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Taym and Bix by now had a sort of quasi-routine of encountering each other on their daily laps around the training fields--Bix because he was a responsible early-riser bent on routine, Taym because he slept erratically and was always up and restless long before his alarm. And while normally their paths intersected somewhere along the beginning of Bix's and the end of Taym's (when he was exhaustedly slogging along and cursing how out of shape he was), things had aligned rather more neatly on this particular day.

Ordinarily Taym would have let it go, but he was feeling uncomfortably isolated, and besides, had a lingering sense of obligation to Bix that he probably wouldn't shake any time soon. He was, after all, right that second wearing a shirt that Bix had given him. So he'd forced himself, awkwardly and begrudgingly, to find a way to invite Bix along to what passed for breakfast in Taym's world. He'd offered it up as he stooped to retrieve his coat from where he'd folded it neatly on the grass, self-conscious, dismissive. What is socializing?

Which is how he'd ended up here, in the cafeteria among the other early risers, flopped down in an empty seat and shrugging into his coat--which still smelled new and alien, the dark-and-gold trim a strange thing, like seeing your own freshly-dyed hair out of the corner of your eye--as he mournfully stared at his MRE and waited for Bix to retrieve his coffee. Taym didn't drink coffee.

Today, Taym would be glad of this. He just didn't know it yet.

Taym was absently turning over, in his hands, one of the packets from his MRE. At Bix's question he shot him a look, and was about to say something sarcastic about whether the compressed bar of carbohydrates inside counted as food (he'd have said the same for the powdered eggs) before he was reduced to a flat, self-conscious staring by Bix's sudden enthusiasm.

He didn't feel like he deserved it. He didn't want people to notice. Or at least not people like Bix. A pat on the head, loathe though he was to admit it, would have been welcome. Just not from someone like Bix.

Now would be a good time to change the subject, so he did, rooting out the packet of fake Tang and dumping it into a glass of water. "I guess it's a sign of the desperate ********' times that there's a line to get powdered eggs and shitty coffee."

Taym's plastic spoon slowed in its feeble efforts to dissolve the gritty orange-flavored sediment, and then stopped, his shaking scrawny hands suspended over the glass and his face a mask of bewilderment.

Maybe Bix had decided that sarcasm was the way to connect with Taym, and was just having a hard time of it. Maybe sarcasm didn't come naturally. He examined the situation and decided that this was the only thing that made sense.

"You uh... you don't have to snark, man," he said. "I can handle enthusiasm in small doses."

He stared at him flatly. The eating comment, given that Taym was still thinking Bix was trying to be sarcastic, had not gone over well--in fact, Taym's face went from bewilderment to the sort of careful stoicism that said "warning: owner of this face is extremely pissed" with disappointing clarity.

Sadly, the announcement of Opposite Day did nothing to fix the situation, because now Taym was doubly pissed: pissed about the being told to eat thing, and pissed because what was this, second grade? He gave Bix a long, cool look, and pointedly shoved his MRE back off to the side, unopened save for the drink, which he now ignored.

"Opposite Day," he echoed, unimpressed. "Cool."

At the apparently-random namedropping of Darth Vader, Taym's expression drained away into one of bewilderment, and then into one of concern. This deepened at Bix's careful proclamation.

A sudden, distracted look swept into Taym's eyes, which lifted vaguely ceilingward. Taym had still, even now, not quite mastered the art of listening to anything Fiona said without doing it visibly. He looked like he was searching the inside of his own head for answers, which was in fact pretty close to the truth.

"Like... infirmary wrong?" he asked leerily. "Or like the cafeteria turning into a swimming pool wrong?"

Taym didn't deal well with being touched at the best of times, and his hands were a particularly sensitive issue. The fact that he was being touched by someone who then shouted "totally homo!" was just about more than he could take. Luckily Fiona once again came to the rescue.

He shook his fingers like he'd been burned, shooting Bix a glare. "For ******** sake, man," he said. "What if you're ******** contagious?"

It didn't take much to figure out what the nature of the problem was, so Taym tentatively assayed a self-diagnosis: "Caelius is an a*****e." Well, so far so good, then. The look relaxed a little, but just a little. "What the ******** do you guys normally do in this kind of situation? As best as you can, please."

Taym's reaction to all this was to pinch the bridge of his nose exhaustedly and remain silent for several long seconds before scanning the chaos over Bix's shoulder and carefully pushing his food away. No sense taking any risks. Anyway, an excuse not to eat the shitty MREs was always welcome.

"I've heard stories," he said finally. "About Joy. This uh... yeah this seems... not as great." Well, obviously. He made a helpless movement of his hands. "What am I supposed to be doing right now, exactly?" The sudden light of dim curiosity entered his eyes. Maybe they should have put him in Life. "What happens if you try to say something paradoxical?"

Taym mulled this over for a minute, and when he spoke it seemed at first as though he were on a random tangent. Temporarily forgetting that he was inside and in the cafeteria, he pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket and tapped the box on his palm as he talked, suddenly very interested and eyeing Bix like he was a particularly intriguing scientific specimen and Taym an over-eager lab assistant.

"Say there's a crocodile," he said, the box tap-tapping, "who kidnaps a man's son. She strikes a deal with the father, and says she'll give him the kid back if--and only if--he can correctly guess whether she'll give the kid back."

He paused to make sure Bix was following, and extracted a cigarette.

"So the dad guesses she'll eat the kid. What does she do?"