Logs:Rift Apart
| Rift Apart | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2021-11-13 << (this) >> << (you) >> << (us) >> |
| Location
<PRV> VL 403 {Geekhaus} - East Village | |
This is a small, two-bedroom apartment, the living room semi-open to the kitchen and dining area, a single bathroom situated between the doors to the bedrooms. The common areas are beautifully appointed with solid, matching handmade wooden furniture in intricate geometric mosaics. The kitchen table is ringed with coordinated but not identical chairs, two of them modular with low scooped backs, designed with winged bodies in mind. The wide, low coffee table fits neatly into the corner of a modular sectional couch, and the immense television is enthroned in an entertainment center that also houses various consoles and video games. The walls are lined with bookshelves laden with comics, roleplaying supplements, board games, speculative fiction, and a grab-bag of technical texts. The walls in between are adorned with some framed posters of classical science fiction and fantasy media along with a few pieces of gorgeous if unusual original art. Polaris picks up the remote and hits "pause" decisively just as the next episode of Legacies starts loading. She's in a red fitted t-shirt featuring the Colonial Seal from Battlestar Galactica, ringed by ghostly sigils for the Lords of Kobol, and comfortable faded bootleg blue jeans, draped half over one arm of the couch. "Okay, so." << What the actual fuck did we just watch? >> She straightens and picks up her empty TARDIS mug yet again only to shake her head and set it back down. << I'm gonna need something stronger if we keep watching this one. >> "The dead unicorn was infested with slugs that make you manic and can only be killed with electroshock therapy...?" It's hard to say if Hive has been paying the television show much mind, curled up in the corner of the couch under a blanket in jeans and an Theta Tau sweatshirt, both probably appropriately sized at one point but now hanging loose and baggy on his frame, his eyes largely focused on his phone. He's been idly scrolling Twitter for some time now, but pauses when Polaris speaks, although he doesn't look up. "I like to think that's just an ordinary day at Xavier's." There's a (strange) (too-familiar) strobing flicker of tangled-fluttering thoughts spilling themselves in Hive's direction, overlapping in a jumble that makes it hard to pick one from the next from the next: << (stupid this is stupid) >> << is it even the right day? >> << why wouldn't it be >> << CRAP wrong street these streets are WRONG >> << -- woah, I liked that noodle place -- >> << (how is there the same noodle place) >> << (how is there the same Hive) >> << (is there the same Hive) >> << should have stayed home you should have stayed HOME he won't want -- >> << (hah) >> << (hah. what home.) >> << can just give it and go >> all preceding -- -- nothing. Maybe DJ intended to knock. Ring a buzzer. Something. The clamor of his mind, a few stairs down on the fire escape, has stopped its approach if not its spiraling. He doesn't knock. Polaris puffs out a single breath of laughter. "I kinda want to ask one of teachers now." She's mentally evaluating which of the ones she know would give the most entertaining answer. When she levers herself she takes her mug with her, waggling it at Hive by way of offer to refill his. "Teenage-me would have bee so psyched to go to Mutant School. Probably it would have sucked in all the same ways as regular high school, but with more sh--things on fire. And I wouldn't have met Wendy." << Or maybe I would have? Oh no, not this again God my brain is gonna explode-- >> Her brain does not explode, but she does freeze for a second when she picks out DJ's approach in her own way, his unusually bright bioelectric field and pattern of movement together unmistakable. But then, it'd been unmistakably Dawson, before. She sucks in a long breath and arches an eyebrow at Hive. "Jax," Hive replies with confidence, "it won't make you groan and it'll come illustrated." He starts to pick up his mug to hand it to Polaris, but freezes, his eyes peeling upward now to flick toward the (still, quiet) window. His breath has caught, his jaw going tighter and his fingers clenching around his mug. Tendrils of his mind have stretched outward reflexively, coiling themselves down around DJ's with a distinct mental pull. << Oh no -- >> is DJ's first reaction at the feel of Hive's mind against his, though it comes simultaneously with an automatic relaxation, a kind of mental easing that lets the other man in more readily. At the same time: << (i'm sorry) >> and << (-- please --) >> and << should have texted nobody'll die here >> though even before he pats at his pockets he knows his phone is not even there. There's a shimmer of motion, and a moment after that psionic pull DJ is inside, plain in jeans and tan chore jacket over his grey and white flannel, a slim box neatly wrapped in blue wrapping paper tucked under his arm. His cheeks flush dark when he sees Polaris, but whatever his first words were going to be get derailed when he steps inside, holding the present protectively against his chest. Startled and a little suspicious as he looks at Hive: "-- You're in a frat?" Somewhere in the back of her mind, Polaris is trying to compare Jax's illustrative storytelling with Maya's << (he doesn't have to wait for you to fall asleep) >> instead of what the front of her mind want to do, which is rifle through her memories for ways that Dawson felt different from DJ beyond the implants. She finally shoves all of it aside when DJ appears in the flesh, and had only just drawn breath to greet him, but stops at the unexpected question. "That's also what I thought and probably blurted the first time I saw you in your letters." << It's totally different though (is it?) (did she go to college with him did she finish college oh God Lorna stop) >> Her hand's been wrapped around the mug for so long the TARDIS on its side has started to fade from her body heat. Hive's shoulders pull in tighter, and though for a moment his mind curls in harder, pushing down into DJ's, in the next it's pulling back, releasing its tight grip on the other man. His exhale is audible -- ending in a short rough breath of laughter. "Hell yeah. My brothers really loved y --" He cuts himself off sharply, teeth grinding. "I don't know why people always think that's weird." << doesn't feel anything like Dawson, >> he's saying -- kind of sharp but then, his singular voice always is, cutting knifelike through Polaris's thoughts, and a moment later, << -- except -- >> He doesn't clarify this except; it just hangs, twisting on a thread of grief. << Fuck. >> Out loud, almost as startled as DJ had been: "You brought a present?" DJ's head turns aside, almost like he's been slapped at that abortive you. << (not me) >> << (not him) >> << {not her} >> rattle loud in his mind as though he's trying to convince himself of this; underneath, a creeping uncertainty. Maybe-maybe-maybe, that refuses to be shaken. "I thought --" << is it wrong is the date wrong is the world wrong -- >> This is almost -- almost! -- hopeful, for a second. Grasping on to this tiny potential, maybe if this is different they're all different, if his birthday isn't the same they aren't -- "-- isn't it your birthday? I just -- I'm sorry. I should have texted." A delayed realization he does not even have Hive's number; has not ever thought to get it. It puts another blush in his cheeks. He sets the box down on the counter, dipping his head to Polaris. A very tiny ghost of a smile, here. "He just doesn't seem like the type, does he?" "People mostly don't think of nerd frats?" Polaris offers with a shrug much too tight to look nonchalant. << I can't feel minds. Most people feel pretty much the same in the biolectric department (not him) (not them) unless I'm really all up in their--nope nope nope-- >> She seizes onto DJ's question, grateful for anything to derail that train of thought. "I didn't think so at the time, but I didn't know him or about nerd frats. << (see he doesn't know him either) >> Helped my suspension of disbelief once I knew." Her eyes dip, remembering Hive's mug then and finally reaches to tug it gently from his hand. << C'mon. Coffee'll help. Maybe. A little. (Shit should I offer him something this isn't my house) >> "Engineering frat," Hive says, his tone clearly not arguing with 'nerd frat' so much as further clarifying. "They've helped me through a lot. Can't be all freaks all the time." He looks down at his mug with a mild surprise when Polaris tugs at it, like he's only just remembered its there. His fingers peel off it slowly, and he settles back in the corner of the couch once it's been relinquished. His now-freed hand extends, beckoning toward the wrapped gift. "Yeah. I just didn't think anyone'd -- I mean, I haven't really been in a -- thanks, though. Let's see it." He glances to Polaris, back to DJ, and belatedly: "You wanna drink? I don't know what the fuck we got that isn't coffee." The confirmation that it is Hive's birthday just sends DJ's mind reeling once more, spinning anxiously down a confused and chaotic path of uncertain identity. He's trying hard not to strain through the space between them towards Hive, trying hard not to think about the other people in the room as his family. He's having, admittedly, very little success.
He doesn't sit. Half-turns, to watch Polaris (memories of another Polaris in a farmhouse kitchen stirring a pot of cocoa playing through his mind.) << -- is she having coffee? >> << Should I have coffee? >> << Will she think I'm judging her? >> << I'm not having coffee >> << what do I want >> << want >> << (want) >> << (want) >> His gaze drops abruptly, arm wrapping around his chest. "Just water is fine." "Uh...I'll take a look." Polaris sets the mugs down on the counter, the image of an intricate jewelry tree springing without warning into her mind. She wrenches her attention back around more immediate concerns. << Oh no is he going to judge me if I have (more) coffee? Am I being hypocritical if I have something else it's not like he's gonna tattle. >> She looks back at DJ, lifting one dark green eyebrow as she pulls the refrigerator open. "Are you sure you don't want some delicious..." Her mouth pulls to one side. "...nondairy creamer?" << Right, coffee tea whiskey probably some motherfucking Five-Hour Energy oh or-- >> "Or I could make some cocoa?" << Cocoa would be nice (solves my coffee conundrum?) (God I wanna get plastered) please say yes. >> "Fuck," Hive mutters, as Polaris mentally catalogues their drinking options, "house has really gotten a lot less Mormon-friendly this year." His palm scrubs over his face, something almost guilty in the way he sinks under his blanket. He tears the paper off the box, peeling it open to reveal a PS5 game -- Ratchet & Clank: Rift Apart. "Shit," he's saying, "I love this serie..." He trails off as he reads the back of the box. "Are you shitting me." His expression is hard to read, flat, brows just a little higher when he looks up. "Are you shitting me? Tell me this isn't some weird-ass shit you brought from home. -- fuck," he tells Polaris, "you wanna spike that cocoa?" << is that a good shit or a bad shit -- >> DJ's stopped trying, now, his mind straining towards Hive as the other man reads the box. << coincidence too many coincidence >> "This was all your world. I just thought it was funny." << Ratchet and Clank: Eternal Progression >> His brows crease at the mention of spiking the cocoa, but he doesn't say anything but: "Cocoa would be great. Thank you." "Well, I could have tried harder, as often as I've..." << ...gotten plastered here. >> Polaris blushes fiercely, not wearing enough makeup today to blunt the color on her pale skin. "How are they sh--what's wrong with it? Oh frak did they change the genre? I will never forgive what they did to Metroid." << Did he pick that randomly? If our worlds aren't connected (anymore) what could connect us to each other? (Souls) (Quantum entanglement) (Destiny) (Random fucking chance) >> Relieved but blushing even harder, she busies herself pulling the ingredients from the pantry. << I mean yeah I want to but dude that's the one wagon I haven't fallen off...recently. >> "I won't spike yours," she assures DJ. "Or mine." Then frowns at the conclusion she jumped to. "Unless you want me to." Hive peels himself up from the couch, blanket still draped around his shoulders, so that he can go lay the game down on the counter beside where Polaris is readying the ingredients. He returns to his corner of the sofa after, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself and tucking back into a ball. At DJ's straining there's an answering ripple, strong psionic grip reaching out to both the others now and pressing down around, into, their minds with a rush of mingling thoughts and feelings, a well-worn grief heavy at the forefront. << (we connect us) >> is a layered answer -- guilt and stress, still, over the thought that he was responsible for tearing a hole through the universe, for jeopardizing multiple worlds, for stranding DJ from his life. And beyond that, both distinct from this and not at all, warmth and awe at the ability to find loved ones, build family in a harsh world, even across lifetimes. DJ closes his eyes, sinking down to take a seat at the base of the couch. << (across lifetimes) >> melts in his thoughts into << is reincarnation so different from this? >> << flip eternal progression at an angle and what do you get >> << either way it's us, here, now -- >> His knee pulls up to his chest, his head tipping forward to rest against it, largely so that he stops himself watching Polaris at work in the kitchen. Minds entwined, this gesture is fairly token when it comes to keeping his desires muted. Feather-light, his thoughts trace over Hive's with a longing so acute it's almost painful: << find loved ones >> << build family >> -- echoes of memory here that he's trying desperately to match up against Hive and Polaris, force himself to see the differences. "I'm sorry," he says, aloud. "I really just came here to give you a birthday present." Polaris has just set the sauce pan down on the range, and turns to scan the blurb on the back of the game box. "Are you shi--" The words spill out, cut off a bare instant before she remembers that had been Hive's exclamation. "This has got to be some kind of metaphysical copyright infringement, if--" --then she was Hive. Unprepared this time, she reels, orienting herself within themself. She draws a sharp, quiet breath and catches the edge of the counter with one hand. The disorientation is momentary, but the sense of relief and solace and safety persists even through her horror at what they had done--or may have done, if they can ever even know what happened. Her cocoa-making cannot be called methodical, but it is efficient, at least. << But. Here we are. >> She looks back at the other two--not so very other at this moment--knowing she could hardly hope to conceal her aching confused sense of intimacy. << (We don't know what he needs) (Don't know what we need)>> He eyes fix back stubbornly on the melting chocolate. << We can learn. >> << we can learn. what do we need? >> rises in reply. For part of them, at least, this is somewhat clearer; the long aerial roots of Hive's mind burying themselves into the others with a hunger. Here there's a feeling of orientation: previously adrift, now grounded in the connection. Something in them, withered and dry, unfurls hopeful green buds as they meld. Beneath the soft blanket their shoulders are finally starting to unclench. << (this) >> << (you) >> << (us) >> comes back immediately from another part of them, desperate and no longer trying not to be. There's fragments of memory blurring together -- Hive's shirt balled up in his fist, anger flaring hot in his mind the small smile on Polaris's face as she pulls him into their bedroom, jewelry removing itself from her wrists as she lets her hair tumble down over her shoulders the familiar welcome ache as Hive's mind presses into his Polaris's hand on his cheek, her lips pressing warm against his as she rises to her toes a sick wrenching tearing that rips part of him away and leaves him with only Hive's body beside him when he wakes and a yawning cold emptiness Polaris's arm tight around his shoulders, tears caught on the verge of spilling into her hair the ease of surrending to the strong warmth of Hive's mind folding around and through him, so familiar and so not -- The thoughts come faster and harder, swirling through a year that has otherwise been -- cold. Largely solitary, largely empty of touch or connection. They lean harder into this, into them, into the bolstering of Hive's presence. << 'us' >> comes again, more plea this time than answer. The roots that Hive sinks into them orients Polaris, too, unfurling a sense of inner direction they've never experienced, not like this. Even through the blinding electromagnetic noise of the City, they can still feel the immense, powerful currents of the planet's geomagnetic field scintillate all around like aurora. The Earth is not an inert backdrop to their lives, but an active participant, stable in its dynamic equilibrium, constant in constantly flowing. It resonates through Polaris where they are anchored in the Earth itself, through Hive where they are grounded in themselves, through DJ where they desperately hang on against the whirlwind of memories across two worlds and all they entail. << (home) >> This is filled with an intense longing that they cannot necessarily place as answer or a request or both. A breath shivers from Polaris. They gather the frightened, wounded, despairing parts of themselves in close. << (We are here) >> Wordless and certain, this wells out of their bone-deep sense of place, physical and mental. They marvel distantly at the steadiness of their hands as they decant the cocoa, adding a generous measure of whiskey to one and distributing them, effortlessly coordinated. The memories they turn over one by one, gentle and reverent and grief-stricken and furious. The ones from the world DJ lost jangle strangely with only his perspective, but they fold these in, too, pain and all. << We are here. >> Polaris sinks down to the couch. << (Where do we go from here?) >> | |
