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Taym had tea, too.

Granted, his tea was unsweetened and unreasonably hot and, most importantly perhaps, was in a paper cup. But it was tea nonetheless.

He showed up for surveillance duty (another volunteered shift, to fill up a dreaded empty hour), opened the door to the observation station, surveyed the contents with a blank expression, and then shot an unfathomable, stoic stare at his duty partner. Very few people on the island could have looked less at home in that environment than he did: all beard (full and genuine now, at America's wheedling insistence, rather than just unkempt stubble) and tattooed shaking hands and a black T-shirt which at least had the advantage of having a deer on it. Deer are cute, right?

After a moment of silently considering his options, he strode across the room, picked up Prince Charming's teacup, and drained his paper cup into it before taking a decidedly ungenteel swig.

"Swanky," he said.

There was this to be said, at least: his nails were, perhaps surprisingly, clean. This was visible as he obediently lifted a pinky, and then removed Prince Charming to collapse bonelessly onto the chair. He left the teddy bear in his lap.

"So were you waiting for that a*****e with the oil-painting d**k pics or is this just your normal courtesy for a duty partner?"

Taym had strong feelings about people with undue quantities of eccentricism. Namely, that they ought to find a proper outlet for them--some more socially-acceptable form of rebellion, as paradoxical as that was--and not go out of their way to march to the beat of their own strange drum. He also had strong feelings about people who showed up for mission duties in pajamas with flowers in their hair.

Nor did he seem in any hurry to get to introductions.

"Well, don't get the wrong idea. I've got a girlfriend and I've always found that ageplay thing a little bit creepy as ********>, to be honest, but I'm sure you'll find someone willing. Are those lemon squares?" He leaned forward to pluck one up, whether it was or wasn't.

"How fortunate for both of us," he answered pleasantly, leaning back and setting Prince Charming gently aside--he was treating the bear, on the whole, much more courteously than Kiki--so that he could root around for his cigarettes.

Hobo stung. It always did.

"Anyway, it's probably for the best that you've got such a voracious appetite that you're bogarting. I'm watching my figure." This, with an indication of the cigarette, that time-honored weight loss aid.

The joke didn't land as hard as it would have a few months back, when the uniform coat wasn't enough to hide the gaunt lines of his face, the alarming skeletal shape of his hands, the brittle angles of his arms. It had been armor, then, a way of saying I know how I look. Now he was just skinny. Slender, even.

"You should be careful, though. Someone else might get the wrong idea too, coming in on this little scene." His hands were shaking. It made lighting the cigarette slightly complicated, but he managed and continued around an expansive exhale, which he at least had the decency to aim away from her. "Do you know how many people rig this roster? This room is haunted with the ghosts of a thousand illicit on-the-job ********."

"On that topic," he said, leaning back with an arm dangling over the back of the chair and jabbing his cigarette at her for emphasis, "I could not ********' agree more. This organization recruits a bunch of people in their sexual prime or at least at their most hormonally charged, hooks them up with a magical means of staying physically fit, houses them in a co-ed dormitory with public showers, and denies them regular access to the outside world while subjecting them to extreme stress and discouraging most extracurricular activities. This is a ********' recipe for disaster. You walk through the trainee halls the morning after a cold night and it's like having to navigate through a ********' fog of spunk."

He grinned. His teeth were very straight and even and very yellow. If he was sustaining a tea habit and a smoke habit this was hardly surprising.

"I used to be in Death division, but I don't have that excuse any more, so we can just call it a hobby, sure. It's a damn sight more rewarding as avocation than vocation. Not a whole lot for entertainment around here. You've got an awfully high and mighty tone for someone who attends duty in her night things," he pointed out pleasantly. "And has a teddy bear. How old are you, again?"

"Forty two, actually," he answered, tossing back the rest of his tea now that it wasn't actually scalding hot. Teacup in one hand, cigarette in the other. "I age like a fine ********' wine. You got like a Benjamin Button thing going on or what?"