Log:The Need For A Sibling
This time around in the Facility, The Capitalist had spent much more time alone in his room to contemplate these new memories and trying to piece together more of this mystical, if it were mystical, puzzle. He started out believing that he was Rhys Driscoll and maintained that persona's mannerism and style of dress for quite a while now until most recently when he made a return to the 'suit'. But then again, even Driscoll pretended to be business formal whenever he could. So all of it could still be some rouse.
For now, he's seated at the desk in the corner of the room, dressed more like Driscoll in a grey T-shirt and slacks. It seems like he's going over Conrad's notes or making new notes of his own. A bottle of whiskey can be found resting beside the various sheets of paper that he is now looking over.
The Penitent has been out and about; talking to various people. Mostly people she hasn't had any sort of real connection with previously. Aside from when she woke up and immediately checked on Thorne -- and soon after, the Capitalist -- she's been putting off actually talking to the people she's been closest too. Until now. The knock at the door is soft, and yet also unmistakable. She'd lingered a moment to be as certain as she could that her 'brother' was alone. At least -- there's no voices within.
The knock is followed by her voice, a simple: "It's me." She doesn't just let herself in, however. She waits outside, dressed as usual in her black slacks and white tank top.
He almost expects the door to swing open once the knock is heard. That's how The Hunter usually let herself in. There'd be a knock, followed by a voice, sometimes, but often she would enter without any response from him needed. When the door does not immediately swing open and the voice heard did not belong to The Hunter in any of her incarnations, The Capitalist pauses to consider things for a moment before rising from the desk to let the girl in himself.
Once the door is open, he looks her over from the small crack in the doorway before that entrance is opened wider. He remembers what he put her through when he woke up this second time in this room, but there's no look of awkwardness in his features just yet. He even turns to make his way further into the room, expecting her to follow. "What can I do for you today?"
When the door opens, she gives that pleasant, almost vague smile that's just part of who she is here, in this place. When the door opens proper and space is made, she does step through the threshold, bare feet padding lightly as she looks around. It is better than last time, for sure. She glances around, though her gaze settles upon the Capitalist, her eyes widening a touch. "You've been quiet and more ... distant. I should have checked on you sooner. I am sorry I haven't."
She shifts on the spot, clearly somewhat uncertain on what to really say, though she finds some words after a moment. "I ... what are we now, Conrad?" A pause. "Which name would you prefer?"
"No need to linger about, have a seat." The Capitalist states with a gesture of his hand around the room. There is a seating area, as well as his bed and then the desk. The man, himself, has made his way towards that very desk to retrieve the bottle of whiskey. "Care for a drink while you're here?" He turns to glance over his shoulder at her now, the bottle already in hand. Unfortunately, he only has one glass available and that's the one that he's been using prior to The Penitent's visit.
"You can call me whatever you want. Does it matter anymore?" He then turns so that he's facing her directly, his tall frame now casually leaning against the edge of his desk.
She looks about again, moving vaguely towards the desk, though doesn't actually find a spot to sit, for herself. She lifts a hand, palm towards the man as she shakes her head. "No thank you." Glasses or no; The Penitent has never consumed alcohol in the Facility. Except for one sip of that scotch, very early on the last time they were all here.
"Some things matter," she says, watching him, head tilting again. "Names, probably not so much. But my question? I think it does." She nods once, afterwards, just watching him.
The bottle is set back down when his offered is politely refused. That just leaves the Capitalist to stare across the way at the Penitent, looking her over for a long and silent, perhaps it could be considered unnerving, moment. He then finally speaks up, "I believe that names are important, or else what would we be calling ourselves? And if we're going through new lives one at a time, maybe its best if we address each other by our most recent names, if that was the most recent life that we lived?" His shoulders lift up into a shrug, before he asks, "What would you like to call me?"
It's likely not unnerving in the way expected. All the same, the Penitent does glance away after a moment, peering across the room as she's studied. "Why would it be best? I do not feel any more like Kylie than I do Madison, just because she was more recent. They are both me. Neither of them is louder. I habitually call you Conrad simply because I knew Conrad better and I barely knew Rhys."
She continues on, her tone thoughtful, "But I will admit it is unsettling to have you treat me like this. Like just anyone else. Do we just throw everything in the past aside and never speak of it again? I hope not."
The Capitalist is still wearing Conrad's watch even if barely any hints of the younger Wellson can be seen in his own mannerisms. Then again, it could simply be the way he has been distancing himself from those who were supposed to be closest to him, or at least those closest to Conrad. "I don't know about you or your personas, your memories, but being Rhys Driscoll is almost like an upgrade." Those words are as cold as they sound.
His gaze then lowers for a long moment, both of his hands now slipping into his pants pockets. "Not that there was anything wrong with being Conrad. In fact, I enjoyed it. I enjoyed it so much that I wanted you to believe it too." His dark eyes begin to lift so that he can make contact with The Penitent's gaze. "You will always be Madison to me no matter what. I'm just glad that to know that you haven't turned away from her completely." Even if it almost seemed as if he had turned away from Conrad. "As Maata..." He'll use that name now, "thinks of me as her rock, her stability, Conrad always believed that you were his rock."
"I get it. I enjoyed Kylie's life a lot more than Madison's." The Penitent is not worried about those cold words, shaking her head. "But for me, the added experience of Kylie and her memories make it easier to to consider Madison, and accept her as a part of me. Because her uncertainty and her lack of confidence and her guilt are no longer all I have to work with. For that? I am happy. But it seems to me that your new experience means you no longer need me. Nobody does." Her voice is small there, laced with sorrow, but the emotion on her face is visible for only a moment. Then it's gone. Replaced with that vague, not-quite-innocent smile as she just turns to leave.
While Conrad may have been somewhat oblivious to his sister's emotions at times, always thinking about himself first and foremost, that didn't mean that he liked seeing her sad or upset in any way. They were siblings after all. So at The Penitent's mention that she doesn't believe that he needs her any longer and the way that her words are expressed simply by her tone, it does spark something within the Capitalist, this need to protect Madison.
"Don't think of it like that." He says, stepping forward to catch up to her, so that he can place a comforting hand on her shoulder to stop her advancement. "As Conrad is still a part of me, I still need you the way that he did." Clearing at his throat, he murmurs, "I'm not as good as you are at separating myself from my memories. And there was a point that a part of me," Driscoll, "was angry that I had other memories, so I did everything that I could to separate myself from Conrad. Hell, I even broke his watch," He lifts his left wrist where the watch is attached to, "On my first night here after... well, you know what happened when I woke. Just as the watch magically repaired itself the next morning, I knew that I could never be rid of that part of me."
If there's no resistance, he'll try to turn her around to face him, "And I know now that the Island. Conrad and Madison. All of that is just a part of me as well."
She's not really delaying in her effort to leave, and she's taken quite a few steps towards the door before he catches up. Pulling her thoughts away from inconsequential things, like what meal she's going to enjoy next, or what book she might read, doesn't take her much effort. It's all just to try and keep her mind occupied from things that might actually be bothering her. And a need that The Penitent has to try her best not to upset other people.
But she is relieved when he steps up, pausing at the touch of that hand. "I'm ... not that good at it. I'm good at pretending. Pushing away the troubling thoughts and thinking about silly things like how much I enjoy ice cream. It's easier, that way."
She does turn about when urged, staring up at Conrad, a slow nod. "I don't blame you for what happened when we wandered in. It was just as confusing for me, waking up again. I worried you might have been angry or upset with me, though."
Deciding to set some things clear, being uncertain whether he had told the story to The Penitent or not, The Capitalist starts, "I lived six months of my life away from the Noc. Driscoll did. One moment, he returns home from a night of drinks and celebration due to obtaining new partnerships and clients, the next, he wakes up in a strange room where the lights suddenly turned on. Unknown to him at the time, these are set up with motion sensors for whatever reason." His gaze idly looks at the lamp on his nightstand. "He thought there was an intruder in the room, someone who turned on the lights. That said, during this six months," Here his brow furrows a bit, those six months following the event on the Noc were not as clear as the terror that happened on the space station, "Rhys had a feeling that Weyland-Yutani was planning on silencing survivors of the incident. That's who he thought Thorne was when she first entered the room. When he realized who she was and that she should have been dead, he helped to fuel his paranoia even more." The End.
"So that happened. And I wasn't upset at you. I didn't trust either of you at the time, but you can understand why." The hand that was on her shoulder now rises to place a finger under her chin so that he can gently lift it up, "I won't say that you don't need to worry about me anymore. In fact, I'm glad that you still do."
She hadn't heard the story, and listens attentively, following his gaze towards the lamp. "Mine too," she murmurs, a passing comment that's quickly followed by silence so as to not interrupt the story. She nods along though, especially at the paranoia towards Weyland-Yutani. "Yeah, that's fair. Kylie would have agreed with that one. That's why she changed her name and didn't tell anyone about Sevastopol for years. I get your reaction, that's not what made me worry."
Her face tilts up at the gesture, as she stares at the Capitalist and there's a hint of a smile. A real smile. "Well, good. Because that was never gonna change anyway."
Curious about something now, there's a tilt of his head as the Capitalist asks, "What worried you then?" The hand which lifted his sister's chin slowly drops to fall at his side. "Tho... Maata came to speak with me as well the other day. She wanted to set things straight in a sense. I just wonder how much worse it will get if we continue to..." He's not sure what the right words would be for what he's trying to say, "be reborn into new lives. Will I have to go through this process again and again?" Everyone else around him seems convinced that there will be other lives, other memories.
"Because of Michel. Maata. I can't pretend I don't still care about her. It's different ... but it's there." She huffs a sigh, closing her eyes. "Yes, everyone seems to think it will keep happening. I don't know; there's no reason to really expect anything one way or the other. Will even a place like this settle into a routine? Why would it? Why wouldn't it?" She shrugs. She doesn't have the answers. Her eyes flicker open again. "Besides, how many more people can we even fit in here?" She pauses, considering.
"If there are more lives, more memories, more people, then lets promise that no matter what happens, we are just still ... whatever we are. Siblings, kind of. No matter who we are, we will always have, if not Madison and Conrad themselves, at least their importance to one another to fall back on? Would that be good?"
When The Penitent speaks of Michel, this does bring The Capitalist to some understanding of what is on the woman's mind. "Ah. That." There's a mildly amused grin on his face on this realization. "I gotta admit, it was a little awkward to remember that it happened, when I was going through Rhys' memories. I didn't know what to think about it then and I still don't know, but we were also different people on the space station. Very different from who we were on the Island. So, while it was weird to think about, I couldn't blame either of you."
The Penitent's next words, this sort of promise that she wants the both of them to make, does garner a genuine smile from him. "I'm game. Let's just hope that if we have to wake up as someone new, none of us, in these new lives, do anything that either of us will regret."
"A little awkward is right." The Penitent agrees with a nod, unable to prevent herself from echoing that grin. "Especially when I'm back here. Madison wasn't remotely interested in ... well, anyone really. Not like that. And it's different now. I have no idea what to say to her. If anything." She shakes her head, and then shifts to step away.
"I always seem to have regrets of some sort. Well. Both times now. That's the whole point of this idea -- no matter what happens, it doesn't matter, not if it's us. You're still my brother, in some way or another. Anything you do without your memories of this place, and everything else we've been through -- doesn't matter to me. That is my promise." She nods once, and then grins. "I'm hungry."
"You came to me with your concern, it might be time that you spoke to Thorne again." The Capitalist decides to say, to the other topic at hand, he simply nods, "I'm on board for this as well. But now, how about we get something to eat and see what's on the tv." He knows full well what's on the television...