Unexpected Variables (Doolittle, casual)

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

Oh, he was going to kill his agent.

It wasn’t an idle threat. He knew how to kill people – the Navy had taught him that much. He even knew how to kill people with paper clips thanks to some interesting nights in Havana...that were totally classified, but did make an appearance in his last James Harrow novel – the one that was currently the newest best seller for the New York Times. Apparently people liked his stories. He didn’t get it. He just wrote his stories and got a nice printed copy for his shelf.

Unfortunately, because his stories were such a big deal, R.B. Crusoe had to make appearances to keep the people happy. That meant a book signing.
Now, for most authors, this was nothing. They knew how to handle people and just enjoy themselves in situations like this. They soaked up the adulations and show boated so more people would buy their books. But when you were just Sunny Crusoe, Schizophrenic (allegedly) it was more like being in a horror film. Too many people in too small a space, too much noise, too many variables...and it was all focused on him.

Knowing this, and knowing that there was no way out of this situation, he’d done the only thing he could do, the only variable he was in control of. He’d taken the damn pills. Oh, he hated them. They made him feel like there was some block in his head that just made thinking impossible. Well, not impossible, but it sure cut off any and all creativity. They made him feel dull and artificially calm, but artificial calm was much better than very real panic. So he’d popped a few pills....then a few more.

So sitting on the second floor of Barnes and Noble, he was very relaxed behind the folding table they’d given him. There were stacks of books, his professional name splashed everywhere and he couldn’t bring himself to care. Nope, he was going to sit, smile, and sign his name and everything would be good.

Yeah, and pigs flew...Well, according to some GEICO commercials...Yeah, he needed to stop watching TV. Clearly it wasn't helping his brain any.

“Hi there,” he greeted some tittering woman with three chins who was nattering on and on about how much she loved James Harrow. “Glad you enjoyed the books.”

She finally managed to shove her new hard covered copy of his novel under his nose and he politely flipped open the cover to sign his R.B.C – kind of like John Hancock, but much less embellished. He handed it back with a fake smile, watching as she waddled off and took a moment to take a deep breath before his next fan approached.

He almost wondered for a moment whether he was on his pills because he was literally looking at a guy with a parrot on his shoulder. Sure, he’d seen a lot of parrots in the South Pacific. He had to shoo them off the Lanai all the time. Smart birds, but persistent. Kind of like pidgins, but pretty.

“You have a parrot on your shoulder,” he stated, hoping that he was really seeing what he was seeing or he was going to throw all those pills down the toilet when he got home. “Is the book for you or him?”

Yes, not his best witty remark, but the false calm running through his veins kept him fairly level and unimaginative, so it could have been worse. Hopefully the man and his parrot didn't hold it against him.

[JOHN "DOOLITTLE" MOREAU]

"Why yes I do. She's a blue and gold macaw." John was here for one reason get the book for a book club he was joining and get out. He had never really been much of a fiction person, preferring learning over escapism. However Mr. Crusoe's latest bestseller was chosen as the book for now. And he had promised Polynesia he would join as soon as they started the next book on the schedule.

He definitely didn't want to deal with the headache she would give him for even thinking of backpedaling. Especially since she would see it as just a convenient excuse to actually get some work done.

Yeah and the parrot has a na... as I live and breathe." As she focused her wrath on yet another ignorant clod she got a good look at the man behind the table. "Never really expected to see you here." Of course she hadn't recognized the name, she had known the man before her intelligence was increased. Her memories of that time was necessarily fuzzy. But birds are very visual creatures, especially parrots. Polynesia never forgot a face.
"I could swear he's from the ship."[\color]

"I'm sorry if she's being a bother. Polynesia happens to be... rather outspoken."

Doolittle was used to Polynesia's never ending attempts to get him to talk to people. But this was a new one. John had never really expected her to fabricate a past connection just to get him to talk.

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

"Why yes I do. She's a blue and gold macaw."

Huh. So he did have a parrot. Maybe crazy was picking up in this town. Well, he knew that he couldn’t be the only one, but a parrot was certainly unique.

“Yeah and the parrot has a na... as I live and breathe. Never really expected to see you here."

Ok, so the bird talked. Parrots talked. This was ok. Ok was good. Still, the bird – she – was looking at him like she was actually looking at him and not just being a bird. That was disconcerting, kind of like when he was sitting and his therapist was looking at him like there was a brain behind his eyes...

"I could swear he's from the ship."

Ship. Ship, ship, ship...he’d been on ships all over the world. Ships were his thing. He could fix them better than anything else he’d ever tried his hand at. He knew ships like the back of his hand. They were home. So technically he was from a ship. Clever bird.

"I'm sorry if she's being a bother. Polynesia happens to be... rather outspoken." the man apologised.

Sunny held up a hand, still staring at the bird. He’d seen a lot of parrots, but not a lot aboard ship. They weren’t strictly allowed unless civilian contractors were bringing them on board. He’d seen a few over his years, but never had they claimed to have known him. He didn’t know that birds could remember people. He didn’t know they could even speak their own thoughts. This one – Polynesia....he’d seen her before...If only he could think! The last ship he’d been on with a parrot was years ago, after all. And the name of the bird was different...

“Polly.”

Yes, he’d called her Polly, as in the hilarious old jibe of ‘polly want a cracker’. Sadly, he'd never had crackers on him when he'd gone to pester the bird and he doubted she had appreciated it back when she was more like a normal bird. How she'd changed into this smart creature was beyond him, but he was willing to go along with it.

“You’re a long ways from the south seas.”

But then again, so was he. It was a small world.

And this was a rather interesting turn of events. He’d never really had a conversation with a parrot before. So why not talk back to the bird and see how long it took the people running this book signing to send him home? Oh, he liked this idea.

“So, did you get tired of sailors?” he asked, eyeing the man Polly was using as a perch. He was most definitely not a sailor, but he did seem a bit familiar.

[JOHN "DOOLITTLE" MOREAU]

If it were possible, Polynesia would have been smirking right then. "Oh I just realized that reclusive medics, while frustratingly dull are much more comfortable than sailors. What about you? What brings you to dry land?"

Doolittle set the book on the table. The people were staring again. Perhaps the reason he couldn't stand socialization was the fact that Polynesia often made things that much worse for him. But she couldn't help being how she was. Just like he couldn't leave her behind for any reason. The nagging he would receive if he would ever mention it.

John shook his head. There were times he regretted bringing Polynesia to sentience. However he quickly put away those regrets.

Polynesia was his redemption and annoying as she was she did try to help. And she did have a point. Mr. Crusoe did look familiar.

However John was fine with Polynesia having the conversation.

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

"Oh I just realized that reclusive medics, while frustratingly dull are much more comfortable than sailors. What about you? What brings you to dry land?"

Well, considering her last sailor – or the last one he’d seen her with – had a limp, he could see how it was more comfortable to be riding on this guy’s shoulder. He looked like his legs were the same length, after all, but he could certainly get out a tape measure later. Instead, he concentrated on answering her question.

“Oh, you know, the usual – pissed off an Admiral, got banished to an island, went crazy and wrote some good books.” He shrugged a bit, thinking it all sounded crazy. The pills made him feel just fine about it all, though. It was only crazy if he got upset about it, after all.

“So, this would be your reclusive medic, then?” he asked, feeling dull as he took in the other man. “Does he have a name or do you just refer to him as a coat stand?”

One never knew. If you had a crazy to sit on, they didn’t really need to have names, after all. He knew quite a few who didn't know their own names anymore. And if this guy wasn't crazy, all the power to him, because a talking, opinionated parrot would push him that way eventually.

[JOHN "DOOLITTLE" MOREAU]

"That sounds interesting. Why the good Doctor here spent some time on an island as well."

Oh.
God.
No.

Doolittle tensed in horror as he heard those words. Of course he figured that Polynesia would say anything to get him roped into a conversation. He should have been ready for it, but still he had thought she knew about how that[/I] Island made him feel.

Unfortunately he had been too absorbed in his sense of shock and logical rebuttal of it to stop the next in a long line of train wrecks.

"I think he might have written a book as well."

Ice shot up his spine as those words registered through the fog of emotions. WHY THE FUCK did she have to mention that?! He took a few deep breaths.

"Yes I do in fact have a name. John Doolittle. Your ship was the one that fished me out of that dinghy. I served as a medic there until I decided to move on and moved here. I assume you were marooned shortly afterwards."

He silently chastised himself for the rude tone in his voice but he felt he had to do something. He had to keep the conversation away from his twisted theories and horrific experiments. Perhaps some day he might feel ready for real closure with that madman he had been all those years ago. But until that day he would keep running from any his past.

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

"That sounds interesting. Why the good Doctor here spent some time on an island as well. I think he might have written a book as well."

Sunny glanced over the doctor, seeing how he seemed to be petrified. Hmm, clearly he didn’t make any money off his book. Oh well, it wasn’t everyone who could write a story about an island and expect it to be a best seller. Sunny had lucked out there and he never forgot that it was all luck. Either way, the doctor seemed to snap out of it before Sunny could try and give him moral support.

"Yes I do in fact have a name. John Doolittle. Your ship was the one that fished me out of that dinghy. I served as a medic there until I decided to move on and moved here. I assume you were marooned shortly afterwards."

Sunny blinked, not expecting that, nor was he expecting the rude tone, but he supposed he’d dished out worse, so they were even. He vaguely remembered the man tugged out of the ocean. He was haggard, bearded, and nothing like the man before him. That man had been on the ocean for a while, after all, and this man hadn't. Sunny tilted his head to the side, trying to see if that would help jog his memory, but it didn’t do much for him, except it did make his neck stretch pleasantly for a moment. Still, he did remember that the man pulled from the ocean had been a doctor and he had been busy on the ship while he was there. Sunny vaguely remembered a check-up, but he’d always been in good health, so it had been very short with little chance to chit-chat.

“I remember you with more hair and a tan. You look much more put together now,” he replied, leaning back in his chair a bit. “And marooned is a nice word for it. Personally I'd pick sentenced, but I’m not going to quibble.”

The dugs also made him much more agreeable. He really hated being agreeable when he wasn’t on the pills. When he was on the pills, he didn’t care enough to be upset about being agreeable. It was all terribly muddled.

“What’s your book called? Is it about your island?” he asked, knowing it was polite.

He remembered something about Doolittle’s island, but it wasn’t Doolittle’s. The name wasn’t the same, but the man was. He couldn’t quite connect the dots – his memory was better when he wasn’t on the pills. It would come to him later.

[JOHN "DOOLITTLE" MOREAU]

Doolittle frowned and shook his head. "No. It was merely a piece of speculation on the principles of the biological advancement of humanity. Among other things."

He sighed a bit. "But what can say? I was at uni. I was young, crazy." He laughed a bit to try and release some of his nervous tension. Perhaps if he could play it off enough he could avoid more questions about it. It was a place in his life he would never want to look at because I'm never going there again.

"As for the island, it happened to belong to my family. I went there to take some time off, get away from it all." And perform monstrously unethical and potentially illegal physiological experiments. "I just had to leave the way I did due to tragic unforseen circumstances."

He smiled a bit as he nudged the books. "So it's twenty dollars each right?" He began writing a check for his purchase, hoping to steer the conversation onto a much safer topic.

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

"No. It was merely a piece of speculation on the principles of the biological advancement of humanity. Among other things."

Oh, well that did sound boring. No wonder it had been a flop. He certainly wouldn't have read it, and he read an awful lot. Usually books about cops or pirates or wizards. He liked something with a bit of an adventure to it.

"But what can say? I was at uni. I was young, crazy."

The other man chuckled. It caused Sunny to frown a bit. He’d been young and sane. Old age was where he found crazy. Not that he was old, but he wasn’t young either. It seemed like these two were on opposite sides of the spectrum there. And yet, here they were.

"As for the island, it happened to belong to my family. I went there to take some time off, get away from it all. I just had to leave the way I did due to tragic unforeseen circumstances...So it's twenty dollars each right?"

“I recall,” Sunny offered. “Freaky-deaky tragic unforeseen things...And I have no idea, but twenty is a round number. I like those. No pennies to lose.”

He slid the book towards himself, opening the cover and poising his pen. It was such a simple thing. All he had to do was write his name. Writing a novel was a lot easier in a lot of ways. He could invent the truth between pages, but what he wrote on the cover had to be the real truth.

“Who do you want it made it out to?”

After all, a man with more than one name had a choice there, too.