Log:The Now Now
The Martyr is dressed in a "First and Last and Always" tee with what appear to be camo pants in shades of pink. He's also barefoot. He taps lightly on Lyle's door.
The door has a figure in a cloak watching something from around the corner and in the shadows. Odd moniker for the man that was a bright eyed kid trying to save the dead; a man laying in wait like a damn cobra. Still the door opens and the inside... well Dini can be really fucking jealous over there in TV land.
Rogue opens the door and an eyebrow arches. Unlike Capitalist he doesn't practically wear a suit to bed. He's in generally the same thing he was the day before. At least similar style. When the door opens and he looks at Finn-ish he lets out a small breath and slouches a shoulder into the wall. "Eish, nearly give a man a heart attack. C'mon in." His eyes, plural, look a little bloodshot, and a rough hand wipes any immediate evidence of emotion from his face. The invite is entirely casual.
The Martyr's eyes bug out a bit when he sees what's over Lucas's shoulder, and he takes two steps back. He gives him a weak smile, "So did you. I should probably have brought breakfast. Or Hair of the Dog. Sorry." He doesn't comment on The Rogue's eyes. "Thanks Caleb." After the initial reaction to the bunker like room, he seems okay with it. "This is very different from mine. I've not seen anyone else's before."
The Rogue looks back over his shoulder and offers the Martyr a sympathetic look. "Yeah I told you it wasn't going to be popular. C'mon. It won't bite." Turning and heading into the short wood panel hallway there seems to be some manner of walk in closet on one side and a pretty large bathroom on the other. Beyond that the whole room is domed not unlike a holdout shelter or a storm drain. The room though, while all the walls seem to be in a polished concrete with bare wires and bulbs strung back and forth like holiday lights to illuminate? The furniture is insanely posh and comfortable. Someone's gone out of their way to amass fortune and bury it for safe keeping so no one can take it rather than show it off. At least it's oddly comfortable if one isn't claustrophobic.
There's a bottle of Gin out and a glass. A book sits overturned on the arm of the couch to hold its place. That envelope lays on the short table. At the far end is set up a bedroom space with the furniture matching the low profile for need to fit in with the steep curve of the walls. That brick red warmth of the fabrics match the leather in teh furniture.
"You're just in time to rescue me from being too far up in my own head. How..." The concern is calm, but genuine, "How you holdin' up today, bru?" Where in bru seems a general affectation used in lieu of name for form of address.
The Martyr's natural curiosity emerges as he looks around him, "I can kind of see the appeal. It's a lot nicer than Dini's and no one is trying kill me here. It's certainly nicer than where I thought I lived when I was alive." He gives Rogue an amused look as if to invite Caleb to teasingly claim otherwise. "What do you think of the name Dare? I keep poking at the name thing. Hart like a deer sounds too much like the heart on my door. I'm a lot better. I just... It's so fucking hard watching them grieve me and not being able to comfort them." He studies him, "I suspect it's even harder for you."
The Rogue reaches out to Martyr with one hand and gives a pat on the cheek, and clings the arm around his shoulder walking him in pouring for a glass for him too. "Come, we'll have a drink, and leave one for the net person that shows. They gonna need it." The name? The name he considers in the meantime adding, "I'm not partial to my names, but I'm not impartial. Maybe the point of a name is as much speaking to the relationship one identifies a situation to. I think it's not complicated and doesn't sound stupid." Apparently these are the rules to support his judgment.
Fetching up a couple glasses and setting them out he takes the news of the television with a grim nod. The condolences are met with a shrug, "Hard is hard. I don't know it's my place to judge the suffering of another. Not one of those contests one wants to try and win."
Gesturing with his hand he says gently, "Look at Shovel Ninja." He really likes that name for Thrill-Seeker. "It's not my place to say the mourning she has for Kirk not being here is in any way less than I mourning Addie just because she had a room here." He sniffs shaking his head thoughtfully. "Loss is loss. Terrible thing to have anything you care that much about taken, and you can't take it back."
Looking to the hall with the door he pauses with a sigh bringing himself back to now. "I like Dare. and today? Ja, today was fekkin had. Proud of Ethan though." That faint grin, in spite of the musings, warms the expression. In an assurance to the Martyr it warms further, "Can... I ask you a personal question so long as we clear that 'fekk off' is a completely reasonable answer? Why you shunning your name. I'm curious. The one you were given at the Lodge."
The Martyr seems comfortable with the touch and lets himself be guided. "It's funny. I've drunk more dead than I have alive and I haven't been dead a day yet." He takes a sip of the gin, making a face, "I don't think I've ever had gin before." He takes another cautious sip anyway. He nods, "Loss is loss." He says with calm, quiet finality, "I would like to kill whoever made all this. A lot. I am tired of all the taking that comes with this place." He cocks his head, "Your Ethan? What's he been doing? I missed it."
He nods, "I think I'll try Dare for a while and see how it feels." He looks him in the eyes, "I'm not ashamed of being Finn. I really loved being him despite the horror of it all, but it feels like a sort of half lie. The people I remembered losing before I got there, the battles I fought in court to try to help people crushed by the system, a hundred little things that made me who I thought I was? They feel like cardboard cut outs now. And the Finn I was a day ago isn't the person I am now in ways that aren't like normal time and change. Oh, he's in me. The feelings and experiences and the good and bad of him are in me, but it'd feel weird the way calling you Lucas feels weird even though I know he's inside you. There are threads that tie me to Finn that run deeper than the things that changed when I woke up here, which is why it only feels half a lie. I just... So much about this place is lies and it sticks in my craw to be another one, so I keep kicking against it."
The Rogue takes a seat and sits back to get comfortable to just be content to listen. The nod is of slow agreement. The comparison comes with a shrug. "Lyle's a part of me as much as Caleb or Frankie. He... did some things I can only shake my head at, and his life hurt to wear. Before. To the end too, but I would go back to that one. He has possibility."
A finger taps on the glass thoughtfully before he drinks, "My? Well his Ethan. Maybe mine. He and Colorado bust into Roen's place to sweep it. Taking the things important to him. Gonna distribute it. They were discussing San Francisco." A patient look, and a eyebrow to emphasize on Dare-once-Finn, "You remember that conversation you and I had in there, chum? About San Francisco where Lyle was from? They were discussing and Ethan used the phrase, I mean, you know who I used to be. Used to be. Not anymore.Gives me hope maybe the ending of his story won't be total shite."
He sniffs and just widens a wry grin, "Danny start hallucinating conversations with you? It is the most messed up thing seeing yourself on tele and not sounding a bit like ye." Still the story is its own solace. Something, one thing was taken back. It might have fruit in the future too. "The world is a lie. That we are physical in this place? May be a lie too. We may never know Dare-not-Finn. What we don't have to do...is accept it. There are thee people here and you will become one of them, Dare." he's going to help him tet drive that name apparently. "Those that break and shut down. Those that buy into the illusion and find everything to distract themselves, and those like us." A heavy sigh rises and falls. "Those that recognize a very fancy prison for what it is, however it doesn't make everything a lie. I hope." Eyebrows waggle and he just starts- nope! He's finishing his drink in one pass.
The Martyr nods, "It's hard mourning the possibilities. I really did want to join Lambda. I really did want the cat and the boyfriend and the whole life we were gong to build if we made it out." He nods, "Danny was going take school more seriously and was going to help him. He was going to write a new anthem to belt out at protests. We were going to... try to save the world again together." He shakes had, "Grandiose, I know. Danny and Scott... they've grown up so much since I met them. I'm proud of the men they are becoming. It gives me hope too." He shakes his head, "Danny and I were hallucinating Kimmy. I figured out it probably wasn't her because I... tested her little to see if she knew things only Kim knew. She didn't. Oh, she looked and sounded like her, but it why I thought I might be cracking up towards the end. I tried to turn in my gun, but they wouldn't take it. said it was probably just a temporary stress thing and I'd be fine. That place... Fuck!" he looks sharply at the Rogue, "Yes. That's how I feel about it exactly and that's what I'm going to do." he takes another careful sip, "I hope the love isn't. I hope the... good effects we have on each other are. If I find a way to tear this place down though? I will. Oh, I will." Dare, frail in all the ways he is and will be still has that backbone and that fire that made Finn want to both save and fight the world. It's in his face and the way he holds himself, the love and righteous fury that made him fight so hard when he was Finn for true.
The Rogue just lets the burn of the drink settle. Does it help? No. Does it distract? A little. Does it hurt? Well all of it, always. Still those blue eyes watch, listen, learn. Quietly, gently even he says, "That place? It ain't real. Those things that happened to us?That is real. Even if it is all a state of being?It was beautiful, it was joy, and it was yours. You were happy, and that's what mattered, chum. Thatthey, whoever 'they' are, took it from you? From us- all of us!?" Words fall to a whisper with intensity to them born of passion, not disgust follow, "It matters, man. It all fekking matters."
Lyle's older effigy reaches out and with an emphasis, but not striking him, taps Martyr's chest. "It is real here. And the truth?" Two fingers lift to rest against Finn-ish's temple. That look watches him with a heavy stare, "The truth is here." His eyes are still wet with emotion coming back around the bloodshot. He whispers, "They want the pretty things; the distraction. It only distracts from the things that matter. Those little things?" He sniffs shaking his head slowly taking a step back from the Martyr, and another, "That's the kek that makes us, us." There is a look, such a damn look that is guarded as it is pleading with Martyr: think carefully on that, friend.
The Martyr nods, lips pursed and in the same grim, determined voice he used to talk about the murder ghosts he says, "Oh. That definitely matters." It sounds like the threat it is. He nods, "I will. I will think on it long and hard." A Finn-ish specialty, perhaps, but a thing that carries through. He studies the now older man, still a little disoriented by the dizzying change in him, but already more than half way to accepting it. "I am a lot harder to break than I look, and I'm making progress on working out which of the little things are the ones that really matter."
The Rogue turns to refill his glass and side nods Finn to follow him. The hand reaches out and grips Finn's shoulder with a squeeze. The open emotion from Lyle colliding with a patience, a look, from something far older than just the years on his face. There is sympathy in the words; heartbreak able to read its own, but proud of him in that resolution all the same. "Goooood," he murmurs, "Get angry. Get bloody fekin angry, but do... not let that take you off the path or you'll miss your exit."
The shoulder is given a pat and he walks over to teh envelope on the table with... well Lyle's name scribbled on it in large 1" hard to miss letters written by an unsteady hand in clumsy ballpoint hand. "Why you think we are left with these? You walked out with something. I don't know what it was. Don't need to know. I respect that may be personal, but why... leave them in our rooms?"
The Martyr briefly covers the hand on his shoulder with one of his own, taking the gesture as it's meant. Dark serious eyes study The Rogue's, "What path, and what do you mean by exit?" He's been dead less than a day, after all. He's still learning the lay of the land.
His brows knit as The Rogue shows him the envelope he was carrying when Dare first saw him here. "Left?" And then he gets it, "You mean my Shreikback shirt? Is that envelope something from... before?"
The Rogue shrugs with an indifferent tilt of his chin toward his shoulder and back. "Driving metaphor. Get too focused on the chase you overshoot your goal." He works for another phrasing, eyes lifting and searching for the thought, "Your anger- this rage? This... part of us we will use to burn this fucker to the ground?" OH and there's that glint in his eye that is unmistakably Lyle Lucas' as he so promised to take Lakeview to ground and ash, which he did spectacularly. "This fire in your belly is fuel? It is to propel us in our purpose, not to consume us." A faint wink follows with the faintest hint of a sardonic smirk, "I think having done that once recently, eh we're good for a while."
The envelope held in two fingers curls back into his hand and remains unopened. "Well it's from just now." Which from the South African gent could mean from, ya know, eventually. It's not like now now. What part did he want to explain, "Eeeeh Ethan wrote this for Me or... well for Lyle anyways just after I lost the eye in there." Even the Rogue is lost if it's I or He. Finally he commits, "He wrote this to me only a day and a half after he broke his right hand punching the shit out of the wall. He snuck out of our room at 2 am after we'd reconciled. And with that swollen, broken plastered hand wrote out not one but two sizable letters; one for me and one two me." He glances at the envelope adding, "And the deed to the Stylo which he wrecked literally two minutes later." Pausing he mused, "Might be a record for shortest vehicle ownership." Eyebrow arched his head shakes looping back to the present, "My point being, why send us here with this? Why do I have a picture of my late son the bookshelf with my wife's ring? Why give us these if any things? What is the message in that?"
The Martyr smiles at him delighted, "Oh yes! That is definitely my hope!" This delight too is it's own kind of threat against whoever made this place. His face transforms into something all compassion and understanding. "He thought he was going to die. It was like my last kiss for Danny before I burned. Poor Ethan. Poor Lyle you were." He closes his eyes a minute, gathering his thoughts as he tries to figure out how to explain the shirt.
He stands beside The Rogue, and looks at the envelope rather than the man, "It wasn't just by favorite shirt. This may sound a little stupid, but bear with me. The night ran nearly drowned Danny, he was tripping, and ran out into the night naked. The reason I was there at all was because I couldn't let Danny and Kimmy and the rest run around out there naked and impared where they could drown or really hurt themselves in the forest or wander into that building where the night before I'd een my first ghost or... I don't know angry beavers. so I was running with them and we heard screams and I went to try to rescue the girl, but then Danny was drowning and I talked her out of killing him and we got him up and ran to the Boathouse which was closest."
He takes a deep breath, "I was professionally closeted then for reasons that stopped mattering when people started dying and I had no idea what Ryder's views were and we were roommates so, he slept in my bead and I slept on a pallet on the floor, aching to touch him again but too careful. A chance lost forever, I thought. In the morning I lent him some shorts and my favorite shirt to wear home. Later that day, he'd changed everything else, but he was still wearing my shirt in front of everyone, and it felt so good. Later, when I was his boyfriend for real, I wore his shirts two days in a row, after he'd worn them. They smelled like him. I wonder if he felt that way about my Shriekback shirt. Anyway, when I lost everything but the clothes on my back when we evacuated the boathouse, there was my favorite shirt in Danny and Scott's room, a thing I'd loved that he'd saved from disaster simply by holding on to it.... I know it's stupid, but it's not just a shirt."
The Rogue rubs a hand through his hair and just shifts a thumb over the letter. Instead of handing it over he pockets it. He sits, slouching back on the couch nodding for Finn-ish to plant his ass. The tale weaves a faint grin that has a serenity to it as Finn talks. "Sometimes it takes the right person to make us do some crazy ass shit, ja no?"
By the end there's a nod of complete understanding. "Ethan's been wearing Lyle's Chili Peppers shirt since he had to put clothes back on. The jacket I was in for several days there? His when he left to go jump the bridge. It's an armor of them. You can watch the tele and find Julian out there- do... not call him if you run into him here in...this. Forewarning. But he's been in his brother's. You... that? It makes sense to you because it has meaning to you. Same as this letter is a fekking lifeline for that kid. T'be honest we almost lost him after that damn bar fight were it not for Scott and Julian. Hell of a thing to say, I know, but... these pieces? They are a part of us to remind us."
Taking a deep breath he hits the wall of the problem, "Why do they want us to remember? What gives?"
The Martyr laughs softly, and comes back to sit, "I would have anyway, I think. In my case it was more, it took the right people to help me keep it together enough to do the things that needed to be done as well as I managed to do them. It still wasn't enough, but oh did I try." He sighs, "Julian was another one I wanted to find time to talk to, maybe help, but there never seemed to be time." He nods, "I which I knew, but I wish i knew the why of all of this. They could have left us a manual or something."
The Rogue just lets the very faint, knowing smile hang, "See this? This is the thing that keeps us up. The truth is? We don't know how much time we have, mate. Can we help everyone?" he shakes his head, No we cannot. Should we try?" A shrug follows, "Again? I think not. Spread yourself thin? You fail. But you run across those that get it, need it? The ones that reach out to you? That is where you start. As for the meaning?" His hand goes up in the air and back down. "Oh hell if I know. Need... more time.
The Martyr spreads his hands, "It is in my nature to try, I think. At least what I can tell from a less than two week sample. Do... things we write here stay? When you carried that letter out, I'd hoped they would, but if it's from there... Things I moved last reset. Would a journal reset too?"
The Rogue chortles, "The one you know as Scotty Dixon I know of by another name. We spent a very long time here making," he flinches as slight emphasis on volume,"so many lists. Each day? We have to make another. This letter?" He eyes it and finally, finally admits openly to him, "I hope it stays. I hope its content does too. We'll see. Nothing is guaranteed forever. Wish it were sometimes."