#wish i hadn't had to cut the line about bill being andy's 'collaborator and muse all in one' but ah well

[irregularbillcipher]

don't really have another place to put this, so… here's an alternate section of the last section of my flatland fic that had to be cut! the way the conversation was headed with this exchange didn't flow well with the rest of the chapter, but i do like parts of it, so you go, for anyone interested!

“You’re a writer?” Andy asked, leaning forward, fascinated, and nobody in the shop could think of a time they’d seen the boy more starry-eyed. “What sorts of things do you write, are— novels, or— or newspapers, or— or poetry, or even just like, medical papers or—” “A little of everything, I work on commission for a paper,” the man chuckled, and it was clear from his somewhat sheepish reaction that he wasn’t used to such a positive reaction to his line of work. “I take it you like to read?” “Mmm hmm!” he said excitedly, exactly as Bill said, somewhat tiredly, “Anything he can get his hands on.” Andy frowned, and rolled his eye. “You read too, Bill.” “Sure, but I’m not such a dweeb about it.” The Square ignored him, and instead asked, “Well, what’ve you written, anything we’d know?” “I mostly write for the paper, so nothing too interesting, but… oh!” He passed for a moment, as if trying to decide whether he wanted to bring this up, before finally asking, “Do you two read the dreadfuls? You’re probably the right age for it, I’ve worked on a few of those—” he started, but he was cut off by Andrew’s gasps. Clementine snorted softly at the noise and moved toward the boy to hand him a pen, already recognizing the excited grasping motion when he desperately wanted the materials to write something down. Chuck, also used to this, tore off a piece of paper and handed it to the boy, unable to hide a fond smile. Even Bill seemed impressed now, and he said, as Gus watched Clementine and Andrew with a soft amusement, “Well, now you’re never gonna get him to stop pestering you.” “That’s alright, I don’t mind,” said Gus gently, before peering at the page Andrew was scribbling on. Andy had already filled it with writing and scattershot drawings, trying to collect his thoughts and questions before he opened his mouth again. “You know, you’re fast at that. That’s a real skill.” Andy stopped his scribbling at that, and his eye shone. He wrote “it is?” on his paper— he really only ever got this excited in conversations with Bill and Clementine, who were a bit more used to his tendency to fall back on writing when his mind was jumping ahead of itself, and he winced a little, trying to compose himself enough to speak again, but the man was still looking over at what he was writing, and answered happily. “Oh, it definitely is! Getting down your thoughts quickly, organizing yourself before you blurt something out, trying to get the details of a conversation— all real skills. A lot of professionals have a hard time with that sort of thing. Great for interviews, or observational writing… or research, if you’re only going to see something or talk to someone for a very short amount of time. Having a system to stop yourself from getting overwhelmed and to sort out your thoughts is very valuable.”

Andy beamed, tapping the paper until he found his voice again. “I… I usually only use it to help things make sense, or… or pass notes. I never really thought it— y’know, I never thought it would be useful for— for anything else…” And he hadn’t, but now that the idea had been presented to him, he seemed smitten with it.

“And you don’t have to make it useful if you don’t want to, or even pursue it,” Gus said, “but you seemed to have a sort of… a writer’s instinct, I suppose, and that sort of thing would be really useful for any creative. You do this a lot?”

He nodded excitedly. “Mm hmm! Every time I need to— anytime I really need to think or— or I want to remember something or figure something else, I— I like to sort of write it down and draw, always like— always like this,” he said, properly presenting the scrawled notes and pictograms. “Done it ever since I was a kid, I just— I sort of figured it was because I was… well, y’know, slow—”

“You’re not slow,” said Gus and Clementine at the same time, and Bill rolled his eye at how much that made Andy light up.

“No, but really, I’ve only been talking to you a few minutes, but I can tell you aren’t,” Gus said. “Honestly, being that interested in the world around you and getting in the habit of just… writing… I know that sounds silly, but that’s such a hard skill to master, just writing and observing and asking questions… and making your own language? That’s not slowness. I sort of wish I’d been like this at your age, honestly, just to get good writing habits started. I never would have been smart enough to come up with a whole language, though, that’s skill!”

Andy was still grinning, but he pointed at Bill. “He helped me with a few, too! Um, I came up with— with most of the symbols, but once I started using them for— for talking to him, it gave me more ideas, and he gave me more ideas, so…”

“It’s a collaborative effort,” Bill said, and he looked a little smug when he added, “and we’re not looking for any more collaborators.”

Gus didn’t seem too disappointed by that, which in turn seemed to disappoint Bill. Instead he just said to Andrew, “So you’ve already got a cowriter! And you said he helped you come up with ideas?” when Andy nodded, the man just gestured to Bill. “Don’t lose him then, it’s rare to find an editor, a proof-reader, a collaborator, and a muse all in one. I haven’t even found a good editor.”

“We could edit for you!” Andy said, nearly beside himself. Clem winced at the enthusiasm and held up a hand, looking as if she were about to speak, but the boy kept babbling before she could. “Me and Bill— I’m— I’m good at writing even if— I know I sound, um— I know I have trouble with w-words, but my marks are good when I’m writing, and Bill’s just smart in— he’s just smart in general, we could—”

“Oh, no— no, no, I’m not asking— I’m don’t want to put you to work, Circles, I appreciate it, but it’s alright. I’m just saying that if you ever wanted to graduate from someone who reads books to someone who writes them, you and your friend seem to have the instincts to be able to do pretty well, if you two are already writing so much you’ve made a secret language. And if you ever do decide to pursue it, I know a publisher, so I can talk to people for you—”

“But he can’t be a writer,” Bill said, and he sounded as tired as he did annoyed. He’d joined Andrew up on the counter, and snatched the page from Gus’ hands. “He’s gonna be a lawyer. And I’m sure as hell not gonna be allowed to take up writing. Y’ever seen anyone like us in the office when you visit your publisher? Like him?”

Clem put her hand down. It seemed that whatever she had wanted to mention had been mentioned, most likely with much less tact than she would have delivered the news with. Her eyes drifted over to Andrew, concerned.

For the first time since the ice had been properly broken, the Polygon’s face fell. “… Right. I— of course.” It was as if he suddenly remembered who he was speaking to. The two boys in front of him, bright as they seemed, were not Sebalds, or Caesars, or even Hills. They were a Cipher and a Kryptos— an Equilateral and a Square, one Irregular, and one Abnormal. It was half a wonder anyone was allowing them to pursue the careers assigned to their castes, there was no possibility of them being allowed to do anything more. “Well, if… maybe law books, then? A few Squares have been allowed to write those, haven’t they?” he offered, as he saw Andrew’s face crumble a little.

Bill’s face, on the other hand, seemed to be a plastered over with sick satisfaction, a pride at being the one to wrestle Andrew’s attention back from the Polygon and crush the stupid hope this jerk was filling his head with.

“Yeah,” the Square said softly, a bit distant. He had taken his page back and was staring at it blankly. “Some law books are written by Squares.”

The look on Bill's face faltered, ever so slightly.

After seeing this reaction from the boy, Clementine looked very much like she wanted to smack someone round the head, and nobody could be sure if she wanted to smack Bill or Gus.

The Polygon was bouncing slightly, as if trying to shake off his awkwardness. “… You could still be a hobbyist. There’s no laws against you being allowed to write in general, even if you don’t publish…”

“Mmm,” was all that Andy could seem to offer. He didn’t seem thrilled at the prospect, but he managed a weak smile.

“… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by all that, I just… I was impressed, really,” Gus all but whispered, and when Chuck went to reassure him that he hadn’t done anything wrong, Clementine pulled him aside, and they spoke in frustrated mutters.

The atmosphere was tense, until Bill grabbed the page and jotted down a few things, half words and half pictures, before passing it back to his friend.

You already knew that dandy was being stupid. Stop moping. Just ask whatever you were gonna ask him. Chuck’s trying to suck up to him, but he’s right. We all make him too uncomfortable, Clem loses a sale.

Andrew read over it and bristled slightly, glaring at his friend, who rolled his eye, grabbed the pen, groaned, and added a symbol that he very, very rarely wrote.

Sorry.

Andy could practically hear the “sheesh, you’re really twisting my arm, not my fault that idiot didn’t know what kinda jobs Squares could have,” but he sighed and checked next to the apologetic image, a way of declaring that it was accepted, although the insult he wrote next to it made it clear he still thought Bill was taking a little too much pleasure in being a jackass.

“I can, ah, go… if I’ve made things too awful,” Gus said, unsure of how to interpret the near-silent performance the boys were putting on in front of him. “Just talk to Ms. Playfair, if, um, if you’d like, just focus on the order—” and it seemed very much like he wanted to take that escape, but Bill waved a hand.

“No way, we still got questions for you. Just don’t put your foot in your mouth this time, alright?”

“I’ll try,” the man nodded.