Blackwater gradually became aware of his surroundings without really realizing it. His last conscious thoughts had been about artichoke hearts with hollandaise sauce and their practical use as entertainment rather than nutrition, so the scene before him was something of a distinct departure.

He was standing on a flat strip of white sand, wearing nothing but a pair of denim shorts and his hat. Turning in place, he finds that the sand stretches out equidistantly, eventually rolling into low dunes beyond the border of the level part. It was either a runway or... He didn't know what.

The young man had a feeling that there were specific directions to this place, even though everything looked the same. Suddenly curious, he looked up to the sky. Blue, with scattered globs of cotton-wool clouds, typical. The sun was warm but not uncomfortable, tempered by a soft breeze that curled around him.

"An interstellar bus-stop?" The question is muttered, Blackwater turning to face what felt like the front again. Maybe he'd died in his sleep? That was a disturbing thought. After contemplating the notion for a minute or two, he decided that death would feel differently and this wasn't it. A movement on the horizon catches his eye, distracting him.

Six people slowly, silently filed over the dune directly in front of him. Grey eyes widen as he recognizes each of them, the 'am I dead?' question getting serious reconsideration. The column of people spreads out until they stand abreast. Blackwater doesn't speak, doesn't know if he can, doesn't know what he would say if he did.

They look back and forth at one another for a while, Our Hero slipping his hands into his pockets and wiggling his toes against the sand.

"Hello, Blackwater." Cyndi stepped forward, smiling at him. Madeline followed her, crossing the short expanse of sand.

"Hello." He returned the smiles, a bit shyly. The women stepped up and threw their arms about him in turn, each bestowing a kiss on his cheek before smiling again and marching off behind him.

He did not watch them go, but he did touch his face.

Timothy moved then, stalking towards him with an awkward sort of grace. The shorter, blonde man sneered up at Blackwater, threw a martini glass at his feet, and brushed past with a haughty air. Tim vanished in the same direction as the girls had, and again he didn't watch.

That left three more to go, and he thought he knew who was next.

Aeron sauntered over, fiddling with the tuning pegs of his guitar. Where had that come from? He wasn't carrying it when he'd arrived... No matter. The trader gave him a slightly expectant look.

"I never really thought you had any -real- talent, you know." The guitarist still wasn't looking up. "And I don't know how I let myself get led astray by you. I mean, you were, like, a groupie, but worse. 'Cause you're a guy. That's -so- sick, y'know?"

"Actually, I don't-"

"That's right, y'don't, do you? Y'just, like, prey on unsuspecting kids, right? I mean, lookit -them-." Aeron looks up at last, jerking his thumb in the direction of the last two people.

"That's a completely dif-"

"Oh, shut -up-. I am -so- outta here..." Rolling his eyes, he flounces off after Timothy, Madeline and Cyndi.

"Well, it -is- a completely different set of circumstances." Blackwater says it for his own reassurance, standing up straight as the last person on his far left takes the arm of the person on the far right and walks him over.

James and Neets don't look anything alike, which made him feel somewhat better. Oh, there were similarities -- they were both slender, shorter than himself, younger... But they weren't kids. James. Blackwater glances back and forth between the pair, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times.

"Usually 'hello' is considered an appropriate greeting." James let go of the other young man's arm and made an elaborate bow. "Or perhaps you'd prefer 'Greetings and salutations O esteemed one in whose sight I am humble and loved...'"

"Hi."

"Blink, Bee, your eyes'll dry out." His baby blues glimmered with delight, and he looked much healthier and happier than the last time Blackwater had seen him. Then again, the last time he'd seen him...

"I suppose they will." He blinked, then shut his eyes tight as a wash of sorrow caught him.

"Stop that." James poked him in the ribs. His face grows sober, and he lifts a hand to Blackwater's face, brushing his thumb over cheekbone. "It's all right, now. He's getting his."

He cannot speak. The hand on his face steadies him a bit, and a glance at the green-haired man gets him an understanding look.

"He is. I know this... Just as I know our sisters are doing just fine, and that you've... Well, you've got him, so that's good." He tilts his head in Neets' direction, gently withdrawing his hand.

He opens his mouth again, only to be forestalled by a stern shake of James' head.

"Don't worry about it. This one..." He takes the other man's arm and moves him 'round to stand next to Blackwater. "This is who you love now, and that's how it should be. Love him for who -he- is, though, Bee, not for who he reminds you of." He waves a hand. "That is, of course, rather rhetorical advice, since you're already following it." A sudden grin brightens his fine features. "You should see how he loves you... Welder's goggles wouldn't help, that's how bright he burns."

"Ah..." He still has no idea how he should even begin to respond.

"Besides, you make a cute couple. Now, I must go..." With that, he reaches up again, pulling Blackwater's face down and planting a kiss on the tip of his nose. "One bright day." The phrase sounds like a promise to drop by for tea and cookies. Turning to the still-quiet Neetlemyre, he brushes green hair away from amber eyes and presses a small smooch to his forehead. "Take care of him. He likes to work too much."

"Safe travels, Jay." He can barely whisper the words, but they get out somehow.

"Indeed." One last grin from the young man, who then turns and strolls back the way he came, whistling.

Blackwater closes his eyes again, opening them only after he's sure he'll see Neets and slipping an arm around skinny shoulders. "One bright day..." As he considers all the ramifications of the words, the scene abruptly shifts to a rather surreal version of his apartment filled with talking furniture...

But he does not forget.