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“-and this one here, ohohoh this one... " Dreamfinder picked up a blue metal cube with a digital interface on one of its sides. He pressed something on the screen and the box sparked to life, singing the same dinky welcome message (an instrumental of the first bar of "One Little Spark") that every other device in the room played when activated. "She’s like an EVP scanner but instead of detecting talkative spirits— much like yourself,” he winks at the apparition watching his demonstration in awe, “she scans for what I like to call TVP: Telepathic Voice Phenomenon ." He pronounced each letter carefully and said the whole title with a strange sort of gusto, lowering his voice dramatically. "Telepathic messages-- mostly accidental, I find-- that transfer through the air from one psychically-inclined person to the next. You'd be surprised-"
The Ghost Host had been watching the Dreamfinder demonstrate various inventions of his for about forty-five minutes. It started when he made a comment about never seeing... Blair's (he insisted that he used his first name, there's no need to be so formal) living quarters before. This led to a twenty-five-minute journey into Imagination where the Dreamfinder gave him an extensive tour of the Dreamport. The tour was fine and dandy; Montague found himself at first turned off by the garish colors and lights to then being persuaded by the ideas of Imagination. While Blair's aesthetic differs wildly from his own (sans the literature section of the tour which Monty found to be quite exciting), he could appreciate the dedication Dreamfinder had to spreading this message-- this gift-- of imagination.
Then Dreamfinder asked him, "Would you like to see what I call... the office space of sorts? Be warned though, it is a bit messy at the moment." He had a hint of nervousness in his voice. While not a master of all human emotions the Ghost Host recognized fear immediately. Intrigued by what could be causing Blair distress about his own home, Monty agreed to come with. When they arrived, he could see why the Dreamfinder was anxious.
The place looked as if copious amounts of tornadoes (or in their central Floridian location, hurricanes) had passed through. Blair quickly entered the room before Montague and began putting things away in a hurry.
"I cleaned up a bit once you had scheduled your visit," This is clean? , "but some things were still lying about, as you can- OUCH!" Dreamfinder had sliced his thumb open on a sharp piece of metal. He immediately removed his glove and put his thumb in his mouth as his uninjured hand fumbled for a drawer labeled "Gloves" in the desk behind him. Monty noticed each desk (there were visibly three) had a similar Glove drawer. Dreamfinder, thumb still in his mouth, slapped a new glove on the table and reached for the tissue box that also accompanied each desk. Removing his thumb from his mouth, he placed a folded tissue on the injury and equipped a new glove. A sheepish expression bore on his features as he turned to face Montague. He gripped the desk for balance, the pad of his injured thumb pressing onto the tabletop. A bit of blood seeped through the otherwise pure white silken glove. He winced.
"As you can see, I always have trouble keeping this area tidy."
They stood frozen, staring at each other for what felt like hours. After thirty-four seconds (Blair was counting), the Ghost Host opened his mouth to speak.
"Well," his eyes rapidly scanned the room, "you seem to have a lot of... gizmos lying about. Would you care to show me what some of them do?"
Dreamfinder's eyes lit up with something the Ghost Host had never seen in them before. A raw passion burst into flames before immediately dying out as if Dreamfinder hadn't meant to start it. An awkward giggle escaped the whimsical man's mouth.
" Yes! " His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "Yes, yes, of course. Why don't we start... over here ..."
~~~
"-how many telepathic messages are being broadcasted between people in their daily lives. Although very few actually reach their designated client-- whether due to said client not having a psychic gift, the messenger's field of range being too small, or any other number of obstacles..." he put the contraption back on the desk, fiddling with the settings on the display. " Hundreds if not thousands are being sent out per minute. You might think it an invasion of privacy, but-"
Montague could hardly pay attention to what Dreamfinder was actually saying at this point. At first, the disaster of an office-bedroom-kitchen-apparently-safe-for-dragon-children area had assured Ghost Host of the fact that Dreamfinder was still somewhat in his league.
This, though. This crazed obsession with his sciences. This endless curiosity of the unknown. This dangerous devotion to his work: It awakened something within Montague that he didn't even know was sleeping for so long.
Blair at first seemed extremely shy about showing this part of himself. These mostly unfinished projects that were too unstable to show to the public were the ones that the Dreamfinder were the most attached to. As the minutes passed, Dreamfinder found himself more at ease. This ease turned into excitement, and excitement turned into a man Montague had never seen before.
His hat and bowtie lay on the desk next to the "TVP" scanner, his dress shirt unbuttoned just to where the hair starts on his chest (Montague had taken extra note of that). He had stopped fixing his glasses a while ago; they now sit askew on his nose. He had removed his gloves after receiving two more scratches (each injury now cared for with purple bandaids patterned with orange horns and wings) from various pieces of machinery that needed sanding. Monty wished he could be surprised at how much his eyes fell on the other man's large, calloused hands. Tufts of dark orange hair covered their backs, making the collections of scars where hair now refused to grow much more noticeable. The nails, uneven and covered in grime, had been painted black; the paint was horribly chipped and blended in perfectly with the dirt and grease.
This made the ghost's transparent chest tremble with some kind of feeling-- what, exactly, he wasn't sure.
Besides his hands, what Monty found himself staring at most were Blair's eyes. They were always so secure, giving anyone who looked into them a sense of peace. Some of that still remained, but they took on a new personality, inviting those who look into them to follow their owner to the ends of the Earth and beyond. Their baby blue quality shined in the harsh industrial lighting of the room. As Dreamfinder explained the inner workings of each contraption they gleamed with determination, obsession, desperation, wisdom, intelligence, beauty--
Monty could think of a lot of words to describe Dreamfinder, but in this moment, the one that seemed to sum it all up was mad .
Not the angry type of mad, oh no. The type of mad that fills you with a need to indulge yourself in your passions endlessly or you'll drop dead where you stand. The type of mad that you feel-- no, you know others could never understand. The type of mad that makes your supposed colleagues turn you away, call you a freak, a disappointment to your family name. The type of mad that the Ghost Host himself was very familiar with. Apparently, the type of mad that Montague found extremely attractive.
His infatuation during these past forty-seven minutes had grown deeper with his newfound knowledge of Blair's true personality. This wasn't just his long-repressed urges forcing their way through the walls of his thick emotional shell, this was a true need to spend more time with another, to be with them regardless of the setting or circumstance, to understand what in God's name Dreamfinder was talking about.
To top it all off, that look Blair gave him when asking for his opinion on a device made his gut bubble with a feeling that he would almost dare to act upon if only Figment wasn't present in the room.
Speaking of Figment, the little dragon had been off to his own devices in his makeshift play area. Currently, he was creating his own word search out of letter blocks. At one point the Ghost Host had exchanged eye contact with Figment when Dreamfinder had really started letting loose. Sorry. Figment mouthed. He always gets like this.
"-rest assured, I would never snoop into people's personal thoughts like some kind of felon!" He finished playing with the device and faced Montague once more. "When I was first testing this device in a public place, I made sure to implement a system where the thoughts would be deleted thirty seconds after they had been picked up. I would never read them regardless, I just needed to see if my machine worked. And worked it did!" In a fit of excitement, he gripped the Ghost Host by the shoulders. Having been asked to hold things countless times throughout the lecture, Montague figured he would keep himself in a somewhat physical state. The sudden touch made him fully corporeal, Dreamfinder's warm hands almost combating his permanent chill. "I was shocked at how many messages were coming in at a time. I haven't quite found a real use for the TVP scanner yet, although I appreciate the insight into telepathy it has given me."
Dreamfinder's hands lingered for a moment before letting go of the poltergeist. He clapped his hands free of dust and wiped the perspiration from his brow, a streak of grease replacing the sweat. It wasn't until he had finished another rant that Montague realized just how much of a physical workout this was proving to be to Blair. Is his semi-mortal form unable to keep up with his brain? Or is he simply this excited? The Ghost Host asked himself.
The inventor was breathing hard as if he had just ran the race of his life, hands shaking as he clasped them together in front of him. He nervously rubbed them together as he looked the spirit up and down for a reason Montague couldn't discern. Finally, their eyes met. The same pang of feeling hit his ghostly lower intestine. Despite having a good few inches on Blair, Monty felt small and vulnerable every time they shared this exchange.
"So... what do you think?"