[ And Ben had had to grieve that, too, when Rikki vanished.
Luther could probably just let this topic drop, soon, let it drift off into that silence Allison almost vanished into before he'd nudged her. But instead, he finds himself digging in his heels. This feels important. Not that he fucking wants her to go fall for someone who isn't him (again), but just—
It matters—
It matters because he has to believe that love matters, that all his time together here with her isn't a lost cause, if he could ever— ]
By this same logic, you could also say that getting to know anyone here is a risk; that everybody's just going to vanish on each other eventually, and therefore any connection isn't worth it. And sure, they do vanish.
[ Shaun Jacob Bodhi Alex Ryder Shepard Barbara Matthew ]
But I think it's still worth it. To make the time bearable, while we do have it. Again we wander, we love, we separate again.
[ He says the example like somehow it's actually going to mesh up to something pertinent. Except for as much as he tried to deny it, he'd done more of that than she ever had. Several times over, to her one. Maybe two if she stretched it incredibly thin.
Bearable. That word sticks, even if she doesn't think he picked it for anything more than its actual use in the sentence, but it still pricks and sticks at her memory. (The memories she has back.) There's a vague thought at the edge of her mind, but she doesn't know if she's ready to look at it yet. ]
[ The corner of his mouth twitches in a rueful smile, and he has to twist his head away, looking over at the TV and ducking his face out-of-view, so Diego can't see the inexplicable shift of expression. ]
Whitman. Like usual. 'Once I Pass’d Through a Populous City'.
[ She's not surprised in the slightest. Only Luther. This with the faintest shift finally. Only just enough to open her eyes crack in his direction, but he's twisted at a slight angle facing the opposite direction. From nowhere, and everywhere, and always, she's grateful he's still here. She lets her eyes drift back closed, lifting the hand and curling it around her locket.
She doesn't have to question what she'd do without him. The answers are still burning in the background. ]
[ It's not a full agreement from her, but at least it's something they both can agree on.
And it's getting too close. Too close to the truth. If they'd been speaking aloud, he'd probably be tripping over his words and getting stuck on them before he could ever let himself say them. And for this moment, while he draws in breath and tries not to let his lungs tremble and catch on that almost-admission, he's thankful that they still have the mental network.
There is something so very particular about the times when Luther specifically chooses to use it with her when they're in public, under someone else's nose, or when he shifts from an out-loud conversation to sending a single text like a rock flung into a still pond, words that he can bring himself to type but can't actually let them sit on his tongue. The words that are, in fact, closer to the heart of the matter. ]
[ Even if she doesn't want to think about it, it doesn't mean it doesn't want to exist at her. It's not just Harry. She lost a number of people recently. Ones who weren't Ray, and had been as important. People she loved, but who never knew her, and now thought she was a terrorist. Was that better or worse than breaking her husband with the truth.
More names she never said, and wasn't sure already if there'd ever be a time to again.
All of it comes to mind now that people are making themselves available here. Now that the wall of silence and the inability to talk are gone. Leaving her half-painted as before here, and half-painted as the person she'd been only weeks ago, but who she'd never been here before now.
Navigating this place had never involved any of this. She'd made sure of it for too many reasons. ]
[ He does finally sneak another look at Allison then. He can't avoid it, as he goes on and echoes these particular words, the ones they'd both uttered in her kitchen: ]
[ In a way it's almost too on the nose and Allison doesn't stop herself from making a face at him. Though it does skitter slightly when she opens her eyes to do so and finds him already staring at her. It makes her stomach tighten and her hand clutch a little tighter in surprise around the locket, incredibly torn with the fact he'd already been staring at her, as she'd been holding it.
Instead, never one to be unruffled more than she let happen, Allison narrowed her eyes a little, like she was sidling up to something that only thought it was allowed to be a challenge, and wrote her response: ]I'm pretty sure 'we can't have normal lives' is more a point in favor of my side than yours. But nice try.
[ Not that she really had 'a side.' Even if they settled camps for a debate she was turning over and over, while Luther had already figured out his way of managing this whole part of being in this place. If not by choice, then by inundation. ]
[ She makes a face, that little scrunch of her nose and squinting of her eyes that he loves so much, and she can see that playful flicker in Luther's expression in response. The way he so rarely opens up and teases like this, typically just with her, even when it's coming through a secretive text message: ]
False. Nobody here is normal. About a week ago, I responded to a distress call about a girl who started sweating nitroglycerin. She got too stressed-out and blew things up with her hands. I lost a nice jacket. Case in point.
[ And one of his new friends is a cannibal; not that he can say anything about that, though. Luther's lips are sealed. ]
Other people here know what it's like to live with weird powers, or to carry the mantle of being a superhero. We never had that, back home.
[ It's nice to see him smile, especially when it hasn't been as easy the last few months, and maybe it's the one reason she doesn't say the first thing that always finds it's way back to her mind when Luther starts rambling about the good things here. That she'd still rather be there. Even if every part of it contrasted his sentence and his dictate about 'normal,' she would abandon this world in a heartbeat for her entirely powerless, normal little girl.
Claire is a trump card. (How heartless is that.) Claire would wipe that playful twist to the edge of Luther's mouth right off, and then he'd be torn, too. Guilty for both parts. For himself, and for her. But he isn't right now. And she's all too used to just placing her fingertips on the top of that card and sliding it right back down through the cracks in the floorboards of her mind it tried to peek up through.
Instead, she just gives him a look tilted toward disappointedly judgemental. ]
Incorrect.
You just disregarded at least 50% of the population in every city for those statements. The imPorts are not the only people living in them, and there are thousands of thousands of them, millions across this world, without any powers at all.
Yeah, and I wouldn't recommend settling down with them eithe
[ That, too, is something he can't touch. Patrick, Ray, and what in hindsight looked like such terrifically unsuitable matches. Luther bites down on it like he always does. You won't ever find him criticising them; rather the opposite. It's one of the lines he'd drawn for himself.
So. Instead. It's a quick, clumsy segue and a topic change, to the dumb filler show that's on the TV in the room: ]
You know what I do find stupid? This tiny house hunters show. Why would anyone purposefully pay more to cram themselves into 300 square feet?
[ He doesn't respond. He doesn't acknowledge his absolute erasure of so many people and the way he couldn't actually be right. Allison takes it for the win, with another look throwing in his direction at his absolutely anything but subtle sudden shift to the tv program she's been ignoring.
Making her glance briefly toward it. ]
Insanity. The same urge that rules the people who need to keep moving into bigger and bigger mansions simply because their paycheck says they can.
[ Those words domino and hit on another thought of his; something he's been considering saying, a confession, one that wants to blurt itself out. It doesn't feel quite right admitting it here, right in front of Diego — who can probably tell (much to his irritation) whenever Luther and Allison are shooting looks at each other again and essentially whispering behind everyone's backs, and yet Luther can't ever stop himself from doing this, either. ]
Yeah. We never needed forty-seven bedrooms or whatever. And then obviously our other house became too big. I like the size of what we've got now, it feels more sensible.
I kind of miss how it used to be, though.
[ A second after he's sent it, he's already half-wishing he could undo it. Should he have said it? He probably shouldn't have said it. Oh god. He keeps his gaze trained on the TV, not able to look at her just this moment, doesn't want to see her reaction. ]
[ Allison lets her eyes go back to being closed, no more even slightly interested in the tv show than she'd been before this one started. She could be lying down in her room, but she doesn't actually feel compelled to use the energy to move up the stairs yet. She'd have to come back down for dinner later anyway.
Allison feels conflicted about a lot of things the examples make her think about, including, unlisted and unimportant to anyone but her, the little house on Graham Ave. ]
Everyone together, stacked in on top of each other?
[ If they were in separate rooms, and if Luther were actually typing this out, he could have furiously desperately stabbed the SEND button and then flung his communicator under his bed or something, so he doesn't have to stare at the inbox waiting for a response. That would have been easier. He's still half-wishing he could crawl under this armchair and escape.
Instead his whole face feels stiff and rigid with the effort of keeping it motionless, holding his jaw and cheek muscles in perfect stillness, burningly self-conscious. Luther's never been the best at poker faces to begin with. ]
[ For a moment, Allison doesn't so much as breathe. She just stares at those words. Thinking that she was an idiot. Scrolling up and re-reading. Thinking that she probably wouldn't have assumed the other if he'd said it out loud. Thinking that if it was 'just you and me' they probably would have been having this conversation out loud. She wouldn't have felt the need to start a conversation like this.
She has to fight the urge to open her eyes and glance at Diego. Or Luther. For wholly different reasons each. Instead focuses on keeping her eyes closed, fingertips pressing just barely into her stomach, as something to focus on instead. ]
[ Case in point: this whole damn mental network conversation. They're both thinking about it, the corners it backs them into in search of privacy. ]
Yeah. And I mean, it's good, I like having him around. But I got used to things a particular way. It's just... different now.
[ Okay. Shut up, Luther, he thinks, and then forces himself to not touch the message anymore. He's blanked out the last few minutes already, can barely recall what's happening in the show. Are the interviewees on the second or third house? He doesn't know. ]
[ Different, like she doesn't really feel like she's more than another version of herself when she comes home. One she didn't mind, one she'd been for the whole length of time in the big house. But it'd been different, when it was just them, here, in this littler space.
When she hadn't felt like she had to think about it. None of it necessary. It was a little like going back to having bars on windows she'd never noticed she'd thrown them, the shades, and even the glass panes away. Not until they were all suddenly there again. Miniature versions of different kinds of walls. Of ways she was. Or wasn't. ]
[ Luther exhales. And it's— some indefinable weight and tension off his shoulders that he hadn't even realised was there to begin with. A strange unclenching of relief, simpatico, understanding. Knowing that he's not alone and pathetic in being so wistful over the past six months, this half-year they'd had together. That she, miracle of absolute miracles, misses it too.
He doesn't know how to follow up on that, though. What do you say? What useless sentiment do you pour into that black hole, when there's a thousand things he wants to say but can't, let alone in front of someone else? In the end, he settles for: ]
I'm glad it's not just me.
[ And then, abrupt, Luther finally rises from his seat. "This TV show is gonna drive me to drink. Anybody want a nightcap? I'll make some," he says, and vanishes to the kitchen to pour some glasses for all three of them. Something to keep his hands busy, something to distract him from this disorienting conversation and the way his heart's pounding in his chest as if he's run around the block. This whole thing. This whole topic. It's like a bruised wound and he can't let himself touch it too much, for the sting. ]
[ Luther second six words, and then as quickly as they arrive he's speaking out loud, causing her to open her eyes and look toward him, as he's quickly vanishing off to the kitchen. She tosses a "Sure," over the couch, toward the kitchen where he's gone, but without getting up to look or to a follow. Staring at the ceiling as the thought turns over and over, unexpectedly, in her head. Thinking about being smaller. Compressed, and certain things quieter. Here, and in Dallas, too, in its own way.
That she'd found something that hadn't made her feel that way. And it was gone, too. Before she'd even realized she'd had it. That there was no way to get it back in this situation.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
obediences) wrote2019-03-28 10:51 am
no subject
Luther could probably just let this topic drop, soon, let it drift off into that silence Allison almost vanished into before he'd nudged her. But instead, he finds himself digging in his heels. This feels important. Not that he fucking wants her to go fall for someone who isn't him (again), but just—
It matters—
It matters because he has to believe that love matters, that all his time together here with her isn't a lost cause, if he could ever— ]
By this same logic, you could also say that getting to know anyone here is a risk; that everybody's just going to vanish on each other eventually, and therefore any connection isn't worth it. And sure, they do vanish.
[
Shaun Jacob Bodhi Alex Ryder Shepard Barbara Matthew]But I think it's still worth it. To make the time bearable, while we do have it. Again we wander, we love, we separate again.
no subject
Bearable. That word sticks, even if she doesn't think he picked it for anything more than its actual use in the sentence, but it still pricks and sticks at her memory. (The memories she has back.) There's a vague thought at the edge of her mind, but she doesn't know if she's ready to look at it yet. ]
Who is that one?
no subject
Whitman. Like usual. 'Once I Pass’d Through a Populous City'.
no subject
She doesn't have to question what she'd do without him.
The answers are still burning in the background. ]
I vote we skip the last part.
no subject
[ It's not a full agreement from her, but at least it's something they both can agree on.
And it's getting too close. Too close to the truth. If they'd been speaking aloud, he'd probably be tripping over his words and getting stuck on them before he could ever let himself say them. And for this moment, while he draws in breath and tries not to let his lungs tremble and catch on that almost-admission, he's thankful that they still have the mental network.
There is something so very particular about the times when Luther specifically chooses to use it with her when they're in public, under someone else's nose, or when he shifts from an out-loud conversation to sending a single text like a rock flung into a still pond, words that he can bring himself to type but can't actually let them sit on his tongue. The words that are, in fact, closer to the heart of the matter. ]
no subject
More names she never said, and wasn't sure already if there'd ever be a time to again.
All of it comes to mind now that people are making themselves available here. Now that the wall of silence and the inability to talk are gone. Leaving her half-painted as before here, and half-painted as the person she'd been only weeks ago, but who she'd never been here before now.
Navigating this place had never involved any of this.
She'd made sure of it for too many reasons. ]
Maybe it's stupid and brave all at once.
no subject
That sounds about right.
Reckless and hopeful all at once?
no subject
Instead, never one to be unruffled more than she let happen, Allison narrowed her eyes a little, like she was sidling up to something that only thought it was allowed to be a challenge, and wrote her response: ] I'm pretty sure 'we can't have normal lives' is more a point in favor of my side than yours. But nice try.
[ Not that she really had 'a side.' Even if they settled camps for a debate she was turning over and over, while Luther had already figured out his way of managing this whole part of being in this place. If not by choice, then by inundation. ]
no subject
False. Nobody here is normal. About a week ago, I responded to a distress call about a girl who started sweating nitroglycerin. She got too stressed-out and blew things up with her hands. I lost a nice jacket. Case in point.
[ And one of his new friends is a cannibal; not that he can say anything about that, though. Luther's lips are sealed. ]
Other people here know what it's like to live with weird powers, or to carry the mantle of being a superhero. We never had that, back home.
no subject
Claire is a trump card. (How heartless is that.) Claire would wipe that playful twist to the edge of Luther's mouth right off, and then he'd be torn, too. Guilty for both parts. For himself, and for her. But he isn't right now. And she's all too used to just placing her fingertips on the top of that card and sliding it right back down through the cracks in the floorboards of her mind it tried to peek up through.
Instead, she just gives him a look tilted toward disappointedly judgemental. ]
Incorrect.
You just disregarded at least 50% of the population in every city for those statements. The imPorts are not the only people living in them, and there are thousands of thousands of them, millions across this world, without any powers at all.
no subject
Yeah, and I wouldn't recommend settling down with them eithe[ That, too, is something he can't touch. Patrick, Ray, and what in hindsight looked like such terrifically unsuitable matches. Luther bites down on it like he always does. You won't ever find him criticising them; rather the opposite. It's one of the lines he'd drawn for himself.
So. Instead. It's a quick, clumsy segue and a topic change, to the dumb filler show that's on the TV in the room: ]
You know what I do find stupid? This tiny house hunters show. Why would anyone purposefully pay more to cram themselves into 300 square feet?
no subject
Making her glance briefly toward it. ]
Insanity. The same urge that rules the people who need to keep moving into bigger and bigger mansions simply because their paycheck says they can.
no subject
Yeah. We never needed forty-seven bedrooms or whatever. And then obviously our other house became too big. I like the size of what we've got now, it feels more sensible.
I kind of miss how it used to be, though.
[ A second after he's sent it, he's already half-wishing he could undo it. Should he have said it? He probably shouldn't have said it. Oh god. He keeps his gaze trained on the TV, not able to look at her just this moment, doesn't want to see her reaction. ]
no subject
Allison feels conflicted about a lot of things the examples make her think about,
including, unlisted and unimportant to anyone but her, the little house on Graham Ave. ]
Everyone together, stacked in on top of each other?
no subject
And when it was just you and me.
[ If they were in separate rooms, and if Luther were actually typing this out, he could have furiously desperately stabbed the SEND button and then flung his communicator under his bed or something, so he doesn't have to stare at the inbox waiting for a response. That would have been easier. He's still half-wishing he could crawl under this armchair and escape.
Instead his whole face feels stiff and rigid with the effort of keeping it motionless, holding his jaw and cheek muscles in perfect stillness, burningly self-conscious. Luther's never been the best at poker faces to begin with. ]
no subject
She has to fight the urge to open her eyes and glance at Diego. Or Luther. For wholly different reasons each. Instead focuses on keeping her eyes closed, fingertips pressing just barely into her stomach, as something to focus on instead. ]
It is different.
no subject
Yeah. And I mean, it's good, I like having him around. But I got used to things a particular way. It's just... different now.
[ Okay. Shut up, Luther, he thinks, and then forces himself to not touch the message anymore. He's blanked out the last few minutes already, can barely recall what's happening in the show. Are the interviewees on the second or third house? He doesn't know. ]
no subject
When she hadn't felt like she had to think about it. None of it necessary. It was a little like going back to having bars on windows she'd never noticed she'd thrown them, the shades, and even the glass panes away. Not until they were all suddenly there again. Miniature versions of different kinds of walls. Of ways she was. Or wasn't. ]
Yeah.
I know what you mean.
I miss it, too.
possibly end or yours to wrap?
He doesn't know how to follow up on that, though. What do you say? What useless sentiment do you pour into that black hole, when there's a thousand things he wants to say but can't, let alone in front of someone else? In the end, he settles for: ]
I'm glad it's not just me.
[ And then, abrupt, Luther finally rises from his seat. "This TV show is gonna drive me to drink. Anybody want a nightcap? I'll make some," he says, and vanishes to the kitchen to pour some glasses for all three of them. Something to keep his hands busy, something to distract him from this disorienting conversation and the way his heart's pounding in his chest as if he's run around the block. This whole thing. This whole topic. It's like a bruised wound and he can't let himself touch it too much, for the sting. ]
☂ End
That she'd found something that hadn't made her feel that way.
And it was gone, too. Before she'd even realized she'd had it.
That there was no way to get it back in this situation.
She really could use that drink. ]