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[The thing is, Wilhelm doesn't need to stop for gas. The Horizon doesn't play by the same rules as the real world. He could just fill the tank by willing it so, or imagine a car that needs no fuel to run. But stopping for gas is part of the experience of driving, so every once in a while, he pulls the Ferrari into Jack's gas station. Plus, sometimes a posse of raccoons is scurrying around the parking lot, and they're kind of cute.

The building next door is new. Wondering who put it there, he folds himself back into the driver's seat and guns over. The front door is locked, but a quick search around the perimeter of the building yields...a man smoking a cigarette. Wilhelm recognizes him from around the castle. Specifically, he identifies him as the guy Percy crashed into during their game of truth or dare.]

Oh, uh... [He ruffles his hair at the back of his head, a reflex to any measure of awkwardness.] Hi.

[Now cutting a glance to the building.]

What is this place?

[ Carmy's staring at his phone when the kid comes over, scrolling old texts that don't mean fuck all when he doesn't have anyone to actually call and nothing's real. If you ask him, he can't even say why he's doing this when a part of him already knows what he'll inevitably run into: the last thing he ever sent Michael, the last thing that his brother actually fucking answered.

He's so focused on it, staring at the photo, that when his new visitor speaks up, he jumps a little, then blinks. ]

Yo. [ Carmy shoves his phone back in his pocket. Smoke streams from his nostrils as he lifts his hand with the cigarette and scratches the back of his head. Yeah, he recognizes the boy. One of, like, Jesus—feels like at least five or six teens running around that castle. ] It's, a restaurant. My restaurant. Or, it's supposed to be, I dunno how all this shit works in here.

[ Probably easier to tell what it is from the front; out back, there's just a dumpster filled with cardboard boxes that haven't been broken down (of course they haven't), and a chain link fence that kinda divides his place from the gas station. ]

Edited 2024-07-22 03:26 (UTC)

[Wilhelm glances at the phone, in the moment before the man slides it into his pocket. He wonders what he was looking at. As he concluded his first summer here, there isn't much point in scrolling when everything on the screen has to come from your own memory and imagination.

He still conjures his old phone when he comes to the Horizon, but not out of compulsive habit like he used to, too used to having it in reach. Now, it mostly serves as photo storage. He figured out that you can will any memory into a photograph, even if one was never actually taken, so the faces of his friends in this world join the grid of pictures of his brother. Sometimes he listens to music on it, but more often he pumps songs from the car stereo, no bluetooth connection necessary.]

Oh, cool. You're a chef?

[Checks out — he's seen this guy going in and out of the kitchens.]

I mean, the way this place works, you could just sort of...poof whatever food you want into existence, but... [A shrug.] I guess if you like cooking, that would take the fun out of it.

[ Fun is a heavy word. Carmy watches the ashes drift into a potholed puddle. He could. He could, but it's not about eating the food or having the food. It's about making it. It's about serving it. ]

I'm just used to the process. [ However the other takes that to mean, it means.

A belated squint gets aimed at the teenager as Carmy realizes exactly where he recognizes him from. (He ran into a lot of people in that damn basement.) Maybe the guy vaguely remembers him too as a participant in the half-assed Marco's Cart tournament, but specifically—specifically, Carmy's recalling him as the kid who sent his friend barreling blind into him. ]

You're, uh—truth or dare? I don't think I got your name.

[ He didn't participate, obviously; but he might've been watching here and there. ]

[He accepts that answer with an understanding nod, figuring that the man just does it out of habit. Grasping at familiarity as a way to stay grounded. He supposes it's the same thing with his car. Although he could just will it to move, he still presses the gas pedal. He still shifts gears by maneuvering the stick, because it's part of the process, because he'd watched his brother do the same from the passenger seat.]

Yeah, that was me. [He scratches at his ear. Sheepishness crawls across his expression, as if he hadn't been laughing when Percy crashed into this guy.] I'm Wilhelm. Or you can call me Wille.

[Some visual information about this kid: his clothes yell prep, from his polo shirt to his crisp white sneakers to his stupidly expensive-looking watch. But there's a departure from the aesthetic in a few details. The purple polish on his nails. The crystal pendant around his neck, which looks like the full moon set in silver. The tattoo peeking out from his sleeve, which appears to be of a frog.]

[ Carmy's own car sits in the back lot, a nondescript grey thing that gets the job done. It's clean, though—like everything about Carmy, down to his nails and his jeans and his white t-shirt, there's not a speck or spot in sight.

He sure as hell recognizes a ten grand watch when he sees one. Serving customers who can afford a 3-star evening out will do that. Which yeah, raises some eyebrows, almost more than the polish or the tattoos. Prep school kid giving the fuck you to his parents. That's what Mikey would've said about the look.

But Carmy's just Carmy, so he only nods. ] Carmen. I'm, uh—

[ The kid, he must come from someplace familiar, right? Somewhere close enough to his? The clothes, the speech. ]

—I'm from Chicago. Back home.

[Recognition lights up his eyes, and he returns with—]

Stockholm.

[Normally, he wouldn't think of Stockholm and Chicago as being in close proximity to each other. But in the grand scheme of things, the broad expanse of the universe and all its planets full of countries he's never heard of, the United States is close enough.]

You could give yourself a way cooler car, you know.

[Wilhelm nods toward the boring grey sedan parked nearby. People like them are rare around here — ordinary guys from normal places where nothing even remotely magical has ever happened. At least, he's assuming that a chef taking a smoke break behind a restaurant and driving a dud like that probably isn't some kind of wizard, superhero, demigod, or other preternaturally gifted being. He wonders how he's adjusting to life in Thorne.]

[ If you ask him? He feels the same way. Anywhere that's Earth feels pretty close, and actually—it's kind of relieving to run into somebody who's not from New York again. There's gotta be a dozen of them at this point that he's come across, and he can't help feeling like that's fucking weird.

He huffs a little, not offended, just. It's a funny thing to notice. He can't remember the last time he paid attention to his car as long as it starts. ]

Yeah. Yeah, I guess I could. [ But he's not gonna 'cause that's not what his brain cares about. (Every knife in the kitchen's always sharp, though.) ] What's yours?

[ He thinks he heard a car pull up out front. ]

[Wilhelm grins.]

A Ferrari.

[He sounds and looks very pleased with himself, but there's no boasting in his tone, no condescension. In fact, this is probably the least obnoxious somebody could possibly be about driving a luxury sportscar. His brother could have rattled off the specs — engine power and all of that — but he can't remember. All he cares is that it goes fast and looks sick as hell.]

It's the same one my brother drove. I wasn't old enough to drive back home, I had to teach myself here.

[Just yapping to avoid sinking into awkward silences.]

[ Carmy flashes a brief smile in return, and maybe there's a glimpse of a guy who, like most guys, is always kinda down to take a look at a cool car. It feels like a normal thing to do, which he needs these days, and besides—he thinks if you're gonna drag a fucking kid away from home, the least you can do is let him enjoy his dream car. ]

Yeah? What year?

[ He's already standing, crushing his cigarette out on the concrete. If Wilhelm wants to take them around to show the thing off, Carmy will probably bring them in via the backdoor, straight through the kitchen full of its half-broken equipment and into the polished front of house.

There's an awkward pause, anyway. After a second, where Carmy seems to debate what's in his head, he asks: ] Do you miss him?

[He definitely deserves a fancy car after everything he's been through. When Wilhelm first arrived in this world and began experimenting with the contours of the Horizon, he'd thought about creating his own Ferrari, in homage to the one in whose passenger seat he'd made so many memories. But there was the problem of learning to drive. He'd always expected that his brother would be there to guide him through adjusting the mirrors, reading the dashboard, shifting gears. Accepting any other reality was like swallowing a live coal.

It wasn't until two springs ago, after he emerged from the darkness of what they'd all come to refer to as the pit, that he finally created the car. It was the distraction he needed while he tried to heal from what happened down there.]

2018. [The same year Erik was old enough to get his license.] You can see it, if you want.

[Which is probably unnecessary to say when Carmy is already standing. Wilhelm follows him through the restaurant's kitchen and dining space, silently eyeing the unfamiliar equipment of the former and the stylish decor of the latter. He's glad that walking directly behind the guy provides a good excuse to not look him in the eye when he drops that question.]

Yeah. I haven't seen him in two years.

[ The answer 2018 brings a bizarre rush of relief and familiarity. They aren't hitting 2023 yet, but it's less than ten years ago and he's learning that that's in the upper range of good enough.

The car's not the point, but Carmy admires it, anyway, because yeah, it's a damn nice car, sleek and brand new, like the ones that'd pull up to Noma or Ever, and from the way the kid talks and dresses, he gets the feeling that this isn't just a fantasy. That somewhere out there in his home life, he could afford a car just like this one, probably even several.

It's not the first time he's touched lives with people like that—comes with the job—and so he doesn't give it too much thought. Instead, he's thinking two years is a long fucking time. ]

That how long you've been here?

[As they emerge from the low lighting of the restaurant, it occurs to him that maybe Carmy was asking what year he's from, not the car. But the answer isn't all that different. Maybe it doesn't matter. In any case, the Ferrari crouches low to the pavement, all sleek lines and black shine. With the top permanently rolled down, its cherry red leather interior lies exposed like an invitation.

Wilhelm nods, fingers idly tracing the curve of the car's hood. It doesn't match up exactly — Erik had died a month before he came here, so he's been missing him for longer. But he doesn't want to get into all of that.

From his pocket, he produces the key and thumbs the unlock button. A smooth chirp sounds from inside the car.]

You can sit behind the wheel, if you want.

[ He chuckles, quiet. Nice offer, but... ] No. No, it's okay.

[ Two years is a long time. But then, he's hitting on a couple months himself, and he wonders what it means. Most of the time, it's easier not to think about it, all the fucking implications that make his head hurt. He wakes up, he goes to work, sometimes he pops in here to work on a restaurant that doesn't exist in this world and maybe doesn't exist anywhere anymore.

He doesn't fucking know.

He peers into the leather interior, looking but not really looking. Because it's not totally about the car, is it? ]

I had a brother, too. [ He isn't sure why he says it, but he does and it's out there. ] I, um...I hope you get to see yours again.

[A shadow of something flickers across his face when Carmy says that. Wilhelm isn't sure if there's such a thing as the afterlife, but he hopes there is. He needs it to be real. The particulars of it don't matter much to him — it could be heaven or hell, a blankness they're all suspended in or never-ending darkness. It doesn't really matter, as long as Erik is there.

He wonders if Carmy is the older brother or the younger one. It makes a lot of difference, he thinks, in the kind of person you turn out to be. He also wonders about the difference between have and had. Wilhelm still talks about Erik in the present tense — I have a brother, he's four years older, wait, no, now it's only two, then it'll be only one — as if somewhere out there he could be walking around, smiling and warm and alive.

But he doesn't ask any of these things, he just accepts the man's statement with a nod. His hand, with the key still in it, has fallen back to his side.]

Yeah, I hope you get to see yours too.

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🎀 wrap soon?

yes!