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Dangerous Conversationalist
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 Posted: Thu Nov 21, 2013 12:41 am
Who: Basil/Banter, Genie, Duncan
Where: The village - Post Meta
Weather: Cool and humid - Dusk
It was hours before the helicopter arrived to take them back to base-camp.
Basil spent most of that time checking off the minutes and sipping his bottled water. He was in something of a daze. Mostly his own amazement at having come out of this ordeal more or less unscathed. Something that didn't really sink in until he found himself deflecting the questions of technicians and paramedics left and right.
Yes, my burn is okay.
No, that's dirt, not a scrape.
Yes, I have enough water.
It was a little strange, speaking up for himself. Usually Genie handled that sort of thing. Did most of the talking. Sometimes it seemed like she always knew his symptoms better than he did. But only sometimes.
He was anxious at the thought of seeing her again, but he didn't know how he was going to break the news to her about his theremin. Maybe she wouldn't ask.
He watched Raevan after Raevan being guided into the copters, which were a lot larger and louder than he imagined them to be. Like the sound of gunfire.
He wasn't able to get a very good look at them, but he could tell they'd sustained injuries that were enough to make him grateful for his own stupid luck. Of all the things he was feeling right now, he didn't expect one of them to be lucky.
He touched his fingers to his temple. There was an oddly pleasant feeling there, like swarming bees. A feeling that grew increasingly stronger, watching the procession of grieved faces file somberly past him. It was unsettling to see the ones with no obvious injuries, except on their psyches and in the glazed set of their eyes. Like Lazarus...
Christ. Poor Lazarus.
Poor everybody.
He could empathize with those faraway stares. Predict everything they would do when they got home, like he was reading the instructions on a box of cake-mix. The perfect trauma: Two parts oversleeping; or two parts insomnia. Two parts guilt: let simmer into a fine and indiscriminate rage. One part nightmares. Two parts nihilism. One part crying in the middle of the day. One part staring into space. Three parts fending off your loved ones.
He knew.
("I think that's our ride.") The voice said.
Basil could barely hear him over the sound of the blades. There were only a handful of people left now. The few with hardly any damage at all. Basil offhandedly noticed that Duncan was among them. There was a shared glance between them. A mutual acknowledgement that was oddly comforting.
Once they were in the air, Basil didn't feel much like striking up conversation, which suited him fine because nobody seemed to be in a talking kind of mood.
It was rough going at first. Basil had a "thing" about heights, ever since he'd been dropped from several hundred feet in a free-fall. He'd never even been in a commercial airplane, and didn't know what to expect. His first impression wasn't good.
It felt flimsy. Like there was very little between him and "outside". The Other had offered to take over if the trip was too stressful for him but it felt like a pretense. Basil knew The Other wasn't very good in confined spaces with other people. He didn't like not having an easy escape route.
Basil didn't mind if it was. He started this trip, and he intended to see it through to the end. He would just have to avoid looking out the window. Try to get some sleep. He nodded off a few times while sitting upright, but startled awake at every odd noise. Any time a throat was cleared or there was interference on the pilot's radio. He was caught in the place between sleep and awake. Total zombie. At some point he worked up the courage to glance outside. Or maybe his head had just happened to roll in that direction.
The jungle, fading away under the cover of twilight. Distant land-masses looking hazy and blue.
Seeing it from the air put it in a much different perspective. When looking at it from above, it all seemed so small and benign. It looked like something that made sense on a map, and could be measured in feet and miles. Not like when you were in the thick of it...
He inhaled sharply when the pilot finally spoke, telling them they'd be starting their descent soon. There was a chain reaction of groans and stretches from the other passengers. A spike in activity as they physically and emotionally prepared themselves to touch earth.
The descent was scarier than liftoff. Basil felt his insides both clench and drop into the abyss where his stomach would someday be. It felt a little like going down in an elevator, but much, much harder.
When the craft landed, Basil waited for the others to get out first. He still needed a minute for his nerves to settle.
It wasn't until now that he really felt as though things were over. That he was far away from any black cats and frozen rivers. He carded his fingers through his hair. Rubbed his sore eyelids. Fetched a long and cleansing sigh. He was ready to face the real world again. Ready for Genie.
He glanced up and startled at the sight of Duncan in the seat across from him. He was sure he was alone...
The old man looked at him like he was anticipating something, hands clasped neatly in front of him, eyes clear and focused.
Basil frowned, as if to say, 'are you waiting on me?'
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Posted: Sun Nov 24, 2013 4:52 pm
Having the adrenaline kicked out of him was strange-- everything hurt, but he was grateful that his team, somehow, came out of this relatively unscathed, but he began more ragged with every compounding grievously injured person he saw. How could this search-and-rescue have gone so wrong?
Duncan felt more out of the way than actually helpful when he attempted to establish some medical support before the helicopters came. He wasn't able to do much-- maybe wrap people up with some too-thin layers of gauze and send the on their way with painkillers, which were difficult to swallow in the first place, given there was barely any water left in the whole group. In a way, Duncan latched onto helping Basil out of necessity of doing Genie right-- of guarding a Raevan, if only a little, and seeing that he made it out of this okay. Not unscathed, but okay. Alive. Genie would be distraught otherwise-- her worry permeated his mood considerably.
He made sure to check up on Basil when he could, offering what consolation could be given while everyone was being cajoled away. Basil didn't seem to be particularly cognizant when he did speak to him, though, but Duncan kept trying, kept trying to lead him where he needed to be; stay put and wait for the helicopter. The evacs. "We can go home soon."
Once it was their turn to fly out of Kahadlok, Duncan urged Basil in front of him so the evacs could escort the Raevan in first. He complied with what they asked of him-- What is your name? Are you injured? He didn't note the ache in his back, no, it seemed arbitrary-- he wasn't bleeding, he wasn't on the verge of dying. He plopped himself down unceremoniously to the seat in front of Basil and gave him space-- he didn't seem the type that wanted to be consorted overmuch, let alone babied. Still, he remained in front of him, on-guard, just in case something could go wrong.
The flight back to the village was short. Duncan was a bit overwhelmed by the aerial excursion, though, no matter how brief it was; once the evacs unclipped his belt, Duncan practically toppled out of his seat and waited patiently for Basil to do the same. They were among the last two to leave the helicopter, and Duncan stared at Basil, eyes eager and worried.
"Basil," he called out, firmly, "It's time for us to go. I'm sure Genie is waiting for you."
He was unsure if Basil was able to comprehend what he'd said-- the Raevan was displaying some typical characteristics of emptiness and non-responsiveness that he often had to deal with elsewhere. Still, Duncan maintained the best smile he could muster, his brows furrowed with sympathy.
"Are you alright?"
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Mon Nov 25, 2013 11:44 pm
"Are you alright?"
There was a prolonged pause that did not suggest he was thinking of how to answer. His mind was floating, bobbing against the ceiling of his head like an untethered balloon.
("Hell-o? I think he's talking to you, genius.")
His eyes cleared. Black as India ink. "Oh! Oh, yeah. I'm fine, thanks..." He smoothed his hair away from his forehead, lofting an equally unconvincing smile.
"Sorry. I guess I'm just a little off..."
The Other sniffed.
The silence returned, and Basil held the old man's eyes in that tiny space as if to convince him. No really. I think this time, I'm gonna be okay. Then he raised his hood. A move which not only shaded his face, but severed his readability. It was done almost resolutely, as if to complete his transformation from Jungle Basil to Durem Basil. Ready to return home to his dirty little apartment in which his relationship to Duncan had no context.
They were only former team-mates now. Not quite friends or enemies in the real world. Just supporting players in what was soon to be a very long bad memory.
"Thanks." He said.
He carefully stepped out of the copter and into the evening air, heavy with dampness. The sky overhead was a fiery orange graduating into velvet purple. The rain-forest was like a cutout in black construction paper, and the people around him were dingy phantoms. There were a few wooden light-poles spread around the area to spotlight tents and tiny cement buildings. Occasionally a bat would flicker through the beam, scooping up moths.
The helicopter blades continued spinning, but slower, pressing a wall of air against his back which felt unnaturally cold against his sweaty skin. He worked his palm over his bristly mouth and chin, his eyes sweeping across the base.
"Basil? Basil!"
He turned. Genie was straddling the bench of a picnic table. She wore a shapeless sweatshirt the color of old wool, drawstring pants, and a comfortable pair of sneakers. In one hand she held her cell-phone, in the other a white styrofoam cup with some kind of steaming beverage. Black coffee. She set them both forcefully on the table and rushed him. His face broke into a smile as she threw her arms around his neck, and for a moment he wasn't sure either of them were touching the ground. His backpack fell onto the dirt and tipped over on its side.
Up close he could see her face was scrubbed of any makeup, her skin puffy and raw. A strong smell of cigarette smoke lifted from her hair. Basil wasn't surprised. Pacing alone in her motel room, he expected she would need a little something to take the sharp edges off her emotions. Make them easier to roll along. Easier to sleep on.
She plastered kisses to his forehead. Basil was too exhausted to deflect them, doing his best to look indignant. "I missed you."
She stepped back, holding his forearms, "I missed you, bub. And I'm so glad you're back." she whispered, "Even if you do smell like Dr. Livingstone's sweatband." She laughed, and Basil laughed too, even if he didn't get the reference. He felt a warm sense of something familiar and normal.
She gave his arms a little squeeze, "God, I'm so glad you're okay."
She held his eyes, and he saw a spike of alarm pass through them. Her grip tightened.
"You are, aren't you? C'mere into the light. Let me see."
"Genie, come on, I'm tired..."
He put up the imitation of a fight, trying to ward off the onslaught of pinches and tugs, until her fingers reached the cushiony blisters rising from his neck. A dark sebaceous yellow.
"Oh God, what is that...?"
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Posted: Thu Oct 16, 2014 11:02 pm
Basil's reassurance did nothing to assuage Duncan, but he knew when a situation called for silence. He let the Frei be and offered a complacent smile, a small nod, and looked away as Basil pulled up his hood again. Duncan was too tired to make light of this situation-- not that he could have, really, even if he was in good shape-- so he looked away, toward the silhouette of the forest and toward the small collection of people overhead.
Basil's thanks was unexpected. Duncan turned back to him, just briefly, before ducking his head toward the floor and smiling. "Of course." Then someone called for the Frei. Genie.
Duncan hid a sigh of relief by glancing at the floor as the woman approached, not that he had to worry much-- she was focused on greeting her boy, after all, and replenishing his spirits with kisses. Duncan felt inclined to leave, in fact, until Genie began to examine the Frei for injuries-- the older man glanced curiously between them, eyes tired but focused.
"Minor burns," Duncan noted-- his voice was cracked, but loud enough. He glanced up at Genie and grimaced, "They're blisters. I'm sorry for interrupting," he extended a dirty hand to Genie, "I was with him in Kahadlok."
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Fri Oct 17, 2014 1:48 pm
Just as she set her mind to wondering—errant sparks from a campfire, poison ivy, spider bites, manifesting symptom of some horrible new jungle disease—she heard a new voice. She turned to find Duncan there, standing a polite distance away. He gave her a start.
From the arch of his eyebrows, Basil was surprised to see him too. It was obvious he'd underestimated Duncan's grasp of the situation. The old man was sharp. Without a word being said to him, he was sensitive to Basil's status as someone that needed extra minding after. Sensitive to Genie's grief and worry.
Basil meanwhile was still under the impression there was no more business between them. If he was being "escorted' back to Genie in some way, Duncan was the only one aware of it. It wasn't a deliberate rejection on Basil's part. He was just self-involved and unobservant that way. People with his certain set of... challenges usually were.
He didn't seem offended by Duncan's hanging around. Just confused. Did he forget something?
Rather than ask, he saw an opportunity to take back his space from Genie and seized it, pulling away and furtively tugging his hood over the burn-site.
Genie stared at him. "Oh. Hi."
She gingerly accepted his offered hand, thinking little of the griminess of it, and executed a three-point glance from Duncan to Basil. Basil back to Duncan. She shook his hand limply, once.
'I was with him in Khadalok.' he said.
"Right, right." She said, a little breathless. She was craving a cigarette. She straightened her clothes, tugging her pants up and her sweater down. "Well uh, the bus is still getting everything ready." She said, seemingly to both and neither of them. It had a dishonest quality to it, like they were having a separate, different conversation beneath this one.
To Basil, she motioned to his gear, still tipped on the dirt. "It'll be a while. So, grab your stuff and have a seat, okay? Get some rest. I'll be over in a sec..."
Basil pulled a face, his mouth setting firm. Genie ignored it, offering her face. He gave her a long look, then pecked her perfunctorily on the cheek. The look was reproach and acknowledgement. The very particular look a young person gets when they know full well they're being dismissed from a conversation, but are too passive to stage a protest. You could tell this kind of thing happened to him a lot.
It didn't matter. From twenty, forty, or a hundred feet away, Basil would still be able to hear everything that was being said, and he had a feeling Genie was aware of that when she'd asked. Excusing him was just a pretense. Of what, he didn't know.
He made a move to grab the bag, but paused, hanging back. He looked at her.
"The theremin's gone."
A pause.
"Okay."
Okay.
He bent down and grabbed the bag by a shoulder strap, letting it drag on the ground behind him.
Genie's eyes followed him the whole way to the picnic bench, watching as he inspected, then dipped a finger into the contents of her Styrofoam cup, tipping it over. Weak, steaming coffee dribbled through the cracks in the planks.
She hitched her mouth in a kind of smile, brought down swiftly by a thought. A single thought that hardened her stomach. Leaped unbidden into her mind.
I can't believe he came back.
She didn't even know what it meant, but it was there. Undeniable.
There was a beat of silence. She turned to Duncan, folding her arms. "I guess I should thank you."
It didn't sound friendly or unfriendly. More like a statement of fact. She wasn't sure what exactly she was thanking him for. Maybe she just felt a need to acknowledge him. He was in Basil's group. He was there at the start of the expedition. And she remembered, vaguely, he'd shown concern for them then, too.
A wrinkle appeared in her forehead. "I don't remember your name, I'm sorry..." She really was. It didn't escape her notice that he was here. Fresh off the helicopter. Talking to her.
She tilted her head. Wasn't anyone waiting for him?
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Posted: Sat Oct 18, 2014 4:27 pm
Duncan managed to grimace at Genie and returned her limp handshake with a firmer one. "Hello," he offered again-- he ducked his glance down toward the floor and waited as Genie addressed Basil once more. Situation aside, the way she addressed the Frei panged with a kind of familiarity that left a soft smile lingering on his features. It was an awkward scenario, but he'd rarely seen a guardian of a Raevan act quite so maternal. Basil played every part the distressed teen with how she'd greeted her, so full of affection and relief.
His mouth set into a hard frown again once he realized what had happened, all over again. These Raevans were nothing but children-- the oldest of them were only a few years old. They had sent children off to a minefield.
Duncan folded his hands over one another and watched tiredly as Basil went off on his way-- he looked back at Genie and shook his head, just lightly, and attempted a more genuine smile, though it felt practiced and awkward. He suddenly became very aware of the grime caking the wrinkles of his face, which he wiped off with his still-damp jacket sleeve. "I don't believe I quite deserve the thanks, but I wanted to make sure he returned to you in one piece," he attempted another smile, "I'm Duncan Clarke. You're Genie Witham?"
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Sat Oct 18, 2014 5:46 pm
She made what resembled a smile as he wiped down his face. Her way of signalling it was alright. There was no denying he looked like fresh hell. But so did she. So did everybody. A good tragedy did that for people. Anyone who could be worried about their appearance at a time like this was somebody she didn't much want to talk to.
"Well, that was very kind of you." She said. And she meant it. It was nice he went out of his way to do that. She got a sneaking suspicion that when he was a younger man, he was the kind to wait in the car after dropping off his dates. Just to make sure they got to the door okay.
He introduced himself, and she was quietly embarrassed he'd manage to remember her name, even with everything going on. First and last. She raised a hand. "Uh, Genie's fine."
There was a silence where they were just standing around awkwardly in an "well, here we are" kind of way, staring at their shoes. Duncan blotting the muck off his face. Genie chewing the inside of her cheek. Her eyes darted over once or twice. She half expected to see Basil watching them, trying to figure them out. When she checked, he had his head on the table, using his forearms for pillows, like a fourth-grader sleeping on his desk. He was probably exhausted. If they'd let her, she'd find an empty seat on the bus so he could lay down.
She glanced again, then touched Duncan's elbow to turn him slightly to the side, so both of them were facing from the picnic table. Conspiratorial, like half of a football huddle. She lowered her voice. She wondered if Duncan knew Basil had ears like a two-timed wife.
"So, listen. He's not gonna tell me if I ask him. What happened," She gestured vaguely to her neck. "up here. Do you know?"
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