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 Posted: Tue Dec 08, 2015 11:15 am
It had been far too much to hope that with distance the desire to see and pursue America would diminish like a waning radio signal. If anything the further from the main base she was the more unbearable and grating the mental fixations became for Lawrence. Every day he went to the infirmary and meticulously did his job, turning and tending to the sick or injured and every day when he went home he followed a similar neat and tidy routine. If he was honest, the primary purpose of these things were simply to preoccupy him to a degree that he did not have time to think too long or too hard about America. It was an incessant blight, shunting aside higher thoughts and logical calculation with a neediness that scandalised him.
He had tried more than once to explain to Horace the nature of the fixation, to underline that it was a relentless and frustrating thing rather than some chosen priority and the man had been either too stupid or stubborn to understand. He had gotten angry and upset every time and insisted that he wanted to compete with America. It galled him to the very core, the thought that anyone who professed to care about him would seek to actually compete with something that Lawrence felt was gnawing at him without end. He was Prometheus and she was the eagle which nightly tortured him, chewing out his liver for sins he could not comprehend. The fact the other man had sought to compete with such a thing had convinced him with finality that he had been stupid to ever entertain keeping him around and that he would only damage him in the end. It had left him with the only resolution being to remove Horace from his life one way or another but had also left him with no real outlet for his pent up frustrations. Day by day the simple and wholesome monotony of a settled and "happy" life had worn out piece by piece and left him only with her.
The urge to text had come unbidden and out of the blue and in doing so it had bypassed his tenuous self control before he even noticed. There had been a few moments when frustration had crept in at himself and at his own weakness before like everything else he absorbed it into his ego as part of his own divine will. He expected her to refuse to tell him, but she did not and when he had her location laid out before him, he knew without a doubt he would go there. Even if the hunters in charge told him no, he would go there somehow anyway, even if it meant going under the guise of someone else. No matter what sort of obstacles he found in his way, he had accepted with a grim sort of certainty and that it was only a matter of time before he did what it took to get around them, left almost dizzy by the lack of self determination inherent in that line of thought.
Fortunately for him on this occasion it did not come to rule breaking. In fact all it took was a few careful questions here and there and an arranging of schedules on the rota and he was slotted in to spend some time at the Svetloyar base. Of course they asked him why on God's green Earth he would ever want to go to Russia in the winter, only expected really and he had waved them off by telling them he had ill memories of the festive season and needed some time to himself to think. They had not asked further.
Melvin was straightforward as always, so very trusting and concerned. He updated the other man that he'd be gone for a little while on mission work and that it was nothing to be concerned about, made him several meals which he stored in the fridge and was set.
Butch on the other hand (the only hand) was very very excited about the idea of a trip, seeing it as essentially walkies and therefore probably the most exciting thing he'd ever done (since his last walkies) He would not shut up about each and every step of packing and dressing for the cold, reminding Lawrence over and over to bring lots of food to eat and time and time again having to be reminded that they would likely have food there but there was no guarantee they would have warm clothing. Carefully he opted for layers, several shirts and a thick loose turtleneck sweater and two pairs of trousers, chosen for their quick-drying material. Everything was white, of course. All of this was topped off with his coat which for the first time ever he wished was more elaborately or warmly designed. After his banishment to the Arctic tundra by Caelius he had also invested in a white ushanka which now oddly suited to the environment he donned. Trailing a small travel suitcase with his other important possessions he made his way to the portal.
What lay beyond the glimmering shifting surface was mostly dark and cold and he followed the instructions he'd been given through the woods, finding his way only with a torch and shivering intensely even through his well prepared layers. There was a lake nearby they'd told him jokingly, advising him not to fall in and in the blustery, confusing darkness he found himself mildly concerned that he might.
It took a bit of wandering in circles before he finally found the small shack he'd been advised existed. He headed inside and descended in the elevator he had been advised would also be there, hoping that whatever lay beyond was warm but in a cold and irritated way expecting that it probably was not.
He refused to think of himself as an addict, but as the machinery shunted and moved he did at the very least concede this was not his best idea yet.
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Posted: Thu Dec 10, 2015 11:47 pm
He's greeted by two hunters, one a pale blonde woman who looked like she could be his sister, the other a black man, as weighty as Hunter life could allow, nervously adjusting his glasses the longer he's in Lawr's presence. Despite this, he's the one that speaks first, "Lawrence Weiman? She said you might be visiting soon. Please summon your weapon for verification."
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Posted: Fri Dec 11, 2015 10:57 am
Lawrence gave the hunters a blank look - something he was very skilled at - before quirking a brow in curiosity and rubbing his arms to drive out even a little of the cold.
There was a momentary spike of irritation at being ordered to do anything at all that he had not volunteered to do and in a flash of vivid focus he found himself considering if he could take them both in a fight. The urge passed just as quickly when he realised he almost certainly had no chance and he extended his arms out to either side as though submitting to a strip search and summoning Butches' long and lethal looking claws, the spiked choke chain attached to them hanging down to floor level. The runes blazed with the eagerness the canine felt, wanting to smell and lick (and possibly bite) the new humans he had never met.
"Sufficient?" he asked with clipped irritation, feeling exposed and worse still, identifiable with his weapon summoned.
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Posted: Fri Dec 11, 2015 12:17 pm
Licking his lips, the man nods briskly as the woman sent off a quick text. Giving Lawr a measuring look, she informs him, "Jones will be here to get you herself." Neither hunter offers much conversation after that, but soon America is walking briskly down the entry hall. With nods but no sign of friendly greeting the two hunters leave, presumably back to work but very likely gossip.
Looking him up and down, America gives a grim twist of a smile. "How long are you here for?"
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Posted: Fri Dec 11, 2015 12:25 pm
As soon as the other man nodded, Butch was gone again, back to being a his usual strange rolex shape, the extra hand pointing to one of the more murder oriented symbols around the inner edge. He looked the strangers over thoughtfully, idly rubbing the spot on his chest underneath which the runic artifact lay. It was as if by forcing him to summon and calling him by his full name the two strangers had pre-empted any persona which might have come to the fore. He said nothing more to them either, simply waiting for the very person he had come all the way to this godforsaken place to lay eyes on.
He returned the smile with his own broad and slightly smug one.
"How long will they have me?" he crooned.
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Posted: Fri Dec 11, 2015 12:30 pm
Rocking back on her heels, America is quiet for just a little too long for the answer to be as simple as she makes it sound with a curt, "Depends if you're here on leave or here to work. Depends on you." In other words, she isn't blocking his way in this.
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Posted: Fri Dec 11, 2015 12:42 pm
"And that in turn depends on them missy. I don't know how they feel about equal opportunities and all." he idly waved the missing hand and found himself irritated by a twinge of phantom pain in the missing limb as he did so, a phenomena which always surprised him and stepped beyond the tight control he imposed on everything he was.
"I could certainly manage a little work I am sure, I have been doing a great deal back on the island though most of it involved turning unconscious people and changing wound dressings." he looked her over and for a brief and pure moment he felt free. It was as if some great heavy shackle had been unhooked from his mind and he could move freely again.
And yet the thought of returning to that dark and blighted place he had been made twisted the happiness and made him intensely wish to seize her and possess her for ever.
"Now what on earth might they have you doing?" he said, as if for a moment his gaze hadn't iced over from friendliness to the distant emptiness that lay beyond them. "I tell you what though, it is goshdarn freezing out here."
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Posted: Fri Dec 11, 2015 3:27 pm
At that last, America sort of settles and relaxes. If the other two had stayed, they'd have been treated to the unsettling good cheer that filters across her features. There's a long stretch of silence, like she might keep him out her for hours, days, and maybe forever just because why not? And then she's turning and gesturing for him to follow her into the little grounds keeper's hutt that doubles as the base elevator.
"I'm in charge," she finally answers as they descend. "So you can stay until you're either proven useless or too much hassle. There's been a lot of small skirmishes in the region, and we get injuries from restoring the city below on a regular basis. None of our Lifers are focused on the medic stuff, so they'll be glad enough to get freed from it for a bit."
The elevator slows to a halt, opening to the main halls of the upper base. Gesturing to one she goes on, "Kitchen, rec room, lab and infirmary." And to another, "Dorm and communal bathroom." And then, "Goes to the rest of the base. Don't go alone. This whole place is a big ******** puzzle and we still find surprises."
Going down the dorm hallway, she gestures toward a door, "You can stay in this one, nobody ever wants it." She doesn't explain that a man had been tortured and killed in there, that she'd been the one to do it. Others no doubt would, but America knew he wouldn't care anyway.
She doesn't stop to let him settle, instead leading further and further down the hall and then down a set of steps and suddenly the stark, ugly and decidedly military metal walls transition into a corridor of mirrors, surrounding them on all sides. "Captain's quarters are here."
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Posted: Fri Dec 11, 2015 4:16 pm
Lawrence did not find the silence upsetting, he never did, finding any time with America somehow less grating than the presence of so many others. It still did not make sense, his tastes ran towards the cultured, the refined and gentle, soft creatures with obvious vulnerability or open trust. America was a different creature altogether and yet every time he found himself pulled back to the strange iron and fire that she breathed in her very soul.
He followed along behind her with intent curiosity. "In charge?" he repeated with a smile evident in his tone, as if the idea that she could be in charge of anything or anyone was a novel and unheard of concept. "And I don't know.. I can be verrry useful." he purred. However, the mention of people actually getting themselves injured seemed to even take the sarcasm and playfulness back out of his voice. "There really is not a great deal to do on the island, I prefer hands on emergencies, stitching, draining, saving people." He was no expert but he had practice and stalwart practicality behind him and as a general rule medics tended - unless they were moon - to have an excuse to be off the front line. "I would very happily take their jobs."
Making note of the limited facilities, he froze mid-stride at the mention of a communal bathroom before making up the pace to catch up. "I will never comprehend why on Earth people refuse to treat privacy as a priority." The route to the rest of the base got the look of someone who refused to risk their precious hide without good reason and who would need to be dragged into a puzzle full of horrible surprises, possibly by the already too-long hair rather than wander on his own.
He nodded at the dorm, fully expecting it to be the most dingy rat infested hovel the base had to offer, or a broom cupboard, he would be frankly relieved when he found out that it was simply a former torture chamber, considering that sort of thing to give a place a bit of character and provenance.
Patiently he followed in her wake, finding himself suddenly surrounded by mirrors and in a way he could not explain suddenly feeling as if every mirror around him was a knife driving into his mind. He visibly flinched, only slight but nevertheless noticeable as he took a step into the corridor.
"Why would you have this?" he asked, finding the fractal image of himself a distressing question he refused to answer. "I knew you had terrible taste but a hall of mirrors?"
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Posted: Fri Dec 11, 2015 4:33 pm
"Was the last guy to run this place, the whole base was empty for ******** decades after he went crazy and turned it all into a maze." The hall ends in a pair of white doors with gleaming golden trim. With a resigned sigh, America opens them to reveal more of the same. The rooms were decidedly baroque in the white and gold and the hundreds, maybe thousands of mirrors that dominated every bit of free space. In the parlor, in the bedroom, in the bathroom with its opulent tub and gilded swans, the only piece of vivid color is in the motion of her hair, reflected back again and again.
Nothing beside the girl in the mirrors says America Jones lives in these rooms.
She settles into an antique sette and allows him to explore without reprimand. Toeing off her shoes, America comments, "Guess crazy guys just like their s**t fancy."
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Posted: Fri Dec 11, 2015 5:35 pm
Lawrence, once he got over the shock of the mirrors and their dizzying effect on him managed to pull his mind back into line asserting himself as who he was, as what he was. Able to think more clearly and to simply return to admiring his own reflection as the handsome perfect creature it was he looked over the doors and the room inside.
"Now thisss." he hissed in apparent delight. "Is indeed fancy as you put it. Decadent, eccentric. Were it not for the mirrors I should envy you this place. Even with the mirrors perhaps I still envy you a little." he looked about himself at the countless versions of himself, all gaunt facial features and contrasting warm layers of clothing.
He was not shy about investigating the quarters, removing his glove to trail fingertips over furniture.
"Liked to see himself." he said, before glancing over at her on the settee and freezing at his own gaze meeting him across the room, it was enough to derail enough that he went on. "Or was looking for himself."
The glove was pocketed and he lapsed into the accent he so frequently used to irritate her in the past. "This is a lot of space for one little ole lady." he crooned, "I bet at night it is impossible to tell where someone is creeping up on you from. I bet at night it is beautiful and terrible, I bet it is beautiful and terrible always, I know that when you stare into a mirror long enough what looks back becomes monstrous, I used to have clients do it, tell them it was their demon and they'd pay me never to see it again."
He sat down, looking delighted by this treasure of a room. "Does the view improve you?" he asked.
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Posted: Fri Dec 11, 2015 8:19 pm
"Like a spooky ******** jewelry box," she nods, even as she's rolling her eyes at him. Even so, her gaze lingers in a mirror, maybe caught like his own. For a moment, America's expression darkens and then she's looking away, focusing on Lawrence. "It tries to," she drawls in answer. "By the by, I wouldn't suggest testing that creeping theory of yours out. I'm a real light sleeper, hun." And there's no venom or hatred in it, but there is a sort of easy, casual violence in the lazy lines of her body, in the tilt of lips and timbre of voice. "Do you know why I'm here?"
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Posted: Sat Dec 12, 2015 3:58 am
There was something in Lawrence's expression which seemed to brighten at the threat, he should have been deterred by the statement and might have been if he had a sensible levels of self-preservation, but instead it simply intrigued him and made him wonder that if he was here long enough if he would do it regardless.
"I can't profess to know beyond a doubt." he said coolly, forced to admit that he did not always understand her motivations or emotional responses and could not always foresee how she would react to any given disaster. She was different in subtle ways but it was like reading another language where he could see only the superficial differences and not the meaning.
"Most people would assume you came here to run from grief, to separate yourself from the reminders of the foolish hopes you built up around you." he raised a brow. "But to me that does not sit entirely correctly. You always seemed to be so certain that as soon as something begun that it would have an end, you grieve at the start before you get to the end." He remembered her unusual response to the minipets he had injured and the distant way she had dealt with the dead.
"Perhaps it just set you free, perhaps you are just here so that the person you are does not scare the little friends you gathered together." he rolled his shoulders. "In short, no. Are you going to tell me?"
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Posted: Sat Dec 12, 2015 10:00 am
"Oh, I'm totally runnin' away, honey." She doesn't sound at all ashamed for it. "You know better than most how I like to run from any real problems. I mean why they wanted me here. Specifically me, specifically here.."
Leaning back, she smiles to her self in the mirror before the expression turns very suddenly brittle. There's a flash of hurt and vulnerability that's entirely out of place and then it's gone and she explains, "This was my promotion base. It went Red while I was here, and I'm here now in case it happens again. To take care of it."
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Posted: Sat Dec 12, 2015 11:20 am
Lawrence raised a brow at her initial comment, uncertain why they would choose specifically her for a base like this, she was a competent hunter and one looking for an out, but at the same time he wasn't sure if these were the reasons she meant. The moment's weakness in her expression only raised further questions and pushed aside the prior simple assumptions, leading him definitively to feel there was something more involved in it.
"Red?" he asked, he had heard whispers of colours, statuses given codenames according to the colour of the glow which took over one's eyes, but beyond that had little hands on experience with any of them. He had experienced green he was sure, but could remember almost nothing of it, red was completely unknown to him and he found himself immediately curious.
"Please do explain what you mean, what happened the first time and what exactly does "taking care of it" entail? I admit I perhaps did not entirely do my homework while I was in Death division. I was preoccupied."
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