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meadowlarklogs2019-09-08 12:26 pm
- !event log,
- dceu: diana prince,
- dogs b&c: nill,
- kingdom hearts: riku,
- kingdom hearts: roxas,
- kingdom hearts: sora,
- mcu: daisy johnson,
- overwatch: soldier 76 (jack morrison),
- persona: goro akechi,
- riordan mythos: silena beauregard,
- star wars: cassian andor,
- star wars: jyn erso,
- the 100: clarke griffin,
- the man from uncle: gaby teller,
- the man from uncle: illya kuryakin,
- the vampire diaries: caroline forbes
EVENT #006 AFTERMATH LOG
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: December 19th to the end of the month.
WHAT: Event aftermath, Winter Solstice, Christmas.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Character death, self-sacrifice, drug use. Further notes at end of log.
Zerzura's demise is a very near miss. Three out of four of the bombs detonate, with numerous Mycenaean guards' lives taken as a result of the assault. It's probable—even likely—that numerous Displaced were injured as a result of this attack. Just as the last bomb seemed likely to go off, everything stopped. As in: the scene ended, shifting, putting all of the Displaced to sleep. Zerzura won't end. Or will it?
The return from Zerzura will feel like waking up from a long nap. Instead of anyone waking up in their beds, they will find themselves on the ground beside the man-made river that runs down the center of New Amsterdam. The ground beneath them will be moist with recent rainfall. Anyone who was still in the throes of a fantasy and believing themselves to be a part of Zerzura will find themselves tossed out of that existence. Anyone who died at the precipice of the spear will still recall their actions vividly: their mind and body hitting a point in which it was finite, slipping away. There may be some room for doubt regarding their deaths. After all, they're very much alive now.
There are two constants among the Displaced when they observe themselves and others: that all of their chests are glowing with that familiar blue glow, and they'll all experience a feeling of serenity. This feeling won't come from any of the Displaced themselves. Much like the intrusion of the empathy bond, it will feel as if it's coming from elsewhere. The problem is that it's always there: there is no way of disconnecting, at least for now. The good news is that the serenity will begin to fade within the next day, and with it, the blue glow will go away as well.
All of the Displaced can't remain at the riverside. If they linger too long, it will begin to rain again. The rain itself will only be a light misting against their faces at first, before turning into a heavier downfall. If they're wary of returning to their lives initially because of the blue glow, they'll soon find that the people of New Amsterdam seem to look away from them as they trot through the city to return to their lives. This is a temporary sensation, seeming to have overtaken the city's citizens for the time being. Within a day or two, the blue glow will be met with the same paranoia that was fostered by the UN following the abduction of Kurt Fischer.
What can they do now? Aside from the feeling of serenity, little will have immediately changed for the Displaced. The best thing they can do is try to return to their lives as if Zerzura never happened.
Some things to check in with, though?
WORK. Upon realizing that the Displaced disappeared yet again, El worked overtime to make sure that all of the Displaced wouldn't lose their jobs. After all, that would mean they'd likely have to give up their housing, and Morningstar would need to financially step in to help. Not all of the places of employment will accept these excuses, especially since El can't put together a doctor's note without it promptly being verified as falsified. It's ultimately up to anyone's discretion over whether their character lost their job.
CHANGES. Some of the changes will appear out of nowhere: a dream that's shared, or a memory that's passed on rather unwillingly. It's time to explore what's happened, and even theorize as to why this has happened. And those objects that were the core of remembering who they were, back in Zerzura? They're permanent fixtures from now on. And what about those Union Attacks? For now, they may have an interesting place in the fighting rings. Time to convince the people running those shows to start including doubles matches.
PLANT LIFE. All around New Amsterdam, plants will begin to grow. These plants are varied, and they'll make an appearance anywhere that they might be allowed to grow. Is that a sink that's frequently full of water? Now it's mysteriously stopped up by a plant that's growing through the pipes. While all this plant life may seem like a miracle, having plants growing in every part of the city will quickly prove to be a problem.
HOLIDAY SEASON. The good news about everyone's trip to Zerzura is that they didn't miss Christmas—or rather, the December 25th edition of it. The city is still covered in Christmas trees and ornamentation. The stadium is still hosting a holiday market.
In the days leading up to the Winter Solstice, there will be an uptick of paintings around New Amsterdam hinting as to where this year's party will be held: Sunpeak Garden. While there won't be any official notice, anyone interested or curious is free to visit this location on the day of the Solstice (December 21st) to see what's going on, and it will go on for the next three days, ending on the morning of the 24th. As they draw closer to the location itself, they'll find the botanical garden secured by a large, overarching tent, preventing rainfall from getting into the garden itself. On the air, there will be the scent of something being smoked—which they'll soon learn is a set of goats that seem to have been acquired by whoever put on this shindig.
Unlike many other events around New Amsterdam, this seems to be more private in nature. There is an unspoken understanding that beyond the paintings, there will be no social media posts. Inside of the garden, there will be a lot of plants and decorations carefully molded into sacred geometric shapes. Despite the unofficial nature, whoever put this event together definitely spent their time doing it. This Solstice party isn't a spontaneous thing, and anyone who goes will hear about the previous parties and how the proprietor does his best to make everyone happy.
Anyone who went to the Harvest Festival or Insomniac's Ball will see a lot of the same people working it, complete with some familiar tattoos. They'll be eager to welcome in any of the Displaced, especially any of the ones who tend to be featured in the shrines around the city.
Once everyone's here, they're welcome to enjoy themselves. Under some of the canopies of trees, there will be beds and futons, giving people places to rest. Some of these will be claimed, so anyone who's eager to stick around for a few days might want to get dibs. Otherwise? It's time to enjoy what's been put together:
FEAST. There will be a feast for the next three days. Aside from the smoked goats, there will be a lot of goat cheese and vegetables. These are the people who put on the harvest festival, after all. There will be a lot of pickled vegetables out on tables, salads, and everything else. Aside from cheese for snacking, anyone can partake in some delicious berries (strawberries, blackberries, raspberries, and blueberries) and nuts (walnuts, pecans, peanuts, and almonds—despite the difficulty in getting most of these in New Amsterdam). There will also be figs, because of course there are figs.
FLOWER CROWNS. To go with the more laidback flair of this event, there will be flower crowns available for everyone. They will look more Christmas-like in spirit, like small little wreaths to go on everyone's heads.
ALCOHOL. Of course, what kind of Solstice or Yule event would it be without alcohol to imbibe? There will be mulled wine available, as well as the delicious apple-flavored beverage of wassail. It seems as if these two things never run out. For anyone avoiding alcohol, there will also be some sparkling grape juice and apple juice.
PSYCHEDELICS. Undoubtedly also inspired by Yule celebrations of old, anyone can partake in some species-specific (and at a safe dosage) amanita. Primarily available as a tea, anyone can drink this pleasant beverage and have a good time together.
MISTLETOE. There will be spots all around the botanical garden where the decorators took good care to make the mistletoe stand out. Surrounded by little lights, no one will be able to miss them. That means they can be easily avoided, if that's what someone would prefer!
BALL PROPRIETOR. While he's not hiding that he put this on, he's just as mysterious as before. If anyone wants to catch his eye at this event, they can. They'll need to stand out to get him to talk to them. To do this, reply below! Ball will definitely be interested in any Displaced trying to catch his eye, but it's still up to them to go through the motions.
As the Solstice party comes to an end, it'll be time to focus on Christmas itself. Around New Amsterdam, this is a deeply commercial holiday. Since most of New Amsterdam's citizens prefer to celebrate Sinterklaas, the day of Christmas itself largely emphasizes purchasing access to Christmas movies and giving gifts to anyone who had been forgotten earlier in the month. For new couples, Christmas Eve acts as a romantic occasion, giving them the chance to spend some time alone. Restaurants around the city will have Christmas Eve and Christmas Day specials and feasts—though these will be very expensive to enjoy.
Once reports start to hit the news about the rapidly healing atmosphere, a strange cypher begins to appear in the replies of people's posts on Cooltalk. This misfire appears at random and without a pattern. While some of the Displaced will get hit on their Cooltalks, they won't be among the majority by any means. How to get ahold of 100342? A reply might do the trick, or it might not. Drop a message in the questions thread with ideas!
Then again, this message more of a simple response to a slight than anything else, most likely recognizable to the displaced, who are familiar with the cipher's formula:
200805 02011414051819 1506 200805 11091407 1506 08051212 04180123 031215190518
200805 02011414051819 1506 200805 11091407 1506 08051212 04180123 031215190518
200805 02011414051819 1506 200805 11091407 1506 08051212 04180123 031215190518
200805 02011414051819 1506 200805 11091407 1506 08051212 04180123 031215190518
200805 02011414051819 1506 200805 11091407 1506 08051212 04180123 031215190518
200805 02011414051819 1506 200805 11091407 1506 08051212 04180123 031215190518
200805 02011414051819 1506 200805 11091407 1506 08051212 04180123 031215190518
200805 02011414051819 1506 200805 11091407 1506 08051212 04180123 031215190518
200805 02011414051819 1506 200805 11091407 1506 08051212 04180123 031215190518
Welcome back to the world of New Amsterdam proper, Larkers! This will act as the mingle log for the month of September since we didn't receive any applications this month. In order to plot out some aftermath, please head over to the CR Meme for the month of September! Our September calendar and Event #006 Aftermath are also up for perusing.
If you'd like to get your character in touch with Ball, please reply to the comment below with how they'd like to stand out! Ball, like all of our NPCs, will act as a means to an end to uncover plot details. With the gates excursion on the horizon, we wanted to make him available for all of the playerbase. Due to time constraints, this means that Gaby won't be available for this log.
If you have any questions about event aftermath, please hit the thread on the Aftermath Post here. If you have any questions about this log, go to the questions thread on this post!
no subject
It's okay.
[The words are not as heavy as they could be. This is not an it's okay, you're okay, not a demonstration of forgiveness. On the contrary, her tone is light, entirely casual. It's a statement of fact. There's nothing to forgive in the first place.]
That was a personal question; you don't have to answer.
[OA shoves her hands in her pockets, a gentle tilt to her head as she watches the rain fall, watches his acceptance of it, which matches hers. A steady man, one who clearly has not made his way through life unscathed. For that she can easily muster a sense of kinship.
With a deep inhalation, she gathers herself and musters a smile -- very faint, utterly exhausted, but a smile nonetheless.]
I just meant... you. The you you are now.
[One hand leaves her pocket to indicate him generally, up and down. This life, not the other one.]
no subject
She lets him off the hook, and Jack isn't going to question it too much.
When she clarifies, he gathers her meaning, nodding almost instantly. ]
Yeah, someone snapped me out of it a week or so ago.
[ Or at least, it had felt like a week. He has no idea how much time has passed in reality, and while he would normally jump to search for the information with his implant, he doesn't now. Blame that serene sensation that's draped itself over the entire riverbank.
There's a pause, and then he frowns at the stranger, the implication of her question slowly hitting him. ]
Did no one do that for you?
no subject
[OA can't quite help the note of bitter amusement in her voice, nor the wry smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, though she regrets both immediately. They fall away; she shakes her head. Not your fault. It just isn't necessarily the word she'd use, for. Maybe to.]
They did. I'm... grateful. I just don't know if that makes it easier.
[Part of her finds that loss of self abhorrent, terrifying. Part of her regrets that she didn't get to experience it for just a little longer. These conflicting emotions war openly on OA's face for a few seconds; her brows knit with hurt, the set of her mouth turns grim, and then both smooth away again. The way it passes suggests the hurt is an old one, familiar, easily accepted, acknowledged, buried again. Through it she holds Jack's gaze, chin inclined just enough to suggest she wants to say more, but the emotion has to pass before she can manage it.]
Thank you. For caring enough to interrupt. Not everyone would have.
[Another beat; she looks him quickly up and down and wills that tired, gentle smile back to her face.]
Come on. You're getting rained on.
[She is too, but that fact clearly concerns her less. She nods up the riverbank, away from the water, back towards civilization. Dark, dirty, inescapable.]
Can I ask your name? I don't think we've met.
no subject
Other people seem to be a lot more conflicted about leaving their fake lives behind. Daisy, first of all, and now this woman. For Jack it's all very cut and dry. What he'd been made to experience had been nothing more than a cruel trick, and there's no point in dwelling on it.
He can't really guess at what's churning beneath the surface of this stranger's quickly shifting expressions, but she doesn't seem bothered by his presence or interruption. She suggests they go, and Jack realizes there's no reason to linger, so he nods. The rain doesn't bother him, and so he isn't rushed as he starts walking up the riverbank toward the nearby street. ]
Jack. [ No last name, as usual. ] How about you? You got here more recently, right?
[ Hers is a face he only started to see around in the last month or so. ]
no subject
[No last name. Her faint smile suggests she noticed and has drawn her own conclusions on the reasons for the omission -- first and foremost that he's keeping her at arm's length, which doesn't offend her. On the contrary: it implies his concern comes without immediate self-interest, or at least not the simpler kinds OA can't satisfy. Regardless, she's not about to comment on that omission, especially not with how she's inevitably going to respond.]
I'm the OA.
[Matter-of-fact, no acknowledgment of the strangeness of the name beyond the faintest shift in the set of her brows and no implicit offer to elaborate on what, if anything, it means. Sometimes people ask, and very rarely, she tells them. Either way, it's her name.]
And I did, yes. A few weeks before...
[She gestures vaguely at the both of them, strolling side by side up the riverbank, all but heedless of the rain. In truth, were it not for the interruption she'd probably have stayed out in it: she spent far too much time underground not to appreciate weather when she can get it. And she could have tested the limits of her body, moving through her strange dance until her limbs shook with it and the world would not be changed, but she would be for neither the first nor last time.
To have been called away isn't a disappointment. It's just different.]
You've been here a while, then? It must have been hard, starting over again. Like as soon as you've learned the rules, started to build something, they've changed again and it's gone. That's how some of the others seemed to feel, anyway.
no subject
It's as they reach the street that the woman offers her name, if it can be called that. It causes him to pause for a moment, his shoe scuffing against the slick sidewalk as he turns to her. ]
The OA? Does that stand for something?
[ It sounds more like a title than a name. He's got a lot of nerve asking given that he spent a long while introducing himself to people as "76," but he isn't able to bite his tongue here. It's not like she has to answer him.
When she reflects on the nature of being thrust into a new world and a new life, Jack can't quite hold back on a wry smile. There's nothing but bitterness to it. ]
Yeah, well, this is actually my second time getting dropped into another world with little warning or explanation.
[ So his default setting of angry and tired has only been doubled since he first got here. ]
no subject
[OA says it without pique. She understands the question, where it comes from, why it feels necessary. For a moment it seems as though she's going to leave it at that, for a moment in fact she's considering it, then she takes in a deep breath.
The truth is there are no words. That's not what she says.]
It means... the end of one thing and the beginning of another.
[Omega to alpha is the wrong order, unless one is panning outwards. She pauses, shooting Jack a sideways glance accompanied by a small, wry smile.]
I wasn't born into it, but I didn't choose it either. It found me. Or... we stumbled on one another, maybe. It doesn't have to be titular. The. Most people just call me OA.
[Some people call her other things -- Hap never could let go of Prairie, desperate to cling to the idea of someone who never really existed: the caged bird, blind and helpless, reliant upon him for induction into the mysteries of the universe, a favour she was inevitably to return. Both victim and partner, someone who could take what he did to her and still walk hand in hand with him into the grand unknown, bearing the pain of death so she could lead him gently across into the life after. Someone who could understand him, maybe even love him. At times it had seemed he so badly wanted that.
It's why she refuses to share that name with Jack now. Even the way Homer used to say it, dropping the final syllable, Prair like prayer, cannot salvage wipe the marks of Hap's hands clean from Prairie Johnson. She's dead, anyway. She died a long time ago.
Thinking about it now, she feels like Jack looks. In glances, in between checking the ground ahead as they walk, she takes in that bitter smile in profile and wonders about the particulars of its source. Difficult, clearly. Tangled, no doubt. Some of those particulars they probably share.]
I'm sorry; it's difficult to explain even with context, and if I were going to give you that we'd be here all day. All I can ask you to do is accept it. I know it isn't easy. The mind rebels at the strange. That's normal, that's what defines the strange in the first place.
[She's talking about both the name -- and by extension his reaction to it -- and the situation in which they find themselves, the latter now more than the former.]
I feel like... it's like inertia. It's harder to come to terms with the dimensions of a new cage when you've gotten used to the fit of the last one. If everything's changing all the time, then that's the cage in itself.
[She gestures as she talks, sketching little boxes in space, vague, frenetic motions to indicate the constancy in change.]
I just wonder if it wasn't easier for me. My life was upended a long time before I got here, and I wasn't here long before I was elsewhere again. Maybe that's part of why you said for when I'd say to.
[Another little beat, another assessing glance. That bitter smile, the equally bitter diction. There's an obvious assumption to be made:]
It wouldn't be wrong to be angry. It isn't fair.
no subject
She keeps talking, and so Jack listens. It's something that he's actually good at doing, maybe now more than ever because he's not much of a talker anymore. He used up all his words when he was younger, or at least that's how it feels.
He can accept her name, if that's what she wants. He doesn't need her whole life story, and so he only nods when she asks that he take it at face value. The way she describes it is a little too lofty and poetic and dreamlike for him to make much of it, and that's how he feels about half of what she says. Whereas he's as grounded as a person can get, it feels as if she's halfway in the clouds.
All the same, they're walking side-by-side.
Her ruminations about cages and the trappings of change is something he can relate to a little more, though he'll never be able to relate to the sentiment that the lives they had in Zerzura were better, or easier. They only seemed easier because they were fabricated. ]
So if you'd actually been given the choice, would you have stuck with your life back there? [ When he looks at her, his gaze is more piercing than it had been earlier. Some of the haziness from transferring back to this "realm" is starting to fade. ] If you were able to make the decision as you, the person you are here and now.
[ Because this is who she actually is, even if her life in Zerzura might have felt just as real while she'd been living it. ]
no subject
No. No, I have too much to do. That doesn't make it a fair choice, or even a real one.
[That's what she means by cages. She can't remember a time in her life in which she was capable of making a decision that was fully free.]
Someone told me once that was what existence is. Surviving unfair choices. She was right.
[She glances at Jack just in time to catch that piercing gaze, meeting it with one no less present or assessing, halfway in the clouds or no -- though for the moment, at least, it stays well shy of piercing.]
But there I didn't have to choose. Choice wasn't even a relevant question; neither of us knew there was one to be made in the first place. The person I was there, she didn't know me. She didn't need to know me. She just was. Her life was... warm, and soft, and it only hurt in ways she could learn from.
It was beautiful.
[OA allows herself to sound wistful. She's earned that, she thinks. They all have.
Her gaze drops to the ground for the space of a few steps, reading the terrain, before it returns to her companion. She doesn't have to say, My life wasn't like that. It isn't necessary, and besides, it would sound self-pitying, though that in and of itself doesn't bother her -- it just isn't, for the moment, what interests her.]
Would you have stayed?
no subject
Jack can't see that level of deceit as beautiful, though, but it's a point where they'll just have to agree to disagree.
He thinks his answer to the question should be obvious, but either way, he's quick to shake his head. ]
That life may have seemed comfortable and easy, but it wasn't real. We didn't actually have any autonomy in it. It was spoon-fed to us.
[ That friend of OA's had been right. Life was life because it was difficult, because it dragged you through the mud, because it forced you to make impossible decisions. How many times has Jack been put in that position by this point? More than he could count. ]
You say it was beautiful? [ He tilts his head up toward the overcast sky as they walk, shaking his head once more. Slowly, this time, as the raindrops land softly on his scarred face. ] I say it was manipulative.
no subject
[She says it gently, unruffled by his dissension.]
Though I don't think they can't both be true. Beauty is a powerful motivator. That doesn't make it unbeautiful.
[There's a faint wryness to her smile when she spares Jack another glance, warmth and sympathy on her face. She can't help but think of Steve, very different creatures though he and Jack are. Who the fuck asked you, crazy? You're a grown-up who still lives at your parents and tried to kill yourself. She understands, though. She does.]
And I don't think it wasn't real. I don't think I get to decide that. It was for her. She felt it all; she lived. She had a life. That it didn't come on like we expect life to, that it went out strange; I don't... I don't think that makes it mean less.
[And OA still has to carry it. She still has to remember. They both do.]
But I understand. To lose one self to another is its own kind of death.
[That little smile again, that sad sympathy, and then, earnestly:]
I'm angry. I'm angry it happened, but I'm grateful too. I never would have gotten to taste the things she did if it hadn't happened. You don't have to be. I think it just means you and I have lived very different lives.
no subject
To lose one self to another is its own kind of death.
Jack's close to shutting down the conversation entirely, to withdrawing if only so he doesn't have to keep talking about it, and it's only OA's understanding demeanor that keeps him from cutting things off right then and there. ]
We probably have. [ He reaches up to draw a hand down his face, wiping droplets of rain from his cheeks. If he had his visor, he wouldn't have to do this. ] But I'm angry, too. We can agree on that much, at least.
no subject
She's perfectly capable of reading (perhaps too much) into that drag of the hand down his face. Whatever the practical applications of the gesture, OA knows better than most how grounding touch can be, even just the touch of one's own hand against one's own face. There were days in that still, dark, years-long underground she'd wake herself in the same way, her fingertips reading the landscape of her own skin, brow to cheekbone to jaw. You're alive.
She nods, averting her gaze, aiming that benign smile down at the ground a few paces ahead, where the riverbank gives way again to the inscrutable expanse of city, smoothed and paved over. Silence stretches between them for a few seconds, heavy and thoughtful, before the intake of breath that signals that OA has decided what to say.]
When I was a little girl, I was in an accident. A bus accident. I lost my eyesight.
[She speaks as conversationally as ever, tone far from flippant but nonetheless not burdened by any unnecessary solemnity, any mourning. It happened to her. A lot more happened after. She's not saying it to stir pity in him, or even sympathy. She's not even saying it to stir pity in herself.]
Everything changes. The whole world. Not always bad, not always good, just different. The shape of it. It gets a whole lot bigger, and you get a whole lot smaller, except when you have to navigate it in delicate ways. Then you feel like a giant -- all limbs, knocking things over, colliding with everything.
[She gestures as she speaks; a clumsy sweep of the arm topples invisible objects. There's a soft little huff of laughter -- these are, in their way, fond memories. Why shouldn't they be? She'd survived, and this is all before the much deeper darkness.]
I wanted so badly to learn how to cane.
[She mimes it, one hand held out in front of her, wrapped around an invisible cane, tap-tapping in a gentle arc along the pavement in front of her. As with the dance earlier, she slips for a moment completely into character: her head is inclined and angled slightly so one ear is aimed ahead of her, her gaze unfocused, eyes uncannily still. It vanishes as soon as it came on.]
I thought it would open everything up to me again, I could be almost normal again. I could go anywhere, do anything. I got too confident too fast: I tried to run. Face-first into a wall.
[Another little laugh, wry and fond. She can't help but feel tenderly towards the child she was.]
I was furious, but not as furious as I was the day I realised I'd gotten good at it but I still wasn't allowed out on my own. For the longest time it didn't occur to me to question why that was worse.
[The warmth of memory fades; OA shoots Jack another look, lingering tenderness bleeding into an earnest solemnity.]
It's good that you're angry. It means you know something's wrong. You're sensitive to it. But we also don't have to carry it ourselves. I'm sure you know that.
no subject
Again, if silence isn't an option, then Jack's fine with it being the other person who takes on the burden of filling it in. He gives her all the room she needs to speak.
Maybe he should have guessed she was blind, but there had been no tells, and so there's a brief moment where he looks shocked by that information, even as OA continues on with her story. It couldn't have been easy as a kid trying to adjust to losing your sight, something that was so vital to how humans interacted with the world, but Jack's already picked up on something about this woman: she doesn't pause to feel bad for herself. She's able to take anything terrible that's happened to her and twist it into something that might not be good, but still valuable in some way.
If only it was that easy for him. In some ways he wonders if he could learn from her. On the other hand, he wonders if she's simply naïve. Still too young to realize just how cruel the universe can be.
Her last remark has him wrinkling his nose. I'm sure you know that, she says, but does he? ]
Not sure who else is gonna carry it for me. [ He shakes his head. It's his burden to bear. There's at least one person he can vent that anger out on here, but that's complicated too. ] And I can't just let it go, either.
[ At this point, it's a part of him. ]
no subject
If it draws him out, so much the better. That admission is a promising start -- the wrinkling of the nose, the words themselves, the head shake. She answers them with a smile, warm and genuine, and a nod.]
Mm. Yeah. The burden is ours. Some days it seems like maybe the only thing that really is.
[She understands, that is to say. Viscerally, intimately. More than she lets on, in the same way that there are so few leftover tells of her years of blindness. They're there -- less in the way she moves through the world now than in the way she interacts, how she sometimes listens with one ear tilted towards her conversational partner rather than meeting their gaze, how sometimes her eyes go unfocused or close entirely when she's paying particular attention to what they're saying. Jack hasn't been around her long enough to see much of that.
It's strange, actually, being here. Here among people who don't already know, or think they know. You're the Michigan Miracle, right? Prairie Johnson? Here she decides how much of her story gets out, and to whom. It's... freeing.]
I don't think we can forget. I don't even think we should. But we don't have to hang responsibility on it too. This thing that happened to us, Zerzura; it wasn't our fault. Even if it were, we can't change it now. That we can set down, and the rest...
[OA executes an eloquent shrug. That part is harder.]
The rest we share. Nobody survives anything alone.
[A beat.]
Honesty helps. Calling it by name. Sometimes I think it's like physics, you know? Energy. One person can't carry all that complication, and people... not everyone, but sometimes people want to help carry it. Somewhere in the transfer, some of it gets lost. Bleeds away, like... radiant heat, until it's too diffuse for any one of us to feel it anymore. And the person you talk to, sometimes it hurts them, sometimes it's more than they thought they were asking for, but... then they have a part of you, a bit of your trust. You let them help.
no subject
To anger, to pain, and to the act of sharing that with others. Two people could endure more than just one. It isn't even that OA is wrong, but that doesn't mean Jack wants to listen to reason.
If he'd wanted help, he would have sought it out a long time ago. Even with Ana, she'd been the one to find him. She's the one person who could truly share his burdens with him, to take some of that crushing weight onto her shoulders. But she's been gone for a while now, since El Nysa, and Jack has no idea what happened to her. If she's alive. If she got back home, even though their world was apparently gone.
Nobody survives anything alone.
His pace picks up as the conversation turns and his back straightens, small signs of discomfort that he doesn't hide in his response. ]
Not interested.
[ In opening up, in letting people help, in any of that. Not with anyone here. Even Gabriel comes packaged with too many complications for Jack to be entirely honest or open with him. ]
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Yeah. I know; nobody is. I wasn't.
[She's registered his discomfort; of course she has. She understands it. Shares it, even, in the part of her that's still caught up in the need to maintain the illusion of independence, the part of her that still wants desperately to do everything alone.]
I didn't want anyone to know what happened to me, the ugly things I survived and thought and felt. Did. I was ashamed. Guilty. I didn't want to hurt anyone else, didn't think I deserved the indulgence of setting those concerns aside.
[Another of those earnest little smiles.]
Your story is yours. You get to decide who and when. If. I'm not trying to suggest it should be me.
[She looks away again, down at the pavement, glistening with rain. The lights of the city in bleary mirror, their side-by-side silhouettes floating along. Homer would know what to say. He's better at this, at drawing people back to themselves, at that kind of relentless compassion that seems so utterly guileless in a way she doesn't think she can match. Or... or maybe he wouldn't. Maybe neither of them knows how to operate outside of their cage. Maybe living in that microcosm for seven long years would leave them both floundering here.]
Sorry, all of this; I... you showed compassion, talking to me. I'm trying to understand why.
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For all that Jack might be rebuffing OA's attempts to help, it's not as if he resents her for it. He isn't so far gone that he can't recognize that she's trying to do a kind thing for someone, even someone who's a stranger. If anything, she seems to be overflowing with that kind of compassion.
It's probably going to come back to bite her, one day.
But she accuses him of that same compassion, and he shoots her a mildly confused look. Asking after someone wasn't the same as compassion, was it? Or maybe there are just some habits he still can't break. ]
I didn't know what you were doing, back there. That... weird dance. Guess it just felt like someone should check in on you.
[ He shrugs and lets out a breath which mists in the cold air. There's no need to make a big deal of it. ]
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That wouldn't have occurred to everyone. Of those to whom it did, only a few would have decided it's their responsibility.
[She says it gently, voice soft and even, but the set of her brows is a little wistful, a little sad. She knows. She knows because she's been in far greater distress and found herself thoroughly ignored.]
Indifference is easier. It's safer. No risk if someone using you, hurting you. No risk of getting tangled up with someone who's going to follow you around asking uncomfortable questions.
[She shoots him a wry glance, a crooked smile.]
Indifference is an action, but it doesn't feel like one. All you have to do is lean into the choice to do nothing. Look away.
[OA sounds increasingly distant as she slips into uncomfortable memory. This is a sore spot, one her mind worries at like a tongue at a sore tooth. She understands it, has compassion for it, that need to protect oneself by averting one's gaze. One person can only bear so much. Part of her is still on that road though. Part of her is still on the bridge. Nobody is stopping.
She pulls herself back to the present with a sharp intake of breath.]
Kindness is an action too. People talk about it like it's a feeling, and there can be one, but that isn't what kindness is. You were kind; you can own that.
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A responsibility to Earth had been his job for so long. While he's left most of that behind, apparently there are old habits that still stick to him no matter how hard he might try to shake them off.
And yes, speaking with OA had invited a lot of strange questions. Jack actually finds it in him to return that crooked smile with a wry one of his own.
It sounds like she's had people be indifferent to her problems before. Or maybe she's been the one to do it to others, and she regrets it. He can't quite accept her labeling him as kind, though. It's a designation he's worked to distance himself from. ]
Well, I can't change your mind or what you believe. [ He shrugs, hands lifting slightly in front of him with a 'what-can-you-do' gesture before falling back to his sides. ] But it's not something I need to own.
[ They've been walking for long enough that they're back in the urban jungle proper, surrounded by skyscrapers and neon lights and people rushing past going about their day, oblivious to what the two of them just went through. Jack heaves out a sigh, then looks back to OA. ]
I should get back to my place, take a shower... see if I still have a job.
[ How much time has passed? ]
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I guess we should get back to the world. This world.
[She can't feel any more a part of it than when she first arrived. It disturbs her. Even the surreality of returning to Crestwood can't quite match what it's like being here. It's so alive, so vital, and yet so cold and artificial. So little is green, so little is wild -- at least of what's accessible to her.
There are, at least, the others. The other displaced. She enjoys their company, even the gruff and difficult ones. They have something in common. It puts limits on the loneliness. The people who are here cannot fill the spaces left by the people who aren't, but they do fill in other ones, stand out bright against the void.
For his part, Jack has clearly been here a lot longer than she has, and she has to wonder if that isn't part of why he's so closed off to her. Some of it is surely just the way he is, but perhaps he also doesn't care to be reminded of what it's like to be adrift. To want more and elsewhere in a way that's open, raw.]
I'm glad to have met you.
[One of those strange, faint smiles, genuine but tired, sad. Old. The smile of someone who's seen a lot more than someone else her age normally would have.]
Jack, who isn't kind.
[After a moment's hesitation, she holds out a hand into the space between them as they walk, offering it for him to shake. A subtle flicker of fear passes reflexively across her features, something wary in the eyes: touch is a complicated thing for her, even without the empathy bond. She can only assume it is for him too, whether because of that bond or otherwise, and so waits until he looks to her again, meets her gaze. Her expression is... indulgent. Forgiving. It's okay. You don't have to.]
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If there's still a home to get back to, but he's grown more and more skeptical of what the Natha told them.
Shaking hands upon a meeting is something he's used to do, something that he normally wouldn't think that hard about even now, but the empathy bond does add something to it. He hesitates for a moment, but there's something about the look on OA's face that pushes him to reach out. Maybe it's also knowing that she's approached this entire interaction with little in the way of judgment.
It's that serenity that passes between them first, but underneath she'll find the anger they've already discussed; the frustration; that feeling of an animal thrashing against its cage. ]
I'm sure we'll see each other around.
[ For better or worse, the Diplaced are a group, a community, bound together through their shared misery. Jack's already used to that after all the time he'd spent around other refugees on El Nysa, so he doesn't protest it the way he once did. If they're going to try and get home, it's only them that are going to be working on it.
At one time in his life, this kind of teamwork is what he championed. ]
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She feels nothing small or uncomplicated, hides nothing from him, but what she seeks to give Jack most of all is the balm of forgiveness. For what happened in Zerzura, she forgives herself, forgives her own weakness in succumbing to the fantasy. For older things, for her own cages, her own thrashing. It isn't painless, but it does leave her lighter. He doesn't have to forgive himself, whatever she thinks of what he should do, but she can at least allow him to know what it feels like. Just for a moment. Just for as long as they're in contact.
It's one of the small miracles of this place. As much as she hates being trapped here, she can't help but appreciate the ability to confirm for other people that someone else really does ache for them. Whether or not they're receptive to it, whether or not their immediate reflex is to ruffle at compassion, she can prove that she means what she says: nobody survives anything alone.]
Yeah. It's kismet.
[She's teasing -- demonstrates as much with her smile, with the warm swell of fondness. Her other hand comes up to rest against the back of his; for a moment she clasps his hand gently between her own before she lets him go.]
Go get warm.
[There's that warm little smile again, and then proof that Nina Azarova hasn't left her entirely, that she hasn't come out of her experience in Zerzura unchanged: she tries a joke.]
And good luck with work. If it helps, in my experience people are usually inclined to forgive a lot of things when the excuse for them is kidnapping.
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Despite the sheer amount that Jack experiences through the bond, he's well aware that he has no true idea of what this woman has been through, just as she couldn't learn even a fraction about him with a single touch.
That sense of forgiveness, though -- it seems to linger even after they've drawn away from each other, a tingling sensation that warms the tips of his fingers. It won't last, but it's there for now.
The joking remark earns little more than a shrug and a shake of his head from Jack. ]
You're assuming they'll even believe something like that.
[ He'll make up some more mundane excuse and hope that he gets away with it. But that's that, and with one more parting nod, he turns and continues on his way. Back to real life. ]