Log:The Violence of Truth

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The Violence of Truth
Characters  •   The Explorer  •  The Martyr  •  The Rogue  •  The Creepshow  •  The Scholar  •
Location  •  The Facility - Parlor
Date  •  2019-02-16
Summary  •  Creepy and Scholar discover the TV's controversial programming, while Misty tries to help Martyr cope with his first Facility awakening.

The Martyr is curled up on the sofa wearing his old black Shriekback Evolutions tee shirt and a pair of blue plaid flannel pajama bottoms with fushia bunny slippers. he has a black body pillow and is wrapped in an old crazy quilt. He has a half drunk tumbler of Maker's mark in one hand, and is staring in the general direction of the TV without watching it. From the level in the bottle, he's been here a while. There is a box of tissues in reach.

The differences between the Martyr and Finn are subtle. He is the same age, with very similar hair, and is long limbed and gangly. Though he is still very thin, he is wiry with it instead of weak looking. His eyes are red rimmed still, though he's calm now.

The change to the young woman he knew as 'Misty,' on the other hand, is a bit more dramatic. Only a bit, though. Age-wise, about the same -- perhaps a couple years older, but not enough to bring about perceptible change. Same general build, same confident grace infusing her steps, her movements, as she pads down the hall into the parlor. Her hair, though, is long and of a burnished chestnut hue, falling in gentle waves down her back. So the bottled blonde Madonna look is gone, it seems. She pauses as she takes note of his presence, tipping her head gently to one side as she studies him. "Mm. This calls for ice cream, I think," she muses quietly. "Want some?"

The Martyr is deep enough into his cups for it to take him a moment to realise he's being adressed. He turns slowly and blinks at her several times slowly, the change in hair and demeanor throwing him off. Then it hits him and he looks terribly distressed. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to get you killed!" He stands carefully, trying to hide just how hard the drink hit him when he tried to stand. The blanket falls from his shoulders and he sways a bit before he gets his body under control. "Can you forgive me?" He sounds rather like a cartoon character when he's drunk, though he hasn't quite his the Micky Mouse stage yet. he just looks so lost and terribly, terribly sorry.

A tear-streaked, quilt-wrapped and obviously inebriated Martyr is standing unsteadily in the parlor, facing off against the Explorer. She looks more like the young woman from Prosperity now, than the blonde and glam 80s girl -- the dark hair has returned and regained its length, and she's not dolled up with cosmetics. And she's blinking at Finn, then laughing softly in spite of herself and stepping forward, arms outstretched to wrap him up in a hug, if he allows it. "Oh.. oh, honey, no," she croons soothingly. "You didn't get me killed. I'm right here, aren't I? I mean, sure, I had a headache when I woke up, but.." She grins up at him, trying to draw a smile out of the man. "Everything's fine. Promise."

The Martyr hugs her tight, all bones and wiry muscles, careful not to spill his drink. He is wearing his old black Shriekback Evolutions tee shirt and a pair of blue plaid flannel pajama bottoms with fushia bunny slippers. The differences between the Martyr and Finn are subtle. He is the same age, with very similar hair, and is long limbed and gangly.

he shakes his head with drunken exaggeration, "No! We aren't us anymore! At least I'm not, and Cheer definately isn't Kimmy though Kimmy is in her. I really am sorry. I shouldn't have been in charge."

There is, down the hall a trampling of footsteps that skid to a halt. More trampling and skidding to another halt front of the hallway. After the distinct sound of a fist slamming into a door. "Ag man!" There is silence for a moment before- well a 35 year old man comes out of the hallway looking, well frantic, white envelope in hand with something written on the front in big enough letters but unreadable as he waves it around. Gone are the second hand olive cargo pants and the shirt in drab to match nd instead finding this time the Rogue's just come darting out of his room half dressed at all. He looks to ...Finn? Curious and locks his eyes, plural, on the Explorer remaining quiet, and while panicked, with too many questions. Finally he asks, afraid of the answer, words choked, "Who... made it back?" His eyes are already bloodshot but he fights to keep the emotions at bay going back to his roots, going back to facts, and praying he didn't just have another Addie situation.

"Oh dear. This is your first time, huh?" she asks of Finn, her mouth curling up a little at one corner as she peers up at him. "C'mon. Let's sit down, see if we can pull you through this." She's just stepping back and gesturing him to the sofa he'd abandoned to apologize -- needlessly, in her opinion, when Rogue comes bursting out into the hall and rushing to the parlor. With a blink, she looks to him in confusion for a long moment, before what he's asking actually clicks. "Come over, have a seat, breathe, and I'll get us all some more to drink," she suggests, beckoning before turning toward the dispensary.

The Martyr peers at him, not making the adjustment at all in through the haze and the dramatic change for a painfully long time. Once he catches on he says, in that weird, choppy cartoonish voice he gets when he's drunk, "Ethan and Rado are still back there alive. I've seen us and Cheer so far. Has anyone seen bastian or Max or the others?" This question is uurgent.

He nods, still rather clingy, "Cheer explained the basics. There is all I remember. I'll be okay. I just needed to... drink on it a while. I'm not me. I don't know what to call myself even. Faux Finn?" he sits down hard and huddles under his crazy quilt again.

The Rogue, like last time, stays one hand on the wall. Unlike the other two there's distinct differences being 15 years and some change older, and not the least of which is a bit of facial hair. The other is being a grown ass man and not a teenager. Those eyes scan the two of them in the patient panic of a wounded creature no longer pursued by the things they dread most.

Head hanging, relief sags into the Rogue's posture. His hand tightens into a fist taking a deep breath. In that notable accent that's neither Scottish nor DUtch he finds himself taking the reprieve to that news. "Ag fuck it worked. Lekker, lekker." Who really knows what that means, but the context is there in tone. Cautiously he hunts for a name reconsiling one to another finally asking them "SCott? Scotty make it out?" With some difficulty just standing upright to cross the room cleanly he drops into a chair looking to Explorer with a grateful look. "Owe ya, lady." Looking to Finna he offers a hand out to... what here. "You were Finn? Oh god new blood. Kim caught him up at least. "Sorry I um, I yelled at you, mate."

Returning with not only a bottle of whiskey but a few pints of ice cream and a cluster of spoons as well, Explorer settles onto a bare spot on the sofa and deposits her booty (the refreshments, not her ass) on the table in front. "From what I saw on screen last night before it was just too much, and I had to go lay down," she directs toward Rogue, "Max died," she begins, pausing just long enough to swallow past a lump of emotion, "Then that girl, um. Evaline? Nails got Bastian, and then the Freak electrocuted you, Kirk, the girl with the gun," never met Roxie, really, "and Finn, here."

At which point, sher turns to Martyr. "You can call yourself whatever feels 'right' to you, here. Some people have chosen names for themselves when they're here. The girl we knew most recently as Danica, for example, goes by Cassandra in between lives. As for me, I usually just answer to whichever name people remember me as. What's most comfortable for them."

The Martyr nods slowly, "Scott and Danny made it out. Cheer showed me them helping the wounded back to the lodge." He offers his hand warily, "You really were Lyle? I... wasn't sure why you were angry exactly. We were all on edge. What do I call you now? You're so different, it's hard to wrap my head around."

He nods, "Cheer was upset about Kirk. She's scared he won't... I remember Max. And Bastian. The woman with the gun was Roxie. Who they also need. Shit. I liked Eva too, but Cheer and you are the only ones I've seen. Please tell me bastian and Max are alright? That they're here?" he shakes his head, "I'm not Finn. I relised the difference moments after I realised cheer wasn't Kimmy. It's... very strange. Calling myself finn feels like a kind of lie despite all the ways I still feel like him. It's... harder to swallow than their being an afterlife, really."

The Rogue squeezes the envelope in his hand and for now tucks it carefully into hi back pocket and rubs his face, pinching his eyes when they close. "Yeah. Yeah, funny enough I remember giving that skebenga a right toss for a sendoff." He doesn't sound a thing like him but he's there in the small things and the expression. Hand reached up for he spoon with a nod. "Thanks Capn'." Small affectation for when she manned their ship, but he seems happy to keep the affectation.

The big question still weighed on him like a stormcloud. Max and Bas...He shakes his head 'no' at finding them. "I have to go to the other end I think. Try to find em. Lotta rooms. I'm hoping they made it back alright. Our people, um... they don't always." The corner of his expression flashes a faint, dimpled wry grin just absent from Prosperity and abundant recently, "Yeah not-Finn. 's Me. I think. For what it's worth? Thanks for the rest though. " He tries to get an answer for him and shrugs, "He's just really sensitive about his losses man. Dunno if there is another answer. "

For those that only know her as Max, the Creepshow looks a little different. No long, vaguely wavy hair bleached out at the ends. No goth-punk makeup, although the makeup stopped when just surviving became more important. Her hair is straight and dark, a slight wedge that ends a few inches short of her shoulders, and a line of bangs stops just shy of her large, dark eyes. She looks a little older, too. Not a lot, maybe mid twenties. Her face is a bit thinner, features a little sharper. Stronger.

She wears a simple gray tank and matching boxers as she emerges quietly from the hall.

"Mm. Sometimes people wind up here, sometimes they don't. Or they do, then next time around.." Explorer shrugs. "I got married, two lifetimes ago. Or would it be three, now?" Her smile is wry as she nods toward Rogue. "When you were Sinclair, and I was Maya. Rod woke up here just like I did, and it was our first time, and he lost his mind and tried to kill me. Then I was Llesenia, and he was.." she squints, trying to remember. "Jeremiah? I went from loving him with everything I was in one life, to thinking he was an ass, the next. And he didn't wake up here with me, that time." It's still hard. A certain tension skitters along the line of her jaw.

Then Creepshow appears, and while she might've had more to say, she just.. stops. Stares, for a beat or two. Breathes, "Lupe." She rises to her feet slowly, but once her steps start, they quicken until the distance between them is closed. It's entirely likely that the other woman will smack her away. Hell, even kill her. She doesn't care, just now. Explorer hugs her, and tightly.

The Martyr gazes at the Rogue rather owlishly, "I suspect I am drunker than I thought. I can't understand half the things you say." He shakes his head, "I - Finn never took it personally. I - we thought Lyle was a sweet kid and the stuff he'd been through was just... I am sorry I wasn't more help. I wanted to be."

The Martyr is curled up on the sofa wearing his old black Shriekback Evolutions tee shirt and a pair of blue plaid flannel pajama bottoms with fushia bunny slippers. He has a half drunk tumbler of Maker's mark in one hand. From the level in the bottle, he's been here a while. There is a box of tissues in reach. The differences between the Martyr and Finn are subtle. He is the same age, with very similar hair, and is long limbed and gangly. Though he is still very thin, he is wiry with it instead of emaciated. his back is to the creepshow and he doesn't notice her just yet.

he tries hard to follow The Rogue's story, but eventually gives up and just sips his drink. He gets the emotional weight of it at least and gently pats her shoulder. When she stops and stares he turns to squit at he newcomer. his tone is so terribly hopeful, "Max? Is that you?"

The Rogue nods slowly in affirmation. THe losses here could be substantial on teh soul. It's to the Martyr he reaches over a hand and gives one of the foot-rabbits a squeeze. "ja, no, I get a lot of that. Workin on it. But... yeah that one was-" He just sshakes his head with a weight in his heart there. "That was rough. It was appreciated if it helps?" Still the Explorer's words surface a scoff i him, "Yeaaaaaaah. And Sinclair was a dick. Ya did right by us though. Still re-" Rememebred? The words are cut off turning and looking to the untrussed once Lupe/Once Maxine Rodriguez. The thoughts he had pause and an exhale of relief follow. Friend-girl made it back. He didn't even like teh facility but he liked having certain persons lost less. He greets her quietly with, "That's twice you saved my arse." Still falling quiet he adds, "For what it's worth it is a mite bit a relief to see you."

Incoming Explorer! Creepy stops and is hugged, not slapping her away but not exactly hugging back. At least, not at first. Slowly, hesitantly she lifts her hands to awkwardly rub the other woman's back. It's kind of a hug?

"Or Max now, I guess. Yeah." That's for Martyr as much as Explorer.

"Hey," she offers Rogue. "Bastian's asleep in my room." Blink. "Though he'll probably wake up back in his." She doesn't address his thanks, perhaps feeling awkward about it.

It's awkward. It's not exactly reciprocated. But frankly, the hug appears to have been every bit as much for her benefit as Creepy's, if it benefitted Creepy at all. Explorer does step back after another second or two, though, and offers up a vagely apologetic smile. "I'm glad you're all right. Or, well, that you're here." No, that doesn't sound right, either. Her nose scrunches again. "Fuck dying. Sorry." Yeah, that's probably a sentiment shared by all, right now.

The Martyr looks so wildly relieved. he's about a half step from sounding like Mickey mouse now, "Good. I was really worried you two wouldn't... I'm glad. you're here." He hugs the black body pillow tight. "Fuck dying!"

The Rogue takes it in stride. This place is weird and even he has no idea where all things stand. The casul lean in the update seems to bring a bit of peace to settle the dust there. He offers in trade, "Seems Ethan and Rado are still hanging in there." The news though does pull him to his feet, and like last time with vision just restored his hand reaches out to balance himself in subtle gesture. "I'm going to see about poking me head in." He pauses almost shoulder to shoulder in passing, without direct intrusion to her personage, REally relieved you're back." Not okay. he isn't presuming such a farce by a longshot for anyone, but the sentiment as it stands is genuine. "Un-Finn. Cap'n."

The Creepshow? Has never been a hugger. The fact that she tried rather than, yes, slapping or punching Explorer, means she really does care. She's just shit at showing it, at least in front of anyone. She nods, managing a little smile. "Thanks," she say. "You, too. It sucks when some of us don't."

Marty gets a nod as well. "We're both... okay, I guess? As much as you can be under the circumstances." Maybe it's that Max is only one facet of Creepy, or that she's just subdued and shaken up, but she's not particularly Max-like at the moment. She gives Rogue a nod in passing.

Misty, since that's how those present most recently knew her, grins over at Finn as he echoes her declaration with even more vigor than she'd initially presented it. One last momentary indulgence into the realm of human contact, by giving Creepshow's shoulder a light squeeze. "There's ice cream and whiskey. If you feel like either," she offers quietly, before heading back over to the sofa. Don't want that Cherry Garcia melting on her before she can nom it, after all. "Much as what happened sucked, I'm glad you and he wound up here together," she comments, as she takes up a spoon and pries off the cardboard lid from the pint. "When there's a time gap, it's rough. This time, it probably would've been even harder, since our unseen and fucktastically sadistic overlords decided to let us watch our loved ones being terrorized and killed," she adds, with a resentful glance toward the television set.

The Martyr laughs, "Un-Finn, Faux Finn, Fish finn! Take care, Not-Lyle!" Then he's looking at Max, sad and serious, "It was rough. I'm still glad you're both still here even if this is some version of satre's Huis Clos. I was... problably not going to be okay if I hadn't died after what happened. Things are better now. You going is terrible in itself. Once you went, I knew we were losing him too. It would have been a lot at once." He looks away. "I was drinking Maker's Mark in your memory. In case you were really gone." He shakes his head an emphatic no, "Not knowing would be worse. I just...I'm not sure how I'll handle it if Addison gets him before a ghost can."

Only then does Creepy notice that the TV is playing the story as a movie. She blinks. "What the actual fuck? Are you serious? You... saw all of it?" She looks to Explorer again, eyes a bit wide and suddenly glassy. She rubs at her forehead, chin down.

"What?" she says to Martyr, a bit short and distracted. "Maker's Mark? I only drsnk it that one time because Bastian gave it to me. I drink rum." She glances at the screen, then back. "It's not fucking real. Dead or alive, Danny will show up here after. He did last time. Who fucking cares if Addison or ghost do it." Yeah, something's flipped Creepshow's Cunt Mode button, where she loses all empathy and tact and just hurts people. Explorer may have seen it before. That streak in Max that always wanted to push peoples' buttons? That's Creepshow.

"I need a drink." She stalks off for the dispensary.

Misty winces a bit as the news of the television's programming change from MTV to highly-personal horror hits Creepy harder than she'd anticipated. Of course, the other woman would've discovered it on her own soon enough. And there's a dose of sympathy for Creepy's reaction -- her own was much the same. Shock. Outrage. Cold, pervasive fury. At least there's plenty of rum available. Breathing out a soft sigh, she looks to Finn. "What do you mean, 'if Addison gets him'?"

The Martyr sighs, and half curls in on the pillow, "That's how Cheer could tell me who died when I did and who survives. She was... waiting for us, I think. Only I was the only one who came out. She explained things. It must have been terrible for her all alone here all this time." He tosses back the last of his drink and competely misses the table in trying to put it down without noticing. Yep, he's Mickey Mouse voice drunk now. "I'm glad some of Max is still in there. Lupe or whatever. I liked being Finn."

The Martyr is wearing his old black Shriekback Evolutions tee shirt and a pair of blue plaid flannel pajama bottoms with fushia bunny slippers. The differences between the Martyr and Finn are subtle. He is the same age, with very similar hair, and is long limbed and gangly. Though he is still very thin, he is wiry with it instead of borderline emaciated. He shudders, "I made Danny promise me. Limits. he'd use his own drugs instead of letting addison give him the hard stuff. we don't ieven know what rof-in-al does. That there's be limits to how much damage. But I'm not there. I'm dead and Danny spent half of the morning unconscious from drinking his greif for you. he loved you so much and now he's lost me too and fuck if I kknow what he'll let Addison do to him now." he is weeping quietly now, face buried in his pillow. "I don't know if he loved me, but I was his first boyfriend and he lost you too. This Morning. And Addison's there. Tempting."

The Scholar comes shuffling down the hall, dressed as he was earlier, in a black waffle Henley, denim jeans, and a pair of heavy soled slippers. It's very Bastian-like attire, and here in the Facility he's very Bastian-looking, being about the same age, height, and build. His hair, however, is not Bastian-like in the least; it's a mass of unruly curls, wilder than usual due to him just waking up from a nap. He runs a hand through it to get it out of his face. The white streak is much more prominent with so much hair, and his eyes are still mismatched green and brown, so these must be Scholar-things, not Bastian-things.

He's aiming for the dispensary, looking a bit out of sorts, when he spots more than one person and stops to sort out who it is. Max, Misty--or, Llesenia, as he knew her before--and...oh.

"Finn," he says, sounding surprised and a little sad. He blinks slowly as he catches the tail end of the conversation. "Rof-in-al--rohypnol? I'm sorry," he looks at the Explorer, "what's going on?"

Emotional fallout left in her wake? That's Creepshow! It didn't take long for Max to wear off, or maybe she's just in a lot of emotional pain herself and that darker side that lives here is drivinng for now. Scholar gets a glimpse of her stalking off into the dispensary.

For the record, she looks a fair bit more like Llesenia, at least where her hair is concerned. The bottled blonde Madonna look has gone, and her darker hair is long and full of natural waves again. Beyond that, she's about the same. Right, so. Perhaps Bastian will respond better to the 'ripping the band-aid off' approach than Max did. The Explorer can hope, at least. She offers the man a weary and somewhat tentative smile, uncertain of how this will go. Gesturing toward the retreating Creepshow, she begins simply, "She's less than thrilled with our entertainment options here, this time around. Specifically, that Kimberly and I watched several of you die, and chances are, we're all in for more of the same in the days to come." A nod to the television screen, before she continues. "Martin.. Danny.. took my death pretty hard, and now with Finn gone too, we're concerned that Addison will tempt him into harder drug use. If he knows what's good for him, he won't. I'll fucking kill him with my bare hands, the moment he wakes up here -- if he does." A dangerous glint creeps into her eyes, with that last.

The Martyr perks up on seeing Bastian, "I like your new hair. I'm not Finn anymore and it feels weird. We got electrocuted. when the freak went. Right after you died. I'm so sorry about that. you dying. I tried so hard to distract Nails for you. The ghosts dragged in Freak and he zapped us when he died. Some of us. Me, Lucas, Roxie, Cheer's Kirk, Lyle. Cheer said the building burned with their bodies in it, but they got the wounded out." He eyes Creepy and gives her a strange smile surprisingly bright smile. "Harder drugs and other things. Danny likes it, but I worry he'll let Addison go too far. Danny says he won't hurt him too much, but I worry. I'm a worrier. Danny thinks he funny.... fuck, fuck. And I can't remember if I warned scott before I died. I warned him about the book, but I can't remember what I said about addisn. danny didn't want be to talk about addison. Please don't tell him I said anything. I'm a terrible boyfriend. Fuck!"

The Scholar stares at the Explorer and the Martyr, a little of Bastian and Sebastian's shared unreadability creeping in as he tries to sort through all of that. He latches on to the bit about the TV first, glances at it. "You...saw..." He swallows. "Good God," he murmurs as it really, really sets in. He turns resolutely away from the TV. "Why would anyone use rohypnol for recreational use, it's a tranquilizer." He realizes he's answered his own question, rolls his eyes. "Right, right," he says, runs a hand over his face.

He watches Creepshow stalk to the dispensary, wincing, but doesn't attempt to stop her. In point of fact he's going to want a stiff drink himself. "Thanks," he says, with a weak smile, to the comment about his hair. "It's good to see you, even if it means you're, well...stuck with us here in this," his eyes flit towards the TV, away again, "mess."

That's pretty much where Creepshow is at. Max dying, her last moments, all just entertainment on the screen for others to watch. She's exceedingly private and guarded, so knowing that is most certainly what made her snap.

She comes out a moment later with a big glass of rum and coke and a bottle of Maker's for Scholar. She's quiet. Brooding.

Addison's already got it coming, not that any of them know it yet, for the fact that he's going to step out of a door that should belong to someone else. To the Explorer's, mind, at least. He's the unwitting replacement for the man she'd loved and married, lifetimes before. Plus, well, he's an assface. So even without Finn's revelations, she would've had plenty of reason to dislike the new Deviant. Still, she shakes her head, reaches over to give the Martyr's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You're not. You're worried, and you're protective. Besides, if he does push Danny over that particular edge, we'll see it. On that fucking larger-than-life screen over there. He doesn't need to know you told us anything -- that television will be your scapegoat." She glances over as Creepy returns, drums up a small smile for her. "We could turn the set off, I suppose. We could do that when it was music videos. I'm torn, though. Much as I dislike the thought of watching people I care about suffer, it does give us the opportunity to prepare for new arrivals, and.. well, maybe an idea of how to help them cope."

The Martyr peers at Bastian, "I was so scared you wouldn't be. Sorry. I'm a mess. I was pretty sure I was going to die about then or not long after, but I didn't believe in an after life and I thought I was really crazy for a while and then I figured out kimmy wasn't kimmy and a couple seconds later that I wasn't finn and that was so much worse somehow than the whole some people trapped and some people disapearing and I just really wish my brain would stop only it won't stop even though I drank enough to knock me out a while ago but I'm not _Quiet_ and that's more proof I'm not me... I'm not sure I'm even making sense. I'll be all right tomorrow. I promise. Little quakes. Sorry." A weak smile for Bastian. Max's reapearance and her dark mood seem to calm him down again, and he just watches her move around, his eyelashes like starfish from tears he's already forgotten shedding. He tries to hug Misty, all whiskey clumsy, "You're wonderful. I'm sorry I didn't really know you when we were alive."

The Scholar grimaces at the thought of watching literally anything on the TV. Particularly people dying. He gives Max a grateful look for the bourbon, chased by an apologetic one for the need. "As much as I sympathize with how you're both feeling, we have to be careful about how we treat people based on their behavior in...there." He sighs. "At any time it could be one of us given a particularly...ugly part to play. What if one of us had been a ghost?" Oh, what a chilling thought; what if he and Mahoney had been reversed?

He derails that train of thought with a shake of his head. "There's no need to apologize, Finn." He hesitates. "Should I call you that? Finn? Or do you want me to use another name?"

Explorer grimaces at Scholar's wholly reasonable reminder, and stabs her spoon a little more viciously into her pint of ice cream, for the next bite. This is tricky, as Martyr's on her like a drunken octopus, but she somehow manages to both stab and reciprocate the hug she's receiving. Just, one-armed. "I know, I know," she mutters toward Scholar. "I suppose I should try to give him a pass anyway, since he helped carry Oz and Danica to the infirmary. He can't be a complete ass if he was willing to do that, right?" Cherry Garcia, meet mouth.

"Must have been nice," says Creepshow between sips of her drink. "Having friends that care enough to go fucking look for you. I wouldn't know, because out of all the film crew only fucking Derek actually came to find or save me."

The Martyr looks at Bastian wide eyed and sad, "I don't know. I can't figure out who I am with something so essential to all I thought I was not... what it was. I'm mostly me but not really me. Finn is... I want to be Finn again. I think. It's familiar. Everything isn't. Or is just a little bit wrong and I can't figure out if that's worse or just weirder than all wrong would be. I need to get used to this kind of weird. I know that. I need to get used to even the survivors not surviving. I wanted the cat and all it represented. I wanted... all of it. I _Liked_ being alive. Sometimes even when it hurt."

At least the Faux Finn is a gentleman octopus and not a handsy octopus. He attempts to curl up next to her when he lets go, as if proximity helps ground him. He peers up at Max, "I didn't now anyone was missing until we lined up to go into Lakeview. Of course I wanted to look when I found out and I didn't even like you yet then. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didnt know. I'm sorry I was too slow and too bad at things. I'm sorry we didn't get along better at the beginning and that I was fucking useless with hooks, let alone against Mahony. I wanted you to live. I wanted everyone to live. Even Addison. Of course I wanted you to live. I'm sorry, not Max or Lupe or... I've lost track. I wuld hug you but I'm pretty sure you'd kick me in the nuts."

More to the Explorer than the rambly Martyr, the Scholar says, "I'll be honest that in your positions, if it was Max or Colorado, I wouldn't be listening to my own advice. So." He opens the bottle of Maker's Mark, takes a small drink, savoring the taste. "I'm aware of how bitter this must sound." He eyes the bottle. "I wonder sometimes if that's not the goal. To make us turn on one another, strip us of our humanity a little piece at a time."

He glances down at Creepshow, his expression entirely sympathetic. He remains near her in spite of her mood, or perhaps because of it. "It's alright. You don't need to apologize," he tells the Martyr. "Certainly for not being able to save everyone, but not for most of the rest. As to whether or not you are Finn, that's a question you have to answer for yourself. No one of us really has the answers there." Another look down at his bottle. "For my part I do think the things that happen to us are real, that we are those people, even if we don't know about the rest while we're in there." He cuts a glance at Max, back to the bottle. "Certainly, what we feel in there is real."

Finn's apologies to Creepy are all well and good, and even expected to some degree, given that he's the Martyr. But the Explorer's gaze simply rises to the other woman, and lingers there for a good long while, as she allows Finn to ramble on while she sits silent. Only once the others have said their piece does she finally offer up her own response. "I didn't know, Lupe." There's that other name again. The older name. The one that links them together as sisters. "I honestly didn't find out until well after you'd been found and brought back, or you know I would've been right there leading the charge, and dragging Derek's forgetful ass right along with me."

Creepshow just blinks at Finnthetic as he rambles. "Wow. Cool story, man. So, like, do we only have one scene at a time? Lots of stuff goes on all at once. Do other channels cover that? Like, maybe there's one where Derek's still being a fucking creeper wirh Mistys dead body? Or, we can watch Addison drug and murder Danny. That could be fun."

To Explorer, "Lupe. Bella. Max. They aren't me. If you're trying to draw on some fucking sympathetic sister card by calling me Lupe, it isn't fucking working. None of you came looking. Not Danica or Oz, not you. Fucking Derek did. And none of you checked in on me after I got back. So in a way, it was like having a fucking turnip for a sister again, I guess."

She heads to her room, bumping past Scholar. "If anyone ACTUALLY wants me, they know where I fucking live."

The Martyr listens to bastian carefully, trying to focus through everything. After some thought, he nods yes. "I will give him a chance. I just... think an eternity of having to deal with him as he was would be proof that hell exists and we're in it. Huis clos. Half closed. No exit." He closes his eyes. "He almost won, you know? Only Danny fixed it for me. Right before we all went off to die. It made a difference. It made a difference. You are right. The feelings are real whatever isn't." He stares at his almost familiar hands and thinks over the other things Bastian said. After a while he says, "Okay. Finn for now until I figure it out." Another long pause, "I trust you still even if you aren't quite you and I'm not quite me. I did from the first."

He looks at Creepshow with sad, kind eyes and calls, "I would like to know you as you are. I'm sorry I don't really know you yet."

As she moves past him the Scholar gently touches Creepshow's back, a light brush. He seems inclined to follow her, even leans in the direction she's going but doesn't just yet. He gives the Martyr a sly smile. "Risky, trusting me. I was a twenty-seven year old tempermental brat, before this." A bob of his eyesbrows. "But yes--give yourself some time. It's not going to be easy and it might not sort out quickly. Or at all. Still, be patient with yourself." Another of those sympathetic looks, this time for Explorer.

Another sharp stab of spoon into ice cream. The Explorer looks a few shades more pale than she had just several moments before, but she doesn't launch into a biting response. She could. Misty certainly would've. But here, in the Facility, those rougher edges are tempered some by personalities she inhabited before. She does catch Scholar's look, and she swallows once, before forcing a smile to her lips that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "It's fine. She's been through a lot, she's angry. I get it." Her gaze dips back down to the pint in her hands, then, and fixes there firmly. The spoon is lifted, its sweet and creamy contents stared at, but not consumed.


  • SLAM!*

The Martyr snorts amusement at the Scholar. "And I might be the next Addison or Raul. I get that. Still, all the important bits seem to be in there. The way the very best of Kimmy is in Cheer. I am glad you have each other still. Even with the weirdness." To the Explorer he asks, "Do you want a hug? Ishould have asked before." He's still cartoon character sounding, but he's edging away from the full Mickey. He looks in the direction of the dlamming door and wonders out lout, "Did she call me an emu?"

The Scholar makes a face as the door slams. "Emo," he says. "And, thank you. It's complicated, but I would rather that than not. Complicated I can worth with. Even if it's difficult." He has another sip of bourbon. It might be time for a nice, long, bath. He nods at Misty. "She has. I can't imagine, that many lives, that many memories...two already feels overwhelming. Though at least the strong parts don't overlap in age. I think that must be more difficult." He looks back over his shoulder to where Creepshow has gone, plainly debating joining her.

"Go," Explorer verbally nudges Scholar, addressing that more pressing issue first. "If no one follows her, after that exit, she's going to assume no one 'actually wants' her." Then, though it isn't precisely a hug, she does lean in against Finn lightly. And finally takes that bite of ice cream.

The Martyr is still looking in the direction Creepy had gone, "What's emo?" Because of course he knows nothing about what happened after the Summer of '89. "I think you are good for each other compicated or not." He turns back to Bastian, "I really will be all right, you know. Littlle quakes. I just need time to... too feel things before I can accept them and start doing what needs to be done, whatever that is. Or at least Finn did. I can tell already I'm... not wound quite the same way s I was." He leans back, content with it. "Misty's right. Go to her. you're the only one who can love her the way she needs to be loved, I think."

"I'm not sure I know," the Scholar admits to the Martyr, since his own knowledge is bounded by the time they were just in. Thus nudged, he nods at the two of them, managing a weak smile, and trails after the Creepshow, bottle of bourbon in hand.