cape_kore | Audio -- Day 97

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Audio -- Day 97

[He still hasn't quite gotten used to this whole 'network' thing, which is why he doesn't use it that much. Today, though, there's good reason for using it. The video is conspicuously turned off, but his voice, when he begins speaking, is almost too calm.]

I'd like to ask whether anyone's seen Charlie Luciano today. He's tall --

[Relatively tall, at least, given who's speaking.]

-- dark-haired, Italian... well, you'd know who I meant if you'd met him.

[There's a long pause, as though he's trying to decide whether to hang up or not, and then:]

Given the recent spate of... disappearances, I'm not exactly optimistic, but if anyone has any information, I'd very much appreciate it. I'll be...

[There's almost a break in composure, and then his voice comes back a little more strongly, even more coldly.]

I'll be looking around the town, just in case.

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[ Ned's voice is uncharacteristically short and businesslike. He leaves the setting on audio, because that's what Meyer had done, and it seems only right to reply in kind. ]

Where are you right now?

[ He's not going to leave Meyer to look alone. Even if he knows that the looking is probably pointless. He can't imagine that Charlie would voluntarily avoid Meyer or refuse to answer any messages of his. But there are possibilities. Grim ones, but plausible. Charlie might have gotten drunk in the bar and be passed out there. He may be in the woods, too hurt to answer. He may be any number of horrible things that aren't quite so horrible as vanished without a trace ]

[It takes him longer to respond than it should. He'd been half-hoping that one of the replies to his query would result in information, but he'd known, somehow, that it wouldn't. His own response is just as brusque as Ned's; there's little emotion behind it, not even concern.]

At the house.

[He doesn't ever call it 'home,' and without Charlie there, it's even less like home than it had been before.]

[ The interval between asking and getting an answer back is pretty much agony, for Ned. He thinks about just getting up and storming over there, but he suppresses the urge. When Meyer does answer, it's only a matter of minutes before Ned is knocking at the front door. It shouldn't have taken that long, even, but he had to tell Daneel where he was going, first, reassure him that he was feeling healthy enough to manage it, tell him not to worry if he looked for Ned and couldn't find him in the house. That done, Ned crosses the distance between their houses quickly and shows up on Meyer's porch, white-faced and tight-jawed ]

It's Ned. Let me in?

[He doesn't come to the door, though he hears Ned outside. What Ned might hear in response, instead of a door being opened or a verbal answer, is a loud clatter and then the sound of something heavy and ceramic shattering.

If Ned tries it, though, he'll find that the door is unlocked -- in his panic to look around the town, Meyer hadn't bothered to lock the door behind him when he'd come back in to make the plea to the network for information.]

[ Ned's mind, prone to jump to the worst possible conclusions, has terrible images of Meyer slumped on the floor, a broken vase or plate or something of the sort nearby. Once he hears that sound and feels a spike of terror at the thought of Meyer in danger, he doesn't hesitate to barge right in through the door and find him in the house, though he's usually respectful of other people's privacy and space. ]

Meyer?

[ There's a definite note of panic in his voice as he looks around, doesn't spot him anyway, comes through the door to the kitchen and sees him standing there, looking like he's relatively in one piece (at least, on the outside), which is more than can be said for the jar that's lying in two dozen or so pieces, scattered all over the floor. It doesn't look as if it merely tipped off the edge of a counter, but as if it was thrown rather violently. Ned claps a hand over his heart, letting out a large breath of relief, though it's a temporary feeling. ]

I thought-

[ He stops, shakes his head. Nevermind what he'd thought. ]

[Though he'd known Ned was outside and likely to come in, he still startles a little when Ned rushes into the kitchen and speaks. He's still staring at the broken pieces on the floor, but eventually looks up at Ned.]

What did you think?

[His tone isn't anywhere near as flat or emotionless as it had been on the network. In person, it's much harder to hide the anger that's coursing through him. If Ned looks over Meyer's shoulder, he'll see the broken remnants of one of the cameras lying on the counter, having been violently smashed to pieces.]

[ Ned hadn't been intending on finishing his sentence, but he senses that today is not really the day to fuck with Meyer or not answer such an easy question, so he says, simply ]

I thought something had happened to you, too.

[ Happened to Meyer, just like something had happened to Jesse and Galen and Kenzi and Elizabeth and now Charlie, all these people that Ned knows and cares about getting hurt and killed and traumatized, or else just vanishing into thin air and leaving him behind. ]

I came to help you look.

[ And, Ned thinks, to comfort him if (or, a creeping cynicism tells him, when) the search didn't turn up anything ]

There's nothing to look for.

[He's already done his searching. Gone to the church and the bar and the woods and the lighthouse and everywhere in between, and then looped back around a second time, just to be sure. As for something happening to him? No such luck. He's still stuck right here.]

I appreciate your... your...

[It's rare that he's lost for words, but at the moment, he seems to be. It takes him several seconds of concerted effort to come up with an appropriate word, some way of finishing his sentence.]

Your concern-- [Somehow, he manages to almost sneer the word, as though concern is irrelevant here.] -- but I've already looked.

[ Ned's shoulders slump at the certainty in Meyer's voice, rather than the anger. Anger he can deal with. But this is what he'd been dreading, when he'd heard the message from Meyer, and when his own inquiry had gotten such a delayed response. Meyer's looked already, and he's come up with nothing. ]

Everywhere?

[ It's more of a plea than a question. Because this is Meyer, who takes notes on how to make jam, who know exact statistics about the probability of different poker hands, who is thorough about everything. There is no chance that, with Charlie missing, he would do any kind of slapdash search. So Ned knows, even when he asks, that it's a pointless question. But he's fumbling for that last handhold on hope as it slips away ]

Everywhere.

[Something about saying it so determinedly seems to spark off something very much like rage in him. If Ned had been expecting the cool, collected, seemingly non-distressed attitude from the network post, he'll be very much disappointed. There's something else here, something furious and out of control, something he normally locks away so tightly no one would ever know it was a part of him at all.

It's that part of him, then, when he takes a few steps backwards, that picks up a glass off the counter, and hurls it against the wall wordlessly. There's no shouting, no swearing, simply shattered glass. Whatever liquid had been in the glass drips down the wall. After the sudden noise of the glass breaking, the room may suddenly seem very quiet.]

[ When Meyer hurls the glass Ned flinches, a reflex, even though Meyer has thrown it at the opposite wall from where he's standing. He hadn't been expecting that. He's never seen Meyer like this - so completely volatile and out of control. Ned swallows, wonders if the wise thing to do would be to go. Funny, how just a shattered glass could make his heart race like that, the way it raced when it faced down that tiger, and so many other times, in this place. But like he did then, he doesn't run away, now, even if there's an instinct in the back of his mind telling him to do it. He stays where he is. ]

[ But what good can he do? He doesn't tell Meyer that Charlie might come back. Meyer knows that. Hell, for all Ned knows he's been keeping track of disappearances and returns, has calculated the exact likelihood that that will happen. And the both of them know that most of the time when people vanish, they don't ever come back. So he doesn't say anything, but he doesn't leave, either. There's cupboard next to him, its door slightly open. Ned sees a tea set and an ugly, empty container for cream. Feeling at a strange distance from his body, he reaches in and picks it up, holds it out in an open palm for Meyer to take and throw against the wall, too, if he wants. He doesn't know what he does it; he just does ]

[He knows there's a chance Charlie'll come back. He also knows he has no way of being sure exactly where Charlie's gone. Some people get returned home. He knows that. He also knows that some people don't return home, that they disappear and come back and something's happened to them, maybe something terrible. They don't remember. Maybe it's better if Charlie stays gone forever. Better to imagine him at home than think about the other possibilities.

But that's not how his brain works. He doesn't set things aside, doesn't take the optimistic approach, never trusts things to turn out for the best, and so when Ned offers him the ugly piece of the tea set -- and it really is hideous, offending his sensibilities even through his haze of rage -- he offers Ned a smile, though it's really more like a grimace, and flings the damn thing so hard against the wall he's pretty sure that, had it been any heavier, the wall would have been dented, too.

It's not enough, though. It doesn't make a big enough impact, doesn't shatter dramatically enough, doesn't even get close to satisfying that itching urge for violence that he hasn't felt for a long time. He keeps that under control these days, makes sure no one ever knows the lengths he can go to, the things he can do. Ned may, perhaps, know it better than most -- he'd been in Meyer's dreams, he'd seen what Meyer had fought like when he was young, almost more like an animal than a child.

He realizes that he's breathing hard, although he hasn't exerted much energy, and reaches for the glass on the table, one that he hasn't broken yet, full of some unidentifiable liquid. From the look of distaste he makes as he takes a sip, though, it's probably some kind of alcohol.]

Disgusting.

[Whether he means the drink, the situation, or both, is anyone's guess.]

[Shiala's voice comes, strong and low.]

I may be new here, but the recent disappearances haven't escaped me, either. There have been no bodies, at least not that I'm aware of. I would think that's encouraging.

[She heaves an audible sigh.]

I hate to leap to the suggestion that we should take them back by force, but if you need it, my biotics are at your disposal.

[There's something distinctly grounding about her voice, and he takes a moment to absorb her words before responding, carefully modulating his own tone to be as calm as possible.]

You're right. There haven't been any bodies. I don't think any of us are clear as to what that means yet.

[A pause, and then, because even in moments like this, he's ever curious...]

Biotics?

I create mass effect fields with telekinetic --

[Perhaps he can't see it, but she smiles to herself as she breaks off, amused at herself despite the seriousness of the situation.]

Perhaps now is not the time for an explanation. Suffice to say that I have abilities with which I can defend or attack.

[Were he to receive the full explanation, he's sure he'd find it fascinating -- he's always been curious as to how things work.]

And if we ever get the chance, I sure hope you use them against whoever's got us trapped here.

[There's a decided bitterness to his tone. An understandable one, but one he'd prefer to hide, all the same.]

[ Ned chews on his lower lip, arms crossed tightly over his chest, not moving, not speaking. He isn't afraid of Meyer, right now, but he thinks he understands what he's going through, without knowing any way of making it better. Knows what it's like to want to rage against an absence. ]

[ It's easier for him to think about Meyer and the state he's in, and how to make it better for him (or at least less immediately, unbearably painful) than it is to think about Charlie. To worry about the rate of disappearances. To imagine that there's a cause for the increase, a nefarious cause that would involve Charlie going through any amount of pain and terror and suffering... ]

[ He gets down another piece of the tea set: a sugar pot, empty. Ned makes no move to hand it to Meyer, though, or to throw it himself. Instead he just looks down at it, a small furrow between his brows, face otherwise uncharacteristically blank. ]

Does it help?

Edited 2013-08-01 04:57 (UTC)

[He takes another swig from the glass before responding, and very suddenly realizes that it's empty. He'll have to remedy that. He'll have to find some more of the disgusting alcohol and fill up the glass again and drink it as quickly as he can, because that's about the only thing he knows how to do at the moment. Alcohol so easily meshes with rage; there's a reason he rarely drinks, and a reason he rarely lets himself get angry, and today, he's doing both things at the same time. He recognizes, vaguely, how very out of control this is, how dangerous it could be, but he can't bring himself to care.

He finally speaks, though only after grabbing the closest bottle and pouring a generous helping of whatever vile liquor is in it into his glass. Looking up at Ned, he nods slightly.]

For a minute. It's satisfying.

[Not satisfying for long. It's like everything else in life that one does to feel better -- a quick moment of pleasure followed by more rage, or more numbness. He doesn't express it that way, though. There are certain things better left unexplained.]

Believe me, I will.

[Another sigh.]

Even before this, I think I would have been well within my rights. I have not met your friend, but I will seek him if I can.

[Not that she's really clear on what "Italian" means as far as appearance goes.]

Would I be able to offer some other kind of aid, perhaps?

[He sighs. He knows there's nothing much anyone else can do, except keep looking, and even that might be hopeless -- he's been here long enough to know that when people disappear, they're often gone for good.]

I can't think of anything, unless you happen to have a large stockpile of alcohol and a convenient way out of this damn town.

[He's not rejecting the idea of help, exactly, even if his tone is a little flippant, but he knows that in some ways, they're all helpless here. It's not a feeling he relishes.]

The latter I'm still working on. The former, well... perhaps I can find something. The supplies here are picked over by now, but there is surely a bottle or two left.

[It's an offer, if nothing else.]

Most of what I've found hasn't exactly been good.

[On the other hand, he'd drink just about anything with a high enough alcohol content, so maybe he's not one to judge.]

If you find something and feel like sharing it, I wouldn't object.

[ Ned nods, keeps turning over the sugar pot in his hands as he hears Meyer pouring himself another drink. It's clear enough to Ned that it isn't his first, or his second. He might be holding it well, but Ned sees the signs all the same. Takes note of that without comment, factors it into his general take on how Meyer is holding up. Which, by all rights, doesn't seem to be all that well. Ned's never seen him take one drink, much less several. He's never seen him this unhinged. Not even when he'd been a vampire ]

I was never really the throwing things type. [ He switches the sugar pot to one hand, thinks about setting it down on the counter. ] Threw a textbook at another kid's head, once. Right in the middle of class. He was bullying a... a friend of mine. Got sent to the counselor. He and his friends kicked the shit out of me later that day, but I think. It was worth it.

[ Ned keeps his anger buried very, very deep, most of the time. But the topsoil is thin right now, scraped away by sickness and the near-constant stress of living in this place, by his friends vanishing and the pain of seeing Meyer in so much pain. Still, he can't quite make himself pull back his arm and throw the damn thing. He tips his hand and lets it fall to the floor, but it is sturdier than anticipated. It doesn't break. Doesn't even crack. That, somehow, incongruously, is the last straw that breaks Ned's proverbial camel's back. In a sudden, violent movement he picks up the damn thing and throws it to the floor, this time, and Meyer was right. It is satisfying, in a way, watching something that had been shaped and painted and washed with so much care shatter loudly into jagged pieces ]

Edited 2013-08-01 05:32 (UTC)

Little shit probably had it coming.

[There's a certain violence in his tone, even beyond the uncharacteristic profanity, which might surprise even him, were he thinking coherently about anything. It's hard for him to imagine Ned throwing a textbook at anyone, but true to what he'd just said, he imagines that if Ned ever did throw something at someone, they'd have it coming. He'd never been the throwing things type, either. Today was a special occasion.]

Sometimes -- [He takes another long gulp of the alcohol, finding it more tolerable the more that he drinks. It's something sickeningly sweet, maybe cointreau, he can't tell, and he doesn't like it any more than he likes the disgusting liquor that's made in peoples' bathtubs back home, but what choice does he have if he wants to get drunk?] -- sometimes you just have to throw things.

[It's not exactly meant to be a philosophical statement, but there's something deeply satisfying in saying it. And there's an almost unpleasant spike of pleasure that he gets, too, when he sees Ned throw the sugar pot onto the floor. It's not so much the pleasure from seeing it shatter, although that's there, too, but rather the pleasure at seeing Ned driven to breaking things, the undeniable and perverse delight he takes in seeing someone else doing the exact same thing as he is, making the same exact choices. It's enough to make him sweep the almost empty bottle of liquor onto the floor, letting it shatter, letting the broken pieces of it join with all the other broken glass and ceramic on the floor.]

I will take a look, then, and bring you what I find, if you tell me where to find you.

[She pauses. She's adapting quickly to being so much of an oddity.]

Although perhaps a warning is in order. I am not human, and that is very obvious.

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