Log:Rogues Bearing Gifts
The Rogue found Champ's door toward the front of the all on the opposite end where he and Sebastian's were next door. A figure holding up a champagne glass? Eh how many could there be? The back of two knuckles knocked on the door and for as much inviting himself into places as he did he waited.
Entire champagne bottle! But to be fair, those other partygoers do look like they've got the glasses. There's not too long to wait after the knock -- a bit of a rustle inside, and then the door opens, revealing the man in question. He looks curious at first, breaking into a grin when he sees who it is, and stepping back to open the door further and invite him in with a gesture just short of Vanna White, not that he's ever heard of her. Yet.
The Bon-Vivant's wearing dark blue silk pyjama pants, hair currently down to about his shoulders and beard quite short, but complete. No shave or trim since he woke most recently, it seems. There's a couple books on the bedside table, along with a glass and a bottle mostly-full of what looks like probably whiskey, if one's looking at details.
And if one is, there are a lot of them to see. The floor and furniture are dark wood, as are two walls -- one to the left, made almost entirely of shelving with all kinds of interesting things on it which surrounds a large fireplace, and one to the right that seems full of handle-less cupboards -- and a pair of pillars to either side of the head of the bed, behind which is a wall of rough grey stone blocks. The other walls are covered in grasscloth, there's a sheepskin rug by the bed and furs by the fire, the bed itself is large and covered in crisp cotton and cashmere and nubby iridescent silk, and there's a small grouping of seats and cushions making an area by the fireplace as well. There's a hell of a lot of texture in the place, most of it pretty luxurious, and nearly everything looks well-made and probably expensive. Most exceptions are on the shelves -- one low, tall one, for example, currently holds what appears to be a somewhat beat-up traffic cone loosely wrapped in a sparkly, thick feather boa.
The Rogue had a tray, up and aloft out of view with those clever, nimble fingers. There was a quick inventory of the situation, environment, size up threats and tiny details to lead to deductions later...and a slow pause on that widening grin slowly matched to his own. "I heard some things and thought you might appreciate a surprise, company or at least surprise company, Champ."
The Rogue was always dressed casual with more pockets than a normal garment would merit. He stepped into the room, found a surface, and invaded like he does, being mindful of the finish even if it'll reset tomorrow. The tray had: a carrot cake, a bowl of chocolate covered donuts with broken bits of oreo on them, beignets, hot chocolate, and a bottle of Amarula. He let Champ tae in the cugar soaked mess and turned to him with a double pat to BV's cheek. "I take care of my own. How you really holdin up?"
However the Bon-Vivant may have been feeling before, he looks quite pleased right now, closing the door behind the Rogue as he watches the other man enter and set down that interesting tray. There's a couple places it can go -- a small table between the chairs in that seating group might be handiest, though the foot of the bed would probably work as well. The head of it's too messy, adding to the suggestion of the night-table that he's been hanging out there recently.
The pat makes him smile a bit more lightly than the grin, and he replies to it initially by giving the guy a hug; it's somewhat impulsive, and he almost looks startled about it himself for a moment. But then again, he's new enough it might be the first one he's ever tried, as far as he knows. "I'm pretty sure I always appreciate surprises and company," he says, "And probably surprise company."
He gives the tray a closer look, clearly intrigued by some of the items on it, before looking back to the Rogue, expression a little more thoughtful. "I think," he says slowly, "that I'm mostly doing okay right now. But I'm glad you're here, 'cause I didn't really want to hang out alone, but I didn't want to deal with people debating the meaning of life and if we can escape it and all again today, either. Woke up feeling frustrated just thinking about that... so I stayed in. How're /you/ doing?"
The Rogue turned and wrapped his tired arms around the guy getting their second wind. Hugs? Sure. Apparently Champ was on the short list of people he'd bridge that gap for and once past that defensive perimeter matrix? Well there was a person in there. Shit he'd let him stay there all damn day if he needed to.
"Scared the shit out of me, ya know, in a sense when i heard. I mean... I told ya. it's gonna happen, but I also told ya I'd make sure I had your back when it started. It's going... to be terrible. We can make right now alright though. You pointed that out t'me." He ell quiet and listened nodding slowly, "Yeah, being alone in your head? Not very kiff. Drives us a bit daft. S'why I was grateful yoooou came to find me and shove me out of the sky. Sometimes the right people at the right time can make a world of difference."
When asked how he was doing his eye twinged. that grief was never going to be absent. You don't forget things that big didn't happen. A faint smile flashed on his face and hit his eyes, relaxed, "Right now? Pretty damn good. I thought a lot about what you've been saying and what you haven't. while I can't accept the things that happened I can choose to make them mean something and make me better for them. What I lost? Astounding. What I can gain every day? perhaps as much so. Won't know unless I take a bash at it so... hurts, but, we're on our feet.." Those blue eyes squint and took a better inventory of the room and back shrugging, "At least my wounds are because something was good, or maybe I'm fortunate. I dunno I don't have all the answers yet but, eh, maybe we'll find some." He stole another hug and reminded quietly, "We're fightin, but we're not fighting it alone and that's somethin. now you gonna help me eat those beignets or not, Champ?" There was that rakish grin that warmed back up with an agenda to it.
The Bon-Vivant grins again at 'shove me out of the sky', though it doesn't stick; fades to something much fainter at the answer to how Caleb's doing. He's more than happy to return that stolen hug (or maybe, if it's stolen, it's being reclaimed?) and leaves an arm across the other man's shoulders afterward, giving a light squeeze as he turns his attention to that tray again, the grin returning. "'course I am!" he declares, "...which ones are beignets?" That, apparently, is not one of the random bits of information the place saw fit to prime him with, though in a pinch he could probably guess, given that cake and donuts, though not looking quite like those, likely are.
He picks up the bottle, though, examining that; there's a fair bit of the aforesaid knowledge categorized as 'drinks', but this bottle doesn't ring any of those bells, and requires a closer look. "...and for the record, I'll happily shove you out of the sky any time. Have you met Cheer, yet? She wants to try it, too -- so does Arthur. And she found books about things like roller skating, which is great, and hang-gliding, which we didn't try but you should come too when we do." A sidelong look, "We fell down, skating, and got a little banged up. But she said, you know, every time she's fallen down, it was fun in some way. Worth it. I mean..." The glance drifts off to nothing in particular in the room a moment, and he says, "I get the impression there's a pretty big difference in scale. And I 'spect once I go through one of those other lives I'll get it more. But it seems like the same kind of thing: at least the wounds are for something good." As usual, and as one might expect given his situation, it's got the sense of thinking things through, rather than sharing a previous thought.
He sets the bottle down, and correctly picks up the beignets, offering them to the Rogue first, finally asking, "...what did you hear?"
The Rogue arched an eyebrow, "Cookie? Yeah I met her. Not the most situation sensitive but it's hard to be when you have no way of having scope. It's just... hard. She's giving though and that's got to go for a lot. Just I dunno many blokes ready necessarily to move at that speed." He beignets looked like square donuts shaped like tiny throw pillows covered in calories and powdered sugar. His eyes slooooowly closed shut at the acquisition of sheer decadence. "Some of us just need the right person to be patient and walk with us instead of telling us to just ignore the path because it's sunny somewhere." Brow furrowed and he looked to Champ and said in all earnestness, "Holy shite. It's so decadent that it tastes like a pastry trying to imitate Driscoll. try this now."
The squeeze to the shoulder was returned and he considered the offer. "Yeah, I think you could convince me to go. "I heard you were feeling a bit rough round the edges. Everyone's dealing with some pretty grim shite, yours truly," he added gesturing to himself. "It's a lot to take in in a rather unfriendly manner, true or not. It's just..." The words faded off at the difficult crux of the topic. In the end he shook his head and looked a bit contrite, "Not something you should have to deal with alone. It matters to me and if I can alleviate that? Well, it's a kindness paid back I don't mind paying. This place doesn't have much of that."
"She's even newer than me," BV agrees, presumably about no way of having scope; it can be difficult for him too, after all, even if he's not so bad at reading what seems to be going on with the 'older' archetypes as he might be. Tiny delicious throw-pillows definitely demand attention though, particularly when they get an expression (and instruction) like that, and he sets the plate down, picking up one of the beignets itself instead. "Driscoll?" he asks, but the question's not enough to delay him taking a bite of the pastry. It makes his eyes close as well as he eats it, and a grin spreads back into place as he swallows the bite and they open again. "Oh, yeah, that's... that can go with the sushi and that steak and the whiskey and that chocolate cake." Probably not literally. The approval is obvious, though, even before he immediately takes another bite. Talking can wait a moment more.
The squeeze is one he leant lightly into, and though the words got a nod, there wasn't an immediate reply -- not while there was pastry to sample, anyway. Now, though, as he swallows that second bite, there's a bit of that considering look again, and another nod that isn't obviously attached to anything until he says, "I think there's stuff about this that you've gotta figure out how to deal with no matter which direction you show up from. But not having to do it all alone's one thing this place's got in its favour, right? We've got each other." Not entirely clear if he intends the general everyone-here sort of we, the specific pair-of-them we, or both... but really, any of them work.
The Rogue tilted his head to the side and had to agree, but always had a counter not ever putting all his chips to ride on a whim. He still seemed to lay low and calculate risk. "Doesn't stop that feeling that sometimes we're the only ones that give a shit. I could be projecting, but I think that's still a commonality." Hey he could admit he might be so far into his own head he factors things are just like that.
There was a lean and as such he seemed disinclined to move from that spot. He pointed to the bottle. "That, me good chummie, is a bit of home brought back. Aaaah It's sort of like a creme liquor, but made from a fruit. Not terribly like rum chatta sans cinnamon. Best in large quantities... because it's bloody amazing." He side glanced to Beard-Vivant and offered, "A good number of people in here are made to do things they don't want, and learn terrible truths of things they are capable of they can't reconcile but it becomes all they have. Doesn't have to be all we have I don't think."
"So I suppose that's my message for you, Champ. I don't want you to feel you're the only one that gives a fig. You get stuck you're welcome to find me. I consider it taking our autonomy back from the many many ways they are trying to control us. Taking those small motes for ourselves. Build something out of it maybe." The shoulder under his hand rose and fell with a chagrined smile, "That's what I got out of our sky diving trip. That and let's hope all things at terminal velocity fall at the same rate because being crushed by a whole ocean? Well that'd epically suck. so... cake. Sushi? what's sushi?"
The Bon-Vivant seems a lot more likely to go all-in on an impulse, really. Then again, he's at least shown he's capable of thinking about how things work and how to get them to do what you had in mind -- when it comes to the tech, anyway. 'People' might be different. Also actual poker.
A small nod at the first remark, thoughtful again, and he's clearly perfectly happy to stay where he is for the moment, even as the drink's pointed out. He doesn't go for it immediately, despite clear interest, perhaps partly because he has the last bite or two of that beignet to eat, and is definitely going to do so. It keeps him quiet while the Rogue goes on, as well, which means that when he does speak, it's catching the very last part. "Oh!" he exclaims, looking to the guy, with a gesture of his free hand that's the baby cousin to a point, "I have /definitely/ got to show you sushi. It's basically seafood and rice, when you get right down to it, but it's amazing. And we should definitely drink that," a tilt of his head to indicate the bottle, "also."
A little less energetically, though no less sincerely, he says, "You're welcome to find me, too. And I think-- we're probably not the only ones who care, not really. Definitely not the only ones who're inclined to build what we can out of what we have, whatever else is out there; I met Kylie last night, for one, and she seems to see it more that way than some of the others, too. Oh," a small smile, one that widens, "and I poked at names some more -- kind of literally. She told me about this thing poking randomly at a page in a book of names, so I tried that. It gave me 'Felix', which I do kind of like, but I've been thinking I might see how I feel about 'Fizz'." A tiny pause, and one corner of the smile moves up a touch further, the regard a little more sidelong as he adds, "For other people." Champ must feel about right from him.
The Rogue listened and wasn't appalled by seafood. OK, yes. he absolutely was when Loner was trying to use it to torture people with. That... that was not OK. So not OK. "That sounds rather amazing actually. I think I like fish?" He wasn't sure?! Welcome to the facility. He leaned back comfortably shifting weight into one leg. "Ya know funny enough?" The drawl from the South continent lingering thoughtfully, "Not much in the way of fish in space or the middle of the scrub-lands."
The talk of names came up and he had to laugh like the rest of the world was just on pause, real enough, but compartmentalized for now, "Aaaaah ya know I almost picked Felix." That pause though brought an almost smug satisfaction and agreed, "For other people caaaaause I'm still callin you Champ." Flint blue eyes flashed a wink confirming their agreement on this.
He makes a chompy bite for the beignet Champ was working on, because indulgence was there to be indulged in. "Talk to me. What are you finding you're concerned about What are you afraid of? What do you want? Are we going to sit up in here until that entire cake is gone? Because honestly I don't mind. The break from waves of everyone's anger and denial? Kinda nice."
Another grin at the not-quite-sureness about liking fish -- or the interest in trying it regardless, perhaps -- which manages to widen for the near choice of the name, and even further at the confirmation of their agreement, with a single nod, up and then down. He doesn't actually /say/ 'good', but he might as well have. There's nowhere else for it to go but a laugh when the Rogue makes a chomp for that last bite of the beignet, and surely there can be no finer sign of friendship than the fact that it isn't yanked away, but rather popped into the mouth when the teeth part again. Okay, it's not like there aren't more of them available whenever they want, granted, but all the same. Self-sacrifice!
The Bon-Vivant starts to go a bit more serious with those questions, brow furrowing, but the last of them makes him grin again, if more briefly, and consider the cake. "We could probably get through it," he decides, "if it's as good as it looks from here." He unwinds from the lean, stepping toward the bed and tugging the various linens up more neatly, though only roughly -- one good yank, really, just to make it smooth enough that he can move the tray over there and leave room for both of them to sit. Clearly the best place to eat cake. "And I don't think I had any other plans on the agenda," he replies as he does, "so if you don't either..." Another quick grin while he's turning to grab the tray and move it across.
Quick, because then he's thinking on the questions again. "I think I've been concerned about..." He trails off, brow furrowing again. "Hm." Sitting on the edge of the bed, he makes a gesture to invite company. "Thank you for giving me a name," he says then, not quite a non sequitur as it turns out. "It made it feel more like there's a me. Which sounds kind of dumb when I say it out loud, but you wake up and you don't remember anything about basically anything, even who you are, you just kind of know a jumble of stuff about a world that isn't quite where you are and isn't quite not, you can't not think about things all the time. And when you start it feels like all of you is everywhere and nowhere, flying off into space like someone turned the gravity off, with nothing to coalesce around. That was kind of concerning." The others he doesn't address yet, though it's more one-thing-at-a-time than a refusal.
The man who was seemingly only known as Caleb to most, and Sinclair to others, let the limbs unwind and grabbed the bottle of liquor he anted up and didn't follow so much as head over to the glass of whiskey left half standing. The Rogue picked up the glass and lifted it to Champ in a 'cheers' gesture and drank the man's nightcap. There was a statement for you. What that statement was? Well, one might need to be them to know.
He did follow good company and too many damn deserts and sat down, set the bottle on the tray and flopped back listening and fishing up a tiny donut. "My time's all yours. Besides, this is important." Brow knit thoughtfully as Champ built the picture slowly. These were not the things someone blew the doors open on for men like them if they wanted areal fucking answer. Caleb knew like for like and seemed content in exercising patience as the other man worked through the first part of a thought and deflected going around the proverbial building.
"It's a great way to feel torn apart, and no way to get enough ground to get one's bearings. I hear ya." The faint flinch of his eyes marked a sympathy and comisseration for the experience. "It's terrifying. Not something chasing you scary. That we can do something about. 'can I trust myself is this real?' scary...yeah."
He fell quiet and rolled his head to look back admiring the dedication to keep his shit together and work through it. The smile though returned, subdued, but honest, "Well, either way, I'm glad it helped. Besides, I like the name, you earned it, aaaaand I wasn't going to not call you it anyways. It's serving a purpose."
The Bon-Vivant gives a soft snort of a laugh as what remains of his drink gets downed, and takes one of the little donuts as well, looking the topping over; looks tasty, just new. Pops it into his mouth and eats it with evident appreciation as the other man talks, nodding at the assertion that it's scary. And for a moment, he does look uncomfortable, as though some of that's creeping back in, but he shakes it off, shifting position a little, and returns the smile. "I kinda feel like I should have some kind of nickname for you," he muses, but really, he doesn't know enough about the whole name situation yet. What he does have in his from-somewhere knowledge doesn't quite line up with the reality he actually knows, and the idea of whether names 'fit' or not is pretty sharp in his consciousness at present. So there's no attempt to do anything about it right now... just what one might be inclined to take as a warning for future.
That whole cake gets another look, and the bottle as well, as if weighting what order to address them in; meanwhile, he says, "If I think about it too much, I'm a little afraid about what'll come from going on an Encounter, but I think more worried that it might happen before I feel like I've figured enough out here. I'm starting to feel like I know some of who I am, what kind of things I like and don't and how I want to do things, and that's-- a lot better. But if I'm going to be starting out with this life, not coming to it from another one, I want to feel like I have a handle on it on its own, if you get what I mean. Makes me want to get to know people, too, before that happens."
The Rogue arched both eyebrows concerned, curious, and in the end of it all? Bemused. Well that was somethin, and not even a bad something. He rolled a shoulder and stretched his arm across the gap and rest the back of his knuckles to his arm as if Hey, belay the second tiny donut a sec. "First off? I think that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in the facility right next to 'Hey, Sinclair, I don't think you're a total piece of rubbish for leaving us all t'die in space." He paused and he rotated in his hand in a Don't ask. Hey, at least the sentiment was genuine.
Rolling to his side he let the cunning thoughtful engine of his brain whirr into puzzle assembly mode. "Sooo, how about this, we make an agreement, hmm?" He let the offer linger but didn't wait on it being it wasn't until halfway down Bon-Vivant thought about parachutes. "The agreement being one? Seriously call me what you want, or change it every day if it moves ya. I'm a mite big fan of more anyways. It's the consideration I think what counts anyways."
"Two?" His index and pinky finger counted off the items. He thought about how to word what he wanted to say and it wasn't sitting right. 'Hmmm Two at the very least? Even if we're set at war with one another? We call a truce, rally back here, my bunker, wherever we have to, cake or no cake, and get it sorted out. Reality will change and maybe if we have a rallying plan Maybe that'll help. Seems to work for some of the others."
The pause was pronounced and a shadow passed over him. Yeah. His last rally plan didn't really pan out much did it? Still it wasn't exactly about him. This one took a minute, but he was moving forward gaining the ground he was able to today. Every day more. Sober he looked back to Champ and murmured with a hitch of feeling betraying him, "I'm glad I got to know you before, eventually again, and whatever we gotta do? Fuck it. We'll do it. Whatever we wanna do? We'll do that too... with great panache, and fantastic style that will scare the piss off the people that built this place." He hand extended out as he popped the other tiny donut in his mouth. He pointed to teh now empty whiskey glass withthe finger not holding the donut, "Whatever that was too? You have good taste."
The Bon-Vivant belays donut #2, if he was about to try for it -- which, honestly, the chances are pretty good there, and if it wasn't the donut it would probably have been something else -- and listens. That first-off gets a smile, distinct from the grin, even if the remark it's on a par with gets a somewhat more bemused reaction. He probably would have asked, too, though at least there's a good chance he'd have assumed it did indeed make sense in context and there'd been a good reason. No one's told him much about the space scenario, but he does know there were aliens, and that in at least this case, that was a bad thing.
He nods to the suggestion of an agreement, more of an 'okay, I'm listening' than anything else. Number One has him smiling again, a small one that comes with an even smaller inclination of his head, though it's enough to make a bit of his hair fall into his face. It's mobile when he leaves it that length. Number Two gets more of a proper nod, this one much more clearly assent, even before he offers a hand toward the pointing one, capturing it for a firm shake. Another of those little social things the place decided qualified as what a new amnesiac should know. And absolutely not to protect the remaining donut long enough that he can claim that one for himself with the other hand. That's just a bonus.
"Deal, Beignet," he says, with a quick grin underlining the off-the-cuff nickname of the moment, "If things get weird out there, we'll sort them out back here." It's subsided to a smaller, and slightly more crooked smile, and he continues, "I'm glad I got to know you, too. And yeah, we will, with panache and elan and savoir faire and probably more whiskey," he indicates that bottle still sitting on the nightstand, the same golden liquid visible within, "'cause it's got even better taste than me." The grin breaks free again, and he tosses that tiny donut into his mouth; there's plenty about their world that's less than ideal, but he can't help being reasonably pleased with it, just right now.