ataraxion | Ω 2 Ω [Video]

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Ω 2 Ω [Video]

[Alex has decided that until he found a better way to deal with this, he has to use video on this network. Otherwise, no one was going to be able to tell him and the other Alex apart. At least--for now.]

Look, I apologize in advance for the lack of filters on this message. The technology here is a bit more than I'm used to; still trying to get the hang of it.

[If someone wants to teach him, by all means.

Letting out a breath, he works his jaw slightly, again taking time to phrase out his words. Calling people out on the network is always a gamble, and as he hasn't learned how to sort through the system yet, he isn't even sure if these people are here. But hey--it's worth a shot.]

First off--if anyone knows a guy named Eames, Arthur, or a girl named Ariadne [He thinks that was her name] I'd appreciate if you or they got in touch with me. I got some information that might interest them.

[He shifts in his seat, leaning forward slightly.]

I was wondering if there are any sparring groups set up on board already? Working out by myself is fine, but I'd rather have someone to go up against if possible.

[And then the big question; the one that's been bothering him since he arrived here. He hates talking so much as it is (when half the people aren't really going to give a shit, at least), but this one was probably the most important.]

And... does anyone know if there is a secure bunker on board? Like 'survive a nuclear explosion' secure.

[He needed somewhere to practice his powers, damn it, without blowing a hole in the hull.]

So uh..that's it. Thanks, or whatever.

[And he shuts the feed down.]

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Around five pm, then?

That will work for me, sure.

I'll assume you know what I look like.

I do. Unless you decided to shift on me.

[ Eames doesn't respond, but at the designated time, he's present in the kitchen fifteen minutes earlier than decided. It's not that he makes a point about being extra prompt on things, but he's restless - his memory is back to as it should be, supposedly, but here's another hole and this time without any feeling to accompany it. He feels nothing toward the boy other than curiosity and slight alarm that comes from being known without knowing - especially about things as downplayed as what he does in the business. He's well known for sake of employment, so what does that make Alex, a jockey?

In the meantime, Eames finds himself something of sustenance while he's in the kitchen regardless. Dream or otherwise - though the troupe on a whole seems to be much convinced of the former - he's hungry, and he might as well help himself. ]

[Alex leaves Bozo behind for once; dealing with this situation could get messy, and he doesn't want the cat distracting him.

Walking into the room, he sees the familiar figure of Eames; he doesn't look any different from how he remembered. It is both reassuring and painful, in some ways. The man had helped him come into his own in Promenade. He couldn't be relied on to remember that, Alex knew.

Didn't mean that he isn't upset about it, a bit. Not that he'll let it show.]

Um...hey.

[ It's easy to recognise Alex from the video, but there's no other sensation that he ought to know this person. He peers at the boy over the rim of his cup of juice before setting it down, waggling his fingers a bit in greeting. ]

Private enough for you, then?

Yeah--it will do.

[Alex gives a slight shrug, moving to find that bottle of vodka he found last time. He trust Eames enough (even if this one doesn't know him), not to worry about him doing anything to him.]

You doin' okay? I know It isn't every day that someone like me shows up.

[ The question catches him a bit offguard - Eames doesn't think anyone has actually asked him that question while here. ]

It's also not every day I wake up with something jammed down my throat and encased in watery hair gel, [ he quips lightly, watching the younger boy. ] But I'm all right.

[ Dream or not, he could be worse. ]

Well from what I've heard, we're going to have to get used to it.

[He snorts, crouching as he pulls open a cabinet door. Ahh--there it was. Pulling out the bottle, he put it on the counter, before fishing out two glasses.]

Want a drink?

I'm hoping to get off this boat before that happens again.

[ He glances toward the bottle, quirking a brow. He looks a little young for vodka straight, isn't it. Still, Eames could very well use a drink, even if hard liquors aren't his usual fancy. ] Might as well. Just a third of the glass, if you will.

Considering people have been here for what, six months now?

I don't see that happening.

[Alex sighs, moving to pour them both drinks, handing a glass over to Eames when he's done.]

Then you have a very narrow imagination, if you think a man must change his surroundings by sixth months.

[ He has a point, though, and eames accepts the drink with a short nod, bringing the glass to his lips for a short sip. ] So. You knew me once, is it. And we must have been close, hearing stories.

No, I'm just being realistic.

[He snorts, giving a nod.]

Yeah. Like I said--I lived with you.

[ Eames watches his for a moment - it's different hearing it over audio and watching a video rather than seeing it in person, the very reason he asked for confirmation again at all. It's bizarre, Alex doesn't appear like he's lying, and what purpose would he have to lie? To create a false relationship based on trust? Even Eames isn't so easy for it, regardless of what anyone says to him that might have occured in a space he no longer remembers. ]

In a dream.

Doesn't make for the most genuine of friendships, does it? Temporary exchanges.

What we were told was a dream.

[Alex takes a drink, raising an eyebrow.]

Look--you can believe what you want. I don't give a shit. I'm just telling you how it was.

[This bothered him more than he let on, more than he would ever let on. Eames had been the one person in Promenade who had kicked his ass into gear in the right way. A lot of who he was, now, was because of the man in front of him--the one that didn't remember him.]

[ Nothing tips Eames off about someone giving a shit than when they proclaim that they don't. He tips the glass from one side to the other, watching the level of the alcohol before looking back to Alex. ]

What do you think it was?

I don't know. Since I woke up here, I would say a dream.

But--

[He taps the scar on his forehead]

I got this [And others] there. So that doesn't make much sense, does it?

It could.

[ Eames doesn't like offering too many explanations just for something that ought to only have one, but he looks toward the scar with a noted look. ]

If you were injured in reality, the feeling could have translated into your subconscious - assuming something else was preventing you from waking up. Such as the tanks we found ourselves in.

So you're telling me a place where I could dream up a fucking pile of oreos was real?

[He gives Eames a look.]

No, [ he corrects, taking another small sip of his drink. ] Just that someone on this ship decided to have at your head while you were asleep and you slept it according to the surroundings within your dream.

[Alex shakes his head.]

No, I don't think so.

[He leans down, pulling up the leg of his pants, revealing the red, curved scars on his legs.]

They went at my legs, too? And my back? And my fingers?

[Which had been dislocated, but he had put back in place.]

Why stop just there?

[ Eames looks over the marks casually - obviously taking them into account, though. He's hardly judgmental for it, but it's hard to ignore and at this point he's taking in all that he can, trying to find some benefit to any detail. ]

What did you dream of?

[Alex rolls his eyes, giving Eames a look. He hadn't wanted to freak the older man out, to even go this far, this fast.]

Really, Henry? You're going to start with that shit?

[ The pause isn't necessarily an audible one. There's a faint smile to Eames' face - thin lipped and disingenuous that crinkles the very corner of his eyes. The other man says he knows him - and his first name isn't exactly something just tossed around in the business nor with friends. Yusuf only calls him Eames, Jamal only calls him Eames. Arthur knows of a Henry but there is quite the difference between knowing and using. There's plenty of power in the knowledge of names, and even if Eames (or rather, Henry) doesn't think Alex is saying it for sake of using it against him, it's a solid point. ]

All right.

[ He sets the cup down, tipping it along its ring of condensation left on the table as he looks down at it, and then back at him. ]

I want you to tell me everything that happened there, in this particular dream of - [ Theirs? Really? ] ours. Because it makes very little sense to me to have one level with our whims at our disposal and another - this one where we're left to choke on our own sick and spend an inordinately long time trying to scrub goo from our hair.

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redhotsummers - 2012-07-22 20:32 (UTC) - Expand

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