<////< Shushers, man! >////> *Tues*

[TUESDAY DAVENPORT]

Okay so if Tuesday were a character in a Disney Channel show, this would be that point, probably like 10 or 20 minutes in, and following a stupidly large number of commercials for like, American Idol or whatever, where he had two choices. Also, he’d totally be played by that guy from Wizards of Baverly Race or whatever that show was with the magic and the really hot girl. No, not the little fat one, stupid. The really tall one who had the Mohawk in that one episode. Yep, that’d be him. But anyways, two choices.

On the one hand, he could totally sabotage this relationship. Right here, right now. He could be the be all end all, which would mean, in his case, the end. Wait, was that the correct way to use that phrase? Hm. Maybe not. Okay, well, anyways, he could do that. Or, he could be Mr. Nice Guy, and make this happen.

Hmm. Well this was an interesting position of power. Tuesday couldn’t remember a time he’d ever had the ability to, with a single word, or a few, at least, make or break a relationship between two people, neither of whom were him. Granted, one was almost him. But still. What was he supposed to do? Tuesday wasn’t a dick, and knew he could never live with himself if he chose the bad cop option. But…was he capable of the good cop option either? Was he really . So good cop option, or bad cop option?

Good cop, bad cop? Was that a thing? He could’ve sworn he’d seen it in a movie with Steve Martin and a bunch of French people. Hm. Anyway.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Bob. You're certainly a long way from Iowa, aren't you? Maybe you're checking out New York's fabulous selection of homeless shelters?"

Of course, there was always the third option, which was the Tuesday Davenport option, consisting mainly of deflecting any and all comments with his own snarky flair. ”Nah, they assign us. Quotas, you know. Gotta go to the shelter they put you in.” He flexed his nonexistent biceps, adopting a comically low voice. ”Unless you’re me, of course. Because I fight the power. Yolo, right? Ain’t nobody gonna—“ Suddenly, like the avalanche in…was it 127 hours? No, that was the one where he cut his arm off and there was all the gross blood stuff. National Treasure! That was it. But anyways, something about what she’d said struck him like that thing. ”Wait, but, no. You can’t tell me you’re actually just friends.” He was digging himself into a very, very deep hole here, but, okay, this was just something that needed to happen. ”I mean…you two went all the way to Coney Island, in god-knows-where-Brooklyn, together, and held hands, and he was really nervous because you looked friggin’ adorable, and okay, I probably wasn’t supposed to tell you I knew that, or actually, I probably wasn’t supposed to know that at all, and oh God, I’m talking a lot, aren’t I? Sorry.”

Tuesday paused for breath, then reconsidered. ”Actually you know what? I’m not sorry at all. Nope. Someone around here needed to grow some balls and say something at some point. Jeez louise.”

There. Not to subtle, right? But not too assholey either. Although on second thought, maybe it was too assholey. Whatever. No use in trying to change the past, right?

"The truth of it? Yeah, Thursday is great. But if I fancy him isn't really the matter, because he doesn't fancy me. We went to Coney Island, and he had every opportunity to make some sort of pass, and he didn't." She shrugged, and though there was a fleeting tone of sadness, Pig gazed at her best friend's twin regally. "I like hanging out with him, Tuesday, and if it's only to be as friends, than that's alright with me. I'd rather not rock the boat."

Tuesday took a deep breath. He’d promised himself he’d never, ever do this. But you know what? Thursday would thank him for it later. Right? He’d have to.

”Look,” he said to Pig, sighing, all traces of cynicism gone from his voice. ”Okay, so there’s no one who knows Thursday Davenport better than I do. I mean…” He thought for a minute. ”I guess there like, could be someone who knows him better than I do, but that’d be kind of…worrying.” He shrugged, placing a hand on the table in front of her and gazing straight into her eyes, his voice uncharacteristically low and level. ”But in any case, I love my brother more than anyone else in the world. But I can assure you, beyond a reasonable doubt, that he is an absolute idiot when it comes to girls. Now, if, and I’m using ‘if’ in the loosest sense of the term, he is attracted to a girl, the only way he knows how to display that attraction is to stand there and look like an idiot. The other thing—“ here Tuesday leaned in conspiratorially, “—is that Thursday doesn’t really have friends who are girls. Usually. I mean, I guess there was one…” He shook his head. “Nope, no friends who are girls. Which isn’t to say that you aren’t one, or whatever. Just that…he doesn’t really know how to act around them. It’s kind of like…” He thought for a minute. ”Okay, would you know how to act if like, a kangaroo just randomly hopped up to you? Okay, kind of like that. So basically, you can just assume that he doesn't like you, or you can...Idunno, whatever girls do. You know.” Tuesday sighed again, grinning. ”There, that should fill my quota of somberness for the day. Any other questions from the peanut gallery?”

"Which is why I don't want you to say anything to him. Do you understand? If you tell him, and it gets awkward, I'd never forgive you and would really have the mind to kick your ass. So stay quiet."

Tuesday almost rolled his eyes, except that that totally wasn’t a thing that he did. ”You got it boss. Hands off from here.” He pulled his hands upwards in mock surrender. Actually, though. He was totally out, from here. This was a promise he'd actually keep. Probably.

God, This was such a weird day.

[GEORGIANA 'PIG' SPENCER]

He was incredibly disjointed as he spoke. Almost as though he didn't know the words were coming out until they were spewing from his mouth. There was nothing premeditated to him. Just whatever came to his mind escaped his lips. His tongue was a regular John Dillinger. Smooth criminal. All of his words were highly personal, which Pig didn't like. She didn't get down and gritty with her feelings. It felt like an invasion, and Pig didn't much care for it. She looked adorable? Had Thursday said it, or was this silver tongued brother ad libbing? Thursday had told his brother about the trip? It hadn't been meant to be a secret, but it did affirm that she really didn't have anyone to tell such a secret to. The uncertainty of it all was probably what irked her most. Still she listened obligingly, watching him with her absorbent blue eyes.

As he began another series of rambling, Pig couldn't help but feel anxious. It was entrancing, the sloppy way he spoke. She couldn't get over it. He spoke in circles, sideways and front ways, up and down. Pig wondered if he knew what the bloody hell he was saying. "If he doesn't have girls who are friends or girlfriends, how do you know this isn't just how he is with girls. He's genial and kind, I honestly wouldn't expect him to be any other way. Would you?" Always logical, Pig presented her argument. A highly relevant argument, she thought.

Thursday was sweet and kind. He was shy and quietly generous. There is no other explanation as to why he wouldn't take a perfectly opportune moment like that.

Getting up, she gathered her belongings slowly. "Anyway, I assume your motives come from a good place. And that's admirable, I suppose. But, to be honest, if I'm going to hear anyone likes me, it really should come from the person. Not the presumptions of his twin brother. Noble as they may be." With her backpack loaded, she gave a muted smile at Tuesday. "Though I appreciate it. OH, also. You should think out your words, before you speak. You have the confidence of a public speaker, but you're a little hard to follow." She was an emotional leper, she knew it. But this really was Pig's way of being nice. Reasonable conversation and good advice. Hardly anything the matter with that, right?

"I might see you around, Zo. Nice chat." And with that, she calmly fled the discomfort of the scene, feeling far more confused about Thursday Davenport than she ever had before. It would be best, she thought in her rational mind, that she should bring the conversation directly to the topic and get his take on it.

Her solace being that she'd at least get an answer.

[TUESDAY DAVENPORT]

ooc: omg zelda if you're reading this and you think this is powerplay-y at all please let me know and I will change anything and everything

Well. Tuesday had entered this library looking for a book for his history project, and was leaving with…well, not a book for his history project. But definitely something. And something he hadn’t had before. It should have been satisfaction, but it wasn’t. It should have been guilt also, but…it wasn’t that either. So what was it, this weird thing he felt weighing down his chest like a stone?

Maybe it was just confusion. That was probably it. He generally felt confusion more than like, any other emotion. Was confusion an emotion? Was there some like, other classification for the weird, pressing awareness that you didn’t have any idea what the fudge was going on around you? In any case, Tuesday had been feeling that a lot. That weird sensation that things were happening around him and he was just standing in the background like a stagnant section of the scenery, and all he could do was observe and point and laugh and say snarky things, because nothing ever happened to him that was worthy of the spotlight?

Well, there had been that one thing, obviously. But he wasn’t going to think about that. He was never going to think about that again, not after he’d basically reconstructed the whole jokester-persona thing.

"If he doesn't have girls who are friends or girlfriends, how do you know this isn't just how he is with girls. He's genial and kind, I honestly wouldn't expect him to be any other way. Would you?"

Genuine and kind. Incidentally, if Tuesday ever had to describe his brother when interacting with girls, those were probably the absolute last words he would use. Except for like, constipated, and blue, and orgasmic, and you know, all those other words. But like, relevant words. Yeah, bottom of the queue. “Awkward,” maybe. “Stutter-y”, sure. “Disinterested” could probably work, at times. But…”genuine and kind”? He’d have said that like…sarcastically maybe. No, there was definitely something different about Pig Spencer. Something special. Unless they’d been talking about different Thursdays the whole time and he was just really stupid and hadn’t caught on yet. But he just shrugged. Shrugging was always good. And really, whatever. She could believe what she wanted to believe. This conversation had clearly reached the end of the realm of non-pointlessness in that regard.

Non-pointlessness? Point? “Realm of point” sounded like some kind of weird physics thing though. Whatever.

"Anyway, I assume your motives come from a good place. And that's admirable, I suppose. But, to be honest, if I'm going to hear anyone likes me, it really should come from the person. Not the presumptions of his twin brother. Noble as they may be." With her backpack loaded, she gave a muted smile at Tuesday. "Though I appreciate it. OH, also. You should think out your words, before you speak. You have the confidence of a public speaker, but you're a little hard to follow."

Man, move over, Dr. Phil. Tuesday stood up briskly, brushing his hands against each other as if he’d just sealed a multi-million dollar business deal, like in that one Wall Street movie. The one with Shia Labeouff, not the one with the creepy old guy. ”Right. Uh. Best of luck with that, then.” He chuckled to himself. ”Sorry. I’ll try harder. Though I have heard that ladies dig the abstract.” He winked slyly as he passed her, not quite sure what it was he’d just said. But hey, it had sounded good. Lay off, man.

"I might see you around, Zo. Nice chat."

Zo. He laughed quietly again to himself as he exited the library, and then the chortles came, tumbling from his mouth like insects he’d been clenching within for days and days, and as his shoes scuffed down the hall, he was practically in tears, chest heaving with fits of laughter. He couldn’t have pinpointed what exactly he was laughing at, except that he felt like he knew, now, exactly what that feeling in his chest had been. It wasn’t until he strolled through the front doors of Baum Academy and out into the bright sunlight and hustle and bustle of New York City that he could manage, under his breath, a single coherent sentence.

”Until next time, Pig Spencer.”