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The Holiday Hangout went just as well as David 7 could hope for. David’s Place had been decorated from top to bottom with streamers, paper symmetrically-cut fractals, little twigs of some ferns that they had found in the corridor and taped together into a tree-like configuration, everything David 7 could do to make the place look like a Holiday wonderland. They’d used some of Trexel’s spare clone tape to fix and reinforce the furniture that Angry Jim had broken that week, so the tables and chairs were all buttery and clone skin-soft. The customers had loved it, streaming through all day with compliments to 7’s decorating skills, cupcakes, and the semi-fermented slurry that they had miraculously kept hidden from Trexel up until the party. The Holiday was the one day off that Stellar Firma granted its employees each cycle, apart from weekends, and the members of the Build Team who frequented this sub-basement level were happy to spend it at David’s Place.
David 7 had been worried that Trexel would manage to barge in early for once and completely ruin the celebration, but luckily enough their Trexel Detainment Strategies had worked. Or maybe he hadn’t even tried to leave the Asteroid Booth and was drunk sobbing into the grungy metal corner. 7 wasn’t sure if that would be the better or worse outcome. To be fair, they had made the Trexel Detainment Strategies nice distractions, in the spirit of the Holiday. With any luck he was cuddling and crooning to a broom somewhere in the vents instead of ruining the Holiday Hangout. In the meantime, David 7 had spent a few hours taking great joy in spending time with people who weren’t Trexel. They had exchanged compliments, traded goods for Board-cred, and generally had a very nice and only mildly stress-inducing time dealing with customers on the one Holiday of the year.
David 7 was happily breathing in the recycled Holiday-scented, relaxant-laced air and trying to de-escalate Angry Jim’s arguments about the bill when the vent above Angry Jim’s head burst open. Predictably, Trexel fell out with a scream, squishing Angry Jim and himself against the grippy metal foam floor. David 7 watched them writhe in a heap on the floor. Trexel managed to stab 7’s most regular customer at least twice with a broken broom handle in the process of getting off of him, and slapped him in the face with a fish as well. After a few sad, depressing seconds (for David 7) and confusing, painful blows with a fish (for Angry Jim), Jim lay still and Trexel rose, groaning but victorious.
“David.”
“Trexel.” David 7 gave him their best dead-eyed bitch face.
“David, you won’t believe what happened to me on the way here. I knew I had to get here for the Holiday Ho-Down–”
“Holiday Hangout,” 7 corrected for the umpteenth time, not that it would do any good.
“-yes, the Holiday Ho-Down, but the strangest thing is– these awful things kept happening to me! First I ran into my ex, the fish, just waiting for me in the vents. It just sat there, staring at me with its little beady eyes, so accusatory, and angry, David, so angry! We had to talk it out, and you know, I said some things, it stared at me with its beautiful big blank beady eyes, I said some more things, one thing led to another– and I was taking it away to my secret vent hideout for some alone time when I happened to run into the broom’s family! My brooms-in-law! Now let me tell you, my broom-brother-in-law was not happy to see me with my hands on that fish…”
David 7 sighed and let their mind wander, deciding to let Trexel talk himself out. They moved over to check if Jim was still breathing, which he was, and rolled him gently out into the corridor. They arranged his limbs in a passably comfortable position, tucked the receipt into his onesie breast pocket, and retreated into the empty cafe. Or, nearly empty. Trexel had moved on from his story of beating up the broom’s overprotective father and was now staring at 7, horrified, waving his arms and shouting incomprehensibly.
“Trexel.”
“David! David you weren’t listening! David what’sthepoint oftalkingif youwon’tlisten?! David whyaren’tyoulisteningtomeheeheeee…”
“Trexel, you missed the Hangout. If you wanted to be here for the party, you’re too late. It’s nearly 5. Everyone’s gone home.”
Like a switch, Trexel’s agonized expression cleared and he glanced around the room, apparently just noticing that he and David 7 were the only occupants. “Oh. Well, good. That means more cupcakes for me, and I’ll have the fermenting slurry at the bottom of the sink all to myself.” He wobbled behind the counter and stuck his face in the sink, screeching when he realized David 7 had cleaned the fermenting slurry gunk from the grill of the drain. Incandescent, he moved to the piles of dirty dishes on the counter and started tossing them around. “I– David, you cleaned the sink again! I told you, as sink chancellor I get to decide when the sink gets chancelled, and it’s after the bits of slurry at the bottom get alcoholic enough for me to lick them off. And look at this!” He gestured expansively to the piles of dishes, some now cracked or broken thanks to his handiwork, none of which had any more than crumbs on them. “You’re out of cupcakes! How can you have a Ho-Down without cupcakes?”
David 7 sighed. “We’re out of cupcakes because I sold all of them. To the people who were here, on time, for the actual Hangout. Why do you think everyone went home?”
Trexel shrugged so expansively that he knocked over the bin. “Obviously, they were intimidated by me, THE Trexel Geistman.” Seeing the contents of the bin, Trexel began scattering them across the room in search of a half-eaten cupcake. David 7 watched dispassionately, wondering if they could do anything now to keep their cafe from being completely destroyed. They did have one thing prepared, though they still weren’t sure they wanted to give it to Trexel. On the one hand, it would be a very good distraction. On the other, no one had ever deserved a Holiday gift less than Trexel Geistman. They watched him shove an entire paper napkin in his mouth, the crumby remains of slurry stuck to the bottom, and gave in.
“Trexel. Trexel, stop that. Look over here. I got you something.” They waved invitingly at a small paper-wrapped package that sat innocently in the corner, tucked away from the chaos. Immediately Trexel swallowed the rest of the napkin and scurried over. He snatched up the box, patting it all over with slurry and dust-encrusted hands, shaking it like a madman.
“David! You got me a gift! A gift for me, Trexel Geistman, the single best citizen-employee and sink chancellor in the galaxy! Of course you did!” He shook it violently again, first sniffing then licking the paper for good measure. “What is it? What is it, David, tell me!” David 7 barely had the time to open their mouth before he was tearing the packaging apart with a yell like a rapidly deflating weasel. Out fell two cupcakes, landing on the floor with a plop. One fingerless glove dangled from the packaging, a seam already strained. The two stared at it. Trexel bent and shoved one of the floor-cupcakes in his mouth.
“Hyughome shuhghlvesh?” David 7 gave him their best what the fuck stare. He swallowed and clarified. “You got me gloves!”
7 did a nod-shrug maneuver. “They’re for crawling in the vents. So if Hartro or Imogen turn on the burners again your hands won’t get burned as badly.” They watched as Trexel shook out the other gifts onto the counter. A third cupcake fell out, squished from all the shaking, as did a second glove. Last was a clatter of three metallic glitter pens, all Graph Friend-compatible. Suddenly remembering, they patted down their pockets and pulled out a mildly- rumpled sheet. “Oh, and this is for you too. I made one for each of my regulars.”
Trexel took it, crumpling it with his clumsy fingers. It was a sticker, about the size of David’s palm, painstakingly hand-colored with a picture of a blue hermit crab in a pointy red hat. Immediately, he set about mangling the thing in an attempt to get the backing off. “David. Da- Da- D- Dayyy- David. David your stupid sticker isn’t working. David it won’t come off. David!” He ripped the edge of the sticker, screamed in a short,loud burst that left David 7’s ears ringing, then crumpled up the sticker and threw it into the pile of trash. 7 felt a sudden rush of anger, which was not helped when Trexel immediately began to whine and rant. “Actually, I don’t want your stupid sticker. Your cafe is stupid and your sticker is stupid and you were just trying to make me look stupif by giving it to me. Well guess what, buddy, I’m onto your game now! You’re just a fake, stupid, awful clone who gives people fake, stupid, awful gifts!” Tears and snot started oozing from Trexel’s face. Mucous dripped down his cheeks and chin even as he picked up one of David 7’s cupcake gifts and shoved it into his mouth, dust, snot, and all.
7’s anger rose, building in them until they were vibrating with rage at the end of Trexel’s speech. Imogen gave a dutiful warning about rising clone temperatures, but David 7 barely heard it over the pounding of blood in their ears. This man, this stupid man, came in here to eat their gifts and break their plates and couldn’t even say thank you? “You know what? No! I don’t have to deal with this, and I’m not going to deal with you on this Board-given Holiday! Get out, Trexel! If you don’t want my gifts, you don’t have to stay here! Just go! Away!” They pointed firmly at the door, stabbing their finger in the air and advancing on Trexel in a way that he could not ignore.
Trexel seemed to get the message, as he looked about as nervous as David 7 had ever seen him. His eyes flickered from the too-many-stone wall of growling clone flesh to the door and back again, backing away from 7 even though it looked like the last thing he wanted to do. The tears were still flowing, but had petered off to a trickle. “David, David please. I didn’t really mean– well, the sticker was bad but, but the cupcakes were nice!” 7’s growls escalated in volume. “And the gloves were nice, if not really my style, and– and maybe you didn’t know it was a trick sticker! Maybe the trick sticker tricked you, stickler! Hehe heh…” Trexel’s shoulder brushed the door and he squeaked, jerking to ramrod-straight attention between the clone and the hard place. “Please don’t make me go, David! This is the only place I can go, I was lying about having a secret vent hideout before! I’ve been napping in the cupboards while you’ve been asleep! Please don’t kick me out!”
Slowly, the steam hissed out of David 7. Their boiling anger lowered to a simmer, and they took in his pathetically torn and dirty clothes, his wig with splinters and possibly a small rodent inside it, and his wide pleading eyes. Trexel was a pathetic man, and David 7 was trying to be better than every example of humanity he’d been given. Still. “Apologize.”
“What?” Trexel squeaked.
“Apologize. I gave you a nice gift and you were really mean about it. Apologize.”
“I really don’t think I should– Ah! Ah ah, oh, ooh, ah!” Trexel curled away from where David 7 poked him in the shoulder, wincing in pain. “Yes, ah, okay, ow. Your sticker was well-made and wasn’t strictly bad per se.” David 7 started to growl again. Trexel hurriedly continued. “The sticker was good! Good, even! And it’s completely not your fault that you were tricked by the sticker salesman into thinking that was a bad sticker and for putting your good sticker gifts on bad sticker sticky.”
David 7 eyed him, trying to decide if they could hope for anything more, or even anything more sensical. They decided they couldn’t, nodded, and backed away from Trexel. He heaved an enormous breath and sagged against the door, looking like a man narrowly escaped from death. 7 turned, intending to go back to the kitchen and clean up the damn mess Trexel had made.
“Wait!” David 7 turned in time to have a hard bundle shoved into their chest. Trexel’s hand drew away quickly, obviously still fearing clone retribution, but the bundle stayed stuck to 7’s chest in the viscous goo there. They reached up and tentatively peeled it off. It was a simple memo paper-wrapped lump of something, secured closed by some bits of string and what looked like wig tape.
Carefully, they peeled away the paper to reveal a weirdly-shaped hunk of rock. It had a wonky mouth drawn on with purple marker and two different-sized googly eyes. The effect was that of a misshapen, concussed, and derisive fish. “It’s a pet rock! You know, because you must be lonely all day. Since no one really comes here.”
7 blinked at the rock, completely thrown by how nice and yet utterly Trexel the whole thing was. And he’d planned this, before David 7 had even threatened him. “... Thanks, Trexel.”
“And, ah, thank you, David.” Trexel bobbed a nod to them. Then he was scurrying away behind the counter, making for the leaky under-sink cabinet.
David 7 sighed, watching him scurry. They’d never understand him, but maybe they’d be able to make it out alive. Not together. But alive.