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

Entry tags:

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ John opens his mouth to protest, frowns as Prior blocks him with a gesture.

Prior doesn't want to hear it, but John studies him silently a moment before allowing the redirection. He wants to tell him that people care about him even if they aren't dating him, that he cares, but he supposes it's different and what Prior really wants is more than he's giving. ]

Well, what d'you wanna know? I'm from California, originally. Divorced parents. Hot ex-wife you know about. I've got a younger brother -- Dave, he's...

[ John hesitates, scrunches his face up. ]

Better at toeing the family line, I guess.

Edited (that was the wrong icon) 2018-08-15 22:16 (UTC)

[Prior has friends. And sounds frightfully ungrateful for them sometimes, when in truth he'd put himself in the line of fire for any one of them, as sure as a soldier conflates duty and loyalty. At home, in his small and close-knit circle, there was Belize: a light in his life, a longer love than any he'd known, close enough that they seemed to share each other's breath sometimes.

But the gaping, bloody tear when Louis left could never be filled with friendship. It's why he pined through half his time with Byerly, not wanting to lose the best friend he had but unable to ignore that there was more to it.

He's a physical creature, and his heart's an unfillable box, and it takes a lot to keep him from loneliness.

This cold city, and the spaceship above, are the first times since he's been in the city that he's been sleeping alone. Before here, those few months at home, he could never get used to it. Always woke expecting warmth and weight on the other side of the mattress. He just doesn't do well without affection.

But he can pretend. He takes another sip of the Cherry liquer, blinks at the burn.]

David and John. Strong, biblical names. Did he go into the family business? Mucked in at the ol' homestead?

Yeah, since I was the family disappointment he worked twice as hard at smoothing things over.

[ Evening out any troubling imperfections. John gestures for the liqueur again, since this is a liqueur-requiring topic. ]

We spent about four or five years not talking, both him and dad, and when I came back for dad's funeral the first thing he wanted to know was if I was there to challenge the will.

[ Which, really, shows how little they understood each other. As if John Sheppard ever gave a damn about money, when he'd spent so long making sure he never had to ask his dad for a penny -- or talk to him at all. ]

[Prior's about to say something about prodigal sons, how sometimes it turns out they were loved the most all along, when John slams the thought into that dead end.

His lip twitches at one corner, but he nods.]

And I'm sure you've both got on like a house on fire ever since. I've never understood that expression, so I do mean literally. When did he die?

About -- six months before I ended up here, so I guess it's about a year now.

[ Since he's been here about the same. ]

Nancy came to the funeral too. My -- ex-wife, Nancy. It was... nice of her to come.

[ The hesitant way he says 'nice' suggests he really means 'weird'. ]

Oh, that's recent.

[Have the bottle and a sympathetic look.]

You know, the one person I've never looked for, up there- [His father. He makes a vague gesture and shrugs.] At least I wouldn't have to worry about Lou turning up if someone kicked the bucket. Even me, I assume. He never was good at PDA. Public displays of association.

[ He takes the bottle, vaguely clocks how much they've already drunk then takes another sip anyway. The point was to get drunk, he just doesn't want to get so drunk he's a total disaster. ]

Pretty sure that's his loss, you make excellent army candy no matter the occasion.

[ Wedding, funeral, social events of choice. ]

Though, admittedly I'm... not exactly great at them myself. I tried to -- overcompensate, I guess, the other day and... just...

[ Froze up, instead. Which is embarrassing. If the ground could really swallow him up on such occasions to save him having to publicly dig himself out it'd be great, but it never does. He rubs at his face tiredly and sighs, holds the bottle back out to Prior. ]

I do. I looked fantastic at his grandmother's funeral, even if I had to stand three feet back from the rest of the crowd and tell people I was the hairdresser at the nursing home.

[Even Prior can manage more than this without getting blotto, and he drinks relatively rarely now the stuff uses his liver as a punchbag and turns his stomach to acid. Tonight he wants to suffer. He takes the bottle back.]

I understand it. It was hard. For him. I've never had the chance to hide what I am - I mean, look at me - and he saw... too much of what that was like. To be with me, publicly, you may as well be me. And I'm a great fuck, but when who you're fucking also fucks your job prospects, social standing... who looks at you sidelong in the coffee queue. Well. It's a lot to ask.

[So Prior hadn't. He'd let Louis hide their linked hands with his coat in public, and shrug off casual affection. But he'd never given up wanting it. Then to choose Byerly, whose whole existence involved hiding his feelings...

Prior hasn't made it easy on himself, lets say. He tips back a couple of slugs of liquor and tips backwards onto the bed, rolling to one side to rest an elbow on the bed, chin on his hand as he looks up at John.]

I imagine it's more furtive in the military. Illicit assignations on single issue bunks, hands shoved down fatigues, heavy breathing in the shower room but not so much as a sideways glance on parade. Sort of sexy and sad all at once. But tell me more about this overcompensation. You can't have been humping his leg in line for the breakfast buffet, someone would have said.

[ Humping his leg in the breakfast buffet. John squints sideways at Prior as he lounges across the bed. ]

No, I waited until we were at least out of the breakfast buffet. Didn't want to hold up the queue.

[ I'll take avoiding answering questions for 100, Alex.

He flops back onto his elbows and stares at some absent point on the ceiling, mulling over what Prior has said. To be with me, publicly, you may as well be me. John isn't afraid, exactly, of that. He isn't afraid really of who judges him. He's afraid of losing a job that no longer exists, an opportunity that's already long gone. Of the one thing that made him feel alive, when he has other things to fill that void now anyway. It's just ingrained habit that makes him panic, and he hates that it does but years of build up will do that. ]

I guess I wanted to prove something I wasn't ready to prove. You know, running before you're ready to walk. There's points for effort though, right? I'm feeling low on points.

[ He looks over sideways at Prior again hesitantly, as if afraid the bell of judgement is going to declare he isn't trying hard enough and he's in the red points-wise here. ]

[No alarm bells ring.

Prior does understand, at least from certain angles, how hard it can be to shake off shackles of social expectation. Just because he'd never been given the chance to wear them doesn't mean he isn't aware of how tight they sit. When he's from it's not just soldiers who lose their jobs - lose far more - over something as simple as love.

Even Prior tried to pass for a while. As a teenager, before owning what he was was a possibility and before he really knew what he was, either. The other kids knew, though: remarkably astute. And that's why he lives the way he does. Other people know about him, if not with a look then the second he opens his mouth. And if he's going to be cornered in back alleys by people who have a problem with that, he may as well do it while being honest about himself.]

Well, walking and running are the same things really. They're just a stilted form of falling over we've somehow developed into forward motion. So as long as you're falling into something you want I don't think it matters if it takes a while to feel comfortable with it. [Theres a pause - he turns onto his side to face John, perhaps hiding something faintly wicked in his smile] No one goes for the fist without slipping in a few fingers first - as mother used to say.

[ Did your mother really say that, Prior?

John laughs, caught off guard, and it's a real laugh. An obnoxious, rough, donkey sounding sort of laugh. It's terrible but it's real. ]

If your mother told you that, then I'm the Quuen of Sheba.

[Never heard of a drag mother before, John? But Prior's laughing too - light and honest and - stopping briefly to take in the true horror that is John being casual enough to let out a laugh like that - before continuing, a little more helpless than before.

He rolls over to shove John in the chest.]

My Mother was the Queen of Sheba. How did you know?

[A little gasp, the other hand fluttering over his mouth.]

Although it is a desert kingdom, and you do sound like you've swallowed a camel.

[ Wow, pushing and mockery! John shoots Prior a look for that, shoves him right back. ]

I had to, practice for deep-throating your mother.

[ ... Let's take a moment to break down this weird attempt at a joke.

i) John did indeed swallow a camel?
ii) as... practice... for deep-throating?
iii) What kind of camel swallowing was this?
iv) He had to?
v) No part of this statement is not questionable, it's all borderline horrifying he clearly did not think this through. ]

[Prior quiets, suddenly, and draws back. He's nodding, quickly and seriously, expression flattening to something quite serious, even if one hand is still fanning himself to detract from the shock of this revelation.]

Oh. Oh, well. You know, that explains so much about why I've turned out as I have.

[He'll hold this straight face until he breaks, god damn it.]

[ Honestly.

John takes a few long moments to catch up to the terrible new twist in this story, which is entirely his fault, but then he shoves Prior again for it as he collapses into another fit of obnoxious laughter. ]

You know something, it does.

[Prior recovers well from the assault, enough to crowd in over John, crossing both hands and pressing them over his mouth for extra muffling effect.]

Stop that, it's terrible.

[A beat of silence, and both hands are pulled away quick.]

Oh, but I think I liked it. Oh, that's even worse.

[ John is getting ready to fight off this new, dangerous assault when Prior pulls back suddenly. He studies Prior a second, then his expression changes into one of smug triumph. ]

You like me.

[ It's a challenge, daring him to say otherwise, and John pushes up onto his elbows again-- lofting an eyebrow at him and then painting himself into something faux-serious. ]

Which is, I am told, pretty much the worst thing possible.

[Prior tests the heat of his brow against back of his hand and nods, forlorn, with a Scarlett-o-Hara air -]

I fear I do. Curse my luck, always picking the affliction without a cure.

[And, back to himself, he rests on his own elbow, catching the almost-spilled liquor bottle between them.]

But whoever told you that must have lived a sheltered life, I'm sure.

You've never had me fail to call you.

[ John Sheppard, professional heart-breaker, never calls when he says he will. ]

No. [Prior's eyebrows raise.] No I haven't. Though, men tend not to do that. Most of them have only so many testicles to lose.

[He always says the scariest things with the sweetest smile. Though truth be told, lack of attentiveness has never really been a problem for him. Abandonment, sure, but Louis adored him even when he left him. Prior doesn't settle for much less.]

What you're saying, [Prior marks out each word with a little fingertip jab] is you're a lousy date.

Yes, I am a lousy date.

[ He's just owning it now. Or, well -- ]

I'm a good date while the date is happening, though. It's everything afterwards that's lousy.

[ To clarify. ]

Mhm. [A prim little nods indicates this was only to be expected.] Well, men are beasts.

[And you, John, are still strange, but far from the worst among them.]

Fortunately, we're not dating. [He nudges the bottle up a little until he can bring his hand round it and make some attempt at drinking while lying sideways. A skill he's not fully aufait with, as becomes clear.] We're drinking.

[It's no good. Although perhaps it's easier to pour for someone else? John, open your mouth.]

We should do something, though. Something reckless. Fun. These walls are starting to close in on me.

Reckless and fun?

[ John reaches out to hold the bottle still before Prior pours it everywhere, studying him thoughtfully. He can immediately think of a few things that qualify as reckless and fun that are... not appropriate for the situation.

He quirks an eyebrow, gently begins to try and divest Prior of the bottle. ]

We might have different ideas of what qualifies as reckless and fun.

[Who gets to judge what's appropriate?

What becomes swiftly apparent is that Prior is not letting go of the bottle, and that he's got a surprisingly strong grip (when John isn't trying too hard). The muscletone built up from years on the dance floor hasn't quite given up on him yet.

Open your mouth John or the bodyshots joked about last time might become real.]

Well, you show me yours I'll show you mine.

[ Oooh boy. John lofts an eyebrow, still carefully trying to prevent the bottle being poured on him without really trying to take it off Prior. ]

Are we stripping already? I'd assumed that came later on the schedule.

[ You know, drunker than this. ]

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject