milliways_bar | (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.]]

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"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."

"Yeah, they're like that, only they're stories. At least the one I was given. I don't really know what to ask for, but yeah, it'll just give them to you."

At her suggestion they watch his movie, though, his face drains. "Uh, maybe some other time with that." He squirms visibly before leaping to his feet. "You need your room now."

He leads her over to the Bar and taps it. "Hi, I -- well, my friend Jordan, she needs a room and... and things." He hesitates. "Can you put it near mine?" A key with a number on it appears on the surface. Lincoln grins. "There you go. That's yours."

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.

Lincoln takes the case and examines it. There seem to be funny haircuts and shiny pants involved. He swallows. "Wow, it does. I wonder what this one's about?" He glances over the blurb on the back, trying to look casual, but it doesn't say much beyond the movie won some awards and involved glam rock. "I hope it's good. I don't know what's so exciting about rocks."

"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?"

He points in a vaguely left-and-up-ish direction. "It's that way. I'll walk with you."

Nobody's paying attention to them. No Proximity warnings, no forced separation by censors... it's fucking fantastic, is what it is! (That was a word he hadn't heard before Trainspotting, but it was used liberally, so it was probably pretty common.) Lincoln leads her up the stairs and down the hall until they reach her door, which is directly across from his. He sticks his hands in his pockets. "Well, here it is." He points over his shoulder. "That's my room."

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."