snowblindrpg | [network] @Mnemosyne; video; the light we cannot see [open] Night 165

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[network] @Mnemosyne; video; the light we cannot see [open] Night 165

I can't sleep.

[The tablet is on the floor, lighting its own patch of paleness on the ceiling above. Beckett is lying next to it, prone on his back - that's what the angle of his arm, raised half-heartedly into the frame, suggests. He pulls more clearly into view for a moment, rising to a sitting position, to squint at the camera. His glasses are off, and his eyes glow a faint red in an ashen face.]

For all I know, I imagined it - the girl, the eyes. I'm certain the red pen was real, though, and the choice that came with it.

[He falls back again. Too tired to sit up. The tablet records to show nothing but light and shadow as he speaks.]

It may have been just me. Doubtful, but possible... but it was not just me who saw things. Perhaps we all did. I'd like to know what. Piece of some whole, or just another attack on what's left of our collective sanity... either way. For the sake of the record, if not any kind of answer.

[His relationship with answers isn't getting any less complicated. His voice drops low, dreamlike as he speaks on.] I saw a girl wearing a cloak. She was drawing the eyes, all around me... around me... until I was surrounded. She climbed on my back and drew her eyes on mine, and I knew there was no leaving. There has never been, not for me. Perhaps we are all...

[Too much. He stops abruptly, and rises again, grabbing for the tablet.]

It's all in my notes.

[The recording ends. In its place he sends his notes file out again.]

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Why shouldn't you? When there are so many more out there? If we can go back, and if we can choose where, just imagine --

[ And she does for a second - the idea of that level of freedom is completely alien. What would anyone even do with it? ]

You could - you could go back with Rhys, grab a ride to our Earth. Or go Vault hunting. Or - Iunno.

[For a moment the muscles of his face soften, tightly closed eyes easing as he catches the same wind she does - the idea of so much freedom, so much to do and see. He was that kind of man, once.]

Vault hunting does sound like something one does with archaeology skills, a ready shovel, and a dashing hat.

You'd be so freaking good at it.

[ It's an easy idea to latch onto, since she believes what she's saying and knows the subject so well. Better than most people, certainly, after shepherding two groups through the process. ]

Most vault hunters are just in it for the loot, but you do get ones who're also interested in the mystery of it all. Because - I mean, nobody really knows much about the hows and whys of the Vaults and their contents? And if anyone could unravel some of it without getting shot or going nuts, it'd be someone like you.

Something about aliens, I thought? Artifacts of a lost civilisation. Not entirely my field of expertise, but I've had my moments...

[A half dozen of them flash into mind even as he says that. The stories he has. The journey had been good, whatever the end, sometimes he thinks the journey had been good...

His voice drops, a low breath up towards the unlit ceiling.] Someone once said the same about me and the mystery of Kindred origins.

Whoever said it was smart, then. Or knew you well. Or both.

[ She shifts a little, blankets rustling, and scootles her way closer. Some conversations are just better accompanied by cuddles, okay. Basic facts. ]

Maybe you could finish that. On another Earth, I mean. Yours can't be the only one to have had vampires on it, surely. You might even find --

[ --people he knows? But they wouldn't be his people, would they. And they'd presumably have their own Beckett already.

It's all very complicated. And weird. Probably best left unvoiced, really. ]

[Cuddles are never unwelcome - apparently, how is this his life, etc. - but somehow he doesn't lean into her living warmth the way he more normally would. There's something distant in the faint glow of his eyes.]

Sometimes I do wonder if there is a yet bigger picture. It would be a terribly - typically self-important thing of us Kindred to suppose our secrets are innately tied to some greater secret of creation. Of all animals, it's only Man who thinks he must exist for a reason...

[Except all of that falls flat in the face of Caine's own words to him. In the face of the truth of Gehenna. And his own faith, which, as faith does, has survived proof.

He wants to speak of it all. Tell the story of it. If he is still alive perhaps that is why. Instead he turns his gaze away.]

Is that what you would do if you could leave here? Go with Rhys to your earth, go vault-hunting?

Iunno. I'm not-- I don't let myself think about it too much. That way it won't hurt so badly when it doesn't happen.

[ It's an admission that's a lot easier to make when Rhys isn't around. It still feels vaguely shameful, though, and Angel drops her own gaze in favour of tracing the glowy swirls down her arm with a finger. ]

Which makes me kinda hypocritical for telling you not to give up, I guess. But you have to pick your battles, right? If you want to keep fighting at all?

Now you're the one who sounds like you've given up.

[He half turns - disengaging from the cuddle and blanket just a little - and looks at her, no glasses to dim the glow and past it the deep hazel of his eyes. Pick your battles. He's never been good at that, though he's improved in Norfinbury, where he's so tired all the time. But she gets this out of him, the way she gets all sorts of strange things. He watches her fold in on herself, the patterns on her skin.]

What is it that you think won't happen - that you will not find a way out, or that even if you do, you return only to death?

Iunno. If we all get out of here, it's - it complicates things when people from your future confirm that you are pretty freaking dead, you know? I don't miraculously survive or pop back up a year or two later, or. Anything.

[ The admin never saved her after all. She's just postponed things. Which Angel is still grateful for, but...

Man, her tattoos are interesting. Dang. ]

Not that I'm complaining, you know that. I made my choice. And wasn't this supposed to be about you?

Perhaps you change your name and start a covert new life as a vault hunter. You'd be practically unrecognisable with the right dashing hat.

[What a good thing is coping humour. It might even distract her from how this was supposed to be about him.

His voice softens then.] Or perhaps that is one possible future. If I know my physics, the many worlds theory posits, well, many. It's strangely optimistic when you think about it from a certain angle.

[And for his next trick he might even convince her that he's even still aware optimism is a thing.]

Dude, I'd make a really sh-- ter-- crappy vault hunter. Maybe even worse than I'd be at being a vampire.

[ That does get a small smile out of her, though. A mini one. So very wee. ]

I'm not ruling anything out, I'm just not counting on a happy ending. And you are still deflecting, mister.

[Deflecting. Well. He shrugs, then holds up his hands, palms out.]

In my defence, you started it. [They've become so good at this, going around and around. He shivers suddenly, pulling a little closer as he coughs into his fist. What is any of it for?] I can't tell you anything more than you can tell me. Perhaps deflecting is the only thing we can do to stay alive. That is why we do it, isn't it?

[It's only after he says it that he thinks that talking about deflecting is in a way worse than no longer deflecting.]

I - oof. That's a pretty heavy interpretation. Like being giant dumb skaglicks is the only thing we have to live for. I don't think we're quite at that level.

[ She takes the opportunity to fuss ever-so-slightly when he coughs, reaching over to pat his back. Look - if she can't indulge the fuss urges while they're being this horribly candid, when will she ever be able to?

Suck it, grumpire. ]

Or I... hope we have more to fight for than that. Right?

[Don't ask questions for which you don't want the answers, Angel. Beckett quietly, subtly, leans into the fussing touch again. A different gesture from the conscious, more like the way he all but fell into the touch of her cool hand when he was feverish and delirious and utterly broken. Of course they're not deflecting because they have some kind of hope. They're avoiding things because looking those things in the eye would break them.

Which does mean they still feel they have reason to avoid breaking. In theory. In practice maybe they're just cowards.]

Do we? [He asks quietly. Honestly.] If neither of us have anywhere to return to, and there is no future here, then what are we doing except pushing away the inevitable?

We're...

[ She doesn't know. She has no freaking idea. Maybe that's the answer? They're not doing anything. They're dying in slow motion. God, at least last time she died for a reason.

Except that isn't true, is it.

Dying didn't keep Jack from waking the Warrior. It sped up the process, because it just gave Jack the motivation to pick up a better, stronger Siren. And Angel had known, once Lilith showed up in the bunker. She knew, but she let herself die anyway and it was all such a freaking waste--

And she's doing it again, isn't she. She's supposed to be smarter than this. They both are. ]

...We're being big fre-- fric-- big fucking babies. This is kinda shameful, holy f-- heck.

[ One swear is quite enough. ]

[Beckett almost laughs. Something escapes him, a crack of a sound, as brittle as his mortal body feels. He could easily draw back again now, back to the safety of deflecting, if he just avoids the wrong questions. The right questions. Or maybe if he just doesn't ask any questions at all.]

Why are we babies? Because we might have a hard time dealing with a post-apocalyptic wasteland of total despair?

[But he will. He does. It's who he is. There isn't much of him left, but there is that, built into him like the Beast's blind instinct for survival. Neither of them is something he can escape.]

Or is it because we expect the world to offer us some kind of grace?

No, we're babies because this is stupid. And we should be getting angry instead of moping, and we should make our own freaking grace if we're not going to be given it, because waiting around to die or be saved just makes things worse. Giving up doesn't fix anything, it just - it leaves you dead on the floor full of regrets and melted organs!!

[ She doesn't feel like she's making very much sense. She's tired and she's sick and she's missing Rhys and she's worried about Beckett and now she's freaking crying on top of it all. It's bullshit. It's too much. ]

That's not going to happen to me again.

[He doesn't know what hits him harder, her tears or her words. She's so young, and he thinks to himself, of course she's fighting, she's fighting the way young things do. But she's also died once, a mortal death, real death, in a world that doesn't even offer the mockery of a second chance that his kind had enjoyed. She knows what death is, and she's fighting -

There is no making their own grace. He'd thought of it once, the last moments of his world, but it hadn't been more than a comforting deception to sleep for the last time on... or perhaps it's just him that can't do it. Lucita had succeeded.

Lucita had fought. Meaninglessly, except if nothing held any true meaning... Ah, Beckett. Always an excuse why you can’t do it. She was right to say it. Maybe more than she knew.

Angel is crying. He can't start crying too. That would be stupid.]

I think you can do it. [He speaks in a rasp, aching, but he wants to say it to her. He wants her to know he means it. If he has absolutely no other hope then he at least believes that she does. That her fighting means something.] You can find another way, even if this place doesn't offer one. You deserve your own grace. Even if you don't always believe that of yourself, I do.

And what about you?

[ Because that's important too, whether he wants to brush it aside or not. He's important. If her stupid face wasn't leaking, she'd probably try and get angry about it.

As things are, she has to settle for "slightly fierce, mostly wet." Stupid face. ]

You can't have hope for me and not yourself, it doesn't work like that. If I'm going to find a way, do you really think I'd leave you behind? Whether it's a way out of here or a way out of - you know, this. The hopelessness... thing.

[ It's hard to keep up enough steam to remain articulate in her current state, but. She's trying. That's the point, right? ]

Are you deflecting again?

[He says it with a crooked-sad smile. It's not that he has any trouble believing she cares for him - he doesn't do that kind of self-loathing, and calling their friendship an error of judgement on her part would be a disrespect he wouldn't even dream of. But they come from such different places. She's so young. She's fighting for chances he's already wasted.]

I'm afraid I've had my opportunity to fight already, and I missed it. [As he says it, the despair boils down to those words. That realisation. He stares ahead into the void in his mind.] I'm a relic. A remnant of a world that's already gone. I could have - [He swallows.] But I didn't. I didn't even try.

You didn't...?

[ Oh. Suddenly a lot of things seem to make a deeper kind of sense. It's been obvious for a long time that he has a level of survivor's guilt - she hadn't needed to wander through his dreams to understand that - but this extra tidbit of information...

The weight of it must be crippling. Heavy enough to crush his bones from the inside. No wonder he's the way he is. ]

You never -- I'm sorry. I didn't know. But - I mean - do you regret it?

[ The question she wants to ask is, of course, do you want to talk about it. Baby steps. ]

[It should be such a simple question. There is only one answer, and one he should be able to say at once. Of course he regrets something, regrets what he'd said, what he'd chosen. But he knows, just as immediately, just as plainly, that he couldn't have done anything else. He's only ever been on one path, and it only ever had the one end, like all of his kind.

He closes his eyes, and slowly sinks back to lean against Angel's shoulder again. Lets his head rest on it, feeling her mortal warmth even through the coat. Seeing only the darkness behind his eyelids, he knows he doesn't deserve her mercy. But he surrenders to it nonetheless, a very human weakness.]

I could have gone with Lucita, [he says to the darkness and the girl he can't look at.] We'd lost each other long ago, but if I'd gone with her, perhaps... I never had her courage. I let her down, I let both of them down.

[ Well. The cuddles, at least, are something she's capable of handling. The coveted head-on-Angel's-shoulder spot is usually taken up by Rhys when he's feeling especially low, so she has vast experience in how to proceed from here. Apparently, even grumpires need to be looked after sometimes.

(Being looked after by Angel involves hair-petting, the Soothing Voice™ and steadfastedly pretending not to notice if anyone starts sniffling. Obviously.) ]

Was it a matter of courage, though? Is that why you didn't... go with her? You've never displayed a lack of courage that I know of. Kinda the opposite, really.

[ She can't really imagine him letting anyone down, either. Very careful probing is needed here. ]

[There's no sniffling - he finds that the tears have retreated, that there's an almost soft numbness settling in him instead. It's almost like calm. He's offering up his mistakes to her and she will make sense of them, understand and deem their meaning, and whatever she makes of them - guilt or grace - will at least come from better hands than his own.]

Not the same kind of courage, [he says after a moment's silence, bringing up a truth that he's always known, but never entirely faced.] Risking danger, even death, is easy when you're sure of the reason. But facing down all your life, all your beliefs, and knowing you were wrong... looking that truth in the eye, and changing with it... that takes a different kind of strength. I never believed in Gehenna. When it came... I clung to my search, I chose answers I would never have over the hope of saving - anything.

I think... that would have broken most people. Having your life's work crumble like that. And before you claim broken-ness yourself, I mean broken-broken.

[ Beckett isn't broken. Showing a few hairline cracks and maybe the odd chip, sure. Not broken. ]

I'm sure they'd have appreciated your presence at the end, but I don't think you let them down. I mean - it isn't - I didn't know them, obviously, I can't speak for them, but it's like...

[ She pauses the hair petting briefly, scrunching up her face as se searches for the right words. ]

...Iunno. I think the closest situation I can think of is - if we do fix things here and Rhys goes back to Pandora without me, I'll be sad. But he won't be letting me down, and I won't feel less important or loved. Your friends seem like they'd have been smart enough to understand your decision, too. Right?

[network] @Mnemosyne; video; the light we cannot see [open] Night 165

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