ArchivedLogs:Irreversible

Irreversible
Dramatis Personae Peter, Doug
In Absentia	2014-05-07 '
Location <NYC> Stark Tower - Midtown East
A gleaming beacon of modern architecture shining bright amidst the industry of Midtown, Stark Tower serves as headquarters to one of the largest tech corporations in the world. The offices and boardrooms of Stark Industries and any number of satellite companies, subsidiaries, and nonprofits are homed here. To the public what draws most visitors is not the business but the science -- the first two floors of the building hold an extensive museum dedicated to technological innovation. As well, guided tours three days a week are open to the public, to be shown through both the museum and, more notably, through (select parts of) the dozen floors dedicated solely to R&D.The building itself is as eye-catching inside as outside. The soaring lobby atrium extends upwards, bright and glass-walled with perpetually bustling balconies ringing each floor. All visitors must pass through the lobby security checkpoints to be signed in. The technology integrated into the building, from the interactive holographic displays that help guide visitors to their destination to the quiet AI that remembers visitors' preferences upon repeat visits to the basement arc reactor that powers the entire building, are quiet reminders of the company's dedication to innovation. The team is working late tonight, at least Doug's is -- in that they are here just a few hours after the end of the work day. Nearing a new testing phase, they've been burning what oil they can in order to get things ready. Currently, they are on a meal break, most of the team out of the building for a change of scenery with their meal. Doug, however, has stayed behind. Tucked up at a table in the break room, the blonde is busy working on a laptop, lips pursed in concentration as his fingers skim over the keys. He looks.../tired/; dark circles beginning to make shadowy half-moons under his eyes. His hair is clean, but a bit mad-scientist at the moment, standing up in little spikes here and there. He's at least dressed in clean and pressed khaki slacks, and a grey polo short-sleeved shirt. In front of him, beside the laptop, are a couple of energy drink cans, both open and probably drained, the way he bounces a foot as he works. Peter is sneaking by at this very moment, having just finished some furious coding (probably his least favorite part of the job; he does not seem to enjoy sitting still -- he would rather be up on his feet assembling something!). There is a small bag of rippled potato chips (ketchup flavored, according to the front logo) in his mouth, dangling; in his other hand is a can of diet soda and a banana. The boy is clad in a dark hoodie and sweat-pants, along with socks -- he does not tend to wear shoes indoors. Peter pauses, as he passes Doug's work-station; the boy's expression shifts -- from one of neutral curiosity to something else. Hesitant consternation; a ruffling of eyebrows, a crinkle at his temple -- a furtive glance from Doug's workstation back to Peter's. And then, with a shift, Peter reaches -- to take the potato chips out of his mouth, and hold it in his last remaining free hand, brow still crumpled with thought. "...um, hey." Very quietly. Doug doesn't seem to be aware of Peter's presence as he sneaks by. Maybe the younger man is sneakier than he thinks! When Peter actually speaks to him, he shifts his attention from the screen to gaze blankly up. It seems to take him a moment to process who exactly is in front of him, and then his attention is suddenly /alert/. "Hey, Pete," he mumbles, pushing himself into a more upright position. His voice is a bit rough, as if he's been up longer than he should, and he clears his throat loudly. "How's things?" It sounds as lame as his wince says he assumes it to be. "They're, uh -- okay. I mean," Peter continues, shifting the bag of potato chips from his right hand to his left hand -- fingers fanning out to hold the diet coke, the banana, and the bag all in one hand, lifting his right palm to scratch at the back of his head. "I'm doing, uh, better now. After the whole..." His words instantly fade off, as if suddenly remembering precisely where he is. "...um, I've taken some time to just... try and get my head together, and." His lips purse. "--my legs are totally working now, so that's good." His eyes shift drastically to the left, never quite making eye contact with Doug. Doug colors when Peter starts speaking, the pursing of his mouth returning with a remorseful cast to it. He un-screws his mouth to speak, but it takes a couple of tries before he lands on an audible response. "Time is good." He also can't seem to maintain eye contact, but his gaze shifts to the other teen's knees when he mentions his legs, and there's more color in his cheeks. "...yeah. I -- I'm -- " he exhales roughly, and his shoulders slump. "I'm sorry about all of that." "--sorry? I..." Peter starts, his brow crumpling deeper, the wrinkles becoming crevices, canyons of pinched flesh across his chitin-clad temple. "I mean, it wasn't..." He pauses here, as if rethinking, his eyes still to the left; slow but sure, he drags them back to his feet, staring at them long and hard. "...you didn't -- I mean, I guess what you did was --" At long last, Peter's eyes do manage to drag up to Doug's. The wrinkles persist, though his temple smooths out a little bit; there's a sternness in Peter's face: "I'm not angry with you. I think a lot of other people are. Shane -- I think Shane hates you. And I really can't... blame him. What you did was..." Peter shakes his head; his eyes drift back to his feet -- the sternness fades. "But, I mean... enough people hate you, right now. So I guess maybe there should be at least one person who -- doesn't." The flinch in Doug's eyes when Peter reveals Shane's feelings towards him is miniscule and leaves behind a sad sort of expression. He nods slowly, exhaling carefully. "What I did was selfish, short-sighted, and /incredibly/ stupid," he says in a limp voice as he reaches for the keyboard again. "I don't blame anyone for hating me. Hell, /I/ kind of hate me, most of the time." His lips twitch into a thin line of a smile for Peter. "I'm glad you don't." His fingers skitter across the keys, bringing up seven windows, all showing video footage of the area around the Lofts. "I'm trying to --" he wrinkles his nose as he considers. On the screen, six of the video feeds end in a burst of static. "Well, 'make it right' isn't exactly the right phrase, but it's close enough." "Yeah, I don't think anyone can make it right. People are dead. Spence..." Peter's breath catches; he's not looking at Doug, but at the screen, instead. Instead, he just shakes his head again, looking off to the left -- back at his own workstation. "...if he had... I don't think I'd... I would hate you," Peter admits, his voice very quiet, "if we hadn't brought him back." Then, Peter takes a slow breath, before continuing, still not looking at Doug: "When Jax got hit with an arrow. During that demonstration? The first thing I did was -- I ran toward the people who attacked him. I left him. In a crowd full of violent, anti-mutant rioters. Why? Because I was angry." Peter's voice hitches; his eyes darken, his hand moving up to grind into one socket. "He could have died. It was stupid. So stupid. I won't ever do that again." Peter needs a moment; he blinks several times in rapid succession, his eyes lightening, before he turns back to Doug. "You won't ever do something like that again, right?" Doug drops his chin to his chest when Peter brings up Spencer, and his eyes slide close in a slow wince. When he opens them again, there's moisture on his lashes, and he blinks a bit furiously to clear them. "I sure as hell won't do anything like that again," he agrees, sniffing a bit wetly as he pulls himself upright again. "Like I told B, the price is too high." He blinks, suddenly, his brow furrowing. "Wait. Jax /was/ shot with an arrow, wasn't he?" There's gears turning visibly in the blonde's face, and he swivels back to the computer, tapping a key and bringing up one of the videos to fill the screen. The video is of the alley behind the Lofts, specifically the back entrance. The light isn't great, but there's a bit of a glow from the safety light over the door below. There's a flicker of shadow in the lower left corner, and a moment later, the camera dies in a blaze of static. Doug runs this a couple of times, chewing on his bottom lip. "Huh. That's interesting." "...interesting?" Peter asks, glancing toward the screen with -- an upraised eyebrow. But as Doug continues to run the scene over and over again, Peter's already moving back toward his workstation, slowly creeping with food in tow. "...just, I'd... take it easy. For a while. A long while, probably. I've got to finish up the next batch of code, I'll... see you around, okay, Doug?" "This video," Doug says, unaware that Peter's already heading off. "Your saying that about the arrow made me remember it." He glances in Peter's direction, and blinks when he finds empty air. He glances around until he spots the younger man, and there's a small twitch of his eyebrows before he nods, and lifts a hand. "Oh, Sure. Yeah, Pete. I'll see you around." He doesn't sound overly convinced at the regularity of that happening, though, and he offers a small, grim sort of smile before turning back towards his computer, shaking his head ruefully.