elnysa | voice (UN ????) | open to anon/misfire replies

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voice (UN ????) | open to anon/misfire replies

What's that poem about how the world ends? Fire, or ice.

Funny, really, we've been at the sharp end of both in recent weeks and here we all are, still muddling along, impossible to destroy. Like cockroaches, or Twinkies. Well. Most of us, anyway.

But it seems to me that ice is more a paralytic than an ending. Perhaps a precursor to slow cessation. A numbing, which - left long enough - allows one not to even notice as all the more vital components gradually freeze. Stasis, an ending without closure. They're the worst kind, I think.

But don't mind maudlin old me. I haven't been sleeping well.

At any rate. If you knew Byerly or Dorian -

Well, lucky you. They're gone now. Stasis. I thought some people might like to know and it turns out to be torture to have to say it over and over.

And it's colder here than I anticipated.

That's all.

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[ If he was treading carefully you wouldn't have been hiding in a closet. Still, John lofts an eyebrow and unzips his coat before reaching to take back the soup. ]

Well, I know how to strip on command.

[ He takes a sip of the soup before setting it aside for a second to shrug off his coat properly. Panda T-shirt is back on duty today, but he's wearing an unbuttoned striped long-sleeve shirt over the top. Layering! It keeps you warm. ]

Anyway, [ and he retrieves the cup to warm his hands a moment, ] I like biting.

[ So why would he be worried about it, he's not! ]

And here I thought you were an actual soldier. Does a routine in uniform cost extra?

[Hello panda shirt, aren't we becoming old friends by now. Prior picks through the remaining offerings, feeling he should try something, with all this effort having been made. After a moment he selects a dry cracker, then spends a good minute trying to swallow it down without a liquid chaser.

Finally:]

And you should tell Ianto, about the biting. I'm sure he'd take requests, too.

Are you fishing?

[ For the status of how much biting is going on? He takes a sip of the soup. You should have kept the soup, Prior, it's easier to swallow. ]

Second movie is proving trickier than the first. It's a work in progress.

Fishing, absolutely not. Barbaric sport. I couldn't even look a fishstick in the eye without getting choked up.

[He leans over, dips the remains of his cracker in the soup. There, happy? And smiles, sweetly.]

No, I was only asking whether or not you'd fucked. I need some distraction, John - if it's not a strip act it'll have to be this.

[ He holds it out without protest to let Prior dip. Honestly, John is used to mother-henning neurotic teammates who are convinced the sun will kill them, they will catch a disease or that they will pass out any second from low blood sugar so sharing food is pretty reflexive. He doesn't even blink. ]

So my sex life is reduced from part of a Spielberg epic to a back-page column keeping you busy now? I see how it is.

[ John's just vamping for time, there's no actual rancour in that. He doesn't know how much he wants to say, really. ]

Like I said, it's... complicated.

[ How is 'did you fuck or not' complicated, John. Really. ]

How is 'did you fuck or not' complicated?

[Look. First of all, that was the obvious question.

Second of all, Prior takes his cracker and settles himself on the bed, stretching out with a nod to the space beside him that's an open invitation. If John came here to stand around in sixteen layers of clothes and drink soup, then Prior would say it's not the scenario advertised but he can make do.

But if he'd like to get a little comfortable and drink something stronger than vegetable soup, the option's there, too.

Prior has, of course, lead with this query to swing the spotlight off himself. But it has been some time since their last conversation on this subject matter, and the curiosity isn't unfair.

Without using a prophetic bone in his body, he raises a finger and tests the air.]

You haven't. You're still scared of what fucking might fuck up.

[ Wow it's not sixteen layers it's like, two now his jacket is off! Still, he kicks off his shoes and shuffles to settle himself on the bed properly beside Prior. ]

It's not that.

[ Alright, genius, what is it then?

Come on, it's basically that. ]

We did have a talk.

[ Wow, it's like pulling teeth getting through this. ]

He made some... very fair points.

[ The art of Basically Saying Nothing: mastered at an early age by John Sheppard. ]

[Fair points. Prior pulls a pained face and lets himself flop lightly against John's shoulder.]

Was it a talk or a lecture series? And ugh, John, don't you know there's nothing less sexy than talking about it? I should know.

[He's been trickling his way through a small bottle of vodka for the past few hours, and isn't drunk so much as opinionated. It's the same bottle he reaches for and offers across now.]

If you're not scared, what's stopping you?

[ It was a talk! John glances over at Prior as he flops onto his shoulder, leans to rest a little more against him in turn and sets aside his soup so he can take the vodka.

If he's going to be questioned about this he's going to need it. ]

It's just --

[ Urgh. ]

It's just me, I'm an asshole.

[ He's just going to take a sip of that vodka now and settle for that as his answer. ]

Mm. Uh-uh, no you're not.

[It's a terrible answer, John. It won't do. Prior turns his head enough to nudge his nose against the incline of a shoulder, muffling his voice somewhere against the back of a shirt-over-a-panda-shirt.]

You're very strange. Unusual, but I think I can categorically state: not an asshole.

[ Unusual. That makes John flick a smile despite himself. ]

Well I could say the same about you, you're definitely unusual.

[ In a good way, though. ]

Me? Oh I'm typical. Stereotypical.

[Prior is that one archetype persona which comes across so strongly that a thousand (largely unkind) charicatures are based off it. He's well aware. But he's human, more than any of that, and so fiercely himself he's unable to live any way but honestly.

But John? Here's an unknown quantity. Gentler than he should be, not to mention less straight than his stereotype would imply. And -]

Most animal instinct, when faced with a more vulnerable member of the herd, is to turn away. Turn and run. Abandoning the sick and wounded lets the rest live safely while predator pick off the scraps. But you? You show up with soup.

[ Animal instinct?

He supposes this is -- this is Prior's experience. Being abandoned. Yet all the same, John doesn't like to think of a world where most people turn and run. That's not his way. He doesn't leave people behind. That's why he flew back for Holland, after all, even when he shouldn't have. That's why he dragged him through the desert even when he was dying until it was too late. That's why they spent so long searching for Teyla when she was taken, never accepting she might be dead. Searching for Ford, even when he turned against their team. ]

Soup and crackers.

[ It's easier to pick Prior's words than process them properly or respond to them. ]

Also, technically there's a bottle of alcohol somewhere that's lethally strong but tastes oddly like cherries.

[No, no, in the time Prior comes from, most people turn away. It's a couple of years out from the terrifying first cases, where met were taken away to die by military ambulances and paramedics in hazmat suits. But the terror still lingers. He's diseased. He's a vector. He's a prophecy of what eventually comes to everyone.

Animal instinct. Turn and run. Fear, it seems too often, is stronger than love. It can be overcome, but most people don't.

Most people. Prior smooths his thumb thoughtfully along the line where John's shirt meets his neck, and - deciding to spare him the ignominy of praise - sits up.]

Cherry brandy? How festive. And matched so well with the food... I don't suppose there's cheese around here? Cheese makes a gathering civilised, as opposed to soup, which makes it look like a street corner.

It's snowy! It seemed fitting -- but I'm street corner quality company, so don't get your hopes up for expensive cheeses.

[ He hands off the vodka again and turns to lean and grope up the bottle from where he set it out of the way. ]

Here --

[ And he settles back again, turning the bottle around with a frown. ]

I don't usually find myself so lacking in vocabulary but somehow I just can't help myself when it comes to repeating what you say. [Because do you listen to yourself, John.] Street corner quality company. Well.

[It's repeating a theme but:]

I bet you say that to all the boys.

[He's quiet a moment, watching John's hands turning the bottle label-up. And, speaking of repeating themes-]

...If you're not going to fuck him, maybe you should tell him that.

[ Good god Prior, you are a dog with a bone. John lowers the bottle to rest on his leg, lets out a slow breath and frowns. ]

It's not that.

[ We're getting a long list of what it isn't, John, so what is it? He glances aside at Prior, and there's something tangled and wary in his expression for a moment before he tries to fight it down. ]

I'm trying I just... need to work on some stuff.

[ 'Some stuff'. How eloquent. At the same time, though, John doesn't really know the easy way to say I've been frantically repressing for nearly twenty years and now it's hard to stop. There's nobody here to fire him for looking sideways at someone the same gender too long, but it's already long ingrained that he needs to be careful. It's why everything is so much easier as a joke. Making sure you're not taken seriously is a skill he's excelled in. ]

[There's a reason Prior has this particular bone wedged between his teeth, of course, and as much as he acts like it's deflection from his own problems at hand, it's more that in certain places it sounds like an echo.

Leaning across, Prior twists the bottle cap slowly off into the palm of his hand.]

Did you ever meet Byerly? Byerly Vorrutyer.

[In case there were any others running around of which Prior had been unaware.]

[ John squints, turning over the name in his head idly. ]

I think we spoke once. Not in person. He was fishing for gossip.

[ And this is a leading question, John can tell. The wariness stays in his body language, but gives way to a little curiosity too. He glances down at the bottle, looks up and holds it out to Prior since he's uncapping it. ]

That sounds right.

[There's more than a trace of faintly weary affection in that. Prior takes the bottle, holding it close and wafting a hand over it as one might to take in the accents of a particularly fine glass of wine. He doesn't look up at John for this.]

I met him my first day here. Moved in with him on the third. I think I fell for him somewhere around the second, although it's hard to tell, I didn't so much as admit it to myself for a while.

[Now there's a glance upward, finding John's eyes as he tips the bottle and swallows.

Casually:]

Did he try to pick you up? [In person doesn't matter, there was usually some attempt.]

[ Did he? John's frown turns into a slight squint as he thinks back. It hadn't been an especially memorable conversation in the long run, considering all the dramatics that happened after. ]

I think we mostly just argued about the weather and who was more trustworthy.

[ Perhaps unsurprising considering John's tendency to dig in on stupid things. ]

Oh. You.

[Prior would have trusted Byerly with his life (did) but on a smaller scale there's no doubt. It's not important. With another mouthful of liquor and the gasp that comes after it, blowing out the burn of the alcohol with air, Prior passes the bottle back.]

Well if you asked for a show of hands of who he did pick up here - who he screwed - the tally would be significantly higher than the other way round. Everybody, more or less. Tout le monde. Just not me.

[ Oh.

Though if he's asking if he picked up John that's not even a gender barrier, that's -- what, fear of catching something? Or maybe just... fear of messy feelings. Fear of attachment.

Only now he's gone, and he's lost the chance. John takes the bottle back and tries to find something to say. ]

You're worried I'm doing the same thing?

[ To Ianto, leaving him out of it and going for everyone else. ]

Well my tally is a total of one outside of Ianto, and you asked me if I fucked him -- not if I drunkenly groped him. There's a difference.

[ He's just going to take a sip of this now, thank you, and try to drown out his unease with alcohol. ]

No, no I'm not worried about that at all.

[Somebody suggested you get laid and chill the fuck out last time, John. Interesting that implied outside action is now cut down to a tally of one.]

I don't care who else he screwed, monogamy is more a lightning strike among my kind than a common inclination. But he loved me. I slept in his bed - in his arms, every night, and he kept me at arms length the rest of the time. He cared about me, which meant gatekeeping who was good enough for me. Not him. Apparently. I didn't get a say.

[The aftertaste of the liquor's turning strangely bitter. Prior has a hand fisted up in bedsheets and doesn't even notice.]

Do you know how long it took, before what I wanted mattered, to him?

[ John finds chill too expensive to afford.

He shoots Prior another uneasy sideways glance, because okay this -- might sound uncomfortably familiar now. Only it's not that Ianto doesn't get a say -- they had that conversation, he's really trying. At least, he is now. He did a decent amount of avoiding it all first, he can accept that.

Do you know how long it took, before what I wanted mattered, to him? ]

I dunno. Too long.

[ However long it was, it was too long. ]

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