Log:Colton Boys Catching Up
The Rogue was easy to find as he really hadn't left his room all day but to get provisions before people were up and squirrel himself away at the far end of that long hall of dormatories that made little sense. One would assume a room was a room was a room. For whatever reason the Rogue's room looked almost a bit like a bunker or a hold out shelter where someone might hole up and lay low. The walls were manufactured panneling, but the floor was a nice wood and the furniture was posha nd comfortable, and a string of bare lights hung strung overhead even though ambient lighting came from...somewhere. The whole space kept the pervasive feeling of nice things taken and hidden away or being buried in the earth. On the cherrywood sidetable was a pile of fruit which...would disappear if not eaten today.
There's a knock at the door: a sharp rap made by sharp, bony knuckles. "It's Dirk," comes the smooth, Northern English-accented tones of the Deviant. "I've brought you something." He waits to be admitted before entering, so perhaps he'll be standing out there awhile.
The Rogue wasn't armed but for a sharp tongue and an apple these days. All the same he appreciated the courtesy of the knock. The door of his room bearing a man in a cloak, peeking out of the darkness and around a corner. Those blue eyes seemed to assess, survey, and sum up all in one pass giving 'Dirk' a nod with a gesture, apple in hand. to enter. The South African accent greeting the Brit, "C'mon on. Make yourself at home." The mood was much calmer in the room with far fewer opinions on the current predicament floating around. He wouldn't call it defeated, but he wouldn't not either. The curiosity marked his brow now. "Is it?" Which seemed to equate to a 'so you now?' He sat up setting the ring in his hand in the book he was reading.
The door opens, and there he is -- tall, very thin, and looking like someone's dipped him in ink from his neck to his feet, given the close black of his clothing. He holds in his hand a pudding with a cream sauce over it, along with a dish of custard. "I've brought you some malva pudding." They're set down on the nearest surface as he steps within, taking a cursory glance around the place. "It's amazing how different all of our rooms appear to look."
It's not that long after Deviant arrives that there is another knock on the door, although this one doesn't wait the appropriate amount of time before just barging in. When Bravo arrives she's wearing a party dress in bright blue, heels, and has several champagne glasses in her hand, filled ones. "Hello! I brought bubbly."
The Rogue looked up and locked eyes on the pudding. Malva pudding. He didn't know why he loved this before he touched it but he knew enough to muse, "It's got sherry in it too?" He sat up and looked at the spider-thin man bearing a kindness and reached out to take it from him with no small expression of gratitude knit into it. The spoon pushed through the fluffy breading and he asked with an honest smile, "You have my heart's thanks for this one, bruh. You try this yourself yet?" He took a bite and let his eyes, tired and bloodshot, have a moment respite from the indulgent desert that tasted like home. "I can't remember the last time I had this." The sad hilarity made him scoff shaking his head commiserating with his fellow captive, "Lit'rally cannot remember." He looked up from the man that gave him something other than misery to indulge in to the sparkly woman in blue with the bubbles and grinned from her back to Dirk, "I think we're gonna like having her around. You are...welcome to bring that in. Look, apologies to the last couple days in the um, in the hall. It's jarring for everyone. You have a name, luv?" Not a come on but in polite familiarity
The Deviant glances over his shoulder at the new arrival, smirking at the sight of her. "Well done," he says, nodding to the champagne, then looks back to toe Rogue. "Haven't tried it. Can't say if it has sherry in it, since I didn't make it." Then, oddly enough, he glances down at the minimalistic black wristwatch under his right sleeve. "I'll return shortly. I must check on something." The tall, thin man strides back out the way he came, whistling something.
"Hi. Bye." Bravo states to Deviant as he makes his exit, then she sets down the glasses before holding out one to Rogue, "No name. I did briefly decide to go by Bunny, because of the slippers." She points down towards her feet, which are lacking any bunny slippers. "But after thought, I'm not sure that is a very good choice either." She waves a hand after Deviant, "He and I are both new, it seems. Lucky to not have had the same horrible experiences as everyone else."
The Rogue was busy eating, his brain finding a tiny island of a happy place. Well done, Dirk, well done. He invited, "Please, by all means do so." His eyes lifted to the woman redefining fashion in the place most didn't bother with shoes. He nodded for her to take a seat. "Funny thing on the names. There's a debate apparently. To take a name we were given by circumstance? Some view as giving in. Others are arguing that not taking a name is letting the ever proverbial 'them' rob us of our identity. And yet also argued is that making up a name for ourselves is either taking our agency back or giving in and letting ourselves be erased. So..." His head tilted just a bit to the side in a shrugging gesture breaking a piece of the decadent pudding with the sherry glaze sauce off onto the spoon holding it out for her, "I say do as you like, but really you ought to try this. It's a marvel." He considered tired, but not in unkind tone, "I think I'll stick with Caleb for now. When I was him? Eh I respected him. Made choices to take care of his people. He... had people. Gave everything he could for them, but I can respect that...even if," he shrugged and admitted, "Things didn't sort out. It's my choice though and the man Once-Glenn can give me a look for it, but that's my choice. I invite you to be free to make yours. How you holdin up?" It was an earnest question that he watched and waited for the answer for.
"No thanks." Bravo replies, holding a hand out at the offer of trying some of the pudding, smiling faintly, "I don't think a name really matters." She offers, moving to find herself a seat, legs crossing, "See...I read this play the other day, and it said a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. And I get that, right? Names are just...social conventions, and ways of identifying something for the person doing the naming. But I'm pretty sure that in this place it doesn't matter what we or anyone else calls us...we're still..." She shrugs, hands spreading, "Who or whatever. That's what matters, right?"
The Rogue listened and ate the bite she declined while he considered her raw insights on this. He pointed with a spoon, "You bring up a good point. A point that gets complicated when someone you know as an ally in one manifestation sabotages you in the next. So to that point I would also ask you how our deeds affect us when our situation is not our own and the integrity of our inclinations is compromised. Ine the end I think you're right. we are who we are but as far as social conventions go? Eeeh they're handy. Useful. Sometimes." His eyes drift from her to the bottle and back, "You gonna pour us?" He looked into the bowl and poked at the pudding considering it all, "You know, I had no idea what I was getting into. Never saw this place before that morning I ran into you. I was on a ship in space then? I had no recollection of being on a ship at all and I was a family man in Nevada. Then here? You wake up to the only things you know are lie. So I don't know if I sould be relieved for you or not, but, we'll make this work or we won't. Dunno about you, but it's not in my nature to quit. So whathave you seen that's interesting to you because this place? It's strange."
"You just answered your own question." Bravo points out, moving to sort out the champagne, holding a glass out towards Rogue, "Your situation is not your own. Like...okay.." She pauses, considering her words before she works through them slowly, "You are brainwashed, hypnotized, or whatever...into performing an action. That's not you, that's a program. So why hold it against someone?" This is all very theoretical since she's never had to live through the situations so far.
The Rogue lifted his pudding and grinned faintly, "Which is why I'm trying not to lash out. Not their fault any more than some decisions I made were mine. Still, it'll affect you. There were happy moments, comforts there we can take from it. Seems Angeline and Hector found that. Kept it. Others? You spend a lifetime with one person and then... a lifetime with another and I imagine that's right difficult when one comes back. Couldn't tell you personally but... it's distressing. So. My advice? Don't listen to my advice. I've not got shite figured out to be truthful." He got up and walked over to set the pudding down and pour. "What've you been reading anyways?"
"Romeo and Juliet." Bravo replies, getting her own glass of the champagne before retaking her seat, "Very tragic. I think it's supposed to be a love story, but it's all very, very tragic at the same time. Have you ever read it?" She wonders, taking a large swallow of the liquid before she sets it down somewhere, "It all sounds rather crazy, from top to bottom."
The Rogue chortled and said with dry humor, "I think I just lived it." He wasn't wrong as irony would have it. "Your person fight their entire life to be redeemed in the eyes of the one person who can see them as they truly are, and loves that person enough to defy the whoooole world. And then o face the certainty that death is going to separate them only to find some small reprieve at a great and terrible cost... only for one of them to wake up and find all their efforts have been entirely in vain and that one person seen fit to love and believe in them has died in spite of ever clever victory they might eek out because they are damned to lose?" An eyebrow arched. Has he read it. He lifted his glass and said quietly, "Think I know it too well, friend. And if they told me to go back and do it over without a hesitation, I would do it again even if it would taste a lie, just to see them again.' He sighed shaking his head agreeing, "Beautiful fekkin story. Yes, entirely insane and impetuous and I love it for that. I think, I'm not certain, but I think love that cannot wait for reason is a miracle great and tragic and wonderful to find. How was the book version though? Read terribly dry?"
There's another knock at the door. Same harsh rap as before. "It's me," comes that dry, lilting Northern accent. "Dirk." The door cracks, and he peeks inside, eyebrows raising. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"I meant this place was insane." Bravo points out with a smile, downing the rest of her champagne before she glances towards the door, lifting the empty glass in his direction, "Hello again, friend." She then shakes her head, starting to get to her feet, "You weren't, we were just talking about love and loss and crazy things."
The Rogue shrugged and said "Eh fekk it all I'd invite you, Dirk. C'mon in." He gestured, "Poured you a dop in case you came back." He gestured to teh champaigne. Apparely that being his word for anything with an alcohol content to it. "That aside? Just discussing the shite situation and literary irony.'
"Hello to you," the Deviant says, smirking at Bravo. "'Love and loss and crazy things.' Nothing too extravagant, I see." Sarcasm. He closes the door behind him and indeed, reaches for a glass of champagne, picking up the stem between his long fingers. Then he toasts them with the flute: "To shite and irony." Down the hatch.
"To shit and irony." Bravo agrees, toasting with her empty glass, which is probably some kind of bad luck. She then sets it back down, arms crossing over her chest, "Well, I just came to share the bubbly...nothing more. So I'll be on my way so your two can...do whatever."
The Rogue looked up to either of them and asked curiously, "You're... both a rather blank slate. I have," He paused squinting his eyes trying to form a thought, "theory. I want to see what the limits are on that room they gave us. They say it can be anything but I'm wondering if we can actually short it out... find a weakness in it. See if it connects elsewhere." His heart wasn't into his rebellion yet...yet, but it was a start.
"Why leave?" The Deviant asks The Bravo, setting the glass down. He glances to the Rogue, seeming quite pleased with this suggestion, as much as he can seem pleased about anything: not exactly a wide range of facial expressions on this one. "I'd been considering such a test myself." Deviancy and rogueness may be on the same wavelength at times, go figure...
"Oh, no idea. Just..did what I came to do." Bravo replies with a laugh, shaking her head as she begins to edge towards the door, "I'll be in the hallway, though."
The Bravo leaves back to The Facility - Hall of Rooms
The Rogue looked at the glass and 'Bubbly Bunny' take off again. "Anyone that shows up and brings alcohol to the grieving is alright in my book." He studied the spidery man curious about him as he was likly about himself. "For what it's worth i meant it about the pudding. Sit. Stay."
"Remind me to bring alcohol rather than pudding, next time," the Deviant remarks drily. Even though Rogue just said what he did about pudding. Dirk doesn't seem to mean it very seriously, though, and he places his bony butt into a chair, crossing his spindly legs. "What were the two of you discussing? Did she not want to test the parameters of one of the rooms?"
The Rogue moved over to the red leather couch and pulled a knee up. Alcohol and comfort food. "Anyone can bring liquor, mate. Takes a forethought to put home on a plate for someone. Not that I fail to appreciate the gesture, fine champagne, or fine company, but...nemmind." He ate another bite taking his time with it and looked up and around the room. "Hmmm dunno. I'd ask her what she does and doesn't want but after two three days of being in existence with no experiences to draw on? I reckon it's a different sort of trauma, ja no?" He had to give that to the 'clean slates' "How'd you decide on 'Dirk?'"
The Deviant listens with a careful attentiveness, highlighted by the fact that he doesn't blink much. "It seemed right," he answers. After a moment, he asks, "I don't suppose you smoke." Which is a roundabout way of asking if he can, no doubt.
The Rogue nodded and looked around at the various compartments with compartments. "Box on the desk I think if you're inclined. I do and I don't." Which was a weird take on it but there's no sense smoking on a spacecraft. That's just asking for troubles. On the prairie though? yup. It was the statement over the question, "Seemed it. Was. Doesn't mean anyone's really inclined to do what seems right or take initiative."
"I've already got one." The Deviant slides a cigarette from a small pocket, along with a book of matches. He manages to light the cigarette with one hand, striking the match in the book without much effort at all. "If it bothers you, I'll stop." For now, though, he takes a nice drag, billowing it out through pursed lips. Eyebrows raise at Rogue's next statement. "I've been taking plenty of initiative," he says airily. "But what do you think isn't getting done?"
The Rogue shrugged indifferently and said simply, "If it bothered me you'd know." No notation on method but that it'd be known. The now empty plate sauce scraped onto spoon for final serving, was set on the small table next to the couch and he slouched down into it. his head rest back on the arm and his eyes closed really thinking about that. "Oh aside from everything? or aside from the obvious?" He considered this, "I think there's an amazing lack of cohesiveness, and that's hard because we don't even have different life experiences. we're coming from no actual life experiences. We don't know how to adjust, how to heal, how to... move on and telling someone the only thing they know is false as some of these... mules are doing?" The South African peeked at the Brit, "It's fantastically dreadful."
Dirk leans against the arm of the couch, cigarette hand scratching his forehead. "Don't you think," he asks, "that people cling to the painful memories because there is nothing else here to fill the void?" It seems like a genuine question, too, like he's very curious to see how Rogue will answer this.
The Rogue took a deep breath. He wanted to react, to lash out, but as always, his reaction was one to take action and that action was to assess and quickly. He let the words of the Englishman come apart like candy floss to be considered, distilled for their intent. Finally he offered in a tired tone, curious with the man rather than bring any anger upon a misplaced target. "Eeeh I think pain's all we got. From all I have heard no one has come out with a happy ending. I lived. I had... an amazing wife that loved me and made me make myself a better person. A child... a family. I was part of all I could want and even with the high price paid? We made it work. They brought me back and all of it? Gone man. I'm not the only one it happened to, but that even success just makes it hurt more. So I think pain's all we have because experience makes us real maybe?" He paused and asked the dangerous question, "Am I even real? We don't even fekkin know, mate."
Derrick nods slowly, then takes an even slower drag off the cigarette. "If experience makes us real," he asks, "then am I a figment of your imagination?" Again, he looks steadily at the Rogue, curious to see what he will say.
The Rogue just watched and quietly held his breath really thinking about that. He never felt his eyes welling up but that was a real and tactile fear. A total inability to read himself anymore. No ability to tell fabrication from reality. He wiped the saline from his cheeks and calmly said, "I dunno man. I can't. Maybe none of us can answer that but how we handle ourselves/ Maybe that's the test. Maybe... I dunno. We cna only deal with what we have to work with and then, test it to see if the boundaries are even real. Maybe nothing's real until we find the edge of it."