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"Don't have either." He heaved a sigh into the washcloth and peeled it off, looking as drained as he had been feeling. "Look at that. ******** again. So surprising." Idly Jack combed some of his bangs back, distantly gazing at the floor and trying not to think about the churning still going on in his stomach.

"Wh'language was that?"

"Mm..." He folded the washcloth, sprinkled more water on it, and gingerly wiped at his chin and neck, passing Ian a curious look. "N' that one means...?"

It was another unfortunate parallel Ian shared with Lina: making ******** exotic sounds with their mouths.

Jack rolled his eyes and immediately regretted it. "Saying it in another language doesn't make it any less obvious," he groused, wincing. "What else you got? Pope is Catholic? Suns are cannon fodder? I suck?"

He dabbed at his face and rubbed his temple, face scrunching. If this was mortal, he never wanted to go back to it again. Narcissism it was. "Could be worse," he muttered. "Always could be worse. Think m'pathetic yet? 'Cause I know it must be devastating, shattering all those illusions you've got of me."

"A little arrogant?" Jack repeated incredulously before giving a few rusty laughs. Apparently arrogant enough to think he had done enough to warrant something other than just a little, enough to think he as grand a person as he hoped to project. Maybe he was the only one holding delusions here: a king's importance. a god's inscrutability. a human's trust.

He dared to swallow a little more water, giving Ian a smile that didn't touch his face completely. "Didn't call you stupid this time," he said. "Maybe you really aren't. Maybe you just care too much for things and people you shouldn't. It's almost synonymous really." A little more water. "As much as you dislike her, you and Craft are more alike than you think. N' both've you to Lina."

Maybe that was why he kept going back to them for better or for worse, to talk, to listen, to confront, to figure out...something for himself. Because it was familiar. He doubted he would ever get the same nostalgic feelings he longed for from Hanna, and maybe that was what really prevented him from crossing the line between fake and real, even as he put his best effort into the motions and the act as a whole. He could certainly have fun and definitely did, but it wasn't the same. Either he was feeding a lie that would gnaw at him long after it ended, or he was feeding a truth Hanna hadn't told him of yet; either way, he was still hurting at least one person thanks to Chel. Neither prospect was less than he deserved, though, for ever thinking a fake relationship was worth the appearance of. He should stick to solo flying, just like he had been before. At least then the only person he could ever disappoint was himself.

Jack's gaze dropped as he slowly sat himself up, the world tilting slightly in his view. At least he wasn't feeling more vomit coming up. "Thanks," he said eventually to the ground, a morose look in his eyes. "F'being an idiot. Not stupid, just...you. A better kind of idiot." The words tumbled out awkwardly.

He observed Ian's glee with faint amusement. There were perks to reserving kind words as much as Jack did, and those perks included the stupid and childish pleasure of knowing their rarity was appreciated. (A gamble he often made with more than just compliments.)

"For your services," he said with importance, "you can get a handful of candy over by the closet. I'm gonna make goodies bags for everyone." Halloween was his Christmas: the most joyous and amazing day of the year, where the natural and supernatural realms blended together (more than they normally did anyway), where anything could happen. Even Jack ******** Hawthorn being boyishly and simply happy for the sake of it. "Naturally, I'm going to trust you to keep quiet about what we've discussed."

"Trust is a little hard to come by if you haven't noticed," Jack said wryly. Feeling a little more confident, he sat up and took a deep breath to help settle his stomach. "But if I didn't believe you at least a little, you wouldn't be here." Another test, another ongoing experiment. He'd see how well what he told Ian would percolate in the Moon's head after today.

He turned and watched Ian rummage through his hoard and smiled a little to himself. Halloween provided a better image than Christmas morning as far as he was concerned: you could never go wrong with candy, for one.

"I'll remember the throwing things part. You doing anything for Halloween with Parish? Because if you're dressing up, I have to judge it for myself."

He carefully pulled his legs up and sat cross legged on his bed. "Well s**t, I was thinking of being a vampire too, you lame-a**," Jack complained without really complaining. Nursing the water bottles, he gave a dramatic sigh and drank. "I'll just have to go as a good looking but incredibly stupid man for a night. Not you, of course, but that Zoolander guy."

Ian might or might not have seen the movie posters around, where the titular character had Jack's face photo shopped on and his clothes dyed green. It had been a great infirmary joke for three weeks and even now still got him quoted at.

"Vampire still sounds fun, though," he thought aloud. "I'm already tall, dark, and handsome. Definitely have the brooding aura fitting for a centuries old creature." Jack affected the stereotypical accent. "And I have tasted human flesh and bluhd."