A Study Of Aces

trying to organize shapes by color,

Something was wrong. Scott could feel it in the way Owen barely flinched, in the way he turned away from Scott at any hint of intimacy, in the way he avoided Scott coming into his home. At first it seemed like Owen was just a shy person, but then Scott noticed Apo and Owen whispering around Owen's house, coming out from the clock, scurrying around the house on runs together, and all the while Scotts heart hurt a little deeper every time Owen avoided him. Beyond Scott's hurt though, Scott wanted Owen to know he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to. Scott needed Owen to know that he wouldn't force anything Owen didn't want. The problem was, how to tell him. Would Owen believe him if he just said it? Scott was not a complicated rat. He didn't have a brain for politics or intrigue, he had a brain for plants. Things that grew. Things that died, according to Owen. Scott kept turning it over and over, his mind working in slow careful circles like roots reaching for fertilizer. In his bed, staring at the ceiling. Tending his crops. Watching Owen suggest things to others from afar. Staring at El's artwork. Staring into his glass at Martyn's bar.

"Are you alright, mate?" Martyn asked, cutting into Scott's slow circular thought process.

"What?"

"Well I mean, that's your fourth Pina Tailata, and I can see the gears turning under that hat of yours, so I'd say something is the matter. What is it?"

"The... gears?"

"Well, I mean it looks like you're thinking hard about something, Scott!"

Martyn stepped back for a moment, giving Scott a chance to think through his reply. An uncharacteristic grimace flickered across Scott's face so fast Martyn almost missed it. Almost. Scott didn't see the concerned look Martyn gave him. "Well..." Scott started. When Martyn didn't interrupt, he continued. "Theoretically, if- if someone wanted to show someone else that they, ah, don't want to, hm." Scott searched for a way to explain consent. "They care about what the other rat wants, and don't want to do anything the other rat doesn't want..."

When Scott didn't continue, Martyn gave him a nudge and slid a fifth glass across the bar. "Sounds like you're explaining basic consent, mate."

"Yeah," Scott agreed sadly.

"What's this really about, Scott?" Martyn murmured, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Scott was silent for a moment. It was his choice to share, or not share. Martyn understood consent well. "I don't think Owen likes me," Scott confided. "And that's okay."

Martyn groaned in sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that, but it doesn't sound like a consent issue."

"But he thinks it isn't okay."

"Ah." Martyn poured himself a Mratyni and downed half of it.

"And I don't know how to tell him that I'm fine." Both rats stared at the counter for a moment.

"Well," Martyn eventually ventured, "it sure doesn't look like you're fine to me." Scott lifted his head to stare blankly at Martyn. "Want my advice?" Scott nodded mutely. "Avoid him. Not completely, but give him some space. It'll be good for you to get some space, too." Martyn watched Scott droop a little further. "You could start something new. Find a new hobby, one that has nothing to do with Owen. Hmm," Martyn perked up, already thinking of possibilities. He picked up a glass and absently rinsed it out, wiping it down with a cloth. Scott stared at the bottom of his fifth Pina Tailata. Martyn continued as if he hadn't paused, "You like to grow food. I know! What if you took up cooking?"

"Cooking?" Scott repeated slowly. He wasn't slurring his words, but he was well in his cups.

"Yeah, cooking! Like a chef. Preparing the food to be fancier, like making it into meals. You know, I've been needing something new to offer here in my bar beyond alcohol, and this sounds like just the thing!"

"Like Lizzie?" Scott mumbled.

"Yes, exactly!" Martyn continued, carrying the conversation with gusto. "You could learn from Lizzie, ask her if she'll teach you, learn some new skills. We could use some more chefs! Of course you could also experiment, make it an unofficial thing, you know. Don't want to step on Lizzie's toes, but I mean you don't have to be a chef, you could be a cook instead-" Martyn checked his babble, refocusing on his patron. After all, a good barmaid focused on his customers.

Scott rose unsteadily, swaying only once. Lizzie, huh? Cooking. Something to get his mind off Owen. Would it actually work? Mentally shrugging, Scott turned to Martyn. "Thank you," he enunciated without slurring. "What do I owe you for the Pina Tailatas?"

"Don't worry about it," Martyn smiled, "I'll start a tab for you. We can talk about payment when you learn some new recipes."

Scott nodded. "Alright." As Scott trudged slowly home, he thought about his new hobby. This could be the start of something good for him. No, better than good. He could do good for others, too. What would be his first dish? Scott decided to get started right away, tomorrow morning. He didn't remember the path he took home, the walk to his bedroom, or laying down fully clothed.