ArchivedLogs:Chosen Names and Chosen Families

Chosen Names and Chosen Families
Dramatis Personae Anole, Nox
In Absentia	2013-02-17 '
Location <MOR> Anole's Crashpad
Less 'room' and more 'niche in the wall', this alcove has nevertheless been definitively staked out as Home. Branched off of a tunnel adjacent to the main gathering space, it is set halfway up the wall and accessible by dint of a little bit of climbing and a little bit of precarious balance on never-finished-construction. A small recess, it holds a beaten-up old mattress on the floor, a pile of blankets atop it, and a few hooks stuck out of its concrete wall. There's not enough space for most full-grown adults to stand /up/ in here, though there's enough for a couple people to comfortably lie down. What bare concrete floor there is beside the mattress has been covered by a rug that was once a gaudy mix of orange and purple and is now mostly just coloured like Dirty. A few books are usually piled haphazard in the corner. It's quiet, up in the... room... that Victor has staked out as His. There's the occasional rustle of turning pages. A light from a flashlight, half hidden beneath the blankets on the mattress. Victor has, recently, added a host of questionably acquired /books/ to the shelves in the gathering space, and he has dragged a number of them back here, piled in the corner beside his mattress. He's flipping through one at the moment that appears to be all about reptiles. It is full of glossy pictures and information and right now he is very intently reading about lizards. Questionably acquired is practically the rule of the place, so when a smudge of darkness appears in the lower corner of the "door", Nox doesn't make inquiries as to how or where Victor found those books. Instead, she calls quietly, "Ah, but how did I know you would be reading under the covers with a flashlight? You are a boy after my own heart, Victor. May I come in? I'd like to speak with you on a thing." The call is pleasant, warm--or as warm as she's capable of--but the smudge remains as it was, without advancing further, until he summons her in. A spiky green head pokes out from under the blankets, the flashlight beam still muted beneath them. "Oh -- oh, hi." Victor smiles quick and bright towards the darkness in the doorway. "There's just so many /interesting/ ones. Do you think I look like a gecko? Maybe a chameleon? I can change like a chameleon. Er, I mean yes, sure, of course you can come." He sits up, cross-legged on the mattress, and pulls the blankets around his shoulders. "How're you, Nox?" "Do chameleons have spikes?" It is a musing but entirely rhetorical question. The rest of Nox follows that advance smudge, pouring up through the doorway and across the floor. When she's gathered herself, she adopts her wispier human form, seated in a lotus beside the bed with a package in her hands. It looks as if it were unwrapped, rewrapped and secured with duct tape. It has been through the wars. "I'm afraid that I'm unfamiliar with both reptiles and amphibians. What are the little lizards that are brown or green, and enjoy gardens in the summer? I would chase them and we--" She stops herself. "Ah. I'm well, dear. Do you remember the card I left you?" "Some of them are kind of spiky. I'm sort of spiki/er/ though. Um. Do you mean like anoles?" Victor flips absently through the pages, eventually holding up a picture of a green anole. "Did you have those at home?" He looks down at the package in Nox's hands, curious. "I -- for the detective? Yeah, I --" His head bows slightly. "I did. I didn't -- call him or anything. I wasn't sure it was -- though I ran into someone who --" None of these thoughts resolve into anything except a reaffirmation: "Yeah. I remember." "Those, yes. The little smiling lizards. They seemed so sweet but they had a wicked bite if treated poorly." Nox sounds as if she's smiling. A hand brushes his bowed head, sprouting from her shadows while the original hands smooth over the package. "It's all right," she murmurs, "I understand why you didn't. It's your choice. It's the choice we've all made. And I am sorry for this, Victor, but I have to ask you to choose again. The detective is persistent. He brought a gift. From your parents." Victor studies the picture for a long time, after Nox speaks, his fingers tapping against the image of the anole as he reads what the book has to say about them. "They change colour, too. And they seem very --" He considers. "Adaptable. Did you pick your name?" It takes a while longer before he looks up, at the package, but his head butts upwards, slightly, like nuzzling into the shadowy touch. He drags his teeth against his lip once he does look up, frowning at the package. "A gift --" His voice is quieter. "I met a guy," he tells Nox abruptly. "He had kids like me. I mean, not green, but -- you know. Like us." "One could say my name chose me, but...yes. When I made the choice to leave my others behind. It was..." Nox pauses here, both in speech and in stroking the spiky hand beneath her palm, careless of the lack of hair to smooth. "It was the final act," she says finally. "The last choice made by who I was. Her gift to me." Her other hands remain folded over the package, hiding it much of it. Some is visible though. The paper used to be white. There's a ribbon, and fragments of baseball symbols. "Did you?" The prompt is softer than usual. "By who you were," Victor echoes, quiet. "Yeah. I -- everyone down here is -- I've been looking for a new one. Because Victor was -- then." He is still leaning up against the touch of Nox's hand; it draws a small smile from him as he tugs his blankets tighter around his shoulder. The smile fades as he continues, with a shrug, his eyes focused on the paper wrapping. "Yeah. I mean. He -- he seemed really /nice/, you know? Like he really cared. About his kids. About /me/. I don't know. It was just quick. But he seemed like -- just -- nice." The frown on his face looks almost troubled at this thought. Nox's hand trails down to give his chin a light and affectionate squeeze. Then it fades away, leaving only the original two folded neatly. "One supposes that for self-made people, self-chosen names suit best. Whatever you want to be called, dear, we will call you." She bends towards him and whispers, "Some have chosen more than once. It happens. We are ever changing, aren't we?" The confidence is an amused once, a lighter tone meant to soften the intensity of his eyes on the package she's brought. "Ah...people like that, they are rare. Was he...mm, somewhat young for his responsibilities? One-eyed? If so, then I know what you mean. He's /good/." Victor looks back down at the book in front of him. He gives Nox a rather shy smile when he looks back up. "I could be like this." He taps the picture. "I'm pretty lizardy. Anole's a good name," he decides, but then, more uncertain, "-- It's a good name, right?" He nods in affirmation of her questions. "Young. Yes. And an eyepatch. He was /nice/." He bites down on his lip briefly. "And my parents are nice. And someone tried to --" He looks away, for a moment. "It was just trouble all the time, you know? Because I was there. /Nice/ people shouldn't have to --" The breath he lets out is not quite steady. "They sent that for me?" "A good name," Nox confirms, "and it does suit you. You have, after all, proven yourself to be adaptable. Quick. Often smiling." She might have said more, there's a pause that indicates as much, but the woman stops herself. A breath is taken. She darkens in a way that makes her more cut-out than proper figure. "I left because it would hurt my family to have stayed. For different reasons, perhaps. But...harm is harm. I have no doubt they care for you and that is precious, Victor. But what you are doing for them is precious too. Bittersweet, but precious. I know how it hurts. There is no harm in taking this package, dear. No harm, but if it /hurts/ too much, say the word." "Anole," Anole repeats, and now he's smiling brighter, again. For a moment. His knees pull up towards his chest, then, his chin dropping to rest on them. "I miss them," he admits, soft, his gaze dropping downwards momentarily. "But they --" He draws in a slow breath. "Do you? Miss your --" Today is not the day for finishing sentences. Eventually, he reaches out for the package. "Anole," Nox corrects herself, the darkness bleeding away and leaving her more a charcoal smudge. "I'll make sure the others know." Through all of the fragments, the unfinished sentences and unasked questions, she's quiet. When he reaches out, she bridges the gap by setting package in his hands. As she settles back, she murmurs, "Every single day from that day to this one. Would you like me to stay while you open that, or should I go, dear?" Anole shakes his head, hugging the package against his chest. "I think I'd like to just be -- um. I might cry," he confides, a little sheepish, "it'd be all blotchy and snot and gross." He huddles down lower under his blankets, still hugging the package. "But -- but thank you. I guess I should tell the guy. To -- tell them." "There's no shame in crying." Nox must have anticipated that because she produces a travel pack of Kleenex. From somewhere. It's better not to know. These are set neatly on the edge of his mattress. "We have told him that if you want to contact him, you will leave word at Evolve. To avoid further...mishaps in the tunnels." The woman flows upwards, bending over the huddle of boy and blanket to press a kiss to the top of his cloth-shrouded head. "If you need me, you know where to find me," she whispers before sliding towards the exit drop off. The Kleenex makes Anole smile; the kiss, even moreso. "Thank you," he says again, quietly. And then disappears under the blankets, pulling them back down to retreat into his little cave again. Possibly there is sniffling from it afterwards. He doesn't come out of the blankets for quite some time, anyway. But he does stick one hand out to grab the tissues.