Log:Final Hours on the Clock
There wasn't a television. Now there is. But there's no news. No movies. Nothing to binge watch. Not even a remote. The Hunter already tried examining the setup; the edges, the screen itself. No volume? No power? No input, output. No way to adjust the vertical or horizontal. Just that timer counting down, down, down...
She sits now, on a sofa facing the screen, with a bowl of fried rice with shrimp and steak and veggies. Yoga pants and a tank top: casual wear after a light workout. Not being able to run is kind of miserable, but she's been making do. She's using a fork to eat. Sure, chopsticks were provided, but this is easier. Lazy. There's a glass of wine on the table. No whiskey at the moment... sometimes you just have to go with something for a change of pace. Her amber eyes are locked to the screen, just staring at the dwindling minutes. There's just a few hours to go.
The Capitalist, himself, was still at the dispensary waiting on his own meal to magically be served up. Just the idea that something was being count down to didn't sit well with him. He's been blown up twice already, though he's only remembered it happening the once and for all he knows, this countdown was leading up to a similar fate. So while the others may sit and watch, eyes peeled on the ever changing numbers on the screen, he takes this time to distract himself, being in no rush to return to view the timer on the big screen. And boy, was it a waste for a screen that size.
Eventually, he makes his return and joins the others in the parlor. If this was to be his last few hours alive? Here? Lucid? He's not sure how to go about thinking of their time here trapped in this place, but if these were his last hours, he figured he'd spoil himself with some steak and lobster, which he most likely will hardly touch, and a bottle of fine wine. No coffee this time around.
While not dressed as casually as he had in the last few days, he is wearing a buttoned down shirt without the suit jacket, a pair of slacks and a tie with dress shoes. Business casual in a sense. On entering the parlor, his eyes immediately notice how much longer they have until who knows what and he settles in on the couch beside Maata, placing his already sliced food items on a nearby table. "Did I miss anything?" He jokes.
Leaning forward to set down her bowl, the Hunter picks up her glass of wine as she unfolds her legs to settle in a little more comfortably and accommodate the Capitalist joining her. There's a small grin in answer to the joke. "Yes. The reigning team scored big, but the underdogs may make back the yardage yet." She winks at him, lifting the glass for a sip. "So, Conrad, what do you think will happen?" There's a slight sobering to her expression before she looks back to the screen.
"I've heard a few theories. A door will open. People will come for us. Something big will appear here for us. More people will come. Some of us will be released. We'll all be released. We'll be killed..."
The Capitalist isn't really hungry when he's settled in, nor was he really when he ordered his food. He's just going through the motions of eating, poking at a slice of steak, the meat just overflows with juices. Despite how well his meal had been cooked or the light banter being tossed out between them both, those numbers were hard to ignore. His dark eyes watch as they change from one to another as he chews, then again as he swallows. "I can't really say." He has his own theories, but this he doesn't want to say aloud less he upsets anyone, especially Maata. "It could mean anything really." He stabs at another slice with his fork, focusing on actually eating to keep his gaze away from the screen. "If anything though, I hope that we'll at least gain some answers from all of this."
Leaning in against the Capitalist, the Hunter is quiet for a moment. She tucks one leg up under her, still holding her glass of wine. Likely sensing his discomfort; the poking at his meal making it obvious enough. "We can only hope," she says quietly. There's another sip from her glass, a glance to the bookshelves, then over to the hallway. "Has anyone tried destroying the television? Seen if it comes back the next day?" She certainly didn't. There's been more time spent together rather than the frenzied, mad need to find a way out. It's more constructive, really. More... something, at least. Probably better for everyone else, too. Maata tilts her head down to rest against his shoulder with a sigh. "I just hope it's a positive change, not a negative one. If only we'd gotten a television that, well, was actually entertaining."
While food was doing nothing for him, the Capitalist knows that alcohol always did the trick and so despite having such a lavish meal prepared for him, he opts to reach for his own filled glass of wine instead. Feeling the Hunter's form leaning against him, it's enough to take his attention away from the television as he turns slightly, content to watch her for a while as he takes a sip from his glass with his other hand. "I haven't asked around, but I hadn't heard the lovely sounds of destruction for a time now." Taking in a deep breath, his eyes look towards the television once again, his head tilting to the side to gently rest against her head for a time. "Maybe if we're lucky, the countdown is just a reminder for 'them', letting them know when the workers will be by to install either cable or the internet. Who knows, we might be getting some streaming services in the next hour or so."
"A reminder that broadcasts to us?" the Hunter looks broadly amused. When he tilts his head against hers, she settles in a bit closer; nuzzling her head into the spot against his shoulder, just under his cheek. She breaths out a small sigh, lifting her glass for another sip. She lowers it to tuck in against her chest, moved to her far hand. The near one drops to rest against his thigh. She gives a small squeeze there, supportive. "I hope you're right, if only because that's one of the better suggestions I've heard yet. Personally, I'm hoping it's a countdown to letting us out of here. I could really go for a run. I haven't felt this cooped up in a while."
There's a moment of quiet before Maata sighs again; something a bit more morose. Much more morose, really. "Have you had any other ideas on how we can... actually wake up together?"
"Hey, they have to let us know too when we'll be getting better programming." The Capitalist says, the slight smile he wears can be heard in his voice as well. "Knowing most cable companies, it will still be an hour or three after the countdown ends before they even show up." Feeling every little shift coming from Maata's side of the couch and then that reassuring squeeze at his thigh, he lowers his hand to press down on top of hers, all the while his gaze remaining on the screen. By now, he's mostly daydreaming, trying to think of what else may be in store for them as they wait here, somewhat obediently to the descending numbers before them.
Then comes the next question, "What do we do once we're outside? Our families think that we're dead. How long has it been since everything that happened on the island?" There is still confusion as to what they would be escaping to, now that he's thinking about it. Was their time on the island all just a shared dream and that they weren't really dead? And what if they were? Where would there be to go?
To the last question asked, it pulls him out of his daydreams and thoughts so that his eyes focus on the timer once more. He bites at his bottom lip as he thinks about the solution to this. "Laying in each other's arms doesn't work. Rope doesn't work." Here, he now licks at his lips at another thought, "I don't even think that my being ins-- that our physical union will prevent it from happening. We don't know why it happens or if there really are people moving us around as we sleep."
"So we return. Become international news when it's discovered that we aren't dead." the Hunter lifts her head so she can take a drink of wine, pressing her lips to his jaw as she does. "Maybe your father will be so overjoyed that you'll get a pass for a while, mm?" There's a bit of a grin that might almost be teasing. "It's been... I don't know." She frowns. Until the screen appeared, tracking time was next to impossible, really. The rest of her glass is drained and she sets it on the table before settling back against him.
The adjustment in wording earns a laugh. "Physical union? Fucking. Just say fucking, Conrad." She prods him a bit in the side, grinning as she tilts her head back against him. "What if we slept elsewhere? In another room. Not- uh, not someone else's room. Like out here. Or in one of our bathrooms?"
The Capitalist can only envision everything that the Hunter describes now about what will happen to them once they leave this place. Though his own interpretation of his reunion with his family is so much different than what she envisions. "More like my parents will be upset when Madison tries to tell them that she's not Madison and I'm sure the blame for everything will rest on my shoulders." His gaze lowers so that he's just staring out at the bottom half of the numbers on the television, just as he lifts his glass for another drink of his wine. "I'm already anticipating the arguments to come."
Maata can go ahead and tell the world exactly what they've been doing, but the Capitalist was only trying to be polite. The whole exchange brings a smile to his face though, but it's a short-lived smile, especially when she continues on about possible ways of tricking the system, whatever system there is, to allow them to wake up together. "I don't... I think it would only be possible if we slept somewhere that they couldn't find us. But that's only my guess."