring the look on the older man's face. "Grand. I've been thinking about giving up on wearing that hat."

"I imagine so. How...charming. So he has homicidal tendencies? And I don't care about showing respect to him... I'm not going to be living with you, obviously, so why should I?"

"Because it's common courtesy, and dammit, he's had enough people discounting his worth as a human being. You, of all people, should be big enough to at least be polite, even if you can't bring yourself to see Neets as more than a moldy old shoe, all right? You insult him one more time and I swear I'll hit you, even though I promised him I wouldn't."

"Me, of all people? Why the hell do you think that of me?"

"Because you're my brother. Family, remember? -Your- business? He's part of my family, now, too, so... It's not like you're going to be living with us, true, and neither am I going to be forcing you to spend time with us. It seems like a really good way to make all three of us miserable. So just do it as a favor for a family member."

Grumbling. Randazzo digests this, settling back against his seat and folding his arms once again. "Maybe. That's all you're getting from me, 'Lackwater. Maybe."

"Maybe? I can live with that. As long as you're willing to try, I guess. And no, he doesn't have homicidal tendencies. Just overdeveloped self-preservation instincts."

"And how do you know what'll make me turn green or not? Answer the question, -brother-."

"Fine, -you- asked... It makes -me- gag a bit, but anyhow. I figure that I may have been in love with him since before I was born, and all I was really doing in the interim was looking or waiting for him. Now I've found him, so I didn't have to take the time to fall in love like I did before."

"All right, I have heard it all, now, for sure. There was Rosencrantz's conspiracy theories, there were Holbrooke's pyro-survives-fire-because-fire-likes-pyros stories, but this..." Shaking his head, he reaches out and taps the table. "Whatever you say, okay? You're insane, sad as that is, but I'll humor you. Okay..."

"I am not insane. I -said- that that was what I figured -could- have happened. It certainly may not be true. It's just a theory... And doesn't fire always like someone that worships it?" He's smirking, now, gladly deflecting the topic towards someone -else's- foibles.

"Ah. Well, it certainly makes you -sound- insane. And you know, it's funny..." He traces a circle on the pale bone-colored Formica, smirking back, though with a touch more smugness as small flames spring up in the wake of his finger's path. "But it seems that it -does-." The fire dies soon enough, leaving nary a scorch-mark as proof.

"I didn't ask for an assessment of my sanity, you know." He watches the little demonstration with as little interest as possible, though he's fascinated by the idea. "Cute... are you hoping that'll induce me to go have my mental health checked up on? Because it won't work." Raising a brow, he leans forward, inspecting the table top. "So how does it work?"

"So? Do I look like I care if you asked or not?" Shrugging, he does it again, although he traces a square, this time. "I have no idea, really. Seems to be a mental thing, though... This really doesn't bother you?" Disappointed, as if he could be anything but.

"No, but I just thought I'd tell you. Remind you, whatever." He gingerly extends his hand towards the flames, feeling the quite-real heat. "Mental. Really... Next time I see her, I'm going to -have- to ask Nomi if she's experienced anything like that... No, it doesn't, not after the stuff I've seen and done over the last year or so. Makes me curious, but it doesn't upset me, which I know bothers you."

"Whatever. Seems to be our favorite word, for the moment." Smothering the fire with his palm, he nods. "I gotta go back and find the guy that showed me how to do it, see if I can't get him to show me some more. Like how to get more than just the most fleeting of impressions out of the Wind..." His voice is absent, before he gives his brother a real, if wry, smile. "You always -were- difficult to impress."

"Nah... This is most certainly different than anything I've seen yet. It's just not... Well, all right, I -am- surprised, but not very much." Shrugging a bit, he retracts his hand and props his chin on it. "We're looking for a house."

"So you figured that I'd end up like this, somehow? Tell me, O clairvoyant one, how close are the authorities?" 'Dazzo leaves off in his flame-tracery, shaking his head once more over his brother's announcement. "What did I say that sounded like 'tell me all about your life'? A house? -Why-? Do you know how -often- you move from place to place?" The waitress slipped up to the table and refilled their coffee cups, seeming to ignore the conversation.

"No... Well, not -exactly- like this. But given the way -my- life has been going, what you're showing me, if indeed it's some...innate talent you have and not merely a parlor trick, it doesn't surprise me." Lifting his mug, he takes a delicate sip, making a face as he belatedly remembers that he needs to add more sugar. "Oh, nothing.... But I figured, as long as we were playing catch-up... A house. As in a large, permanent dwelling-structure not attached to others. Because I'm tired of living in the apartment, and because... I don't know how to explain it without sounding stupid or trite or something. Since you'll probably ask, because we're both sort of starting over, and one way to do that is to move. Shake up the dust and sort things out and figure out what we're really interested in hauling across town, across the continent, across the bloody galaxy... It's complex. And also because I'm tired of the neighbors I have now." Extracting a small datebook from another pocket, Beej consults it, smiling at a few notes scattered across the pages. "Oh... Maybe once every three weeks or something. It kind of depends. And once we settle on the house, that'll change, too."

"Innate it might not be, but it -does- seem to require talent. One that I obviously have..." Blink. "All right, I'll fragging bite. How has your life been going, what is it that's been happening to you that's so strange?" The exasperated questions are growled out, Randazzo poking at his cup without picking it up yet. "I -know- what a house -is-. I was just making sure I heard what you said correctly. You're moving across the galaxy? Whatsamatter, -they- don't 'respect' your little green-haired bitch either?"

It surprised both of them, and brought the waitress' attention back to them for a moment. Blackwater eased back down onto the plastic bench, staring wide-eyed at the mark of his hand on his brother's face and gently rubbing at his palm, which was stinging.

Randazzo's fingers poked gingerly at the side of his face, the man opening and closing his mouth a few times and turning his head experimentally. "I didn't think you'd actually do that. Hm."

"I told you that I would. I don't quite believe it either... But then, I'm still not sure you're the same Randazzo I used to know." He felt oddly calm, as if the single slap had been enough to dispel his seditiousness.

"So you did. And why wouldn't I be?" The older man didn't quite trust the man across the table, having learned long ago that quiet didn't always mean complacent or docile...

"Because you used to at least tolerate me, instead of baiting me. And because you used to be halfway pleasant. I think it is time for the both of us to take our leave of the other."

"I still tolerate you. And I used to tease you mercilessly, or have you forgotten? Are you sure? I... There's... I still have a few questions." Something in his face changes, whether it's a softening of the set of his jaw or the barest hint of a smile is impossible to tell.

"How am I to tell? And I -do- remember. There is a fine line between teasing and deliberate provocation." He shakes his head one last time, closing his eyes for a moment. "I'm sure you do. It is late, I am tired, and I do not think I wish to continue speaking to you in this state."

"Because I haven't said anything about -you- personally, for a while. And I know there is. Yours seems to keep moving." Covering the reddening hand print with a palm, he frowns across the table. "I do. I don't suppose you'd consider meeting me here tomorrow or the day after?"

"So you haven't. But you -have- been remarking upon choices I've made and the man that I love, in ways that bear no resemblance to the teasing I've known. Therefore I am not so sure about your motives, nor the veracity of your claim of tolerance." "And I -want- to go home. I was almost asleep when you started pestering Neets, and I've been up for about fourteen hours, now. I have things I must do tomorrow, and I need to have a clear head to do them."

"Fine. Go, I'll call you later. Or something." He waves a hand, irritation flowing over him in waves, like the tide coming in.

"Call me?" Digging in yet -another- pocket, he comes up with a slightly battered card and pushes it across the table top. "You can do that. Just call these guys and tell 'em who it's for, they'll patch you through to the hotel and you can leave a message, if we're not there." Or, more likely, we take the phone off the hook to avoid you... Tilting his head back, he gives himself over to a few seconds of unadulterated basking in the toasty and somnolent feelings radiating from their link, eyes unfocussing from something akin to exhaustion.

"Yeah, sure, whatever. I'm going to write up a list for you, 'Lackwater, so be prepared. See you." He frowns a bit at the funny expression on Beej's face, but lets it pass without comment.

"I imagine you will. And I -will- answer your questions, if I can. Fare well." And with that, he produces a few crumpled bills from the same pocket that held the card, leaving them alongside it, before poking at a couple of buttons on his 'fader and heading for what was home, for the moment.

'Dazzo grumbled as Blackwater flickered out of his immediate vicinity, scrubbing at his face with both hands and wondering just what the hell had happened.

His boots are toed off; his coat flung onto a chair, over his hat; and the grey flannel shorts are left in the middle of the floor. Half-consciously weighing the probability of tripping over them in the morning, he slithers under the edge of the blankets and settles in beside Neets, murmuring a bit as he gives in to Sleep's dulcet call.