[The sound of the alarm clock drilling at his ears causes the lieutenant to wake. Kim sits upright from the sleeping bag on the floor, his vision blurred as he instinctively gropes about for his glasses. A sense of confusion disrupts his sleep-laden thoughts as he tries to make sense of his surroundings. This isn't Whirling-in-Rags. Why is he on the floor? And why is he still dressed in his day clothes?
And then he remembers. The parasites. The snow plow. The monsters--
His hand makes contact with his glasses, and he snatches them up, wiping off the lenses and perching them on the bridge of his nose. His eyes adjust to the dark surroundings, making out kitschy furniture, plush rugs and lounge chairs, and dusty old knick-knacks placed delicately upon glass bookshelves. That's right--he had secured temporary lodgings for himself and the detective by negotiating with an elderly woman in the downtown area of the city. The woman was keen on having people about to run her errands, and was kind enough to provide a space for them to sleep. What she had failed to mention was the abundance of cats that prowled her hostel--though, Kim was able to keep them out by simply locking the entrance to the living room. The sound of them clawing at the door had kept him in a state of half-waking, though, and it was only until around three in the morning when he was able to finally fall asleep.
It is nearly seven in the morning. He's only gotten around four hours of sleep.
A sigh escapes him. Mechanically, he rises from his position on the floor to wander to the bathroom. It's only when he's face to face with the mirror does he realize that there's a problem. He doesn't have a razor with him, much less any aftershave. That ritual will have to wait until later. A slight sense of irritation enters his mind as he trawls his thoughts for any other sort of normalcy he can use to ground himself.
Breakfast, maybe. He washes his face in the sink and tries to tidy up his appearance before trudging towards the kitchen. He begins poking around the refrigerator for something he can easily reimburse her for. He doesn't want to claim this woman's food for himself, after all. His aerostatic pilot's jacket has been hung up on one of the kitchen chairs, waiting to be donned for a day's work.
A pair of shining eyes in the darkness can be seen in the doorway. One of the woman's cats seems to have decided to observe Kim.
All the while, he waits for the detective to wake.
The smell of toast wafts through the small apartment.]
And then he remembers. The parasites. The snow plow. The monsters--
His hand makes contact with his glasses, and he snatches them up, wiping off the lenses and perching them on the bridge of his nose. His eyes adjust to the dark surroundings, making out kitschy furniture, plush rugs and lounge chairs, and dusty old knick-knacks placed delicately upon glass bookshelves. That's right--he had secured temporary lodgings for himself and the detective by negotiating with an elderly woman in the downtown area of the city. The woman was keen on having people about to run her errands, and was kind enough to provide a space for them to sleep. What she had failed to mention was the abundance of cats that prowled her hostel--though, Kim was able to keep them out by simply locking the entrance to the living room. The sound of them clawing at the door had kept him in a state of half-waking, though, and it was only until around three in the morning when he was able to finally fall asleep.
It is nearly seven in the morning. He's only gotten around four hours of sleep.
A sigh escapes him. Mechanically, he rises from his position on the floor to wander to the bathroom. It's only when he's face to face with the mirror does he realize that there's a problem. He doesn't have a razor with him, much less any aftershave. That ritual will have to wait until later. A slight sense of irritation enters his mind as he trawls his thoughts for any other sort of normalcy he can use to ground himself.
Breakfast, maybe. He washes his face in the sink and tries to tidy up his appearance before trudging towards the kitchen. He begins poking around the refrigerator for something he can easily reimburse her for. He doesn't want to claim this woman's food for himself, after all. His aerostatic pilot's jacket has been hung up on one of the kitchen chairs, waiting to be donned for a day's work.
A pair of shining eyes in the darkness can be seen in the doorway. One of the woman's cats seems to have decided to observe Kim.
All the while, he waits for the detective to wake.
The smell of toast wafts through the small apartment.]
Edited 2021-12-06 17:14 (UTC)
Harry awakes the way he normally does. Untangling himself from the depths of his scaly bullshit sleep-mind with a grunt. Sweating profusely. He’s sweating so much these days. He didn’t think it was possible to sweat this much. In the dim light he briefly considers shutting his eyes again, despite the clamminess of sheets sticking to his skin. It feels easier than heaving his aching body up out of its current position.
Also, sleeping on a bed that isn’t trashed to hell? It’s nice.
(INLAND EMPIRE: The lights of Voyager Road are still burnt into the back of your eyelids. There’s no point in going back to sleep. VIDEO RENTAL. You can see it now. Flickering in the rain.)
(VOLITION: It’s time to get up anyway. On your feet. It’s a new day.)
He squints at the clock. 7:30. How does his body know that?
After getting dressed and everything, he’s still not entirely sure he’s awake as he shambles out into the living room. He announces his presence with a half asleep grunt that was meant to be a ‘good morning’, with his face contorted into…some sort of expression. Not The Expression. Just remarkably stiff. Comically stiff.
(HALF LIGHT: Oh god. You can’t move your face! How are you going to talk? How are you going to eat? You’re going to die!)
(LOGIC: Your jaw locked up. Just take it slow.)
(PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: No time for slow. The lieutenant CANNOT learn your weakness. This is very uncool.)
(ENCYCLOPEDIA: Did you know that Post Polio Syndrome usually manifests 30-40 years after the initial infection? Symptoms may include muscle atrophy, a number of throat and breathing complications and general fatigue.)
He turns away from Kim’s direction, almost demurely, and stretches his jaw open in one terrible motion. The resulting cracking noise startles a nearby cat.
[Sorry.]
The cat just continues to look mildly offended. The cats don’t speak much. For the moment he’s satisfied that they are actual cats and not small businessmen in disguise trying to infiltrate the home of their elderly host. The thought of small capitalists taking advantage of the kindness of an old woman’s heart makes him bristle.
[Do not mistake my leniency for clemency, felines. I am watchful.]
(RHETORIC: …that sounds right. Yeah.)
He points to his eyes and then at the cat. When he's satisfied that the message has been received he then turns his attention back to Kim, and tries this whole ‘good morning’ thing all over again.
“Good morning.”
(DRAMA: Excellent work! You even enunciated and everything.)
Also, sleeping on a bed that isn’t trashed to hell? It’s nice.
(INLAND EMPIRE: The lights of Voyager Road are still burnt into the back of your eyelids. There’s no point in going back to sleep. VIDEO RENTAL. You can see it now. Flickering in the rain.)
(VOLITION: It’s time to get up anyway. On your feet. It’s a new day.)
He squints at the clock. 7:30. How does his body know that?
After getting dressed and everything, he’s still not entirely sure he’s awake as he shambles out into the living room. He announces his presence with a half asleep grunt that was meant to be a ‘good morning’, with his face contorted into…some sort of expression. Not The Expression. Just remarkably stiff. Comically stiff.
(HALF LIGHT: Oh god. You can’t move your face! How are you going to talk? How are you going to eat? You’re going to die!)
(LOGIC: Your jaw locked up. Just take it slow.)
(PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: No time for slow. The lieutenant CANNOT learn your weakness. This is very uncool.)
(ENCYCLOPEDIA: Did you know that Post Polio Syndrome usually manifests 30-40 years after the initial infection? Symptoms may include muscle atrophy, a number of throat and breathing complications and general fatigue.)
He turns away from Kim’s direction, almost demurely, and stretches his jaw open in one terrible motion. The resulting cracking noise startles a nearby cat.
[Sorry.]
The cat just continues to look mildly offended. The cats don’t speak much. For the moment he’s satisfied that they are actual cats and not small businessmen in disguise trying to infiltrate the home of their elderly host. The thought of small capitalists taking advantage of the kindness of an old woman’s heart makes him bristle.
[Do not mistake my leniency for clemency, felines. I am watchful.]
(RHETORIC: …that sounds right. Yeah.)
He points to his eyes and then at the cat. When he's satisfied that the message has been received he then turns his attention back to Kim, and tries this whole ‘good morning’ thing all over again.
“Good morning.”
(DRAMA: Excellent work! You even enunciated and everything.)
[The crack of the detective's jaw causes Kim to stiffen up slightly, but he otherwise doesn't comment. He sits at the kitchen table, studying what looks to be yesterday's paper. Before him, a half-eaten piece of toast with some sort of jam spread on it. Across the table, another plate of untouched toast, presumably set for Harry. The only things Kim has explicitly seen the detective eat has been a slice of salami and a ham sandwich, but he can at least assume that he'll eat toast.
The lieutenant is tired. That much is apparent. But he offers Harry a barely perceptible smile, inclining his head slightly.]
Good morning, detective.
[The lieutenant lapses into silence. There's something odd about greeting the detective in this manner when there isn't a case to work on. He pushes the paper forward, sitting up a little straighter as he does so.]
Ms. Rosberg-- [Their hostess.] --has left us a shopping list and asked us to run errands at the grocery store down the street. In the meantime, I've been searching for temporary job listings.
[He's clinging to any sense of normalcy to help him adjust to this odd new world. One cryptid encounter was enough to shatter a small part of his reality, but an entire peninsula? No. He needs time, like a tropical fish being acclimated to a new tank.]
I trust you slept better than I did.
The lieutenant is tired. That much is apparent. But he offers Harry a barely perceptible smile, inclining his head slightly.]
Good morning, detective.
[The lieutenant lapses into silence. There's something odd about greeting the detective in this manner when there isn't a case to work on. He pushes the paper forward, sitting up a little straighter as he does so.]
Ms. Rosberg-- [Their hostess.] --has left us a shopping list and asked us to run errands at the grocery store down the street. In the meantime, I've been searching for temporary job listings.
[He's clinging to any sense of normalcy to help him adjust to this odd new world. One cryptid encounter was enough to shatter a small part of his reality, but an entire peninsula? No. He needs time, like a tropical fish being acclimated to a new tank.]
I trust you slept better than I did.
(PERCEPTION: Fuck yes, that’s breakfast. It’s a miracle. Kim’s a miracle. Smell that? It’s a miracle.)
Harry stretches his jaw again, as if he’s making sure it’s still working. The whole time he eyes the toast with a comically predatory expression that quickly turns much softer, into mush. Like it may slide off his face entirely and land on his feet.
(INLAND EMPIRE: When was the last time someone cooked for you. At home? You don’t remember. Look at it. The set table, the morning sunlight. Look at it. You’re in a kitchen. In a home.)
(EMPATHY: Oh. Do *not* make this weird. He won’t appreciate it.)
(INLAND EMPIRE: “Eat up shitkid, we’re already late.” You don’t know how Jean manages these things. Like having a job *and* going grocery shopping *and* not drinking before 4pm. You also didn’t know when the world was going to end, but back then you figured 30 years.)
[I’m trying really hard to be normal right now.]
(ENDURANCE: You’re suffering from hyperhidrosis, please do not cry out what precious water remains in your body.)
[That sounds really bad! And now I feel like I’m under even more pressure here.]
(ENCYCLOPEDIA: It’s a natural part of alcohol withdrawal. It’s why you’ve spent the last few days sweating and freezing all over the place. You know this because you’ve done this before. It’s also why you want to unhinge your jaw and shove everything, plate included down your throat at once. Your body is no longer receiving sugars from its primary source.)
[Ok, but how do I not cry?]
(COMPOSURE: Just eat. You can do this.)
(VOLITION: Kim said jobs. Tasks! You love those. Think about those tasks. Crossing them off the list one by one.)
To Harry’s credit it he gets a few bites of toast in before the waterworks start but he’s got this shit locked down. It’s quiet, watery, and only very minorly pathetic on the grand scale of Times He’s Cried In Recent Memory. He’s been bursting into tears all week, his recovery time is going to be the stuff of records soon. Best crier. He's going for the title.
He just needs a second. It’s fine. He wipes at his eyes and squints at Kim, trying to get a read on just how much he’s slept.
(EMPATHY: Not much. Not well.)
“I slept uh…I think I slept. Yeah I definitely slept. It was fine.” He sniffs mildly. “So uh, right. Tasks. I was gonna take a jog around the neighborhood, see what’s what. I can do some things while I’m out.”
(EMPATHY: He’s not ready to talk about the pamphlets or the creatures you met yesterday. Read up as much as you like, but on your own.)
“…Kim, are we still cops?”
Harry stretches his jaw again, as if he’s making sure it’s still working. The whole time he eyes the toast with a comically predatory expression that quickly turns much softer, into mush. Like it may slide off his face entirely and land on his feet.
(INLAND EMPIRE: When was the last time someone cooked for you. At home? You don’t remember. Look at it. The set table, the morning sunlight. Look at it. You’re in a kitchen. In a home.)
(EMPATHY: Oh. Do *not* make this weird. He won’t appreciate it.)
(INLAND EMPIRE: “Eat up shitkid, we’re already late.” You don’t know how Jean manages these things. Like having a job *and* going grocery shopping *and* not drinking before 4pm. You also didn’t know when the world was going to end, but back then you figured 30 years.)
[I’m trying really hard to be normal right now.]
(ENDURANCE: You’re suffering from hyperhidrosis, please do not cry out what precious water remains in your body.)
[That sounds really bad! And now I feel like I’m under even more pressure here.]
(ENCYCLOPEDIA: It’s a natural part of alcohol withdrawal. It’s why you’ve spent the last few days sweating and freezing all over the place. You know this because you’ve done this before. It’s also why you want to unhinge your jaw and shove everything, plate included down your throat at once. Your body is no longer receiving sugars from its primary source.)
[Ok, but how do I not cry?]
(COMPOSURE: Just eat. You can do this.)
(VOLITION: Kim said jobs. Tasks! You love those. Think about those tasks. Crossing them off the list one by one.)
To Harry’s credit it he gets a few bites of toast in before the waterworks start but he’s got this shit locked down. It’s quiet, watery, and only very minorly pathetic on the grand scale of Times He’s Cried In Recent Memory. He’s been bursting into tears all week, his recovery time is going to be the stuff of records soon. Best crier. He's going for the title.
He just needs a second. It’s fine. He wipes at his eyes and squints at Kim, trying to get a read on just how much he’s slept.
(EMPATHY: Not much. Not well.)
“I slept uh…I think I slept. Yeah I definitely slept. It was fine.” He sniffs mildly. “So uh, right. Tasks. I was gonna take a jog around the neighborhood, see what’s what. I can do some things while I’m out.”
(EMPATHY: He’s not ready to talk about the pamphlets or the creatures you met yesterday. Read up as much as you like, but on your own.)
“…Kim, are we still cops?”
[Kim doesn't look up as the detective shovels toast into his mouth and cries. The man needs some dignity, even if his body seems to reject any effort to remain dignified. It's the least he can offer him.
At the question, however, Kim pauses. He briefly glances up to study the detective, to gauge where this question is coming from. All he can really make out are the tears that stream from his eyes and the detective's default, miserable, sweaty expression.
Sometimes, Kim wonders just what's happening in that brain of his. At times, the detective seems scattered, lost in his own thoughts for minutes before snapping back to reality. Other times, he approaches his tasks with a manic fervor, as is possessed by some unseen, driving force.
Kim isn't sure whether or not he wants to know.]
Of course we're still cops. We may not have jurisdiction here, but I doubt that we'd be dismissed from duty while on this brief...mandatory vacation.
[Even as he says it, however, he's worried. Worried that, for some reason, there might have been a temporal displacement in addition to the physical. It's happened in the science fiction books that he's read, and as much as he doesn't like it, it's becoming very apparent that he's caught in the middle of a supra-natural incident.
As if the monsters didn't tip him off enough.]
And even if we aren't on duty right now, it's still important to uphold the RCM's values and act appropriately.
[Please don't make me have to pick you up from jail, is what he thinks to himself. We don't know what the prison system is like here.]
At the question, however, Kim pauses. He briefly glances up to study the detective, to gauge where this question is coming from. All he can really make out are the tears that stream from his eyes and the detective's default, miserable, sweaty expression.
Sometimes, Kim wonders just what's happening in that brain of his. At times, the detective seems scattered, lost in his own thoughts for minutes before snapping back to reality. Other times, he approaches his tasks with a manic fervor, as is possessed by some unseen, driving force.
Kim isn't sure whether or not he wants to know.]
Of course we're still cops. We may not have jurisdiction here, but I doubt that we'd be dismissed from duty while on this brief...mandatory vacation.
[Even as he says it, however, he's worried. Worried that, for some reason, there might have been a temporal displacement in addition to the physical. It's happened in the science fiction books that he's read, and as much as he doesn't like it, it's becoming very apparent that he's caught in the middle of a supra-natural incident.
As if the monsters didn't tip him off enough.]
And even if we aren't on duty right now, it's still important to uphold the RCM's values and act appropriately.
[Please don't make me have to pick you up from jail, is what he thinks to himself. We don't know what the prison system is like here.]
Everyday, everyday he fights his body for some shreds of dignity and- oh no. New horrible thought incoming! Maybe he’s actually successful? He could be crying even more, probably. He has it in him. Untapped reservoirs of tears, enough to soak his beard and drown in. Maybe this really is the best he can do.
[If this is me operating at peak capacity: crying into my toast in front of Kim. I think I’d rather just die.]
(VOLITION: No.)
(EMPATHY: Kim would be unhappy.)
(ENDURANCE: Stop being a pussy.)
[Ok.]
(ESPIRIT DE CORPS: Anyway, see? I told you. You don’t just stop being a cop.)
(INLAND EMPIRE: Especially not you.)
(EMPATHY: Kim probably doesn’t want you do to do anything stupid and make a scene…or get arrested. You can’t exactly write off your weird shit with ‘I’m the law' and a flash of your badge anymore.)
“Right…I’ll be on my best behavior. Nothing but good ol' RCM values. I remember what those are, by the way.”
(LOGIC: You’re in a brand new world. You don’t know what the laws here are like. Or the prisons. You could have already broken like twenty laws by now.)
(HALF LIGHT: Oh my fuck. I’m not going to jail! I will stab a hundred bitches before I let you go to jail.)
He smiles reassuringly at Kim, and adds the double finger guns for good measure because his thoughts are making him uncomfortable. Unfortunately the finger guns involuntarily activate The Expression out of sheer muscle memory. The direct primordial opposite of reassuring facial expressions.
[If this is me operating at peak capacity: crying into my toast in front of Kim. I think I’d rather just die.]
(VOLITION: No.)
(EMPATHY: Kim would be unhappy.)
(ENDURANCE: Stop being a pussy.)
[Ok.]
(ESPIRIT DE CORPS: Anyway, see? I told you. You don’t just stop being a cop.)
(INLAND EMPIRE: Especially not you.)
(EMPATHY: Kim probably doesn’t want you do to do anything stupid and make a scene…or get arrested. You can’t exactly write off your weird shit with ‘I’m the law' and a flash of your badge anymore.)
“Right…I’ll be on my best behavior. Nothing but good ol' RCM values. I remember what those are, by the way.”
(LOGIC: You’re in a brand new world. You don’t know what the laws here are like. Or the prisons. You could have already broken like twenty laws by now.)
(HALF LIGHT: Oh my fuck. I’m not going to jail! I will stab a hundred bitches before I let you go to jail.)
He smiles reassuringly at Kim, and adds the double finger guns for good measure because his thoughts are making him uncomfortable. Unfortunately the finger guns involuntarily activate The Expression out of sheer muscle memory. The direct primordial opposite of reassuring facial expressions.
Good.
[He means it, genuinely. Kim's eyebrow twitches when The Expression pops up again, but he doesn't otherwise comment. He's fairly certain the detective is struggling to regain control over his facial muscles, as simple as the task may seem.
Kim gets up from his seat, stretching his arms and flexing his shoulder blades. It's not unlike seeing a cat rising from a nap. There's a quiet crack as his joints shift. He shakes his limbs loose, moving to pick up his pilot's jacket and shrug it onto his shoulders.]
Whenever you're ready, we can go. [A pause.] Maybe you ought to drink some water before you leave.
[Said in a gentle, encouraging tone. Did you think you would be doing this on your own, Harry? Kim was by his side when the detective was wandering Martinaise, lost and unaware of the world. It's now time for them both to explore this strange new world together.
The RCM teaches its cops to support one another in times of need, and this is definitely one of those times. He has a feeling that having the detective by his side will help make sense of this new insanity, what with his...unconventional thinking patterns.]
[He means it, genuinely. Kim's eyebrow twitches when The Expression pops up again, but he doesn't otherwise comment. He's fairly certain the detective is struggling to regain control over his facial muscles, as simple as the task may seem.
Kim gets up from his seat, stretching his arms and flexing his shoulder blades. It's not unlike seeing a cat rising from a nap. There's a quiet crack as his joints shift. He shakes his limbs loose, moving to pick up his pilot's jacket and shrug it onto his shoulders.]
Whenever you're ready, we can go. [A pause.] Maybe you ought to drink some water before you leave.
[Said in a gentle, encouraging tone. Did you think you would be doing this on your own, Harry? Kim was by his side when the detective was wandering Martinaise, lost and unaware of the world. It's now time for them both to explore this strange new world together.
The RCM teaches its cops to support one another in times of need, and this is definitely one of those times. He has a feeling that having the detective by his side will help make sense of this new insanity, what with his...unconventional thinking patterns.]
[Harry will find a small box waiting for him, meticulously wrapped and tied off with a big red bow. It smells vaguely of peppermint, and even prior to opening it, it isn't hard to work out who it might be from.
Inside is a handkerchief, neatly hand-embroidered with a big silvery HDB and a pattern of tidy little silver rectangles along the border. Beneath it, there are some chocolate chip cookies, and a very tidy little note:]
I am thankful for your help - you helped me not feel so frightened when we were lost. We are all in this together.
I hope you like cookies!
Alfred
Inside is a handkerchief, neatly hand-embroidered with a big silvery HDB and a pattern of tidy little silver rectangles along the border. Beneath it, there are some chocolate chip cookies, and a very tidy little note:]
I am thankful for your help - you helped me not feel so frightened when we were lost. We are all in this together.
I hope you like cookies!
Alfred
[Phil was a mess after dealing with the flower disease. A part of him wants to lie down for the rest of the month and not do a damned thing. But at the same time he doesn’t want to be alone.
Rev’s busy with work right now. He knows he could call his boyfriend whenever and he’s come running to check up on him but, well, he didn’t want to be a burden on him. Especially after he worried Rev sick over something he already knew about. He thinks about who he should contact before eventually deciding on Harry. He didn’t know him super well but he’s interesting enough to talk to and he has preened him before and enjoyed it, and god he could use some nice TLC.
He pulls out his laptop and immediately goes to contact Harry.]
Hey I’m coming over. I can let you mess with my wings again if you want to.
[He means preening.
Phil doesn’t even wait for a response as he’s at Harry’s door in less than a half hour, trying to look casual about the situation. When Harry opens the door, Phil grins]
I hope you’re ready to be absolutely graced by my presence.
[He winks coyly.]
Rev’s busy with work right now. He knows he could call his boyfriend whenever and he’s come running to check up on him but, well, he didn’t want to be a burden on him. Especially after he worried Rev sick over something he already knew about. He thinks about who he should contact before eventually deciding on Harry. He didn’t know him super well but he’s interesting enough to talk to and he has preened him before and enjoyed it, and god he could use some nice TLC.
He pulls out his laptop and immediately goes to contact Harry.]
Hey I’m coming over. I can let you mess with my wings again if you want to.
[He means preening.
Phil doesn’t even wait for a response as he’s at Harry’s door in less than a half hour, trying to look casual about the situation. When Harry opens the door, Phil grins]
I hope you’re ready to be absolutely graced by my presence.
[He winks coyly.]
oh shit yeah!
Harry has been going stir crazy. Don’t get him wrong, he’s glad the surgery worked out and he didn’t die of flowers and didn’t lose his cool in Haftesal and punch a doctor but he was walking around minus an eye and he’s too worn out to run much. His brain has not been happy about these things and he’s been left alone with his thoughts too much.Boredom is dangerous to recovering addicts and cockatoos, alike. Relapse, over plucking, it’s all bad. They say that in the pamphlets.
“Always, man.”
He fingerguns at Phil, clicks his tongue. Pew, pew. He’s armed and dangerous with these things. Especially to those matts. He sees you, hiding in Phil’s feathers, messing up his cute little wings.
EMPATHY - (He probably won’t appreciate you calling them that. Even if you argue that they are, objectively both little and cute.)
ELECTROCHEMISTRY - (Standby, he might under the right circumstances. Wait and see.)
CONCEPTUALIZATION - (Think of this as building a case for how cool wings are. They feel good when they’re taken care of. In the end you will lay it all out on a metaphorical cork board. Your wings are guilty of being very cute, Phil Connors, you are under arrest. Do not resist. Your case will be taken before the court system of the Moralintern and from there you will be judged fairly and prudently.)
Harry kind of wiggles out of his jacket, Kim fixed up his clothes with slits in the back so he can like, wear shirts and stuff now but there’s a bit of a flappy learning curve.
“Can I uh, have a hand?”
He tries to look kind of cool when he asks and not like a grown man losing a battle with his blazer. His face is kind of working out for him but his left wing is wiggling and twitching in a way that says ‘help me, this is an actual problem.’
COMPOSURE - (I'm really glad you're past the 'freaking out because a guy's shirt is kind of unbuttoned' thing.)
[I can’t remember seeing this guy in pants, like ever. And this place? It’s basically immersion therapy. I’m cool. I’m disco. Oh god.]
COMPOSURE - (You got this. You don’t really have to take *your* shirt off or anything.)
ELECTROCHEMISTRY - (Just focus on making him feel nice.)
[Phil shrugs off his own jacket in the meanwhile, cursing under his breath as he struggles on the wings. He hated them so much. They were so bulky and were completely useless, not to mention their small size made him look more silly than graceful.
When he finally pulls off his own jacket he notices Harry struggling with his blazer. He guesses it would be really dickish to leave him hanging, huh.]
Here, lemme try.
[He goes to remove Harry's blazer, struggling slightly.]
God I know I follow the fog but you'd think she'd make us clothes or some shit that are easy to get in an out of.
When he finally pulls off his own jacket he notices Harry struggling with his blazer. He guesses it would be really dickish to leave him hanging, huh.]
Here, lemme try.
[He goes to remove Harry's blazer, struggling slightly.]
God I know I follow the fog but you'd think she'd make us clothes or some shit that are easy to get in an out of.
Pigeons are cool. They’re smart. If you don’t have to eat them they make good pets. They also come in a diverse range of colors.
They’re almost kind of like seagulls, which Harry also admires but keeps a respectful distance from. Living life on the edge as urban survivors. The main difference is that they’ve had to adapt to urban life in response to abandonment by their people. It's sad.
Also seagulls could never be pets. A seagull cannot be contained.
Anyway, pigeons are cool, wings are awesome, and he’s going to prove his point today. He waves his wing thankfully as he’s freed.
“Maybe she wants us to be more in touch with our bodies. Maybe clothes are a human concept…?”
He looks thoughtful, looks down at his flared pants and snakeskin shoes. His clothes are disco. He’s not sure he wants to give them up.
“I like my clothes though.”
They’re almost kind of like seagulls, which Harry also admires but keeps a respectful distance from. Living life on the edge as urban survivors. The main difference is that they’ve had to adapt to urban life in response to abandonment by their people. It's sad.
Also seagulls could never be pets. A seagull cannot be contained.
Anyway, pigeons are cool, wings are awesome, and he’s going to prove his point today. He waves his wing thankfully as he’s freed.
“Maybe she wants us to be more in touch with our bodies. Maybe clothes are a human concept…?”
He looks thoughtful, looks down at his flared pants and snakeskin shoes. His clothes are disco. He’s not sure he wants to give them up.
“I like my clothes though.”
[The sky is a gray, eventide haze as a gentle rain drizzles onto the cold asphalt below--a far cry from the acid rain that plagued them just a month ago. Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi and Detective Harrier Du Bois make their way back to their living quarters, their day of investigation done. The lieutenant shakes water off a large black umbrella before holding the door open for the detective to follow.
The door shuts behind them. Kim turns to look towards the detective, his foot tapping against the ground.]
Detective, I'd like to discuss something with you. It's regarding your recent behavior.
[Another pause. The lieutenant purses his lips, trying to think on how to best approach this line of questioning. The tips of his ears twitch ever so slightly. The detective has been in a delicate state ever since that odd network...malfunction. He can't entirely blame him for having this sort of reaction, either. In an empathetic, concerned tone, he asks:]
Are you...alright?
The door shuts behind them. Kim turns to look towards the detective, his foot tapping against the ground.]
Detective, I'd like to discuss something with you. It's regarding your recent behavior.
[Another pause. The lieutenant purses his lips, trying to think on how to best approach this line of questioning. The tips of his ears twitch ever so slightly. The detective has been in a delicate state ever since that odd network...malfunction. He can't entirely blame him for having this sort of reaction, either. In an empathetic, concerned tone, he asks:]
Are you...alright?
Harry’s fingers are already playing with the cold key in his pocket. He’s comforted by the idea that at any moment he could, hypothetically, make a run for it. He may always be in danger, but he’s always not too far from safety either. He can dash to his Dyster nest. To the arms of the Fog.
“Uh.”
HALF LIGHT - (Run. Make a run for it. You’re faster than him. You’re not far from your room. Just fucking run.)
LOGIC - (From what?)
VOLITION - (Kim isn’t going to hurt you.)
EMPATHY - (He’s worried about you.)
[Why am I so scared then?]
HALF LIGHT - (Because he’s going to hurt you.)
VOLITION - (Stop that. Let go of the tension you’re holding in your jaw.)
ESPIRIT DE CORPS - (Be candid. The Lieutenant values honesty. He doesn’t appreciate it when you waste his time. Don’t tell him you’re fine.)
He turns to face Kim, but he can’t really meet his eyes. He fiddles with the key in his fingers, keeps his eyes on it.
“…not really, no. I’m really freaked out almost all the time. I don’t know how to calm down and it’s not like it’s an irrational thing, it happened before. It could happen again, as long as those machines are running in Haftesal.”
His throat closes. His stomach clenches. It’s one of the oldest feelings in his body. It’s a child-feeling. He knows he’s going to cry. Maybe not this second but it’s coming. And he’s just standing here. And he can’t stop it.
“Uh.”
HALF LIGHT - (Run. Make a run for it. You’re faster than him. You’re not far from your room. Just fucking run.)
LOGIC - (From what?)
VOLITION - (Kim isn’t going to hurt you.)
EMPATHY - (He’s worried about you.)
[Why am I so scared then?]
HALF LIGHT - (Because he’s going to hurt you.)
VOLITION - (Stop that. Let go of the tension you’re holding in your jaw.)
ESPIRIT DE CORPS - (Be candid. The Lieutenant values honesty. He doesn’t appreciate it when you waste his time. Don’t tell him you’re fine.)
He turns to face Kim, but he can’t really meet his eyes. He fiddles with the key in his fingers, keeps his eyes on it.
“…not really, no. I’m really freaked out almost all the time. I don’t know how to calm down and it’s not like it’s an irrational thing, it happened before. It could happen again, as long as those machines are running in Haftesal.”
His throat closes. His stomach clenches. It’s one of the oldest feelings in his body. It’s a child-feeling. He knows he’s going to cry. Maybe not this second but it’s coming. And he’s just standing here. And he can’t stop it.
[A sigh escapes his lips. Kim glances off to the side, mulling on what to say next. He keeps his voice level and reassuring.]
Is it because of what happened last month? The communications network malfunction?
[He truly believes that--though, he is still wary about how much they seem to be interfering with the day-to-day activities of the peninsula and how much can go wrong if the machines sputter and die again.]
Is it because of what happened last month? The communications network malfunction?
[He truly believes that--though, he is still wary about how much they seem to be interfering with the day-to-day activities of the peninsula and how much can go wrong if the machines sputter and die again.]
The anti Haftesal rants- Harry is swallowing them down so hard right now it’s practically visible in his throat. He’s grumbled a lot of it at Kim in passing since the incident, in bits and pieces between the recent stretches of uncomfortable silences.
“Yeah. Yeah.”
He just stands there for a moment. Trying to gauge if the conversation is over. It doesn’t feel over. An odd shadow flickers over his paleomammalian cortex. You’ve done this before it says. And like, no shit. No shit, he’s done this before? He’s probably stood in many apartments feeling like he should physically eject himself from the conversation as soon as possible.
“I don’t…want to blast my brain all over the place. I don’t want people to know that I’m…you know. You know how I am.”
HAND EYE COORDINATION - (You tap your temple. An ancient human gesture for ‘totally and utterly batshit insane with little to no redeeming qualities.’)
His voice breaks but he isn’t crying yet, but he’s breathing hard. His jaw clicks audibly. The Expression contorts his face once again, rigid. Rictus.
“It’s hard enough to act…decent- passable when people can’t read my thoughts.”
“Yeah. Yeah.”
He just stands there for a moment. Trying to gauge if the conversation is over. It doesn’t feel over. An odd shadow flickers over his paleomammalian cortex. You’ve done this before it says. And like, no shit. No shit, he’s done this before? He’s probably stood in many apartments feeling like he should physically eject himself from the conversation as soon as possible.
“I don’t…want to blast my brain all over the place. I don’t want people to know that I’m…you know. You know how I am.”
HAND EYE COORDINATION - (You tap your temple. An ancient human gesture for ‘totally and utterly batshit insane with little to no redeeming qualities.’)
His voice breaks but he isn’t crying yet, but he’s breathing hard. His jaw clicks audibly. The Expression contorts his face once again, rigid. Rictus.
“It’s hard enough to act…decent- passable when people can’t read my thoughts.”
[A pause. Kim stares off into the distance, his foot tapping against the ground--not out of impatience, but more out of habit.]
Detective, it takes years, maybe decades for people to organize their thoughts in a constructive manner. It takes even longer to exert a level of control over them to wipe away all the unnecessary chatter.
[He's sharing the barest amount of information to Harry in an attempt to assuage his concerns. Treat it well.]
It's easy to think one's self at the center of attention of whatever occurred. But, think about it--how many thoughts from other people did you also overhear?
[He's trying not to be callous. He genuinely doesn't understand Harry's own struggles.]
Detective, it takes years, maybe decades for people to organize their thoughts in a constructive manner. It takes even longer to exert a level of control over them to wipe away all the unnecessary chatter.
[He's sharing the barest amount of information to Harry in an attempt to assuage his concerns. Treat it well.]
It's easy to think one's self at the center of attention of whatever occurred. But, think about it--how many thoughts from other people did you also overhear?
[He's trying not to be callous. He genuinely doesn't understand Harry's own struggles.]
If you're still interested, I'm going to have the scrapbook/crafting group meet on the 13th.
Feel free to bring food or any supplies you like. I'll be supplying both as well. Figured I should make things easier for people who've never scrap booked before.
-Tawna
[Included with the text is instructions on how to find Tawna's apartment.]
Feel free to bring food or any supplies you like. I'll be supplying both as well. Figured I should make things easier for people who've never scrap booked before.
-Tawna
[Included with the text is instructions on how to find Tawna's apartment.]
Edited 2022-04-19 20:34 (UTC)
HALF LIGHT - (He’s impatient.)
EMPATHY - (He’s not. This is a Kim thing. His foot does that. He’s a restless type of creature.)
COMPOSURE - (When he’s impatient his cute tail gets more flicky.)
[That’s…true.]
VOLITION - (The reactions from your sympathetic nervous system are taking precedent over the rest of us because you’re freaking out. The twitchy guy in red is more compromised than usual. Just breathe.)
HALF LIGHT - (I am not compromised. I am always right.)
ESPIRIT DE CORPS - (Lieutenant Kitsuragi is not about to hurt anyone. He isn’t even above a personal baseline level of typical impatience right now. You are verifiably wrong.)
HALF LIGHT - (If I’m wrong now I’ll be right later. Patience is a limited resource for anyone.)
“It’s not really unnecessary chatter- ok, maybe some of it is. I hear voices. That’s just how I think. They got scared…I know they’re just me, by the way. I anth- anthropomorphize my thought process, or something like that.”
He adds the last part very quickly, like a disclaimer on a television commercial. Like something someone else told him that doesn’t mean much to him now. Trying to stick words on his brain doesn’t seem to help it, but maybe it can help other people get it.
INLAND EMPIRE - (Change. The. Topic. She hated this. She did *not* want to hear this.)
EMPATHY - (She used to. She thought you were being poetic until she realized you were insane. Then it got scary.)
INLAND EMPIRE - (Not all at once. Scary ferments like homemade booze. In dark places. And when you can’t afford to keep the lights on, every corner becomes a dark place. She stuffed her doubts in those places. ‘Father was right.’ ‘He’s sick.’ ‘Was it always this bad? Am I just stupid?’ ‘What if he gets worse?’)
VOLITION - (You’re talking to Kim. She’s not here. Focus.)
Harry’s brow is furrowed, frustration turns into a much more sickly look, he pulls out a kitchen chair with a little squeak and sits down. He inspects the salt and pepper shakers as he talks.
“I heard the other people, yeah but I still feel really bad. Violated…can I ask you something?”
EMPATHY - (He’s not. This is a Kim thing. His foot does that. He’s a restless type of creature.)
COMPOSURE - (When he’s impatient his cute tail gets more flicky.)
[That’s…true.]
VOLITION - (The reactions from your sympathetic nervous system are taking precedent over the rest of us because you’re freaking out. The twitchy guy in red is more compromised than usual. Just breathe.)
HALF LIGHT - (I am not compromised. I am always right.)
ESPIRIT DE CORPS - (Lieutenant Kitsuragi is not about to hurt anyone. He isn’t even above a personal baseline level of typical impatience right now. You are verifiably wrong.)
HALF LIGHT - (If I’m wrong now I’ll be right later. Patience is a limited resource for anyone.)
“It’s not really unnecessary chatter- ok, maybe some of it is. I hear voices. That’s just how I think. They got scared…I know they’re just me, by the way. I anth- anthropomorphize my thought process, or something like that.”
He adds the last part very quickly, like a disclaimer on a television commercial. Like something someone else told him that doesn’t mean much to him now. Trying to stick words on his brain doesn’t seem to help it, but maybe it can help other people get it.
INLAND EMPIRE - (Change. The. Topic. She hated this. She did *not* want to hear this.)
EMPATHY - (She used to. She thought you were being poetic until she realized you were insane. Then it got scary.)
INLAND EMPIRE - (Not all at once. Scary ferments like homemade booze. In dark places. And when you can’t afford to keep the lights on, every corner becomes a dark place. She stuffed her doubts in those places. ‘Father was right.’ ‘He’s sick.’ ‘Was it always this bad? Am I just stupid?’ ‘What if he gets worse?’)
VOLITION - (You’re talking to Kim. She’s not here. Focus.)
Harry’s brow is furrowed, frustration turns into a much more sickly look, he pulls out a kitchen chair with a little squeak and sits down. He inspects the salt and pepper shakers as he talks.
“I heard the other people, yeah but I still feel really bad. Violated…can I ask you something?”
[He listens, quietly, brow furrowed as he listens. His eyes flit between Harry and the space behind him, trying to process it. He's been shown how the detective's mind works, and he sympathizes with the sheer chaos that he witnessed. Even if he can't deal with it, he's gained...perhaps an understanding as to how the man's fragmented brain operates. It's a small piece of information, and still very difficult to wrap his own thoughts around it, but perhaps it's just as disorienting to Detective Du Bois as it is to him.
He's asking him a question. He can't possibly guess what it is. He tilts his head to the side, raising an eyebrow.]
Yes. What is it?
He's asking him a question. He can't possibly guess what it is. He tilts his head to the side, raising an eyebrow.]
Yes. What is it?
Harry thinks of what to say in terms of lists, in branching columns and tiers. Apparently it’s good for being a cop and not for being a husband, a boyfriend, or a fiancé.
“Do I embarrass you?”
The ghost of a hundred apologies swell in his chest, squeezing the air out of his lungs as they manifest. 1. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to your parents. 2. I’m trying so hard, I really am. 3. Do I have to move out? 4. Did you catch that bit where I said I love you and I think you're sexy? 5. I think I’m going to tear my skin off and throw myself out that window, that’s how at my limit I am…
He ploughs forward, that thing he just said was a mistake.
“No- ah, fuck. I mean, are we friends? We don’t have to be friends. I just- want to know if we are.”
He looks up at him, as earnest as the proverbial schoolboy Kim once compared him to. His leg bounces under the table.
COMPOSURE - (“Do you like me?”)
INLAND EMPIRE - (“Are you ashamed of me?”)
VOLITION - (“Am I a burden?”)
The list in Harry’s head shifts. 1. Am I just your boss that you keep around for some semblance of normalcy and can’t let go? 2. Am I just some kind of pet detective that you take for walks at work and if left alone, are left praying it won’t piss on the carpet or chew up the furniture? And so on. Twenty three nervous men in Harry’s brain holding a conference together. Voices blur, spilling over each other. Swirls of colors fill the creases of his brain. He’s getting a headache.
These choices suck. He doesn’t need to say anything else right now.
“Do I embarrass you?”
The ghost of a hundred apologies swell in his chest, squeezing the air out of his lungs as they manifest. 1. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to your parents. 2. I’m trying so hard, I really am. 3. Do I have to move out? 4. Did you catch that bit where I said I love you and I think you're sexy? 5. I think I’m going to tear my skin off and throw myself out that window, that’s how at my limit I am…
He ploughs forward, that thing he just said was a mistake.
“No- ah, fuck. I mean, are we friends? We don’t have to be friends. I just- want to know if we are.”
He looks up at him, as earnest as the proverbial schoolboy Kim once compared him to. His leg bounces under the table.
COMPOSURE - (“Do you like me?”)
INLAND EMPIRE - (“Are you ashamed of me?”)
VOLITION - (“Am I a burden?”)
The list in Harry’s head shifts. 1. Am I just your boss that you keep around for some semblance of normalcy and can’t let go? 2. Am I just some kind of pet detective that you take for walks at work and if left alone, are left praying it won’t piss on the carpet or chew up the furniture? And so on. Twenty three nervous men in Harry’s brain holding a conference together. Voices blur, spilling over each other. Swirls of colors fill the creases of his brain. He’s getting a headache.
These choices suck. He doesn’t need to say anything else right now.
[There's a long pause. Kim's brow furrows deeply as he sizes up Detective Du Bois, looking for some sort of catch or trick behind this line of questioning. He's acquainted with the detective's methods of peeling an individual down to their core to shake out whatever information he wants from them. It's uncomfortable for him--these are personal questions, involved with personal affairs.
But imagine how much more uncomfortable it is for the detective to ask these questions, he thinks to himself. And when he sees nothing but earnest desperation, he reroutes his train of thought to mull upon the questions posed to him. Friendship with Detective Du Bois something that he hasn't really taken the time to reflect upon. Examining his own interpersonal relationships with others isn't exactly a habit of his, and when he does, it's usually in terms of authority and respect.
He'd like to think that he was friendly and professional towards his fellow RCM officers. But who would he define as a friend, exactly? Eyes, definitely. But that ended abruptly and left the lieutenant utterly, completely alone. Who did he used to confide in off work hours, play games, get into arguments, or simply enjoy the silence with? No one. He thinks about the quiet, empty apartment in Martinaise where he would return to after work, the empty room at Whirling-in-Rags. Both of them empty, both of them quiet.
Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi was in a perpetual state of being Alone. The lieutenant had long accepted this. And then, suddenly, he was simply not Alone, for the sheer fact that he now was trapped in a strange new world with the detective he met a week ago at his back. He knows that Detective Du Bois would likely do anything for him, and that's the trouble.
He owes the detective an honest answer. He weighs all of these things carefully, like a scientist measuring out milligrams of chemicals and components, trying to formulate his way to the truth. Eventually, the lieutenant responds.]
Yes, detective, I'd like to think that we're friends.
[That's the truth. One that's difficult for Kim, himself, to process and categorize in his little filing cabinets filled with thoughts and emotions.]
And even if you did embarrass me, so what? I hate to draw upon clichés, but nobody's perfect.
[He would be concerned first and foremost before treading into embarrassment. But he finds it difficult to say aloud.]
But imagine how much more uncomfortable it is for the detective to ask these questions, he thinks to himself. And when he sees nothing but earnest desperation, he reroutes his train of thought to mull upon the questions posed to him. Friendship with Detective Du Bois something that he hasn't really taken the time to reflect upon. Examining his own interpersonal relationships with others isn't exactly a habit of his, and when he does, it's usually in terms of authority and respect.
He'd like to think that he was friendly and professional towards his fellow RCM officers. But who would he define as a friend, exactly? Eyes, definitely. But that ended abruptly and left the lieutenant utterly, completely alone. Who did he used to confide in off work hours, play games, get into arguments, or simply enjoy the silence with? No one. He thinks about the quiet, empty apartment in Martinaise where he would return to after work, the empty room at Whirling-in-Rags. Both of them empty, both of them quiet.
Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi was in a perpetual state of being Alone. The lieutenant had long accepted this. And then, suddenly, he was simply not Alone, for the sheer fact that he now was trapped in a strange new world with the detective he met a week ago at his back. He knows that Detective Du Bois would likely do anything for him, and that's the trouble.
He owes the detective an honest answer. He weighs all of these things carefully, like a scientist measuring out milligrams of chemicals and components, trying to formulate his way to the truth. Eventually, the lieutenant responds.]
Yes, detective, I'd like to think that we're friends.
[That's the truth. One that's difficult for Kim, himself, to process and categorize in his little filing cabinets filled with thoughts and emotions.]
And even if you did embarrass me, so what? I hate to draw upon clichés, but nobody's perfect.
[He would be concerned first and foremost before treading into embarrassment. But he finds it difficult to say aloud.]
[It's been a while since...what happened. Between the Castle, the Movies, and everything else that happened, it's been hard for Alfred to even consider how to approach this.
Until, one day, a letter appears for Harry, written in familiar (if shaking) penmanship and smelling vaguely of candlesmoke and peppermint. There are tear marks on the page.]
Harry,
I don't know how to even begin to tell you how sorry I am for what happened.
I was out of control. It was stupid of me, waiting as long as I did to feed, and the price was paid by you and two other people. I saw what I did to you, how I hurt you, and I don't know how you could possibly forgive me.
Still.
I am sorry, Harry. I am so sorry.
If you never want to see me again, I would understand.
Your Friend
Sincerely,
Alfred
Until, one day, a letter appears for Harry, written in familiar (if shaking) penmanship and smelling vaguely of candlesmoke and peppermint. There are tear marks on the page.]
Harry,
I don't know how to even begin to tell you how sorry I am for what happened.
I was out of control. It was stupid of me, waiting as long as I did to feed, and the price was paid by you and two other people. I saw what I did to you, how I hurt you, and I don't know how you could possibly forgive me.
Still.
I am sorry, Harry. I am so sorry.
If you never want to see me again, I would understand.
Sincerely,
Alfred
Edited 2022-05-03 00:41 (UTC)
HALF LIGHT - (He doesn’t trust you, or your questions. He watches you turn people inside out every day.)
COMPOSURE - (He’s just thinking, it’s been a few seconds.)
Harry’s face breaks into a broad grin, the crest on his head perks up.
“Cool...that’s super cool. That’s disco.”
He nods with enthusiasm, and with his crest totally fanned out like that he looks unreasonably reminiscent of a cockatoo.
“‘Cause I’ve been hoping that we are. Or that we could be if we weren’t.”
For awhile now. Ever since that first ace’s high and the smoking on the balcony. He hoped they could be friends. There’s other stuff he hopes for too. But it’s foolish and embarrassing and really doesn’t bear thinking about in the light of day. This is for real and doesn’t make him feel weird when he looks at his partner.
…
Oh, ok now he’s feeling weird. His smile gains a strained edge. A twitch. He’d like to be perfect. The petulant voices in his head light up in chorus. He can do better, he can always do better. He can take on ten cases a week. He can handle it. All he needs is time. Maybe he can’t not be embarrassing but he can do other things. All he needs to do is be better.
And when he’s better Kim will trust him for real.
There will be no walls between them. He will take his time with Kim’s secrets, one at a time, everything treated equally and filed away. A pleasure wheel, a pilot jacket, and a dead partner are all equally important. All have added up to build Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi, the finest of Precinct 57.
VOLITION - (You have a problem. This isn’t normal. This isn’t the right way to think about people.)
INTERFACING - (You are what you are. A machine of perpetual motion. You were wired to be like this with purpose. If you stop you simply won’t be you any longer.)
CONCEPTUALIZATION - (You’re a romantic. An experimental poet.)
He wipes his face on his sleeve. There it is, he knew it was coming. He’s getting so fucking good at crying like it’s normal and not humiliating. And he gets an extra second or two to remember what he was saying.
“…I guess not, but I embarrass Jean too and we used to be friends. I just don’t want it to ever get like that. With us.”
COMPOSURE - (He’s just thinking, it’s been a few seconds.)
Harry’s face breaks into a broad grin, the crest on his head perks up.
“Cool...that’s super cool. That’s disco.”
He nods with enthusiasm, and with his crest totally fanned out like that he looks unreasonably reminiscent of a cockatoo.
“‘Cause I’ve been hoping that we are. Or that we could be if we weren’t.”
For awhile now. Ever since that first ace’s high and the smoking on the balcony. He hoped they could be friends. There’s other stuff he hopes for too. But it’s foolish and embarrassing and really doesn’t bear thinking about in the light of day. This is for real and doesn’t make him feel weird when he looks at his partner.
…
Oh, ok now he’s feeling weird. His smile gains a strained edge. A twitch. He’d like to be perfect. The petulant voices in his head light up in chorus. He can do better, he can always do better. He can take on ten cases a week. He can handle it. All he needs is time. Maybe he can’t not be embarrassing but he can do other things. All he needs to do is be better.
And when he’s better Kim will trust him for real.
There will be no walls between them. He will take his time with Kim’s secrets, one at a time, everything treated equally and filed away. A pleasure wheel, a pilot jacket, and a dead partner are all equally important. All have added up to build Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi, the finest of Precinct 57.
THOUGHT GAINED - ONE DEEP BREATH
VOLITION - (You have a problem. This isn’t normal. This isn’t the right way to think about people.)
INTERFACING - (You are what you are. A machine of perpetual motion. You were wired to be like this with purpose. If you stop you simply won’t be you any longer.)
CONCEPTUALIZATION - (You’re a romantic. An experimental poet.)
He wipes his face on his sleeve. There it is, he knew it was coming. He’s getting so fucking good at crying like it’s normal and not humiliating. And he gets an extra second or two to remember what he was saying.
“…I guess not, but I embarrass Jean too and we used to be friends. I just don’t want it to ever get like that. With us.”
cw: references to violence, choking, sexual references, Harry typical dysfunction
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tequila_sunset
2022-05-11 11:04 pm (UTC)(link)
Harry wakes up alone. He wakes up disoriented. Hungry. He stumbles through Dyster. He beats someone to death and when he’s done, picking bone shards out of meat and choking food down like a ravenous animal there are no features on the body to distinguish it as a man or woman. But for a moment his mind was clear. There was bliss.
That’s what it must’ve been like for him.
For days he is confused. He cries, sometimes. He doesn’t feel sad, and he’s just accepted that his body is going to do these things anyway. His emotions make him tired and when he’s not working he’s crashing.
…But anyway, that was weeks ago. All the while his old nightmares continue as scheduled. Better dreams sneak in alongside them.
xxx
Harry drifts when he’s alone with his thoughts and his heart has pumped all the cocaine out of his system. Ever since the movies, everything in his head has been more jumbled than usual. He’s drifting when he’s checking the mail. He stops when he spots Alfred’s letter.
When he’s done reading, he shoves the letter in his pocket, wipes his wet face and rushes out for the roof. Alfred’s in a castle now? He can find that from the air.
xxx
He’s thought a lot about Alfred. He’s played back the whole thing over and over in his mind. Sometimes he takes artistic liberties with the reconstruction in his head. It doesn’t dampen his confused, messy feelings. It does make his dick hard, though. He feels guilty for this. Last night he imagined it was all the same but Alfred was choking him at the moment of his death- not the way Jean did, bruising and crushing his windpipe- but with the same gentle cruelty he teased him with before, one handed, the other playing with his soul.
He spots him from the sky, as he circles over the castle. He’s never seen a castle before so it didn’t occur to him that he wouldn’t just be able to knock on the door.
“Hey! Alfred!”
He doesn’t want to startle him when he lands so he yells out first. Then lands next to him.
Then he hugs him very hard.
EMPATHY - (You've left him to worry for so long, Harry.)
LOGIC - (But why?)
“I’m sorry.”
That’s what it must’ve been like for him.
For days he is confused. He cries, sometimes. He doesn’t feel sad, and he’s just accepted that his body is going to do these things anyway. His emotions make him tired and when he’s not working he’s crashing.
…But anyway, that was weeks ago. All the while his old nightmares continue as scheduled. Better dreams sneak in alongside them.
xxx
Harry drifts when he’s alone with his thoughts and his heart has pumped all the cocaine out of his system. Ever since the movies, everything in his head has been more jumbled than usual. He’s drifting when he’s checking the mail. He stops when he spots Alfred’s letter.
When he’s done reading, he shoves the letter in his pocket, wipes his wet face and rushes out for the roof. Alfred’s in a castle now? He can find that from the air.
xxx
He’s thought a lot about Alfred. He’s played back the whole thing over and over in his mind. Sometimes he takes artistic liberties with the reconstruction in his head. It doesn’t dampen his confused, messy feelings. It does make his dick hard, though. He feels guilty for this. Last night he imagined it was all the same but Alfred was choking him at the moment of his death- not the way Jean did, bruising and crushing his windpipe- but with the same gentle cruelty he teased him with before, one handed, the other playing with his soul.
He spots him from the sky, as he circles over the castle. He’s never seen a castle before so it didn’t occur to him that he wouldn’t just be able to knock on the door.
“Hey! Alfred!”
He doesn’t want to startle him when he lands so he yells out first. Then lands next to him.
Then he hugs him very hard.
EMPATHY - (You've left him to worry for so long, Harry.)
LOGIC - (But why?)
“I’m sorry.”
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