Log:Cuts Both Ways

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Cuts Both Ways
Characters  •   The Bon-Vivant  •  The Rogue  •
Location  •  Facility - Bon-Vivant's Room after Reset
Date  •  2019-03-08
Summary  •  Rogue keeps his promise of finding his friend after first trauma. A test and a talk go south quickly as unfamiliar territory becomes a field of thing, jagged ice. Sometimes compliance is the wrong answer.

Rogue lets the reset pass being Champ surfaced and was at least, on the surface, functional. Still, there's a promise he gave and while he is by nature a bit underhanded he is still a man of his word. So why is he still sitting still? Because while he is indigenous to change he's also allergic to it.

The reset comes though so he's finding these thoughts all alone in his head in his own bed which is exactly where he wasn't last. Back in his t-shirt and BDUs. Well at least they're comfy. Feet slap to the polished wood floor and he starts through his enclosed bunker of a room to the door to barrel across the hall to Champ's door across. Hand finds the carving of the celebrant figure engraved on it under his fingers, briefly letting muscle memory memorize it again before turning the knob and popping the door open.

The Bon-Vivant's woken alone again, but he probably went to bed alone, this time. It's not something he's done much in the last year or so of subjective life, though, even if an awful lot of that time feels weirdly distant and detached. He still knows he didn't. He still knows the panic that hit his other self some mornings that no one was there. And he still knows he didn't like it much before that life, either.

But he also knows he's, in a weird way, home, now. So when that door opens -- and it is still unlocked -- he's still in the bed, albeit sitting up and looking toward the door. Unlocked or not, he didn't exactly expect it to open, and whatever he might have been thinking about is pretty effectively interrupted as he turns his attention to that. It means, of course, that he looks just like yesterday. Except for the part where there's blankets. He hasn't joined the wear-your-blankets fad as yet.

Rogue pushes the door open sliding in the door. He knows there's only one person in there, and the person he's looking for because it's the one thing reset is good for. Still he's barging into his friend's room and closest confidant or not the world has changed and things are not as they left them before the Lake and the Rogue approaches with a bit of caution and concern there.

"Eish, boet, it's just me. Been loud. Thought I'd come look in on you." All that said he still lets himself in letting the door shut almost entirely. "I can jam if you're sleeping and want to be left, or-" He gives the decision over to dealer's choice.

The questioning look turns to something brighter when it's clear who's stepping in, and the Rogue earns a grin that probably would've lasted longer if 'puzzled' didn't manage to take over again. "I've been loud?" he asks, sounding as if this seems like probably the wrong interpretation to him, but he can't think of one that makes more sense. Regardless, there's a quick shake of the head at the offer to leave, and he pats the bed beside him in invitation, instead. They've sat up in that position before, though the bed was a fair bit closer to made at the time.

Rogue abandons the door to close and invites himself in falling into their familiar pattern as he had many times before reset. He's still the same face BV would recognize, though better shaven and a scant bit more neat than usual. Hand flaps by his head waving off the confusion, "Them. Not you." He falls back into place with a sit. Hand finds the side of Champ's face with a familiar pat pulling his forehead to his with the smile warding of the ghosts of other concerns. "Meant what I said earlier. I am glad to see you back. Worried up until then but your wall is fixed so no harm, no foul, ja?" Eyes quint really doing a quiet close up assessment of him cutting all the corners, "How you holding up?"

Almost funny that Fizz is currently a bit more disheveled than usual in return. Just woke up, after all, no time yet to shave or do anything different with his hair for the day. He doesn't actually say 'oh, /them/' aloud, but it's clear enough in his expression and the slow lift and drop of his chin in response as the Rogue settles up into place. The pat gets an answering smile, one that spreads further at the forehead to forehead touch, and the Bon-Vivant closes his eyes for a moment, taking a slow and quiet breath. "Glad to see you too," he murmurs, even if, technically, he currently can't.

He opens his eyes again as he's being assessed, and there's a slight hesitation that greets the last question. Overall, he looks essentially BVish, but there are subtle differences from before. Still a sense of questions, but a slightly changed flavour to that uncertainty, at present. "I'm okay," he answers, "I think. I thought it'd be worse, really. But I liked Scott. And some of what he went through was-- pretty bad." For a moment, there's a more haunted look, but he pushes it away, saying, "But a lot of the people he cared about are here, now, and it seems like people still care even now they're not the same people, and... some of them aren't dead." His eyes study the other man's for a moment, for all that it's hard to focus quite that close. "Aren't gone. There's good things about coming back." Another pause, and almost carefully, "How 'bout you?"

The Rogue brushes his thumb across that cheek no longer scratched and bruised from fights and evacuating burning buildings only really registering all the shit that he saw and how very at fault he was for some of that. His jaw tightens and while he wants to say It's fine he offers truth, "That was rough. Won't lie. Heh, even there you had my back. You didn't let me down, Champ." The smile warms not addressing being fried alive or the hell they walked through. Tilting his head up he presses a kiss to his friend's forehead and pulls him into a hug. "Hurt. Scary as hell. We did what we could. You did all you could with what little you have and I'm fekkin proud of you, boet." It merits a non-patronizing pat on the back which he grants just holding onto him a moment. "When I ...died," He's just going to have to get comfortable saying that, "I woke back here. Both eyes, fine, nothing hurt. Didn't know that at the time but it was alright, but the tele in the parlor? Broadcast all of that. The wakes the suffering, the fear."

The Bon-Vivant's arms start to creep around the Rogue around the time he tilts his head up, a bit more tentatively than they might have on the night before the Lodge. A bit more than they did, in fact. But it's not so much that it doesn't go right into a proper hug again immediately when he's pulled in, fairly fierce for a moment, and he's clearly in no hurry to let go.

"I-- heard," he says, "About things being on the TV. Still not sure how I feel about that, except..." He pauses, and then there's a little smile. "No, I think I'm kind of glad. Not that I wanted any of you to have to see us scared and hurt and... all of that. But you would have worried anyway, not knowing. And as it is, I know there's things people saw that made them happy, also. Made them know they were remembered and loved." A pause, tilting his head to better see the Rogue's expression again. "The rest can't have been easy to watch, though." A pause. "We did what we could. We did our best. And... that was pretty good, considering." His lips press together a moment. "It broke them all, though. Even the ones who lived. They saved the world and then had to try to put themselves back together. Kinda doesn't seem fair."

The Rogue does, eventually let go and use both hands pull away to run his face a couple times, "Ja ja." There's the nod of agreement, "I think, honestly, having done it elsewise? Surviving's worse. Seems to be the consensus. You wake up feeling miserable and drunk on regret and rage. The survivors? Well they have to deal with the aftermath don't we? The absence, the regret, the what different could we have done. But we keep fighting on, huh?"

He considers people missing his and he shakes his head, "Maybe a bit. I'd rather be there though. Rather fight with my people. There's a certain ... thing that just sucks about having to watch and being able to offer no solace. No comfort. Can't say I have the stomach for it. That said?" He shakes his head, "I just regret not telling everyone to leave the room first. But you're...right on that." The smile returns to him, to in joy, just glad of the company. "Doesn't seem fair at all. It'll be weird. We'll work through it though." The Rogue falls quiet and looks down at his hands resting on his knees where he sits in the temporary quiet. The silence breaks with the assurance, "You're not broken. You're not less, Champ."

"Scott was," Fizz says, with a small, wry smile. "Broken, not less. ...but he was healing." He's quiet a breath, then lifts his head to look at the Rogue more directly again, "Thank you. For not thinking I am." He remembers that conversation, of course; making that request. It may not be a 100%% precise mapping, but it's more than close enough.

He's sitting with his hands resting in his lap, now, one absently picking at the thumb of the other, and takes a turn to be quiet. "I guess I'll know for sure when I die in one of these. But yeah, we-- they-- we and they keep fighting on. A lot of things are weird, what does and doesn't carry over, that's weird." And abruptly, "We probably wouldn't have gone. Out of the room, I mean, not fast enough. Talking them into leaving you to do it alone? Kinda not seeing how that one would've worked." His pronouns are wavering a bit again.

The Rogue warms a wry grin as he listens to the assessment; that mischief climbing into his eyes glancing back to Once-Scott. "You know I'd have lied and said I was right behind ya. But, ja, maybe you're right." he doesn't correct the pronouns or seem to have a preference for what BV should do with them either. Still the question had to come up at some point, and while it was one he didn't want to have to ask the Rogue is one to rip the band-aid off. "We kiff? We still okay? I mean I know the world's changed." His hand flaps a gesture at the door, "The past too apparently, but are we still alright?"

The Bon-Vivant gives a breath of a laugh at the mischief and the reply, but the question makes him quiet again. 'Yes, of course' would be easy. And maybe true, even. But he thinks, instead, and ends up with, "I hope so? I want to be. I just don't know..." How to end that sentence, apparently, since it trails off to him thinking once more.

When he does continue, it's fairly sudden again, with the same more direct look that preceded the thanks. "I don't know if it's still okay that I want to kiss you. I don't know if things from there, like... override things from here. They don't for me, but I didn't-- wake up there in love with someone. And Scott wasn't all that great at the feelings part of things so I kind of still don't know what I'm doing." The words come a little bit fast, something bordering on defiant in them as though they need that extra determination to come out. "As far as that. So. We're all right. I just. I don't know what shape all right is."

The Rogue gives Champ the benefit of his undivided attention with a slow nod. Aaah the messy shit. His hand rubs his face once more. His hand reaches over to take one of Champ's and give it a squeeze and admits, "I dunno either. First for me. Used to waking up to a drink and a hole in my heart the size of a fist." Which explains maybe why there's a drink on his counter pre-poured every reset. Who really knows. There's conflict on his face but his head shakes. He apparently doesn't know either. "I won't lie it's been strange and great and... weird." Looking up he says quietly, "I want us to be okay too. I think we're all figuring everything out. Addie's door changed. Not her there and that just means she's... just forever gone." His brow furrows looking to the Bon-Vivant who has as little clue about the phenom as he has. "Weird being just... official." His hand lifts and gestures to the door shaking his head with more than one emotion there. "I will promise you are never not important to me, boet,. A hundred lives does not change this." He pauses with that dimpled grin coming back, "Unless you hunt me down in like... thirty of them. My cut off limit for enmity is 25."

The Bon-Vivant accepts the squeeze, and listens. Of course he listens. There are small nods in the fairly appropriate spots; there's even a breath of a laugh at the cut-off for enmity, though the smile that goes with it is tiny and wry. It takes a moment before he says quietly, "I still don't know what that means, though. In practice. You're my friend no matter what, I'm not going anywhere." A tiny pause, and with a touch of dark humour, "I mean, where would I go, the dining room?"

This time the pause is slightly longer, and he glances toward the bookshelves, possibly toward the boombox that sits on one of them now. "There are people here I care about now because Scott cared about the people they were then. Some of them he cared about-- a lot. I think he might've been in love with Sonya, by the time we woke up. Though that's in the memories that don't connect right." He takes a slower breath, focus moving to his hands. "I wanted to see her. I wanted to see them. And-- maybe see if there was still something with some people, because there's a lot of Scott that's still in me. But when I woke up I looked for you first. Because I'm /not/ Scott. I'm me. And I wasn't looking for Lyle. I was looking for you." This time it's the door his gaze falls on for the moment. "I know things now that I didn't know before. But I don't know what to do with it."

His fingers tap once against his leg, and he leans back against the head of the bed, his own head tilting back so that he's looking at the ceiling. Even more quietly, nearly to himself, he says, "But this part feels familiar."

Rogue glances the room to the door following his conversation and back with a wry grin. "Yeah. Place ain't too big." A quiet chuckle surfaces. "I am glad for that. I know why you're putting it off." He flops back pulling his knee up watching the ceiling listening. The truth of why he was being looked for pulls his attention sideways to where Chance is speaking. The expression is not unaffected, "When I got back I didn't know if Addie would even be interested in remembering or want to be rid of everything that reminds her of Prosperity. But... " a nod of encouragement to BV. "At least find out. I mean this time? About ate me alive." Fingers comb through his hair shaking his head, "It's a part of me. It's not all of me but a real part. That love and that fear? Put in there with what I had, and what I lost...It's a part of me now and maybe always was." Looking over the smile warms, "I did not come here, boet, because I simply said I would. We're still on this trip. I just ask you don't fault me for things I absolutely cannot help." Looking around the room he grins, "Tell me something of that you did like. The lake."

The Bon-Vivant doesn't say anything immediately, still studying the ceiling. It's wood. There's a couple strange rectangles with rounded corners in it, that look a lot like the recessed cupboard doors that cover one wall of the room. It is not otherwise fascinating, and is very unlikely to contain anything he hasn't thoroughly exhausted the looking-at possibilities of already. It gets studied some more anyway. Then he closes his eyes, though he doesn't otherwise move. "...look," he says, no louder than before, "Can you please just. Straight-out. Tell me no. That it's Ethan and only Ethan forever and ever amen. Just. /Say/ it. Please." There's a lot less expression in it than how he usually talks; it sounds tired on a level deeper than he could probably even have found, before they woke up in Oregon. The lids lift again. The focus is still apparently on the fine chestnut planking above.

The Rogue squints a look to Champ and looks like he just got hit with ice water which he won't say is unfair. His hands slide underneath himself and push himself back to a sit. His eyes cast hard where the wall meets the floor for a long moment and he says quietly, but clearly, "No, then." He draws a deep breath and shakes his head. The words come quick and clean, but there's no joy in hurting Champ's feelings with them, and no celebration. "I love em. I tried to live for em, and had to die and waited twenty-five years as a spectra." Another mystery he can't explain and finds frustration in all the same. "Forever and ever it is then." He looks back to to Champ and it weighs on him with wet eyes and decision in the expression. "If you need to hear it, there. It's not to hurt you, boet. I'm sorry it is."

"Lyle did." Still quiet; it's a distinction BV's going to insist on, one that /matters/ to him, but not an argument. There is, instead, a tiny nod, and a long, slow, silent breath, his jaw clenching and then releasing before he finally leaves the ceiling alone again. It's to look down at his hands in his lap again, but at least it's a change. "Thank you," is all he says then, and he actually turns to look at the Rogue afterward, for long enough to lean and give him a soft, brief kiss on the cheek. Back to the way he was facing, and he draws his knees up under the covers, wrapping his arms around them. He still manages to keep his voice reasonably level, even if the excuse-making might leave something to be desired. "I gotta do a thing. I'll find you later, Boet."

The Rogue just stares at the floor, sweat on his brow like he'd just been pulled through the ringer. In truth they both had but when the distinction is drawn for him on who he is there's a whiplash reaction. His head snaps up, eyes tired and red in the the short span of the 20 minutes it took to talk. It's not a conscious thing but his limbs pull in. A nod slowly follows more from him telling him limbs what they're going to do than casual, natural inclination. Fingers curl up and lightly tap the bunched covers. "I understand, boet." Yeah, he still uses the word even if trying not show his hand. Still his jaw tightens and quietly he adds quietly, "I am all of me. Maybe I liked that life, bru. We are allowed. You are too, but if you got a line... I'll respect it." Sliding to his feet his hand raises like he's going to try to offer... something, but the words become a quiet nod, fingers curl into a small ball to gently tap the inside of the door frame. "Yeah. Find me later when you're done." He'll leave the door open on it. With that he slides out into the hall and closes the door behind him. He can be heard leaning on the door a moment pulling his shit together before crossing the hall back into the bunker.