Dusk Shine found few moments in which he could relax. True, he lived in a library that was comfortable and not visited nearly enough either for company or business, and most days he could be left to his studies or to whatever project he was working on. But those were hardly the times in which he found he could rest. No, those were work hours. Being with friends wasn’t relaxing either. He loved his friends--and he obviously enjoyed their company!--but that wasn’t relaxation.
Relaxation was this: a nice chair, a nice storm, a nice bit of tea, and to make it all complete, a nice book. There was literally nothing he could think of that would top this.
Dusk liked a good storm, for a variety of reasons. It was exciting, in a primal sort of way, to hear the crash of thunder and the unique sound of torrential rain on cobblestone. Like clapping, he thought idly, as he sipped at his tea, watching said rain bombard his window. Rain came down in sheets, battering the dirt paths of the village. Rain was like a swansong, falling and falling only to burst upon impact. He wondered if Rainbow had let this one get out of hand, or if the storm had been planned. Usually he kept up with the weather better than this, but it had been a stressful month.
It was amazing, really, how sleep got away from you. Put it off for a few days, and suddenly time seemed stranger, less orderly. Did you see that friend Monday or today? Who knew! Eventually being sleepy and tired were sort of just background noise to working all the time, constantly relying on caffeine and magic and sometimes brisk pacing. Pacing was very effective. He liked pacing.
But that was all over. At least for now. There was a storm to enjoy.
He opened his book, returning to the tale of the Verdant Song, a ship bound for the stars. It was a harrowing tale, full of woe, full of things that Dusk was very glad were not part of his day to day world. Ponies and Griffons locked in a war that never started but always seemed about to, a ship that was meant to forge friendship twisted into a nightmare by horrible necessity and personal madness. Absolutely delightful. Only Artemis’ request had kept him from it.
He read in silence for a time, stopping only to take a sip from his cup. He would come to a stopping point in the narrative, or hear a particularly loud crack of lightning, and then look up at the dismally rainy streets of Ponyville, watching the puddles grow and grow.
But he did not have much time to do this. There was knock at the door: a timid triplet. If Dusk hadn’t known better, he would have sworn it was Scotch. But with this rain, coming to town would have been a bit silly.
Dusk sighed, and rose. There was a sign saying the library would be open tomorrow, so it wasn’t that. Besides, if they were coming to the Golden Oaks in this weather they needed to speak to Dusk personally.
“Hold on! I’ll be there in a moment,” he called. The book and tea he laid gently on his desk and with measured steps he crossed over to the door.
When he opened the door, he found that his earlier suspicion had been correct.
“You’re kidding me,” he said, blinking in surprise.
Butterscotch was soaked to the bone. His long mane was matted, twisted by rain and wind into an indescribable mess. He wore saddlebags, which were also drenched. Dusk watched in a sort of dumb amazement as water dripped from them.
Of course Scotch tried to smile. He failed, but Dusk was honest enough to admit he had tried.
“I… um, well. I don’t suppose I could come in? If that’s alright. I know it’s sudden.”
Dusk blinked. “I guess so,” he said lamely, and then coughed. “Yeah, please. Solaris, Scotch, what were you doing out there?” As Scotch came in, Dusk Shine shut the door behind him and continued his questioning. “Is everything alright? I thought you would be at home in weather like this. I know you don’t like storms…”
Scotch seemed about to say something, but he didn’t. Dusk paused long enough to notice, but not really long enough to dwell on it. There were other things more pressing.
“Towels,” he grumbled. “Don’t move, Scotch. I’ll be back.”
“Alright,” the pegasus murmured. He was about to sit, then seemed to think better of it, and as Dusk turned to hurry back to his bathroom for something to dry the poor indigent off with, he looked about as if lost.
Dusk sighed again when he was out of sight. So much for relaxation. But, then again, if he was going to find some true calm, it might as well be with Butterscotch. The quietest pony in Ponyville. Maybe. He hadn’t done any real tests. He would need to explore that scientifically. Or not. He chuckled.
When he returned, he found Scotch looking around with an expression that troubled him. He paused, glad his friend did not see him. Was it… he didn’t know. It was not a happy expression, certainly. It wasn’t quite misery. Uncertainty. Perhaps. And what was Butterscotch doing out in this storm? He would have had ample opportunity to get home. Why here?
But Dusk could stop thinking about the why’s long enough to focus on the immediate. With his magic, he levitated some towels and cleared his throat to announce his presence. Scotch jumped slightly.
“Back,” he said, a bit needlessly. “Uh… actually, you know what? Your wings might be better if you shake them out. I can make a little umbrella with some magic for you if you wanna step outside and do that.”
“Alright. You can do that?”
“Pretty easy, actually. Magic comes in handy,” Dusk said, and opened the door.
He knew that being soaked was not fun, and on top of that he was well aware that drenched wings were uncomfortable, but Dusk still found the sight of Scotch shaking himself dry to be funny. He snickered, but hid his face behind a hoof, as if yawning.
Scotch came back in, looking a bit less lost, but not much happier. “I’m really sorry, Dusk, I just got caught in the rain and my wings were wet and itchy and I was tired…”
“It’s fine. It really is.” Dusk used his magic to summon one of the towels. “I promise,” he added, and then he began to dry Scotch off. His friend seemed to sieze up for a moment, as if shocked. He probably was. Scotch was always timid. Whether he had a good reason to be or not--and sometimes he did, to give the poor colt some credit--composure was not a strength.
Dusk continued, humming. Yes, Scotch was shy, so usually his bubble of personal space was important. But Dusk wanted him to feel welcome. Feeling relaxed was asking too much.
“You alright?” he asked, casually, as if he expected a yes. As if he hadn’t noted the shifting eyes and the uncertain hooves. He noticed many things. Sometimes it was better to pretend one hadn’t noticed at all, because ponies would tell their intentions rather plainly whether they meant to or not.
“Yes,” Scotch answered. “Yes, I’m alright. Just flying around,” he added, his voice rising in pitch. “I had some errands… and…” Dusk glanced over and saw that Scotch was looking about. Stalling?
“Need something?” Dusk prompted.
“Where are my… oh. Okay. My bags,” Butterscotch replied lamely. “I forgot where they were. But yes, I had errands in town and I thought I could get back in time. But… I didn’t.”
“And here you are.”
“Mhm.”
Dusk went back to drying and humming for a moment. Scotch shifted awkwardly, a bit more awkwardly than Dusk was used to him moving. Finally, he playfully dropped the towel on Scotch’s head with his magic and walked back towards his kitchen. “Wrap up in that. I’ll get you something warm. Coffee? Tea? I think Barb left some of the hot cocoa mix.”
“I like coffee,” Scotch said, quietly.
Dusk chuckled. As he set a pot of coffee on, he called to Scotch. “I remember now, you take it with sugar, don’t you? No cream? Or was it the other way…”
“The other way.” Scotch’s voice floated into the kitchen like the smell of cologne.
“I always think of you as liking tea,” Dusk commented. He paused, and then looked back towards the kitchen door. “You know, if you’re dry you can come join me in the kitchen. It’s sort of silly to talk through the door.”
There was no answer. He heard a shuffling, and then Butterscotch appeared in the door frame, still drying off his mane.
“Thank you again,” Scotch said. “I know this inconvenient… You were probably busy.”
“Not at all. I was just relaxing.”
“Oh… oh dear, that’s even worse. I didn’t mean to interrupt you! I know you’ve been busy.”
Dusk laughed. “It’s fine, it really is. I enjoy your company, and Barb is stuck at Elusive’s.” He paused, and grinned. “Though, honestly, she’s probably not too bummed about that.”
Butterscotch smiled back. “She is pretty obvious. But it’s cute, and she is just a little dragon, after all.”
“Elusive’s a good sport. He’s pretty easily flattered, but I think he genuinely enjoys the company. Everypony loves a little company,” he added, distracted by the sound of the water hissing down through the grounds.
“And it’s alright for me to stay until the storm’s over?” Scotch asked.
“Of course. You’re my friend, silly. Now, are you done with that towel?”
“Oh, um, yes.” Butterscotch held it up awkwardly and Dusk took it with his magic.
Dusk looked his friend over. “You still look like a cat stuck in a storm drain, Scotch.” He chuckled. “But some coffee and some warmth will fix that, I’m sure. I’ve got a fireplace downstairs, if you want to sit by a fire. It’s a bit dusty down there, but not so bad. I don’t think you’ve ever been in the basement archives, or in the old librarian’s study.”
“Only once! You showed us the study after you found the key.”
Dusk blinked. “Oh. Oh! Yes, I did, didn’t I? Huh. But I remember you being there now.” He smiled. “That sound like something you’re up for?”
“Maybe,” Butterscotch said softly and then shivered. When Dusk looked at him oddly, he flushed. “I’m just cold, uh, still. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. You got rained on pretty hard!” Dusk said, waving it off. Something struck him as odd again. He noticed something. It was one thing, he knew, to notice. It was another to comprehend.
Butterscotch stood awkwardly as Dusk rambled on about nothing. Coffee. Weather. Their mutual friends. He wasn’t paying much attention to it himself, honestly. Because he too felt a bit awkward. Well, he assumed he wasn’t alone in that. Butterscotch… could be hard to read sometimes. At least, to Dusk he seemed that way. But Dusk found everyone a little hard to read sometimes.
Why was he so bad at that? Had he always been bad at that? He wondered if Solaris had sent him to live in Ponyville because he too had noticed how inept Dusk was with other ponies. It was a bit sad. Just a bit.
He was very grateful when the coffee maker began to fill the cup...bowl… thing with pure liquid wonderful. He went looking for a mug. (He also tried to think of what that thing was called. Not knowing the names of things was torture.)
One for me… one for you… something borrowed… He smiled. His mother loved rhymes. The why of it he didn’t entirely understand, but he had never minded. Many of those old rhymes had stuck with him. Sugar, no cream? No, other way. Cream, no sugar. Dusk hummed softly. The good thing about having something to do was that it filled silences well. Not that he didn’t like silence. It wasn’t so bad. But other people didn’t, sometimes, and then they thought you were awkward when you were just quiet. Honestly, it was far too much trouble.
He came back to Butterscotch and smiled warmly at him. The mug of coffee was in his magic’s grip, and he floated it over lazily. “Here you are. I was sitting by the window, reading and listening to the rain. Care to join me?”
Butterscotch took the coffee and smiled. It was a strange little smile. Not strange in a bad way! But odd. But Dusk Shine thought he liked it. Butterscotch had a wonderful smile, didn’t he? It really was infectious.
They sat by the window. Dusk had to find another chair, but there were plenty in the comfortable little library. They sat across from each other.
And Dusk didn’t feel uncomfortable. Not that he should! But he was bad at entertaining. Always had been.
He watched Butterscotch sip at his coffee. This was about the time he realized that he wanted some himself. Also, he finally remembered that the thing in the coffee machine was a pot. Well. That’s a relief. He stood.
“Uh… Be right back,” he mumbled, and left. God. That was terrible. Be quick about it.
When he returned, Butterscotch stared out the window. Thunder struck, and Dusk watched in fascination at the way Scotch’s ears twitched. He seemed… not on edge, exactly. It was as if he were alert, very, very alert. It was hard to describe, but he would try regardless. It was like a cat that saw prey right out the window, but less predatory. Butterscotch sat rigidly. He seemed to see far. His muscles tensed but he did not look like he was in the midst of fight or flight.
Dusk paused, watching, for only a moment before he sat.
“You seem pretty focused,” he said quietly.
Butterscotch shook himself. He looked around, as if noticing it all again only then, and flushed. “Sorry. I…” he said something, but Dusk couldn’t catch it.
“It’s alright. What were you thinking? Bit for your thoughts?”
“It’s… the storm. Pegasi are weird about them.”
“Rainbow always seems pretty energetic.”
“He would be. He likes storms. He makes them, even.” Butterscotch took a sip of coffee. “I’m sure he’s told you all about… storms, and stuff.”
“Not really. I mean, I know the mechanics of how pegasi manipulate Equestria’s weather. But the way you reacted… that I’m not familiar with. Enlighten me?”
Butterscotch shrugged and looked away. “Do you know what static electricity feels like? I’m sure you do.”
“Of course.”
“Well… it’s like that. Kind of. But it’s very strong. All over your body you feel like your blood is humming. Your feathers stand on end. If they do that. I don’t know. Your fur does. And you feel like your heart is pounding. Like the electricity in the sky is moving you around…” he paused. “I feel like this has been said before.”
“Not to me, it hasn’t,” Dusk said.
“Oh. Um, alright. Well. It’s like that,” Buttersctoch finished lamely.
“It sounds a bit like magic.” Dusk hummed, taking a sip of coffee as he looked out the window. Another bolt of lightning illuminated the shadowy buildings. “It probably is magic.”
“But I’m not a unicorn.”
“True. All ponies have inherent magic, Scotch. Remember? It’s how pegasi can walk on clouds.”
“Oh. Right.”
“But it seems like your magic is stirred up by storms. I really should read more about pegasi magic. I’m so ignorant of it. It’s a little embarrassing.”
“I can tell you anything you’d like to know! I mean, uh, if I know the answer,” Scotch offered.
“I’ll take you up on that sometime,” Dusk said. “Be forewarned, I am very good at asking a lot of questions! But for now... “ Another crash of lightning. “Enjoy the storm.”
They sat in silence. It was comfortable, both of them looking out the window to watch the drops hit the pane like tiny missiles. Even with lightning, the sound of rainfall was soothing. And with thunder added in, there was a hint of something grand in all of that calmness.
He read a bit. He thought about dozing, but then remembered that Butterscotch was there.
A few times, he caught himself watching his friend. Not in a weird way. Just observing. Every time there was a thunderclap, Butterscotch’s ears twitched and he shivered. Otherwise, he seemed serene. Happy. But also like he was waiting for something.
“Bit for your thoughts?” Dusk asked at last.
Butterscotch jumped a little. “Wha-what?”
Dusk smiled. “Your thoughts. What’s on your mind? You look like you’re deep in thought about something.”
Butterscotch hesitated. No, that wasn’t the right word. Hesitation lasted a moment. He seemed torn. Dusk had been curious before. He’d decided it was nothing. But now it seemed important.
What could it be? Dusk had some ideas. While nopony in their right, sane minds would pick a fight with Scotch, sometimes things just sort of… got to him. Rainbow makes a comment off the cuff that Scotch internalizes. Last year, everyone had been busy and Scotch had been lonely for weeks before he finally gave in and came into town desperate for company. Berry would play some joke or be a bit too boisterous and mean well, and Scotch would feel bad about not being able to keep up. The list went on. Ponies were fragile, weren’t they? Sometimes.
“Well…” Butterscotch shifted in his seat. “It’s…I mean, I shouldn’t bother you. It’s nothing really that important.”
Dusk considered his next move. Because, somehow, this little visit had become a puzzle. He had thought to let things lie, but now he was curious on top of concerned.
Butterscotch was kind. Part of being kind was that he overlooked the peccadillos of his friends, even people he meant. He overcame them. Dusk liked that about Scotch. This wasn’t overcoming. This was hiding, and when Scotch hid, Dusk knew there was something to be talked about. So he considered.
“It’s a bit cold,” he said, affecting idleness. As if he’d let it drop. “You mind coming down to the archives? The fire’s nice.”
“S-sure. Yeah,” Scotch said.
Dusk wasn’t sure why he did this. Aside from it actually being cold, which it was! But…
Maybe I just want to move around. I’m restless. He’s restless. Lighting a fire will give us something to do, at least for a bit. So I can think.
He would start by asking questions about their friends. Maybe Scotch had gotten into an argument, or someone had hurt him without knowing. Maybe it was the weather. Scotch never seemed to like storms. Maybe it was anything.
Why was he thinking this hard?
I’d do it for any of my friends, Dusk Shine thought, and that was true enough. Scotch required a little more of a delicate touch than his other friends, and that meant he had to work a little harder. That wasn’t so bad. He could do that.
Down in the archives, he found the old sitting room and was glad that he’d stocked the little pile of firewood. Humming, Dusk renewed the ventilation charms and gestured for Scotch to take a seat while he got the fire going.
If Dusk was perfectly honest, this whole ordeal had been… well, nice. Ordeal really wasn’t the right word, was it? Anyway. It had been nice. A little frustrating in that Scotch was always a hard one to crack, but even that hadn’t been so bad. There were worse and more threatening mysteries than what was bothering his easily bothered friend.
“So. Bit for your thoughts?” Dusk asked.
Scotch blinked. “Um…”
“C’mon.” Dusk poked the nascent fire. “You’ve got something on your mind, and I want to help. Even I can tell when something’s bothering somepony.” He hummed. “Well, sometimes. I try, you know? But you can tell me, Scotch. If you feel like it’s your problem to tell.”
Scotch squirmed. “Well, I--”
“Please?” Dusk pressed. But he wouldn’t press too much. Just enough. Sometimes Scotch needed you to press so he felt better about talking, but you never pressured him into things without it being a disaster. Unless you were Blitz… and then it was still a disaster but you took forever to notice because you’re Blitz and you can just zip around disasters. Dusk had learned that the hard way.
“It’s just…” Scotch looked everywhere but at Dusk, who had finished tending the fire and sat at the edge of its warm glow, looking at his friend. “It’s just… It started awhile ago. I was at home, and I couldn’t help but think that it was empty.”
Empty. Dusk blinked at him. “Wait, what about all your animals?”
But Scotch was shaking his head already. “No, I knew ponies would say that. I love my animals, and looking out for them… keeping their natural habitats free from interference… it’s fulfilling,” Scotch murmured with a smile. “I love what I do. And I consider my animals my friends, as far as they can be. But they aren’t…” he gestured strangely, as if trying to pull the word out of the air.
“Ponies?”
“Yes. Seraph is wonderful company, but I can’t have a real conversation with him. I can’t go to a cafe and have a light lunch with Ms. Bear. I suppose I could try,” he added, smiling. “But it seems like it would probably not be very, ah, wise.”
“Definitely not,” Dusk agreed with his own smile. “So, you’ve been lonely?”
Scotch nodded. “Very.”
“Preoccupied with it to the point of being oblivious of a gathering storm,” Dusk said. It wasn’t a question, but Scotch answered anyway.
“What? I mean, maybe, I--”
“Don’t mind me,” Dusk said, as soothingly as he could manage. “Just continue. You had more to say, I think.”
“I did… Well, lonely. Yes. A few months ago I just started realizing how lonely it was to always sleep in a bed with just me. Little old me. I don’t go into town much because its a long walk and I am oh so busy these days…” He shifted awkwardly, but Dusk was focused. Yes, this was the right trail. It had been far easier than expected, yes, but finally he was scratching that itch he’d had since Butterscotch came in from the rain. “And I can’t help but feel like, just a bit, I wouldn’t mind having someone else. Being with someone. It would be nice to, um, have somepony to go home to one day. Or just somepony to, you know, maybe drink tea with when it rains or take naps on the couch or you know…” The list went on but became unintelligable.
Dusk just smiled. He chuckled. “So that’s what you have on your mind. I thought you were a little troubled when you came in, man. Honestly, I’m relieved to hear it’s just this. This is natural, Scotch. We’re about that age.”
Inside, he was on to a much vaster mystery, the mystery, in some ways, but there was no reason to tell Scotch that. There really was no reason at all to talk about how he had, looking sidelong at his own bed, almost seen how another shape might lie there. Or how he had thought long and hard about the sounds of other hooves on the library floor, the stirring of a coffee cup not his own, a pony humming as he brushed his mane in the morning. Did he want these things? I’m not alone, there, he thought.
Did he want those things? Because the thought about them. Often. Some days they were like ghosts playing with him--but did that mean he wanted them?
“Though, I have to ask if you have any specific mare in mind,” Dusk said, hoping to shake off his own thoughts.
Scotch flushed scarlet. “I, um--”
“No, no, I’m almost positive that part of being friends involves disclosing this sort of information,” Dusk Shine said, tsking. “I read that somewhere, I’m positive.”
“Well, um… you know I’m not… Uh…” Scotch scratched his mane, looking at the wall. “I don’t like mares, Dusk. I thought you knew that.”
Dusk blinked. “You’re gay?”
“Uh… um… yes?” Scotch, for a brief second, seemed almost unsure how to answer that. Or if to answer it. One of those.
“I… well, I was… I had my suspicions,” Dusk began, for once finding their roles reversed. Now he sputtered and Scotch raised an eyebrow and looked on. “I mean, I didn’t want to be rude about it, I don’t know how to talk about things like that. I mean, I do, but… Ugh.” He facehoofed. “I thought that if I actually asked, you would assume I asked because you aren’t the most masculine and I didn’t want you to think I cared. I don’t, by the way. I literally could not care an iota less.”
“That’s nice to know,” Scotch said and chuckled. “I don’t care much myself.”
Dusk sighed. “Sorry.”
“It’s quite alright. I understand. I’m glad you cared about not offending me, if it helps.”
“A little. Any other things I should know about our friends? Does Blitz color his mane? Does AJ have a doctorate?”
“Well, Elusive is a changeling.”
Dusk blinked.
“So interested in fashion… admiration… an adoring public and fans who love him… clothes, also. Clothes cover up a pony so that you can’t see--”
“No. Seriously, there’s no way.”
“Would it matter if he were?” Dusk asked, frowning. He looked so worried that Dusk believed him.
Horror crawled over him. But how? How had he not noticed? What did this mean? Would this change anything--for that matter, should he say anything? Was Elusive dangerous? But they were friends! Wh--
“Dusk?”
This was going to be a mess.
“Dusk? Duuuusssk.”
“Wha-what? Please don’t tell me you’re a changeling too.”
“I was joking.”
Dusk blinked again. He did that a lot.
“Oh.”
“Oh dear… are you alright?”
Dusk coughed. His face felt like it was on fire. “Of course. Yes. Fine. Moving on.”
“Alright. But yes, I am.”
Dusk paused, then rolled his eyes. “See, you’re being ambiguous now because my last question was if you were a changeling.”
A smile.
Dusk finally chuckled. “Fine, fine. You win. I cry off. But let’s turn this back around: so, any stallions you have in mind,” he asked, stressing the word. “Hm?”
Dusk reached across and poked his friend, and Scotch lost his smug smile. “Um… Well, sort of.”
“Does he know? Do you think he would return… hm. I was going to say how you feel, but how do you feel?”
“Tentative.”
“What?”
Scotch repeated it. “I mean that I like him. We are friendly, but I wouldn’t want to show up at his doorstep and say I loved him. I mean… I might… But I don’t really know what that looks like or feels like. Not yet. But I know that I want to try to figure it out with him.”
Dusk hummed. “Not exactly the most romantic thing, but… no, that sounds prudent to me. And not unkind,” he added with a little smirk that faded as he thought. “Not a test run, just a desire to be with them and feel out what you might feel.”
“I suppose.”
“Seems like a fairly unilateral form of dating.”
“Oh. Is that bad?”
“Only if they weren’t interested at all, perhaps. It would be strange. I don’t have much more experience with this than you do.” Anything else he had been going to say died on his lips. Scotch seemed to be holding his breath. Why? “But I think talking about it with them wouldn’t be bad, so don’t let me stop you. I think being honest about any attraction you feel for him is a good idea, if you think he would be receptive. Not sure how conventional that is, but I know that if someone was attracted to me and wanted to date, I would want them to just tell me. So don’t worry about Ra--”
“Will you go out with me then?” Scotch asked quickly, almost as if he were running out of air.
Dusk stared at him. He smiled. He he started to say something like Wait, what? or “you” doesn’t sound like Rainbow, or Huh? but mostly he just blinked. Because sometimes, really, all you could do was stop and think.
“Wha?” He eloquently replied.
Scotch swallowed. “Um… me… and, uh. You. Would you… I mean…” Suddenly, Scotch facehoofed. “Oh dear… I never considered if you even…”
“I… me?”
“Y-yes. I wanted to talk to you about it, but I got distracted… and it rained… and…”
“But.”
“But?”
“But it’s me,” Dusk said, as if this explained everything ever.
“Is that bad? I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
“No, I’m just confused,” Dusk said, shaking his head. “Why me?”
“You’re kind to me, and you care about all the guys and I appreciate that about you. You’re so smart, and when you talk I like to listen and, uh, you can enjoy being quiet and also I like your mane and you have nice--”
“Would you?”
Would he? It was a good question. Dusk… had truly never given more than cursory thought to his preferences. Did he like stallions or mares? Aesthetically, he found he liked both. That wasn’t the question. It wasn’t a question about categories at all--it was a question of individuals. Would he want to explore something new like this with Butterscotch specifically?
He thought of Scotch coming in from the rain. He thought about a cup of tea on a stormy day, and he thought of feathers against his coat as he leaned back on the couch and turned a page--he had thought of such things before.
Dusk took a deep breathe and answered.
“I don’t think trying would be so bad. I mean, I don’t think it could hurt our friendship, right? Maybe? I don’t know. I really enjoy your company, Scotch,” he said, and sighed. He felt a little calmer now. “I always have. You’re right--I do enjoy peace and quiet. I can’t speak for some of the other things, but I’ve always appreciated your kindness. You see things in a way I can’t, or just won’t. When Blitz wants to beat something up, I want to outsmart it, and Elusive wants to… whatever it is Elusive does, you talk to the thing. It shouldn’t work. It doesn’t make sense, but in the end its the only way. I don’t know how you do it. And that mystery is fascinating.” He grinned suddenly. “I love mysteries, you know.”
Scotch smiled back. “We could think of it as a mystery. I don’t know what to expect anymore than you do.”
Dusk nodded, realizing that he was right. It was an intriguing thought. It was even, he realized, a good one. Scotch was smiling, and Dusk knew it made him happy. Why? Who knew. He didn’t. He’d find out.
It was what he did best.
