ataraxion | NINE: video

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NINE: video

[The room Taylor's sat in is dark, unidentifiable from the wall behind her, but soft, blue-tinged light from another source washes over her face intermittently. It highlights how drawn she looks, pale, tired. She's a mess, really. Even by Tranquility standards.]

It's January, right? Been counting on the jumps since I got here. [She isn't slurring as she speaks, but the lack of focus in her expression and sluggishness to her movements makes it clear she's inebriated to anyone who knows what to look for.] Guess it doesn't matter though. Just start calling them by numbers. I was meant to turn twenty in December. Be an instructor back at the Academy. [She frowns for a moment, taking a drink out of an unlabelled bottle.] Or maybe they'd have terminated me.

[Another pause, and she shifts off to the side for a moment, putting the bottle down. When she comes back into view she’s holding something else – a mask. Her mask, an mongrel canine face, beaten, bruised and bloody. She holds it up, hanging off the fingers of one hand.]

Turns out these show you ghosts. Hallucinations. Whatever. If that isn't fucked up enough to get you thinking don't touch them, you're a fucking idiot. [Very evidently angry, suddenly, half a snarl on her mouth. She looks at the mask again, then drops it to one side.] Didn't want to see my old man the little he was around, sure as fuck didn't want to see him here. Thing I've been thinking, though - what do you see, you wear someone else's?

[She doesn't hold the second mask up for the camera, but it's there in her hands, looks like a modern military gas mask. She's quiet for a long while, like she maybe forgot she even had the comms running, all of the anger and energy drained out of her again.]

Tommy's gone. Gone last jump. Told him he would, cause everyone goes. [A thin smile, strained, sad, and then gone again.] Guess I didn't wanna be right.

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[She's right, of course. But that doesn't mean he'll stop saying it, or believing it. He wasn't me, whoever this Tommy was, but that's arrogant and stupid and not going to win him any points.

But then it's masks again--and he's only seriously talked about his mask with Remus, who recongised it and didn't ask about it--you're your father's son--so that exclusivity is fine with him. Except what's stopping him from being honest; she's already sort of been in his head.

So he smiles, bitterly, and shrugs again.]

My father. But with nasty teeth, which actually only improved his face, so well done whoever did the mask. [A beat, and he adds:] I took my friend's. Remus'. His was a wolf, I hid it for him. I'd do yours as well, if you wanted.

[Everyone else that's asked that - about taking the masks - she's got immediately defensive with. But with Sirius she's distracted by everything else he's said, just shakes her head slightly.]

No.

[She reaches over to grab her mask again. Next to the lines of the gas mask, it looks even more torn and tattered. She's pretty sure it's meant to be dead, but on a mask, how can you tell? Her and Tommy had been similar in so many ways. She wonders how exactly the masks had ended up the shape they were.]

Your father? That's fucking creepy. [Like they weren't creepy enough already.] Thought I hated this. [She holds it up again by one ear, torn, the fur around it appearing to be matted with dry blood.] Getting the old man's face would've been worse.

Yeah? S' still fairly ugly.

[And it is; at first glance, it might even make you wince a bit (especially if you spend any time as an actual dog). It's only a mask, yeah, but a terribly well-made mask, especially when it's being dangled by one ear. Sort of like an actual dog's face, ripped off.]

I don't even know how they knew what my father looks like-- [Whoever they are--] --but as I'm too busy being disgusted by the mask itself, I don't have much time to get paranoid over that. S'ppose disgust makes it easier not to wear.

[Has she worn hers? Or is she only drunk, and tired, and--sad? Maybe sad. He can't tell. Even now, she's difficult to read, but that doesn't stop the urge to do something, to help or... or something.]

What's the matter with your dad, then?

They know too fucking much.

[She says it quiet, bitter. She's never liked people messing with her head, and the ongoing sense that somehow something on this ship was poking around in there, dragging things out, it was like a sharp blistering point growing between her shoulder blades that just wouldn't ease off. Even with the mask, as unsettling and horrible as it was, half the reason she'd immediately thrown it in the bottom of her wardrobe and refused to look at it again had been the sense that there was something familiar about it. Something right.

She drops the mask again, no delicacy or gentleness in handling the thing, even if she was totally unwilling to let go of it, now.]

He was a drunk. [Half a smile, thin and humourless, gone as quickly as they usually are. Seemed like there were some things she carried from him after all.] Liked beating on my mom. Blamed it all on the fish dying out or some bullshit.

[Fish dying. Is that meant to be a joke? She's difficult to read at best, and this time is no better (and it doesn't help that he wants very much to do something to fix this, impossible as that is; he knows it's impossible because he recognises this, vaguely).

Anyway. He doesn't ask, because all the rest of this is far more serious.]

And you-- [But she's just said, she saw him. What if everyone went around seeing their terrible fathers? The whole ship would go mad, probably.] Better not wear anyone else's, then. Who knows what the hell you see. Only one thing to do in cases like this, honestly.

[It's part of the reason why she hasn't worn Tommy's yet. His demons had been his own and if someone was trying to see Taylor's so easily, she wouldn't be happy about it. Doubts Tommy would be either. But holding onto and hoping for some part of him to still be involved-- it was the last stupid idea she had, maybe.]

Yeah? What's that?

[There's some real curiosity in her voice, even for how tired she sounds, like she really is looking for answers, something to make this stop hurting so much (cause the alcohol and mask weren't cutting it). And Sirius was a wizard, after all. Maybe he really did have something up his sleeve.]

Edited (whoops icon) 2013-01-15 05:51 (UTC)

[He smiles, carefully, just a little--even her asking after his offer is an okay sign (not a precisely outrightly good sign, but somewhere in between)--and holds up three fingers.]

One, I'm not going to even offer. Two, is drink more, but I think I'm not going to offer that one. Not right now, anyway. Maybe later.

Three is the best one, but you have to tell me where you are, so I s'ppose it's got a catch to it.

[She doesn't want to tell him where she is. Doesn't want to tell anyone. Before it was the sense that being alone would help her, away from everyone and anything they might expect her to do, but now it's falling into something like not letting anyone see the state she's in.

But her dogs are with her. Her dogs are always with her. And Sirius sits in her mind like something half and half, enough to make her hesitate on the immediate refusal.]

What are you gonna do?

[He shrugs disarmingly, with that same small and careful smile. And in part in deference to her, he glances down instead of meeting her eyes--but mostly it's a selfish instinct. His instinct to do good--to be cheering, to be a distraction--doesn't outstrip the slight embarrassment at genuine emotion. Genuine emotion is Not Cool. But it's not as if he can help himself at the best of times--and anyway, this is Tyke. That makes this different.]

Dunno, actually. I thought I'd plan it out on my over to wherever you are. But it would be fantastic. Maybe indoor fireworks. Maybe I'd make your floor into a flowerbed. Or I could teach your dogs a waltz, but I sort of want them to like me? So I might forgo that one; sorry if you're now looking forward to seeing it. Or I'd make it snow, I've been practicing snow--it's not even cold--or I can do spring. Summer is more difficult, but I'm working on it as well. Or I could do normal things as well, punch your shoulder or talk to you or whatever.

[He shoots her a glance and a slightly more rueful smile. What a girl, that Sirius Black!]

More or less whatever you want.

[It's more of a speech than she was expecting, but she listens to every word. Caught up in it, maybe, a little. Even with knowing he was a wizard, with the dog thing, she hadn't really considered (imagined) the magic part of things. And for once it isn't about all the weird shit she's already seen in her life, all the abilities the girls at the Academy had and the things they could do - for once it's about something actually sounding amazing.]

You can make it snow?

[It's not disbelief in her voice so much as something more like hope, maybe a little bit of wonder. She couldn't say she missed snow as much as some other things (rain, the ocean), but just the idea of it on the ship, of him just making it happen, she can't even pretend it hasn't caught her.]

[A beat, and then a smile jumps to his face--small, barely more than a lift at the corners of his mouth that disappears just as quickly as it came. (He grins more than he smiles; that makes this different.)]

I'll do you a whole blizzard. Just have to know where to put it.

[It's less direct than saying tell me where you are, it's an offer and not a command. And it's weird, how much it matters, how hard he's hoping (despite himself, despite his constant coolness) that she takes him up on it. Anything to be useful.]

[A pause, another hesitation, lifting a hand to rub at the side of her neck. But she answers, not quite looking at the camera, looking an inch to the side, like there's some fear he might now choose to change his mind.]

I'm in... [She doesn't actually know what they're called, the media suites attached to the libraries, looks around the room for a moment like it's going to give her the answer before she just makes something up.] one of the viewing rooms, near the library. Floor sixteen.

[Another pause, a frown, like she might regret just telling him that. But instead all she says is,]

Don't... need a whole blizzard.

[Like asking for too much would have him backing out.]

[Having more or less nothing to do means that he knows where she means, generally--he's not spent much time in the library itself, but he's been around there to drag Remus out, so he's seen these rooms. She's not looking at him, but he smiles faintly anyway; she's not looking, but he raises a hand to rub at his mouth to try to disguise that, a self-conscious gesture.]

Oh, yeah, no. We'll save the blizzards for later. Wouldn't want to be overwhelming--just a little snowstorm for now.

Ten minutes. All right?

Alright.

[She nods and reaches to turn the video off, even though ten minutes sounds like maybe too long - maybe long enough for her to change her mind on it again.

In the end, ten minutes is long enough for an angel - literal, not figurative - to find her, to hope in, to take the masks and leave her a bottle of juice. She hasn't left the room, though. Perhaps even more determined to stay put now Castiel's abruptly stuck his nose in matters.]

[Ten minutes isn't, for once, because of Sirius' laziness or habitual lateness. It's ten minutes only because you can't just pluck snow out of the air. Maybe it's something sciencey, the way Edgeworth claims, but Sirius only knows it as magic, something so innate it's as if it's in his blood (though he never thinks of it in those terms, that's far too close to the pureblood shit). All he knows is that he has to do some preparation before he goes and puts a snowstorm anywhere.

So, a true ten minutes, but no longer, for once, because it's Tyke. He ducks into the room and goes over to her, tapping his wand against his leg. She doesn't look much better in person than she did over the devices, but he still gives her a tentative little smile.]

H'llo. [And it's weird to stand, so he crouches down on the floor, his eyes taking quick stock if the room around them, working out the best place to start this.] So should it just be snow, or d'you want icicles hanging from the ceiling as well?

[No sense in wasting time asking are you all right; better to just do this.]

[Sirius doesn't arrive as abruptly as Castiel did, isn't capable of it (or at least, Taylor thinks), but it still seems like he simply appeared, the quick way he comes over, speaks to her, crouches down. Or maybe her senses are more slowed by the alcohol than she'd like to admit, especially now she's starting to wind down, tired out even further than before by all the people she's spoken to, by Castiel's visit. For a moment she just looks at Sirius like she has no idea what he's talking about, and then her gaze goes up to the ceiling, mind finally catching up - icicles, snow. Sirius was here to make it snow.

Her reaction, for a second, is just to tell him it didn't matter anymore. Castiel had taken the masks, hers and Tommy's, and she just wanted to sleep, even though she can't, hasn't slept properly in weeks. But she looks back down at him and there's something in his expression and the way he's crouching that reminds her of how their conversation had gone before. Reminds her of Padfoot. Her own dogs are settled around the room, quiet and despondent under the influence of her mood, and if she could change that, she would, in a heartbeat.]

Just-- [Her voice is rough and too-quiet; she stops and tries again.] Just snow.

[He nods quickly--eagerly; if he's honest with himself it might be a little too eager, but he can't help that. That's how he is. If there's something to do, he'll do it, even if it's a small thing like making it snow indoors. Stupid, right, he knows it's stupid, and not something he goes around shouting about, because it's better (always) to be a little above real displays of affection, no matter what form they come in.

But it's too late for that. So he sits back on his heels and waves his wand toward the ceiling--a large, swooping wave, like someone stirring a thick vat of stew, only in the air--slowly, concentrating--they're close to the gardens so that helps, he can pick water out of the air and weave it together--a jab, once, at the end of that circle before he starts it again, and the temperature chills abruptly, as if they're sitting warm in a pub somewhere and someone's just opened the door. The cold is sharp at first, and then it dims, settling in as something more like the subtle chill of walking outdoors in the winter--

And Sirius is back to tracing that circle in the air, slowly, his eyes narrowed in concentration--the air stirs, once, twice, and then he smells it, the cold closed-in smell of snow before it falls, and he grins--

And it's then that the first snowflake drifts down from the empty ceiling. It melts before it can settle down, but the second flake gets farther--and the third, and the fourth, and the fifth, they actually drift to the floor, and now the snow is actually falling, gentle at first but growing steadily heavier, big fat snowflakes, and soon the air is thick with them and Sirius finally drops his wand arm, grinning.]

There.

[It's strange, to be able to really see someone working something like that. Everything at the Academy just happened, pathoses that just worked. A few girls that maybe needed physical gestures to focus or direct, but most of them got trained out of it, didn't need to give an enemy sign of what they were intending. But Sirius is different, isn't contained to one set of abilities, so maybe he needs the direction and definition more. Pure power getting shaped into each specific thing he wants, and for a second, watching him and the motions he makes through the air, Taylor remembers her art instructor and all the endless classes about feeling the material.

The sudden drop in temperature wouldn't bother her normally, but now it works to wake her up slightly, pull a little more alertness into her mind, even if the alcohol still breaks her focus into splinters - the movement of his raised hand, his grin, the first snowflake drifting down.

She just stares, for a long minute. Watches several of the flakes fall, as if they'll change at some point, disappear, turn out to be something false in the same way the ghost of her father had been. But they don't. As real as everything else in the room, even as she turns her attention upwards at the ceiling, expecting to see clouds, something. There'd been a girl in another team (Jennie's team, she remembers now) who messed with the weather, but it was always shaping what was already there. Not like this.]

Where is it coming from?

[Her voice is still quiet, but stronger, and even if she doesn't realise it, all of the trouble and weight that had still lingered on her expression is gone.]

[He shrugs toward the door.]

Out thereish. Or well, that's where it started-- I had to find the closest bit of water. It'd be a better snow if we were in a room with taps--better still if we were outdoors. It needs a bit of water to work with, from somewhere nearby--if it's in the same room as the water, all the better for it, otherwise it has to draw from somewhere else and get transported here, and then you do the freezing charm, but it's hard work, keeping all of that up at once, so it all gets quite complicated--

[He gives her a rueful little grin, and another shrug.] Better to say it's magic and leave it there.

[And while he's not the best at reading people--well, most of the time, that's down to sheer inattentiveness. Because at times like this, when it really seems to matter, he can glance over at her, and watch her watch the snow, with a far clearer expression than she'd worn before. And that feels like a victory, even a small one, and he cocks his head at her, slightly.]

I mean, I can go on and explain it if you like. Most people don't care. Me, I'd rather just watch snow falling than talk about anything much.

[To Taylor's credit, she does try to listen to his explanation, and really, if it weren't for the alcohol in her system, she'd be fine keeping up with it (even if she might deny that). But some of it just blurs into sounds for her, repeated words, the speed he's talking at. It's clear he knows what he's talking about, clear he enjoys it, too, but maybe she'll ask again later. Or not, and leave it a mystery.]

Maybe just leave it at magic. [Her smile reflects his own for a brief moment, but when it fades she just looks more tired than the anger or frustration of before.] Started sounding a lot like science, there.

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NINE: video

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video - badly locked -- and would you like to go to action or handwaaaave

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ACTION is more than okay 8)

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