ext_158853 ([identity profile] renevatio.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] milliways_bar2005-08-16 06:08 pm

(no subject)

Lincoln is a wee bit broken.

A few days ago, he was given a copy for Trainspotting so he could study Scottish accents. He has since watched Trainspotting. He cried the first time, though for the most part he stared, horrified and unable to decipher what the actors were saying.

He took it to his room and studied it. He watched it twice more with closed captioning, the second time saying the words with Renton whenever he spoke. It unnerved him when his voice and the character's onscreen meshed so exactly. He forced himself to sit through all the weirdickyscary parts, the drug addict parts and the sex parts. (He still wasn't sold on sex yet. The more he found out, the less he wanted anything to do with it.) He reasoned that if he could stand Dr. Merrick's "nice tests," he could handle this.

Now he's sitting at the Bar, staring at the untouched pint of bitters he ordered without quite knowing why. He's sure of one thing, though, and he says it aloud to hear the strangeness of the accent in his mouth all at once.

"It's shite being Scottish."

[[OOC: It's been a while since mun saw Trainspotting, so if he's fudgy on plot details, apologies.]]

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-16 11:58 pm (UTC)(link)
"Lincoln?"

Jordan sees a morose, depressed, unsmiling but familiar face. Yep, it's Lincoln. She waves goodbye to the nice bartender who's been serving her, and walks over to him.

"Lincoln, what are you doing here?" Her tone does not disguise her embarrassment; she shouldn't be here either. She is still glad to see him.

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 12:06 am (UTC)(link)
"Lincoln? What are you..." He's touching her. She's rigid, unsure of what to do. They are too close. Someone is going to come and separate them and then they'll know. They'll know he was out and that she wasn't where she was supposed to be either.

Then she notices he's crying. "Lincoln? What's wrong?" She hugs him back awkwardly. After a moment, she says, "Hey. You sound...different."

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 12:18 am (UTC)(link)
"Oh," she looks down, fiddling with the napkin that has her drawing of a turtle from the bartender. "I just wanted to look around before I left. There was a problem with getting quarantine clearance or something."

Oh no. "Oh no!" How long has she been in Milliways? They'll have come looking for her surely, and if she's not there...what if she misses her chance to go to the Island? It's nice here and all, and Lincoln's presence, though confusing, makes it all the more tempting to stay, but...

"I'm going to miss the boat," she says, mournfully, spinning around and looking for the tile she came up out of. "Oh no..." She turned and grabbed his arms. "Lincoln, you have to help me, I can't find the way I got in. I have to get back!"

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 12:23 am (UTC)(link)
"What?" She takes a step back, afraid. "That's...no, no, it's really safe, it's okay. Mike said...Mike said..." But his shouting and the way his eyes aren't lying...she can't remember exactly what Mike did say. He was from New York. He said it was okay. Smelly, but okay.

"It'll be all right," she reassures him, even though she is still amidst a panic about missing her trip. "Maybe...maybe since you're here already you could come with." It's ridiculous, and completely against the rules, but maybe...

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 12:32 am (UTC)(link)
"No! Stop it! Stop...stop!" She doesn't want to hear this and she struggles to break free. She is going to go back downstairs, and if she has to wait until the next spin comes up with her name, so be it: she is going to the Island. She wants to see Lima's baby...

She swallows, cowed by too much stimulation and a sex-on-the-beach that she's regretting she had. Her brain is not capable of dealing with all of this, and only one thing out of all he says stays at the forefront of her mind, only one thing makes any sense.

"You...you saw Lima's baby?"

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 12:40 am (UTC)(link)
"Okay," she agrees with a whisper, letting him lead her to a booth. She slides in across from him, setting a protective distance between them. He seems shaky all over, and she feels responsible in some way she can't define. So she bridges the gap and takes one of his hands.

"What's wrong? Tell me." She can't promise to believe him, but she can try. "What is this about people being killed? Did you have another nightmare? Did it have something to do with that...thing you watched?"

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 12:59 am (UTC)(link)
She has to try to understand this.

No one had seen Starkweather after two nights ago, but he'd been just fine. He'd been whole and healthy. There are elements of his other dreams, though--fear of dying, of being chased or hunted. He's never been very clear about what exactly happens in his dreams, but this isn't too different. He's upset that she's leaving for the Island. The last male to leave was Starkweather, and his dreams twisted his unhappiness into a nightmare that should have made him feel better about staying. Sometimes, she has dreams like that, where it's her who is a breeder instead of a friend, and she gets to go to the Island.

That's where her justification breaks down. Lima. He said he saw Lima and her baby. None of them have ever seen a baby. It isn't the sort of thing they joke about, even the men, because no one wants to seem ungrateful for all they have by bringing up what they haven't got. He's seen a baby. His eyes are haunted, but there's a bit of awe in them when he talks of it. He has seen a baby. How could he make that up?

"Oh my," she whimpers, and suddenly there is a burn at the back of her throat. It is not unlike the one she felt throwing down her drink, only now she suspects it may be coming back up.

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 01:15 am (UTC)(link)
She shakes her head.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 01:27 am (UTC)(link)
It tastes greasy but wonderful when it pushes the acidic touch at the back of her throat back. This bread is definitely not a suitable breakfast substitute, but she wolfs it down.

"Oh. Oh no," she mumbles, mouth full, forgetting her manners. This isn't right. She shouldn't be here, and he shouldn't be here, and everything that is inviting and nice about this place is wrong. But downstairs, wherever that is is more wrong.

Lincoln has preserved the distance she set up, and she is the one to violate it. She slips out of one side and throws herself against him as he did her. It's as natural as breathing.

"I want to go to the Island," she sobs.

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 01:37 am (UTC)(link)
She nods, crying in earnest and turning her face into his side. He sounds like himself, and it makes her ache. This isn't fair.

But he's right. She plays her conversation with the barman, Mike, over and curses herself an idiot. They talked about the contamination, and he knew nothing about it. 'One of those future things, isn't it?' He talked about New York...he remembered it. All she remembered was a promise to get her fair share, her honest chance. All that she remembers, a lie.

"Why? What point does all this serve?"

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 01:58 am (UTC)(link)
"Christian?" Just Christian? Not another one of them, then. She starts to nod and then vigorously shakes her head. She grips his jacket.

"What about the others?"

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 02:19 am (UTC)(link)
"I do." She opens her clenched hand to find the napkin with the turtle picture on it. "That's a turtle." It's a bunch of circles, five in total (four for the legs, one for the head), and a triangle for a tail. "They're green or brown or lots of colors.

"And out there," she looks out the window, "is the end of the universe."

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 02:31 am (UTC)(link)
"That's okay," she wipes at the her face with the back of her hand. "I think I want to see turtles more."

She is quiet a minute, then asks, "Where can we go?" She looks around the bar as if seeing it for the first time. It's dirty and worn, but homey. Still, she doubts they'd be able to stay here. "Where have you been?"

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 02:44 am (UTC)(link)
"Movies? Are those like the Ethercon streams? Can I see them? I just go to the bar and ask?"

It is a jumble of questions, and she has to know the answers to all of them. Anything else to wonder about than the Island, home. No, not home. Never home.

"Let's go." She nods, decisively. "I want to see your movies."

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 02:59 am (UTC)(link)
She picks up the key. Emboldened by his example, she makes a request of her own.

"I want to watch a movie." There's a pause where nothing happens, so she tries something more specific. "I want to watch a movie with Christian in it." There is a menu, a list of titles with actors named Christian in it. She closes her eyes and picks one out at random. It's in her hands a moment later, she's frowning at the picture on the box.

"Velvet Goldmine. Hey," she shows the box to Lincoln. "That guy kind of looks like you, too." His expression is worth three of those sex-on-the-beaches.

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 03:23 am (UTC)(link)
"Okay." Jordan is now operating in a daze; she's been through the thrill of discovery, the highs and lows alcohol use, the shock of the truth, and now she is going to watch a move-e with Lincoln in a strange place. In the convoluted place that is her head, this makes perfect sense. What else is there to do?

She takes his hand and takes one resolute step away from the bar, then stops.

"Um, which way is it?"

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 03:39 am (UTC)(link)
She doesn't realize she misses contact--dreaded proximity, not so dreaded after all--until he's stepped away. There are two contradictory urges at war. To let him go away is to lose the only person she knows. Even if that separation is only temporary, only short, it feels wrong. But she's never had anyone, let alone a man, in her quarters before.

Then again, these aren't really her quarters. It's more an impersonal space that she is temporarily occupying. She keys open her door.

"Come inside, Lincoln." She pouts her lip, exaggerating what is already an authentic pathetic look. "Please? I don't want to be alone."

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 05:52 pm (UTC)(link)
Relieved, Jordan follows after him. She feels oddly safer knowing he's there.

The room is dirty, lived in, and about a third the size of her quarters back at the Institute. She tries not to dwell on that--pretty trappings hide something dangerous; she's comfortable with an environment that doesn't try to be other than what it is.

She closes the door and look for a vid screen. It takes less time to find it than to figure out where to put the strange disc that is inside the box into the machine. After a few minutes puzzling, she works it out, and goes to sit on the end of the bed. It's the closest seat to the vid screen. She pats the mattress on her side, curious about the strange, choked look on his face.

"Come on, sit."

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 06:14 pm (UTC)(link)
It seems absurd, given what he has just told her and she has yet to fully grasp, but she asks, "Are you okay?" Something about her is making him uncomfortable. She has recently learned that touch gives comfort, so she is adventurous and puts a hand on his knee.

"Do you want to talk about...about what you saw?" She will help if she can. Maybe together they can work it out. The video is tempting, very pretty and very distracting, but then so, too, are his wary eyes.

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 06:50 pm (UTC)(link)
"You're lying," and she doesn't need to even scrutinize him that carefully to know it. He always was a poor liar. She's responsible in some way for this reaction and regrets it. He seemed so happy to see her before. Maybe she's being selfish.

"Sit down, okay? I promise I won't make you uncomfortable. Here," she backs up along the bed to sit at the headboard. "I'll be here, okay?"


[ooc: That icon made me crack up. Good job.]

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 07:10 pm (UTC)(link)
She nods, still not certain what she's done to upset him.

"If you want." She hugs her knees. Without him to distract her, and her interest in the vid screen having waned from the start of his pacing about, she can only think of what he told her downstairs.

In a small voice, she asks, "Are we safe here?"

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-17 08:51 pm (UTC)(link)
"Good," she breathes, squeezing his hands and smiling, sadly. "If what you say is true..." It doesn't bear discussing now, however. Every friend she's ever hugged goodbye, wished the best, been jealous of for getting to go to the Island, all of them are dead. And, if not for his corruptive influence, she might have been among their number.

"Thank you," she whispers, "for everything." She releases one of his hands and reaches for her abused napkin. It is her only possession, the first thing she has ever had that is unique to her alone, and it's already so beaten it might not last another day. But its hers, and its hers to do with as she wants. Doing what she wants. That will take some getting used to, but again, she has him to thank for that privilege.

"Here. Take this with you. It's not much of a present, but I want you to have it."

[identity profile] got-a-number.livejournal.com 2005-08-18 03:30 am (UTC)(link)
Jordan stares at the door. Lincoln is being more unusual than ever today, and she still doesn't entirely understand what 'weeks' worth of activity could have done to him.

Exhausted, Jordan reluctantly pulls herself, still-dressed, under the covers. She lays back, staring up at the ceiling. She thinks of turtles, occasionally looking at the still playing screen, then hastily looking away again--she wasn't sure what the person who looked strangely like Lincoln was doing, but she sure wasn't ready in this state of mind.

I'm alive. Lincoln is here. I'm going to see turtles. She repeats this until she falls asleep, hoping to keep the nightmares at bay.