Logs:Still Here

Still Here
Dramatis Personae Hive, Polaris
In Absentia	2020-10-18 "Now what?"
Location <NYC> Manhattan Temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints - Lincoln Square
Unlike most other temples of the Church, this one was converted from an existing building, with a single corner spire supporting the iconic statue of the Angel Moroni. Much of the interior is stark white but comfortably appointed, the simple adornments rich with LDS symbolism through five storeys of various spaces available for both the business and spiritual needs of the stake. Parts of it border on labyrinthine, but for the moment at least much of the focus is on the sacrament meeting that has just concluded in the main chapel. Polaris sat in the very back today, wearing a sober white blouse with a smooth round hematite brooch at the throat and a black yoked skirt with black high heeled suede boots, a black jacket draped over her arm. Her hair is done up and meticulously layered with hematite-tipped pins, her makeup simple and barely adequate to the task of disguising the shadows left by a grueling week under her eyes. She had fully intended to slip out unnoticed as soon as the service ended, but given her striking hair color, the intensely solicitous culture of the congregation, and the sheer popularity of the man who had introduced her to them, there was probably little hope of accomplishing that. As the last notes of the closing hymn fade, she's approached by groups of Saints in twos and threes to offer their condolences. They take care not to crowd her all at once, but between the pressing of her hand and polite embraces--from the women only, the softly spoken words of comfort quoting scripture and poetry, the quiet tears and earnest entreaties for her to return, she's quickly pushed to the limits her already strained self-control. << Get out get out oh God get out before you scream-- >> Her excuses are incoherent, but of course they understand--the poor dear!--as she flees through the great bronze doors emblazoned with starbursts, out, out into the blindingly white hallway. She has no notion where she is heading but away--the beehives and grapevines and crowns that adorn doorways and molding leer at her menacingly as she goes--down a less occupied hall, then another that looks identical. << --Jesus fucking Christ you're going to get lost in here why are they allergic to signage-- >> She tucks herself onto one of the upholstered (white!) benches, staring down at the (white!) floor, her hands shaking in their convulsive grip on the strap of her purse as tears streak her face. << Breathe. No not that much breathe less goddamnit Lorna--stop blaspheming--that's too many breaths-- >> Hive is nowhere near so recognizable, but many of the other here recognize him anyway -- not from meetings so much as basketball, Game Nights, church picnics; there's been a few surprised greetings before the service started, but not so much now. He's in a plain white button-down, grey trousers, his tie tied a little bit crooked and a little too long, no makeup to hide the pallor of his face or the sunken raccooning under his eyes. It's only as Polaris flees that he actually rises, shoulders hunched tight as he slips out through the waning crowd. Somewhere along the way there's a clap to his shoulder, a quiet, "-- Hey, man, I'm sorry," -- but for the most part he's unmolested as he ducks out. His eyes have fixed on the floor, and he seems to have no problem navigating these tortuous halls, his steps unerring as he finds his way to Polaris's bench. Rummages a crumpled half-empty pack of travel tissues out of his pocket to offer her, silent. The hallway appears to stretch in Polaris's perception, though she steadily ignores it. Ignores it so well that she's startled when Hive appears beside her. << Oh shit they found me I should have kept going-->> But aloud she manages to murmur "Thank you" as she peels a hand away with an effort to accept the proffered tissues. She glances up, eyes widening. "Oh! You--" << --didn't know he came to these I should have offered to ride up together he's all alone-- >> But what comes out is, "Hi. I'm sorry I haven't..." << --said anything to him--I'm such a shit friend--are we even friends-- >> She grits her teeth and wrestles her thoughts into some semblance of order before they can spiral out further. "I'm sorry," she repeats, more steadily, gesturing to the space beside her. She abruptly remembers the tissues he just handed her and pulls out a sheet to dry her eyes, acutely self-conscious now about her grief, her mania, her being there at all. "Do you wanna. Talk?" Hive sinks down onto the bench, slumping forward with his elbows resting on his knees. "Didn't come to these. Before." His hands lace together, his eyes slipping half-closed as the tumult of Polaris's thoughts roll over him. His fingers curl inward, short nails digging in at the backs of his knuckles. "Do you have words for any of this." Polaris's shoulders hunch. "No. I don't." Just a touch apologetic, just a touch defeated. A flood of kind words and scriptural references well up, chaotic and overlapping. "Folks back there--had plenty." << Treating me like a widow--feel like a fraud--was never mine to lose--he's the one who lost-- >> Try as she might, she can't fish anything that feels both true and comforting from all the condolences. What she finally does say, very quietly and guiltily, is "Fuck." There's a slow creaking as Hive's teeth clench, grind hard. His fingers press harder against each other, his eyes fixed down on the floor. "You did love him." It's gruff, a little clipped; it comes at the same time as a thud of psionic speech, uncertain and a little distant behind Hive's heavy mental touch. << what did I lose? >> The slow grind of teeth continues. "Fuck." Polaris draws a deep breath, as if fearful of actually drowning under the wave of love and anguish that Hive's words bring back up. "Yeah, but he didn't--" No words continue her sentence, even in her mind, the space blank and numb where the rest of the thought should go. She flinches at the psionic hammering, but it focuses her scattered thoughts, at least for a moment. "Your partner? Your soulmate?" She swallows. "Your--self?" << I would have learned to love them both, >> that thought comes unbidden, and she looks up at Hive. << Did love them both, without knowing it. >> "But. You're still here." Hive's lips press thinner, his shoulders tightening further. "He wanted --" This also breaks off, though, slightly choked in its faltering. "I'm still here." A little flat, a little numb; in overlapping psionic echo this comes instead, pounding and heavy, as << why am I still here? >> His hands lift slowly, knuckles digging in against his eyes as his head bows. "You're still here." His hands stay pressed against his face, voice a little muffled behind them. "Now what?" Polaris chokes down a sob, but fresh tears spill from her eyes anyway. "I know." Her anger is swift and breathtaking, flashes of the chaos Friday night, of fire and speed and Guardians coming apart at the touch of her will. She reels dizzy and delirious for a moment, uncertain where or when she is. Again the pressure of Hive's mental voice pulls her back. << I guess. Because he wasn't all of your self. >> Then, a bone-deep, aching weariness, << (I'm still here. Fuck.) >> She lets out a slow, shaky breath. "I don't know." She almost, almost leaves it at that, but then, quietly, "I wanna try to figure it out. With you." << Not all. Just the best part. >> Hive drops his hands to his lap. His fingers pluck in jerky twitches at a seam of his pants. He shoulders stay hunched, head bowed. << (what me?) >> ripples back in another painful flash, but this time Hive doesn't speak aloud. He just stands, running his hands lightly down against his shirt, vaguely perhaps trying to smooth out a wrinkle there, though the gesture doesn't accomplish much. "You want to get out of here? I know the way."