oo2. video. failed lock; open. day 4 of mutiny.

[forgodssake]

[ Static. Bleary audio. This video had been intended for privacy and instead blares across the open network like a tiny digital blizzard of interference. It would be easy to scroll by, even when a voice, distinct to those that already know it, manages to cut through-- ]

--if you aren't asleep. I don't actually know what time it is, so you'll have to forgive me.

[ And there, through the static snow, Charles can be seen, and he has his communicator raised level. He is seated, likely on the floor, head rested back against a wall, and underslept, unkempt. He does not wear grim well, and even through visual static, there are signifiers of stress -- his jawline is haughty and tight, tense around the mouth, eyes half-hooded as he considers his communicator and darts a look, now and then, past it, at everyone else.

Or whatever else.

He swallows. ]

There isn't a lot of hope to go around, so perhaps you have some in reserve. Even if it's kept filed under the notion that even I couldn't be this bloody foolish. [ A crookedish smile at the end of that. Quick to wane. ] I've only just gotten through on this machine, so I hope you receive-- this. I can't keep in touch the usual way, in here, I'm sure you've noticed. It wasn't personal.

Regardless. Your turn, I believe. I could use the company.

[ Aaand end transmission. ]

Comments

[video]

[sorrycharles]

[ Hope is a stretch.

Erik is seated at a table in an empty lounge, metal spoon tipped into a bowl. The trowel end is submerged in a murky turn of space milk and space cereal. More of the same crunches slowly between his teeth while he eyes the comms device propped up against his glass.

The black of his Tranquility jumpsuit serves to blanch him all the more sickly pale beneath fluorescent bars of light; his eyes are a ghastly blue against the shadows they’re set into. He hasn’t shaved in days, gingery at the chops as he chews, muscle over mandible.

His jumpsuit is only half-zipped. The shirt beneath is smudged with grease.

After a few seconds of inscrutable staring, he runs out of cud to grind through, swallows and turns his attention down to the process of chasing a spoonful of fresh corn flakes. ]

Hello, Charles.

[mindtricks]

[ he doesn't look well — but there is nothing anderson can do about that. she's tried what she could. ]

Your mutation? [ because reading between the lines — well, no, not even that. he's all but said it, hasn't he? ]

[video]

[forgodssake]

[ Charles lets relief soften what little hardness has eked into his features, head listing back against the wall again. ]

Hello, Erik.

[ His voice is wound tight and tense around an otherwise brittle portrayal of keeping his shit together. But he does appear glad to be talking. Distracted. ]

What's it like out there?

[forgodssake]

Cassandra?

[ Confusion is its own distraction, and the video shifts a little as he tries to check his settings. Oh. Well actually, that ought to have been expected. ]

My mu-- yes. My mutation.

[ Too late, anyway. He resettles where he sits, vaguely, newly uncomfortable. ]

I can't hear anything beyond the bridge. Can you--?

[mindtricks]

Charles.

[ she didn't think this was addressed to her, not really — but he did say he'd like company, didn't he? and if first names still sit a little weirdly on her tongue, she is getting used to it. ]

No. It must be shielded, somehow.

[forgodssake]

[ It is a company he is slowly warming to, even if he's abashed that the initial message was sent out to all and sundry -- good thing he didn't say anything especially damning. ]

Is that a phenomenon you're familiar with?

There were ways, where I'm from. Certain alloys. Interference. [ It doesn't take psychic ability to tell he doesn't put a lot of stock in any particular theory. ]

[mindtricks]

[ she wouldn't hold it against him if he'd prefer she hadn't answered. ]

The helmets judges wear interfere with my psychic ability. I can push past it, but it's difficult.

[video until stated otherwise]

[sorrycharles]

[ What is it like out there? Erik blinks blearily, plaque sucked at between his teeth. His spoon dribbles milk, diverted over the bowl’s edge on its way to his mouth. ]

Unobstructed.

[ He decides. ]

[forgodssake]

Do they.

[ Funny. His smile is faint, but there, complicated in that way that there's probably a lot of thought happen just

out of reach

of anyone. ]

Well. I shouldn't think whatever is happening here has anything to do with that. There will be no pushing through, just yet.

[mindtricks]

This feels different.

[ not at all like the barriers the helmets create for her. whatever is blocking both of them — she doesn't think it's something she can overcome. ]

[forgodssake]

That's--

Yes.

[ Factually correct. A touch of steel in bright eyes, flared (familiar) exasperation. ]

We're going to have to do this differently, you and I.

[ The device raises a little, as if to better digital eye contact through the blizzarding static. ]

Penny for your thoughts?

[forgodssake]

Yes.

[ Not that he knows what, to her, feels different -- only to him. He falls into silence, which is seconds wasted on a live feed of video, underscored by static. ]

There are fundamental principles that all things, even the inexplicable, must adhere to.

[ And he doesn't immediately follow that up. ]

[mindtricks]

What do you mean?

[ she can't read his mind, now. she can barely even read his expression over the static, half of the time. ]

[forgodssake]

That the only rule that governs this place is that there aren't any.

That perhaps there is no shielding. Our telepathy is failing one another because that is, now, how it works, until something beyond us dictates otherwise.

[sorrycharles]

[ The look on Erik’s face is familiar as well. Feline indifference shadowed closely by suspicion. His eyes are set into his skull like brands, flat rings of color through the static. His spoon holds position patiently over the bowl, temporarily forgotten. ]

You’re serious.

[ Physically denied the convenience of telepathy, days shy of unmerciful death and still wanting for the additional insight. ]

[forgodssake]

Well, not as serious as you.

[ Clearly. All the little easy insights, the causes and tells behind every slack and pull of expression, lost to inference, and to static. But broadly speaking--

The communicator lowers a fraction, eye contact shifting away uneasy. Irritated, in a low level days shy of unmerciful death sort of manner. ]

It was just conversation, Erik. You look as though you have things you wish to say.

video;

[a1]

[ the message was obviously meant to be private, but the mention of needing hope is still difficult to ignore. ]

I'm assuming that wasn't meant to go to all of us. I guess you got some extra company now.

video;

[redhotsummers]

Charles--you shouldn't have. Why did you--

[Alex looks distraught. He thinks Charles is going to die in there. Why did Charles have to try to be a hero.]

[sorrycharles]

[ Broken eye-contact suits Erik fine. He’s avoided it by a narrow matter of degrees, focus off just a sliver. Easily missed through the static if Charles weren’t already keenly aware of the way it looks when he’s locked on. ]

If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not say anything I’ll regret.

[ His spoon is still. Unnaturally so, frame to frame, until he finally completes the circuit to his mouth and sets back to chewing. ]

Give Nathan my regards.

video;

[forgodssake]

[ By now resigned to this little misstep, Charles can at least count on the idea that those that reply are well meaning. He answers this next unfamiliar response, looking no happier than how he began.

But there is a touch of a smile in his eyes, despite the static. ]

Fortunately so, as it happens. Not to speak ill of my present company.

[ A nod is meant to indicate the rest of the bridge. ]

But no, it was intended for a friend. I should've guessed this might happen.

video;

[forgodssake]

Alex. It's good to see you, my friend.

[ For a given value of see. This one is harder to reply to, despite his claim. ]

You know why.

[forgodssake]

[ The expression that crosses Charles' face at that is as if he's been slapped -- sudden if brief, open hurt, perhaps only fuzzily recognisable through all the visual static.

Stiff upper lip, after that. If there's something that translates clearly through bad reception, it's silence.

(Seconds crawled by, stretched into warped versions of themselves. They seem, now, to tick by easier, as long as he holds this device in his hand, as long as he watches Erik watching him.) ]

[sorrycharles]

[ Ronch ronch ronch.

There are no chinks in Erik’s armor, save the state of him. His eyes are polished clear. He’s sober, if overdue for a shower, and does not look away when Charles flinches.

Only after, when he’s scooping down at his bowl, spoon glitched invisible between artifacts. ]

What’s it like in there.

video;

[redhotsummers]

No, I don't.

I know why you think you needed to do it--but you didn't--

I can't--

[I can't watch you die again, Charles.]

--people die for real, here. You don't get a do over. You'll be gone.

video;

[forgodssake]

That's how it goes, usually.

[ How invincible Charles may feel at the best of times was terminated when paralysed from the waist down, but old habits still die hard. ]

I didn't make this video to say goodbye to anyone, you know.