video | un: Priorly

[priorly]

[This post is made at around 3am, and Prior appears to be curled in a corner of his bathroom floor, in a pink cardigan and floral PJs.]

Forgive my intrusion on what, I am told, is a highly complex network of cups and strings... has anyone else been assigned to an empty house? Quite, quite empty. Aside from myself, of course, but I'm all moved in now and find I do not, in fact, take up that much room. And it's very quiet, at this time of night. Very quiet. The emptiness becomes somehow moreso. Does that make sense? I'm not sleeping very well.

[He's not doing much very well, by the slightly shivery look of him. Although it is cold on the bathroom floor, and perhaps that's at least part of the cause.]

Though I can't deny the extra space is a boon. Very handy for storing all the nothing I have to fill it with. Would anyone like to go antiquing? If we're lucky we may even find something here that doesn't look archaic.

Speaking of looking for things. I hear there's no hospital. Do we have pharmacies? I have prescriptions from my own world which will run out soon and I don't know the best course of action to take. This city can't, surely, be all cons and no mod. Are there ballrooms? Movie theatres? I know there's an entertainment district but haven't yet ventured out that far. I suppose a bar with a rainbow flag in the window would be too much to ask for.

[Swallowing, he glances down, feeling the glare of being on camera and saying too much.]

Perhaps I should set something up downstairs. At the very least, I have the room.

[He reaches out, and the screen goes black.]

Comments

[webdesigned]

( that is nOT HELPING

okay... okay...... focus. focus. he can do this. he has no idea what is going on but he can do this. )

I'm not blind, right? You... you totally look like me. What's... how do you look like me?

[priorly]

Well that's mildly offensive. [He sounds a little irritated but well, he's being gawped at.] You know, my eyes are... are...

[Taking a closer look at the screen right now. By a closer look, he means picking up the phone and bringing it practically to the top of his nose. Have a slow, close shot of long dark eyelashes as he blinks once. Twice.

And drops the phone with a screech and a clatter.]

Well what the fuck are you??

[webdesigned]

( if anything this sort of makes it worse because those eyes seem to be the feature that feels the most familiar.

different skin tone, clothes, hair – but those dark eyes are unbearably like his. )

I'm... I'm not a what, I'm just... ( wHAT IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW!!! ) I'm Peter. Just... Peter.

[priorly]

[The skin tone's only different because illness causes a certain pallour. Prior's familiar enough with cosmetic selection that he can see they've got the same base. And the hair.

Well the hair's appalling, god knows, but it's his last concern right now. On his hands and knees, almost stumbling when his leg gives under him, he crawls across to look back into the phone.]

Oh you are definitely a what. What is going on here? You can't just look --- you -- how did you get my face?

[His breathing's getting quick - close to hyperventilation as his lungs aren't built for such things anymore.]

I suppose you think this is funny, or something? Well it's not. I am a sick man this is not funny. Whatever you're doing just... turn it off.

[webdesigned]

Does it look like I'm trying to be funny?

( it's very rare his tone gets that sharp, and Peter seems to regret it instantly, scrubbing hands over his face.

seeing a guy that could be his twin from the future is wearing on him, too, but in a far different way. )

Okay. Okay. I'm sorry. ( he doesn't know what that means, the vague reference of being sick, but it only makes him feel worse. if he should fight the request, he doesn't, fumbling with the device to close the feed.

if prior wants him to turn off his face, well... that Peter can't do quite so easily. )

[priorly]

Well I didn't mean- [No he did just mean turn off your face, Peter. But that look on that face, as the device goes dark, is almost as upsetting as the face itself in the first place. Prior draws in a few more quick (too quick, and too shallow - fuck these worthless lungs) breaths and sits back, slowly lifting the device back up.]

Hm. That's not.... No, that's not better, now you can see me but I still know you're there. I'm sorry if I'm... flipping out a little. God knows I've had dead ancestors show up in my room before, whatever you are I guess I should be grateful you look like you're living.

[Except now he's set off connections in his own brain and they're hard to overlook, even if they're impossible. ]

You. Peter... you're not? Are you? [The deepest breath he can manage.] My name is Prior Walter. I would know if I had a kid, right?

[webdesigned]

( will it be easier, if they dont have to look each other in the eye and face what their brain is trying to translate, even if its impossible? he feels like he's in some insane study, analyzing his reaction to an impossibility, and at any second the curtain will fall and none of it will be real...

only instead Prior keeps talking and while the voice isn't as uncanny as looking at him, it makes it hard to imagine this whole thing was some insane test. )

You have dead ancestors show up in your room? ( because can they focus on that for a second? if only because he doesn't want to focus on the fact they look identical. fifteen years between them, maybe, but way too close for comfort. ) Am I ... no, I'm not dead. No. My dad's name was Richard, they would have said if I was... no, we can't be related. Can we?

[priorly]

Oh I have all kinds of things show up in my room, life has been a trip lately.

[His voice is softer now, and not only because he's running short of breath for it to be much else. And he never cut the video feed his end but, after a moment squinting at the phone to figure out the buttons, a question appears on Peter's black screen:

Reconnect? ]

I don't know, could we be? My family does get everywhere. I am the 34th Prior Walter of my line and the roots and branches of the family tree grow ancient and wide. I... live in New York? The family are from England and New England and beyond. Wasps of a well respected hive, back in the 20's, 40's, you know? Less so now their last scion is a queer with - well - I have a couple of cousins on Wall Street, I guess? Don't see them much. My apartment's in Chelsea I'm - I'm talking like I expect you to recognize something. I'm talking because not talking is more terrifying. Sitting here alone, with the silence. You...

[Breathe, Prior.]

You look just like me, but healthy. And about 12 years old.

[webdesigned]

Sounds like it.

( first dead ancestors, now a guy that looks uncomfortably like him. uncomfortably like is a complete understatement, too, it's just easier to swallow than the reality.

his device chirps — a gentle request to restore the picture. Peter hesitates, listening to Prior talk for a little while before he clicks the feed back on. it's a little easier when he doesn't look. )

I'm from New York, too, born in Queens, and I've lived in my uncles house in Forest Hills since... ( well, he doesn't live there anymore, does he? Peter can't help a grimace. ) I think there were some Irish Catholics on my mom's side, but... I don't remember any Walters. Definitely not thirty four of them, and...

( he mutters a broken laugh. ) I'm 19, thanks. ( an uncomfortable breath. ) You're sick?

[priorly]

Nineteen? My god. I could be your grandma.

[Prior you are barely 30. He lets out a held breath as light floods his phone screen again, picking the little thing up and shifting back into the corner of his bathroom floor, with a half-concealed wince as he attempts to settle into what counts for comfort.]

No catholics for my family, WASPS all the way to the core. Though I do take the name of some kind of medieval monk, which has a catholic ring about it. Still. No. I don't think we're related. If we were I don't think--

[A little gesture between them, as if Peter were in the room.]

I don't know how this is possible. [A breath of his own - nineteen's too young to inflict this on.] I am sick. But if this is some kind of fevered delusion then it's very high tech.

[webdesigned]

There's no way. ( peter isn't going to hazard a guess, but there's no way this guy is more than ten, maybe fifteen years older than he is.

as for if they could be related... he closes his eyes, drumming his fingers on his forehead as if he's desperately trying to pull up information he didn't think he'd need to remember again. his family is gone, his parents are dead, the only relatives that ever paid him the light of day are May and Ben, and his father's brother doesn't give much of a clue toward his family tree. when he glances back to the screen, he doesn't seem to have pulled up any answers, if the lost look on his face is any indication.

it's perhaps not impossible, yet surely improbable. still, even being related doesn't explain them looking close to identical. )

I don't know either. I mean... usually I have a bunch of scientific theories to throw at a problem, but this time... not even string theory makes much sense, because you may look like me but none of the rest of your life sounds familiar. And yeah that's sort of what that theory is about, one little change and everything splits, but still... ( he fades off. no, it doesn't seem to fit, and Peter would genuinely like it to. a scientific explanation always makes him feel better. )

I'm sorry. That you're... that you're sick. I don't think I'm a delusion, if it helps. But I guess that's probably something a delusion might say.