elnysa | video | un: Priorly (old man yells at clouds)

[After a cluster of days spent surfing park benches, with sleep only a brief and unwelcome interruption, Prior has finally made it to the space station. He comes onto the screen, a black shadow in a gleaming hallway: if he looks like death on a mission to avenge itself, that is the intended effect. It may be more Norma Desmond descending a staircase, but that's not far off, either. He's still clutching a cane just to hold himself upright. His voice is raspy but loud, and just a few notes higher pitched than it should be.]

Is everyone back from the dead now? Good. Wouldn't want our new arrivals seeing the aftereffects of that little mess, would we. How good that our merciful overseers can let us go through days of torture, days of agony, let our skin slough off and our eyes burn out, let us choke on gas until we suffocate from it, then kindly bring us back so we can all do it again next time someone in this sadistic little shithole gets a fresh bee in their bonnet.

You know - on earth - I always had trouble with the idea of a non-interventionist God. But non-interventionist omnipotent aliens? Well goddamn. Fuck that. Fuck them.

Oh, they can play with the native's minds so a talking racoon looks like business as usual, but they can't stop them wanting to kidnap us?

They can see everything we do and they can't tell our fucking friends where we are?

What is the point of them, then? What's the point of any of this? They haven't rescued us from any storm, they've just left us stranded on a tiny, hostile island, wondering whether our little bit of sand is going to wash away before or after the natives get around to eating us.

Well I am tired and I am sick and I am through with this bullshit. Was anyone else told they'd look after our loved ones for us? Because I have loved ones down there now, and they were not looked after well. Maybe I should let a few of the next-to-wake know exactly how reassuring all those promises look now.

I don't know what to do, but it seems to me that we're being hung out to dry down there, and someone needs to do something. So I'm going to start by finding one of these assholes and seeing what happens.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ and the feed opens up again. most of the earlier fire is gone from his voice - subdued, John checks the line. ]

Prior.

[He's still here, though it takes a minute before the device switches to picture, and then it's the lower half of Prior's face, in close up.]

Do you know what I want to tell them?

No. What?

I want to tell them that we're beautiful. That we open doors when we don't have to, and take in people we barely know. That we help people who drive us to distraction. I want to tell them about how we love even when loving hurts us. About going without water so people could bathe their wounds. About how we can hope for light in the blackest of hours. I want to tell them about people. It might not make them help us, next time. It might not change a single thing. But I do - I do think they should know.

[ for a while, there's just breath on the end of the line. John takes all of that in quietly, absorbs it. tries to line it up against the right thing to do now.

there's not a lot he can. Rosalind was right: you can't tie him up and keep him safe. Prior will do what he needs to now, and it's not John's place to stop him. but if he can't stand to pick up the pieces, the least he can do is explain why. what follows, when he speaks, is kept at as even a tone as he can manage, one step removed. ]

I killed someone. In the Sanctuary, during the rescue mission. It was an accident, but I shot him, and if I hadn't I would've been able to save his life. I tried, I really did. He looked like you. Almost exactly like you— Peter Parker, I don't know if you know him. Sorry if you do. I suppose he's awake now anyway.

It's not your problem. I know that, I'm not trying to... God, I don't know what I'm trying to do. But this—

[ this. you, on the station, throwing your hardly-any-weight around. he doesn't even know how to finish the sentiment, let alone the sentence. ]

Do you know what I mean?

[ why should he? John barely knows what he means. (yes he does. he means that it's too much. at its best, it's an explanation of behaviour. if it's anything else, it's a plea.) ]

I know Peter.

[And knew that he died. Just a kid, one more reason Prior's up here, marching for something. But he knows more about Peter Parker than his age, or the fact his death was unfair and unnecessary, or how much the sweet girl he lives with misses him. Now he knows more still, and wishes he didn't have to. Wishes John didn't have to, even more.

There's a blur of motion on the camera, Prior moving to a wall and sliding down it. He can't hold himself up and do this.]

I must look like a ghost, to you, right? Even more than usual. But you can't know what you just told me - that you'd have saved him. Maybe. Maybe he'd have died anyway. Maybe other people would've died around you if you'd never fired a shot. It won't make you feel better, but it's true.

[He sniffs, a short breath in.]

I'm sorry if I'm scaring the shit out of you again, with the same face. It was never meant to be a haunting.

I know.

[ it's quick, and it's an answer to all of it. he didn't say it for a soothing. he's thought around it every which way - he knows the possibilities, the impossibilities, the probabilities and the lack thereof. he's not looking for consolation.

it's also not Prior's fault he shares a face with Peter. ]

I just can't sit here and watch you do this. Alright? I'm not angry at you, I'm - no, I am, I'm fucking furious with you, but I'm not -

I wouldn't usually shut you off like that. That's all. But I can't support you through this. I can't even try and talk you out of it properly. Because I hate it. I really - I really hate it. Okay? You never asked me to, that's fine, but I wanted to explain.

I'm not here to die either, you know. Or end up back on ice. We Walters are made of sterner stuff than appearances may indicate.

[There's a little showiness to the last sentence, which means that - yes, he's bullshitting, but he's also together enough to pull on the act. Everything so far has been pure Prior, raw and traumatised and desperate to find a way through the terror he's got lost in.

He's still not showing his face. His mouth quirks a little, unsure.]

Will you forgive me, when I come back unscathed?

[ John knows that, too. that pushing his body past his limits isn't what Prior's here for. it's not the point - the point is that he's still doing it at all.

he sits with the question he's asked for a while, watching the screen vacantly, until: ]

I hope so.

[It's one thing, to feel weak for a while in the aftermath of something like this. But when you're somebody who feels weak all the time, who sees nothing but people stepping in to protect you, sometimes crazy is the only kind of strength you get.

He's not scared of this. He's finally run out of things to be afraid of. So if people are scared for him, he can be sorry, but it doesn't change who he is.]

I'll come over and check.

Yeah. Maybe call ahead first.

[ there's a resignation to that - Prior's going to do what he's going to do. the conversation hasn't changed anything except to try to lift the guilt of the consequences from off his own shoulders, and that in its own way is a cowardice.

well. he tried. ]

John. I know it doesn't look like it, but this is how I'm protecting myself - from something I couldn't live with. And maybe things will be quieter, after. Maybe it'll let me rest.

I understand that, Prior. People don't do reckless things like this without a reason. God knows I have, to bounce back from something I couldn't shake. But I healed first, and my body wasn't already under constant strain.

We'll talk about it later. I'm in the mess hall for the next three quarters of an hour. If anything goes wrong, call me, in that time or not.

[ he can be the doctor. he just might have to shut off the friend while he's doing it. ]

[If something goes wrong they probably won't be letting him make phone calls, but this isn't the time to mention that.]

I will. Thank you.

Mm. Bye for now.

[ he knows, really, that a call won't come. this is almost unashamedly now little more than an attempt to be able to sleep tonight. so it's fine. ]

video | un: Priorly (old man yells at clouds)

surprise 2/2, 40 minutes later.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject