Logs:Unforgiven
| Unforgiven | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2021-10-09 "Why am I sucking so badly at this I'm not even drunk." |
| 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. Cool though it may be, it is prime carousing time and the East Village is buzzing with raucous inebriation. Aside from the shaking of the windows from passing cars dropping the bass too hard or from the impromptu dance party in Tompkins Square Parks, the Lofts are reasonably quiet, perhaps because everyone inclined to be noisy is being noisy out there. Here in Geekhaus the nearest thing to noise is the soft atmospheric music of Dead Cells--at least, it is until the Prisoner dies yet again and Polaris groans in frustration. She's dressed down today in a three-quarter sleeve purple blouse and wide leg black trousers, no makeup, though plenty of steel jewelry. She does not immediately go back on the offensive, but glares balefully for a moment at the ball of goo to which her unhappy character has been reduced. "Why am I sucking so badly at this I'm not even drunk." This grumbled complaint does not necessarily suggest she would rather be drunk, but the powerful desire for a drink certainly does when it surges strong enough to be sensible above the rapid, nearly incoherent stream of her thoughts. She starts to guide what's left of the Prisoner to possess a new body, but then stops and glares at her half-eaten supper as though it has offended her somehow. << Shit I got meeting tomorrow fuck how is it Saturday already? Sunday, whatever. >> She sets down the controller and stretches. "Can we do cider? Or like, I dunno, pumpkin spice cocoa? Is that a thing? I'm not sure I'm gonna make it through all of fall without pumpkin spice latte..." Beside Polaris on the couch, Hive has been curled up with a tablet awkwardly next to his lap on the sofa cushions so as not to disturb the loudly purring Cat tucked on top of him. Though inside the apartment it's warm enough he's bundled snugly under a fleecey blanket, thick Theta Tau hoodie with his jeans and thick warm socks -- possibly this is all to compensate for the lack of meat on his far too skinny frame. Though there's a plate of food on the table nearby of his own he's barely touched it; he has made his way through multiple cups of coffee already despite the hour. "I fucking hate those teleporting bastards too they're sneaky as hell." He hasn't looked up from his tablet, not before she died and not after. "... can't imagine a single non-booze thing could be distracting you." He does put down his stylus, though, tucking it against the edge of the tablet and nudging Cat, gently at first and then less gently. "I can make cocoa." Cat does not even slightly budge. "...Maybe." Polaris snorts. "Yeah well, I'm easy to distract right now which is..." << ...more terrifying than usual (oh my God what the fuck am I doing)... >> "...gonna make it hard to be all holy and polite tomorrow I could make cocoa contrary to popular belief I don't need an industrial kitchen and Cat looks so comfy." She does not wait for an answer to this non-question, but levers herself off the couch and starts rattling around the kitchen, gathering implements for her task, levitating the ones she can and retrieving by hand the ones she cannot. Setting the milk on the counter, she studies the extensive spice rack. "I'm gonna go heavy on the cinnamon and ginger that'll warm you up." << Fuck a lot of "ye shall offer for a sacrifice unto me a broken heart and a contrite spirit" one out of two is better than none I guess but what the hell does God need with a (space ship) broken heart anyway? >> Her cocoa-preparation order is entirely out of whack and not particularly efficient -- grind one spice, then another, dump it in the pan with milk, turn on the heat and immediately turn it back off when she remembers she needs actual cocoa for this operation. "The undead are rude as frak I mean what kind of world is it when a pile of slime can't possess corpses and murder its way out of prison in peace?" Hive mooshes down at Cat's face, which only elicits further purring. "What does God need with any of this shit? Maybe they get lonely. Maybe they get bored. You know you actually need to put cocoa in the cocoa." This comes almost just in time with Polaris's own realization. "What? -- oh." He stretches to the side to pick up the controller himself. "Man, all this --" He waggles the controller in Polaris's direction, "sure bodes well for throwing yourself into the jaws of fucking death, doesn't it." For the direness of the message his tone is very bland. The mind that is working its slow but inexorable way up the stairs of the building is not very familiar, certainly not a building resident, though not wholly unfamiliar, either. Jamie's thoughts would probably feel chaotic if they were not so muted with exhaustion, but they are anxious all the same. << This is probably rude, >> he is telling himself, while wordlessly admitting he still has a poor gauge of what is or is not rude in situations like this. << Situations like what? >> He slips out of the stairwell and into the fourth story hallway, his footfalls quiet and his mind less so despite his efforts. << "Hi, it's that obnoxious guy who almost got your other half killed, I just thought you should know I'm back in town!" No, no, maybe, "I'm sorry I didn't come see you after the service, but -- >> His mostly facetious rehearsing comes to an abrupt stop along with his forward motion when his powers slink out to feel for Hive's -- and find Polaris's, as well. << Oh fuck why is that bitch here? >> He starts to turn around, then hesitates. << She's never done anything to me, really, and if she had I'm supposed to be forgiving now. >> He presses on and knocks on the door to unit 403. "God moves in mysterious ways?" Polaris suggests, not sounding or feeling particularly certain on this point. << It's ineffable. In-eff-able. Efff eff effff eff efffff... >> "Thanks!" She dumps in some cocoa without measuring and whisks it hands-free while she opens the canister of sugar. "Maybe it's not that They need those things, but more like They want to help us...heal?" She's skeptical about this, but then adds, with a bit more confidence, "Like we need those things, but They don't want us to be miserable or guilty forever. Or something." Remembering the other spices, she sets about pulverizing those. "I guess it's lucky for me I'm not gonna be doing. All that. With a controller." << Other than you I guess? And/or Matt? >> "Yyyeah we don't use a joystick it's more like --" Hive cuts off sharply, sitting up fast enough that now Cat does jostle, unfurling with a grumble of complaint to mrowr and resituate himself among the folds of the blanket. "The fuck?" He rolls the blanket and cat into a burrito to pull Cat aside off his lap, standing and moving to the door to pull it open. There's no greeting, just a blank stare for a solid few seconds. His hand tightens on the doorknob, his teeth grinding slowly. Eventually he takes a slow step back, pulling the door open wide enough to let Jamie inside. Doesn't exactly gesture the other man in, but he does offer, gruff and reluctant, "we're making cocoa." Jamie has cleaned up well since leaving New York, his skin radiant from the desert sun, his hair thick and glossy, his still admittedly light frame filling out the pink oxford shirt -- no tie -- navy blazer, and gray slacks, though all of it could use a good ironing. He wilts under Hive's stare, but though he contemplates fleeing he only stares back. Even after the other man steps aside to let him in, he hesitates just a tick. "Thank you." He's not quite murmuring, but the words come out soft and diffident. As he steps inside he transfers his staring to Polaris, entirely forgetting to take off his black loafers. << Wow she kinda looks like crap and I should not be happy about that! (Shut up shut up shut up) What is wrong with me? >> "Um. Cocoa would be nice. Please." Polaris mostly manages to keep her giggle internal. << Heh. Joystick. Oh my God grow up Lorna also do not go there just don't-- >> She is saved from further impure thoughts by Hive's interjection, and turns just in time to see the door open. It's frankly a miracle she did not drop the entire container of sugar, but instead clutches it tighter, knuckles white and wire rings jittering along with all the steel utensils in the kitchen. She vacillates between wordless shock and anger and guilt before finally settling on a helpless << ?!?!? >> that she blurts out as "Number One?!" "Shoes." Hive is still gruff, gesturing with the Switch controller toward Jamie's loafers. He's making his way back to his seat, slumping back into it heavily. "Could probably write a book on that subject." He's just a little bit more prickly with the correction, "It's Jamie." Jamie looks down at his feet, but before he can quite work out what Hive meant, his thoughts are derailed by "Number One". He flinches visibly, his inward reaction far more dramatic, terror sending his already unsettled thoughts scattering. For a moment he just freezes, and when he collects himself again it's a flash of rage that finally overwhelms his fear. "Don't call me that, Lorna." His hands clench and unclench and clench again. "Oh, so sorry, would you prefer Ms Dane?" Anger spent, he instantly regrets that last dig. << Great, just poke the crazy bitch who can kill you with her brain. >> "I'm sorry, that was -- it's just been a long..." << ...year? Decade? Life? >> Fear wins out again and his powers seep up into Polaris's to lock them down. Polaris cringes. "Right! Jamie. Sorry. Uh." She puts the sugar down, gritting her teeth at the sound of her given name but saying nothing as she struggles to return to her drink prep. << Fair is fair-- >> Her eyes snap back to fix on Jamie at the sound of her surname, but before she can summon the words to fire back, Jamie suppresses her powers. Her fury is instantaneous and breathtaking enough to nearly drown out the tumble of confused sense memories--the bright lights, the field lines of her world vanishing or bending against her will, the voices on the intercoms. "You little--" Too many epithets crowd her thoughts and with a snarl she launches herself across the room at him, left hand grabbing for his lapel and right hand winding back to aim a punch at his jaw. Hive's teeth grind slowly, and he sinks back further onto the couch. His eyes flick toward Polaris and Jamie. Briefly. Then to the television screen. He unpauses the game, rolling the slime back into its stolen body to start another attempt at escape. Jamie yelps and tries clumsily to back away, but Polaris has hold of his jacket. << Shit shit shit >> He throws an arm up, a comically unskilled attempt at fending off the attack. His other defense is considerably more effective, his mind pivoting with practiced ease to seize hold of Polaris's powers and clamp down on the intricate yet strong knit wire cuff around her right wrist, stopping her fist inches from his face. "Hive?" His voice is high and thin and wavering with fear. << What am I supposed to do, hold her there until she calms down? >> "A little help here?" Polaris tries to fight Jamie's powers even as she physically pushes against the wire cuff that has stretched out like a bracer, tight on her forearm. Her eyes are wild and menacing, pupils blown wide. "You're gonna blink first and I'm gonna whale the tar out of you." << why did I let him get to me so bad "whale the tar out of" what does that even mean am I taking this too far fuck >> She does not, in fact wait for him to blink first. Hardly a second later after that promise, her knee comes up and slams into his groin, hard. Hive does not immediately look up from his game, but at the strike of knee to groin he does pause it again. His teeth grind once more. He levers himself up off the couch reluctantly and sidesteps the entire Jamie/Polaris mess, wide, instead trudging to the kitchen to start stirring the abandoned cocoa. Shakes in some sugar. Stirs it some more. He's digging his phone out of his pocket with his other hand, opening up Signal as he stirs.
Jamie doubles over and his hold on Polaris drops, but he does not make any noise louder than a breathy "oof." The pain is sharp, but he's actually calmer now than he'd been before. << Guess she's probably wanted to do that for a long time. >> He leans sideways against the nearest wall. When he gets his breath back he just says, quietly, "Please don't hit me again." Polaris did, in fact, plan to hit (or kick) Jamie again, but when his control drops she steps back, still breathing fast. "Fuck." This isn't actually directed towards anyone or anything, just a general commentary on life. Her anger is bleeding away almost as quickly as it came, and suddenly she's fighting back tears. "Alright. Sorry. Again." Despite concerted efforts this comes out a bit hysterical as her already chaotic thoughts collapse into a rapid whirlwind. << that was fucked he deserved (deserves) it that's not how it works he's not like that now how the fuck do you know what would Jesus do probably tell me to take a fucking chill pill ohhhhh >> An echo of that "oh" actually makes it out, though it's very soft. "Man, that would have been helpful like, a year ago." << Probably. >> Hive's mental voice lands kind of like a blow in itself, a heavy thudding thing in Jamie's mind. << Don't even remember how many people wanted a swing at me when we got out. Better than holding it in, if you plan to stick around town. >> His shoulders have hunched, posture slouched where he leans against the counter by the stove. Stirs in a desultory kind of fashion at the pot. Out loud, only, "Cocoa?" Jamie flinches again at Hive's telepathy, his powers extending reflexively to shut it down, though this time he catches himself and leaves only a ghosting psionic touch before withdrawing. << But it wasn't my fault! >> Despite this he's struck by a clear recollection of his own voice pleading with a younger but no less manic Polaris to stop fighting him, that it'll be over faster and hurt less if she would just cooperate. The flush of shame and self-loathing that follows this is so familiar that it doesn't really carry much sting anymore. << Guess it doesn't matter much to them. Easier just to blame me. >> He's straining to recall how many of his former labmates are likely still around, and how many more still in the labs. Finally he shakes this off and looks up at Polaris again. "A year ago? I'd already left, and if you'd wanted to hit me before that why didn't you?" He winces at the sharpness of his tone, already bracing for another blow. << Because Dawson would have helped me and she would have listened to him. >> Polaris glares at Jamie again. "What are you--oh, I wasn't talking to you. And I did want to, but." Her brows wrinkle. "But we hardly ever saw each other, you just hid. << (Gee I wonder why) >> Then you fu--frakked off to Santa Fe or wherever." << God I hope he's only here for the yahrzeit.>> She scrubs a hand over her face. "Cocoa. Would be great thank you." << Please don't let me spike it Jesus Christ I want to spike it. >> When she looks back at Jamie her anger flares, but she just clenches her jaw and presses on. "C'mon. Even if I messed it up he probably fixed it." She pushes away from the back of the couch and squares her shoulders. "I'm not gonna hit you again. But take off your gosh darn shoes." A bit more reluctantly, she adds, "Please." << For fuck's sake. >> There's a exasperation that comes clear in Hive's sharp mental tone to Jamie. << Do you fucking hear yourself. >> He's getting mugs out of the cabinet -- one has Captain America's shield logo on it, one in handmade ceramic with an embossed green Enlightened eye logo on it; the third reads in bold text SOCIAL JUSTICE DUNGEON MASTER and underneath in cursive, writing a better world; Hive looks at it for a moment before setting it back, swapping it out instead for a glass mug with a small hand-blown figure of a woodpecker perched atop the handle. "The cocoa's fine. Just warn me if there's gonna be more fisticuffs because I don't want a mess. You in town for the -- shit." The vague waggle of his ladle towards The World Outside before he starts filling the mugs perhaps substitutes for everything. Jamie keeps his flinch internal, this time. << I get it, I hurt people. I can't change that, and I should just let them hurt me back. >> He's straightening up, slowly and gingerly again spikes of pain. << But you don't know what she was like! (maybe he does) >> To Polaris, though he's not looking directly at her, "I forgive you." << Oh shit is that too soon? Definitely too soon to ask her forgiveness. >> He toes off his loafers and peels away from the wall before remembering to tuck them on the shoe rack. << "Gosh darn" what the -- did she convert? No way... >> He slinks into the kitchen, giving Polaris as much of a berth as he can, and accepts whatever mug Hive hands him. "I'm in town for the...at least the week, but I'm hoping to stay a while. If I can find a job and housing." << -- where I won't get beat up too often -- >> "Maybe some lab -- um, the community could help with that." Polaris almost manages to keep from rolling her eyes. "The heck are you forgiving me--" << --oh right I kicked him in the nads that wasn't very Christlike I should be ashamed Dawson would be ashamed of me-- >> "Uh. Thanks." She makes grabby hands cocoa-ward. "There's gonna be a lot, this week." << --and after what if I'm still like this oh God (I will fuck Prometheus's shit all the way up) I should ask Scramble no that would be shitty but she's not going-- >> "If you hang around and don't just go back to being a shut-in you should be prepared to get decked a few more times. I mean. Not by me. Probably." Hive scrubs a hand over his face, his teeth grinding again. He sets two of the mugs out on the counter, clutching the third close to his chest. "You can have the couch tonight," is all he says. He's scuffing his way off to his bedroom, shoulders hunched up hard. "Find you a proper place tomorrow, okay?" He doesn't wait for an answer, just closes the bedroom door -- hard -- behind him, leaving the other two alone to their cocoa. | |
