poly_chromatic | ( audio ) & ( action )

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inception - arthur

( audio ) & ( action )

][ A U D I O ][

Two kinds of weekends seem to repeat - this kind and the ones where there's a ton of curses going on at the same time.

[There're probably more - in fact he's sure there's more than one or a handful of others that have repeated but he keeps circling back mentally to these two as regular offenders.]

Not sure of the connection except more craziness than your average City day.

[Le shrug. On the outside. Burning wood. On the inside. Patterns usually mean something. But that might be the grasping of straws, pitfalls of wanting logical things in illogical places.

There's a pause and a buffered sound like a thumb brushing over the array of device buttons, ready to turn it off when he pauses.]

Does--

[--then he stops himself. Why would they be here? And he's the one who got rid of them in the first place, memories he must have decided didn't matter. And full name disclosure is stupid just about anywhere.

The device shuts off without any follow-up.]

][ A C T I O N ][
[Nothing stands between Arthur and espresso. Through rain or shine or largely unmanageable masses of strangers, he will have that iced latte with five thousand shots. Yes he will. Also he needed to get away from all of the cookies for a while, in that out of politeness he's been eating everything Ariadne's mother puts on the table. Anyway he's en route back to the house but he's taking the long way.

It's not quite masochism, his barely self-admitted searching for familiar faces - living and not living. How much time has passed where they come from? Is Dominick Cobb okay - okay being relative. What about James and Philippa?

Is Mal somewhere about, and if so, which version might he run into?

And would he accept either one, a betrayal of her honest memory but he misses her and that was always the thing about Dom's shade who seems to be able to ghost around the City on her own; she was very (too) convincing. Arthur isn't afraid of strangers, isn't worried because this not being a dream presents less paranoia than a dream originally would. To that point, Arthur isn't afraid of many things, period.

But mostly it's the handful of people he used to know.

He detours down a block that will lead him past more of the smaller shops, sipping his drink suppressing the quiet anxiousness of waiting for something that might not happen at all.]

[ ooc: internet connection's doing the off-on thing /_(\ but wanted this up ;; - annnd per 4th wall usual, anything goes ! ]

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[ once upon a time arthur lifted her onto a table in this shop and they'd kissed like love-starved teenagers. once upon a time.

but this isn't that sort of day, natasha remembers, but she glances up to check for mistletoe anyway before offering a up a smile in greeting. ]

[ Once upon a time. That is of course how all the great stories begin. Ahem.

But perhaps better for both of them that this is a more forgiving day - less awkward at least, though it's noteworthy that Arthur too looks up before taking a step closer. There's recognition here. He knows she's come and gone and it's downright bizarre to have multiples running around - not just in face but name and history. Natasha's upward look of her own is indication enough and he returns the smile, corners of his eyes crinkling in one of the more dead giveaways of his actual age. ]

Long time no see. Keeping busy?

[ Things like how are you can come before or after but in its own way it gets implied already, the full attention of someone actually taking note. Before she can answer, he adds, ] Want something?

[ He nods to the chalked in menu of options - cold, warm, caffeinated and not (though why one would bother with the latter...Arthur has no real idea.) ]

[ more or less, but she'd rather not. she'd rather not say that things are hectic at home, that this sidetrip is unappreciated and that there was things she should be doing. it's too raw and if she's honest, she could admit that she is pleased to see all of them again, this little tangle of acquaintances she hadn't even realized she was missing.

so her answering smile is a genuine thing, still sharp-edged but real ]

Something like that.

[ because natasha is always busy, one way or another. ]

I'd love something. I take my coffee black.

You're right - they do.

Mae, [ in greeting, a slight nod of his head and the straw's probably poking up into view on screen as well. Then a blurred flurry of motion as he dodges a group of ~~tourists~~ especially lost newcomers. ]

How's the weekend so far?

[ Then he pauses. ]

And yeah. There's others but...these two. Popular, I guess. Visits and...randomized free-for-alls.

[Wide grin, same nod.] Arthur.

Weekend's good - we found each other fast, this time.

[She pauses.] I wonder why it is. What's the purpose behind all that?

Glad to hear it.

[ He pauses. The sentiment of hoping she can spend as much time when the time is limited to begin with seems...pale at best. He slides the thought back in favor of the topic at hand, still hoping just the same. ]

Hard to say though. Everything we come up with...it's based on some kind of logic we're familiar with - and that all on its own seems to point to it being something else. Whatever we're not thinking of.

Which is useless.

[ But he says it drily as if he's thought of it too many times and gone in the same predictable circles to the point where if he's not dry and mild about it, then he'll get genuinely frustrated. Which would be true. ]

Soooo...I take it the 'it's the City' argument won't work.

It would, but I'm looking for something...a little more specific.

[ He tilts his head at her having gotten to one edge of the sidewalk and a closed shop, which means he can stand still and stop giving poor Mae sea-sick camera vision. ]

Aren't you?

[ Who wouldn't want to know more about their situation, he has to wonder, but then he thinks of the people who are happy to stay here indefinitely and he supposes it's too hard to generalize. ]

Sounds familiar.

[Always specific.]

I don't know. Yes? Yes, I would - I suppose, I do have that morbid curiosity to know why a girl from Exeter would be thrown into the same place as astronauts and wizards and what not. [She might be deliberately selling herself short. Or she just might be aware that, stripped of all things related to the Circles and the Ryves and Jamie, she's just that. A girl.]

But then again, what if I really don't like what I find?

Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing...

[ He tries to discern from her tone but still isn't sure. Familiar can be both, he supposes. ]

Well there's always that possibility. Probability even, considering the way this place runs like a rollercoaster.

Depends on if you'd rather go on not knowing, I guess.

[ And while he can understand the stance on that, he tends toward wanting to know these days - whether it's a likable truth or not; even facts here seem more screwball than anything though, so he's not sure it'd make a huge difference in the end. ]

Ignorance is bliss and all that crock, right?

[She shrugs.] It's a complicated question. Requires a complicated answer. And thought.

Something like that. Never bought into it.

[ Played into it a couple of times but that's considerably different and not his finest hours...to say the least. ]

Yes, and yes. [ He pauses, eying her quietly a moment. ] You okay?

Me neither.

[She pauses. All the pauses.] Yeah, sure. The weekend's almost over, but - I'm...fine.

[ Swapping it to audio as he begins moving again, trying to navigate the crowds as seamlessly as one can, ]

Sorry, figure audio's less likely to make you motion-sick.

[ Again there's the pause; he's not so sharp with people as perhaps some of his colleagues - Dom (ex-colleague, he supposes and that is as it should be), or Eames. But sometimes, if he lets it, transparency makes up for his shortcomings there. He presses, ]

'Fine'? ...you sure?

[ The skepticism is hardly veiled and beneath it there's a sort of immediate implication of: you don't have to be.

He wonders if there's something better to say here and can't come up with it, so he waits, just the buffered sound of crowds in the background and what it is to choose to be outside on a weekend like this. ]

How considerate.

Yeah, I'm sure, Arthur, don't worry! I couldn't be happier for having my brother here. I'll be devastated tomorrow, but that can happen then.

I have my moments.

Well. [ He's not sure what to say to that. On the one hand, Arthur greatly appreciates the honesty here, something of a double-standard he has though he fails to recognize it often enough. With Mae, Arthur finds himself in the same boat as he is with most people here. He's not Eames or Ariadne or even Yusuf, not quite able to cut in with an anchor and hook into a person or a people even if he wants to. It's like he's forgotten how longer than a job works, what that window of time even means for people and how caring factors in. But he knows he does care and it's enough to not let it drop there, to say, ] I'm glad they're here now.

But if you want something...or someone -- you know, a distraction or whatever...tomorrow.

[ Any day, he supposes but doesn't say. ]

Or the day afterward. Whichever. I mean.

[ I'm not... he frowns, fingertips pressing hard on the device's angles. ]

I know it's not the best. Stuck in your head with things...that're out of your hands.

That's all.

[ Not the best or clearest reply but he's trying to say any number of things - about caring, about thinking it would be bad and wrong to leave Mae on her own when this matters as it does to her. About how if he can do anything for her, well, why wouldn't he? And so on. ]

[He doesn't see her faltering behind the device, nor does he catch the way she looks towards where her friends are, with the dread only someone waiting for their imminent disappearance can have.

Nor does he catch the way her expression softens at the subtle offer and the understanding - not a pat on the head, nothing condescending, and she likes that, she thinks - she could like a lot more than just that. She grips the device for a second, then relaxes.]

You should be grateful for not being around right now, I think nothing could save you from being hugged.

[ At the corner of a side street between who knows where and how the blast did I get here there is a young man with not an insubstantial bend to his stature, looking for all the world like he's trying to blend in- which is, of course, the problem. His hair falls in that awkward stage between ear and chin that signifies either neglect or an attempt at seventies fashion, and his trousers aren't exactly doing much better, lost somewhere between the top of his shoe and the jut of his ankle. Quiet, but watchful- rather obviously so- the young man has the stillness of someone who is lost but refuses to admit it; one who would rather stay there all night than risk alerting anyone else to his folly.

Severus can count the handful of times he's been in the muggle world, and all of those times he'd been accompanied by...

Well. This doesn't seem like the muggle world in any case. Likely this is a trick set by that infernal Black; the four of those Gryffindor boys having a good long laugh at displacing him into some place outside of Hogwarts via portkey. Whatever he last touched must have been charmed, but... Severus has absolutely nothing in his pockets- where his hands are currently stuffed. ]

Edited 2012-07-02 00:19 (UTC)

[ The norm for these weekends seems to include but not be exclusive to doppelgangers and ghosts, but the boy Arthur spots - more by accident than anything else - is neither of these, at least, not to his knowledge. It is rare to note a body of any type that doesn't quite fit in the City, the City defining itself by shaping and reshaping until it's not a question of fitting in so much as the fat-chance of standing out. This suits Arthur who favors precisely what this boy is trying to do - prefers to blend in, though perhaps less lately to disappear and that not in a long time because purpose - even hard purpose - is a strangely anchoring substitute.

Arthur spots the one of a hundred strangers in particular for two reasons foremost, 1) the craggy cliff impression of his posture; and 2) the happenstance of Arthur himself having paused staring one-quarter off directly at him. And he could walk by, leave him to his own devices; a none too insignificant part of Arthur resonates with that preference if he's not reading this altogether wrong. But he also knows the despised feeling of being lost, like you can't get a foot up or a hand out to steady yourself long enough to learn This way from That.

One can't call it sympathy in precision because he'd have to remember to sympathize. Call it subconscious jabs or call it nothing specific, but Arthur crosses the street and turns his back to the shop the boy has been so-far standing in front of. It's closed for whatever reason. ]

There should be a box like this on you, somewhere. Has access to a guide, a map, et cetera. [ He pauses, ] Well, it should, anyway.

[ Portable yet still curiously primitive to Arthur - perhaps not to others - he procures said device from one of the pockets on his messenger bag. Complete with cotton tee, sneakers and faded jeans, Arthur fits in an ambiguous age - something he supposes may easily work in or out of his favor. ]

[Bro, you totally picked the right block to detour down because, on this day, you may now bear witness to the magical bond that exists between man and-

Nope, not dog. You thought it would be that mundane? PUH-LEASE.

Let's try fire ferret. Man and fire ferret.

Said fire ferret is currently perched on Bolin's shoulder and they seem to be engaged in a lively conversation, like this is totally normal, completely standard, etc. etc. Sad part is, that's more or less the truth.]

[ Man and...okay....o...k..a....y...

Or such would be Arthur's reply if this was a conversation actually happening. What really takes place is something more along the lines of Arthur running into man and fire ferret (though he's calling it a red panda derivative for now) and uttering a quick, ] Sorry, [ as he gives the boy a once over before his eyes focus on the animal, brow quirking. He's used to the City being overpopulated on these weekends but that's normally with people, despite its non-discriminant nature towards...well...everything. He blinks. ] You okay?

[Have Neil, who is subtle, like a brick through a plate-glass window, and a familiar face.]

Should I be worried that I'd know that voice anywhere?

Does... what? You were cut off, bro.

Not necessarily. Be more concerning if you didn't, wouldn't it?

[ His tone, mild there, toeing the line of wry and something else, tapers off into a sort of noncommittal hum. ]

Thinking out loud. That's all.

[ Which means he's getting soft in a handful of wrong ways from being here, but he supposes that's not worth mentioning either. ]

I guess. I mean, we don't talk the same, but our voices are...

Yeah.

So, what're you 'thinking out loud' about?

[Nope, he's not going to let Arthur slip away from this one.]

[ At the same time as Neil's 'Yeah', Arthur too says: ] Yeah.

[ STEREO SOUND. ]

Er.

[ Again he pauses, squinting at the device briefly even though it's only audio. ]

People who might be here. Usual stuff - on weekends like this anyway.

[ It's true even if it's not a specific or whole truth... ]

[The whole talking in stereo thing freaks him out a little, too.]

You don't talk much about yourself, do you?

[ #Things They'll Get Used to Someday....................maybe...lmdslfjs....but really Arthur stops for a long set of seconds here, closer to a minute, as if his brain is caught on an unexpected stop-signal. ]

Well, no, but...no one does.

[ Not really, he thinks and if he's stubborn to a fault with it, well, you know what they say about denial, rivers, and...all that. Arthur thinks it's not important or that it's a liability to do so or, more than all of that: that there's just not much to it. ]

Some people do.

[He shrugs, though he isn't visible.]

So... Do you think we could talk? You know, about stuff?

Stuff?

What kinda 'stuff'?

[ in spite of himself or despite perhaps, he's curious and though it's maybe weird, he finds himself more and more curious about Neil - all the likely other differences separating them beyond age and eye color and a certain kind of swagger Arthur doesn't quite know what to make of ]

[If Arthur could see the expression on his face, it would be something that would match the word 'DUH' -- if 'DUH' was actually a word recognized by Miriam-Webster.]

Gee, I dunno. I haven't given this ANY thought, whatsoever. Wow, what stuff could we possibly talk about other than we look like we were SEPARATED AT BIRTH and we have the SAME VOICE and we've both been ABDUCTED BY ALIENS or something.

I can't really think of ANYTHING we have in common.

[There is no sarcasm here, no, not at all.]

[ There's a surprised pause, longer than the others, as he eyes the device despite them being relegated to audio again, and then he laughs. Some of his surprise can even be heard in that, weirdly enough as he shakes his head, nodding to no one in particular. It is, perhaps, not so much funny as a curiosity, something he's not all too willing to admit could be a problem. He would like to think if he had any family worth remembering he wouldn't swap them out for a live body. And though he does not by any means know Neil, he can tell offhand from what they have said over time that he's interesting. Arthur can only think of things he's gotten rid of in the past and label them as neutral territory. Neil, whatever he is, wildcard with a familiar face, is not neutral territory. Unknown maybe, definitely.

What's that saying. Brother's from another mother? Even not remembering his own, well, he almost laughs again at the idea. He has a feeling he comes from very boring stock. ]

D'you really believe in aliens?

[ It's not precisely what Neil's saying they should talk about but baby steps will do, Arthur adding, ]

I've run into a few people who look like me before, and people looking for people who look like me but have different names. This place kind of seems...seems like it breeds mistaken identity.

[Intense Neil is intense - and visible! He rolls his blue eyes, then gives Arthur a look his 'double' has probably seen in the mirror, a number of times.]

Yeah, well, I'm not looking for anyone like you, but I fuckin' found you, so I'd like to deal with it, okay?

[He sighs.]

No, I don't believe in aliens... I think. I know somebody back home who does - did - but I don't know if he does anymore.

[Well, that was clear as mud...]

Okay, okay [ he says, not in a sense of placation (something that annoys him too much to ever try it on other people for the most part) but more in a tone of agreement, a mildness that downplays his own interest ] fair enough.

But the thing is, what d'you mean 'deal with it'? Like...figure out why the similarities or...what?

[ He pauses, nods, brow quirked not in amusement but half confusion and half basic attention. ] ...not anymore? Why?

[ Not that it's any of his business but he figures he can ask and if Neil doesn't want to answer, well, that's his choice. ]

Similarities, differences, family history, who your Dad was and did he ever go to Kansas. Shit like that.

[He sighs and looks down.]

Yeah. Turns out ity wasn't aliens, like he thought. He was... blocking a memory.

[Which was a doozy and if Arthur wants the story, Neil isn't going to tell it over the network.]

[ Having set the device down on the reliable flat of the table, Arthur can fold his hands in his lap, which he does and which also keeps them out of sight, which means the unconscious flexing and tightening of them is hidden too, the nervous tic of someone not sure if he should regret something he's done or not. ]

I don't remember my dad. Or my mom. So.

[ One hand lifts into view only to pinch the bridge of his nose before dropping again, eyes sharpening a little once more at the other thing Neil says. It is, though unintentionally, doubly relevant at the moment - not specifically his friend perhaps but the matter of memories repressed or in this case, erased. ]

'Was'.

[ The fact that he neither prods for more information nor requests it politely doesn't mean he's not interested, but Arthur can at the very least tell the obvious from his own line of work. Memories repressed suggests trauma of a kind and it could be worse or better than Arthur's initial imagination conjures. Might be nothing like it. But really it's none of his business unless Neil has a reason for it being - whether that's just to have someone to tell (older, even if he doesn't look that much older). He would, he is surprised to realize, be okay with that. If Neil was anyway.

He stares into the device camera, a casual neutrality - not cold though.

If anything, there's only the chafing discomfort of the gap in his own memory. It doesn't matter he tells himself, told himself and knows he must have believed it to have made that deal.

Nothing worth remembering. He doubts his parents ever went to Kansas anyway. Looking at Neil though, he wonders if he'd want that. A family worth recalling. Then he thinks of Mal and Dom and locks up the thinking-habit altogether. Sometimes it's just not good for you.

He tilts his head, watching the younger man carefully. ]

[He sees that Arthur has done that tech stuff and their conversation is private now. One day, he'll get the hang of that feature. Blue eyes watch his 'big brother'. The physical differences, as far as he can tell, are obvious, but the other man is usually so covered in layers of clothing when he encounters him, that its difficult to tell if there might be more of them - or maybe, more similarities.

Either way is a little scary.

Athur's body goes through various moves, like some kind of choreographed dance. As if he's used to being watched, used to being controlled. Even now, with the 'private' button on, he's not what you'd call 'relaxed'.

Neil thinks that's a stupid way to deal with things, though he is capable of hiding his true feelings sometimes, too. It's a survival mechanism.]

You don't remember your parents at all? Are you adopted?

[He sighs. Is 'unhackable' really 'unhackable'? Damn computers. They aren't a part of his world back home.]

Yeah. Was. We had a... shared experience when we were kids and... he dealt with it by... thinking he'd been abducted by aliens.

[Should he be talking about this? Some people don't want to know. Would Brian be pissed at him? Hell, he isn't here, so...]

[ Relaxed is, like most things, Arthur thinks quite relative though tellingly never in terms of himself. Presently it's Neil who has his full attention - even within the scope of comparing him to himself. Some of the rigidity in his shoulders softens not to casualness but something reminiscent of consideration, the contemplative pause that precedes an answer. Out of camera vantage his hands tighten in his lap unconsciously as he shrugs. Hiding, cowardly or stupid though it may be, hiding himself was for years a coping mechanism to stick to what he'd lain loyalty to - a woman's ghost and her barely-there husband: keep him alive (if not safe), keep him conscious (if not altogether sane). Pull the trigger. Watch his back. Even before the Cobbs Arthur was more closed-in, a firm believer in the division of private and public and with more stock in the former. He supposes he just doesn't like sharing but the truth is he just isn't very good at it, that if he knew better how to he might opt for it after all - not with everyone, but someone.

In the case of origin though, he can honestly dust his hands clean of that; he literally just does not know, his mind a center of white noise when he tries to recall...anything. So in this case it's not reticence, for once, though they read quite similarly. ]

No...I don't know. Probably not. But yeah I really don't remember either way.

[ Nothing before 18. Except his dreams - he'd been permitted to keep those.

It would be easy to shift the discomfort of not knowing and channel it into the alternate vein of their conversation - what happened to Neil's friend, what happened to Neil - and ultimately Arthur has more of a vested interest in knowing about the young man who shares his semblance than digging at an absence in himself - a gaping space he's sure will yield nothing useful. The way he slides his chair back allows him to lean forward, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped lightly (almost not at all) as he settles to stare into the camera again, a pause palpable between them, screens and device transmissions apart or not. ]

Neil. [ He pauses, for effect yeah, but pointedly the effect that draws attention, centralizes focus. ] You don't have to tell me.

[ The words are careful, and the natural soft-spoken intonation Arthur employs is his normal way of speaking, something he's used here more than he had before falling into this crazy-non-dream in a long, long time. Truth be told he's ill-equipped for so many things - all of them personal, all of them mattering more or less. But here he tries anyway. He wants Neil to hear his words for precisely what they are: no pressure. Neil has to tell him nothing. But Neil can tell him anything. If he wants.

Arthur isn't fond of I'll listen, no more than he is of people who think they can fix other people's problems, psychoanalyze and shift the puzzle pieces to make a better picture; he doesn't really believe it can be done, he guesses. But Arthur is in favor of choices, options - a door that opens and closes.

If he's honest, he wants to know more of Neil - not because he thinks they'd be related but he just...wants to know. But it could be what he's trying to say now, or it could be something else entirely. Arthur is, depending on the matter at hand, wretchedly picky or not picky in the least. Where Neil is concerned he'd say it's just a matter of simplification. Wanting something does not equate the right to have it.

But who are you? He does want to know. Neil. It's just a name but he carries with him in the few times Arthur has spoken to him or run into him, an unmistakable presence, near to a swagger of sorts for lack of a better phrasing - something bred inside and out and Arthur would swear it's a learned thing but then everything is technically learned. How to tie a Windsor knot. How to lie. How to pick a two-dodge lock with a bobby pin. How to smile and think you mean it. How to stay quiet. How to bite back. How to breathe. Everything is learned. So maybe that's not the best word. All the more reason for wanting to know more of him though - to find the right word.

He spreads his hands wide in a gesture not of placation but an honest gesture of whatever you want. ]

But you can. [ If you want.

It's not pity in his expression or his tone. Arthur hates being on the receiving end of such a sentiment too much to hand it out to someone else - well, when he's thinking clearly anyway, which for the moment he is. So no pity. Just an offer that's real as it gets and a reminder that no one's obligated here, Arthur or Neil. Though maybe he already knows that. ]

Edited 2012-08-12 23:09 (UTC)

[He knows he doesn't have to talk to Arthur about... well, anything. he could say 'never mind' or his trademark 'whatever' and just end the conversation right there. Besides, the whole alien thing isn't even his story. It's Brian's, the coping mechanism to deal with the horrow of child abuse. Aliens were more interesting than someone who takes advantage of a boy like that and they're more acceptable, too.

Both boys dealt with the situation very differently.

Neil focuses on the other man's face when he hears his name said like that. Arthur is paying attention. Complete and utter attention. It's a little unnerving, really. He looks away from that steady gaze, long enough to grab a cigarette and a lighter - How much fluid is left in that thing? - then looks back at his 'older brother' before lighting the cigarette.]

I know I don't. But I might.

[He laughs a little, but doesn't sound very happy.]

Would any of it have happened if I'd had a big brother? Guess I'll never know that.

[ Unhappiness is like love is like any deep rooted emotion; anyone who has experienced it in a degree that matters can spot it in someone else, if they're actually looking. So he hears it, notes it, catalogs it but not in the clinical and unfeeling way he is known for outside of this metropolis. Instead there is something empathetic for the humorless laugh, something he doesn't know if a big brother would feel or not (never had one of his own and in this case does not remember either way) but knows he feels it. He hears it even more so in the almost careless way Neil handles the lighter (how long has he smoked, Arthur always finds himself wondering) and the similarly unhappy way he verbalizes his own thoughts.

Would what have happened?

In another circumstance Arthur might preemptive decide it's not his place to ask. But Neil had waited, had heard him say that he need not tell him and then had said I might, so Arthur takes a moment, refolds his hands, still with the level stare. Yet there isn't as much of an intrusive sense to his gaze as something of purpose - a way of saying I'm not just here for my health or yours, of saying I'm listening, I'm paying attention - because I choose to. No one has to be here. But here they are. ]

Those things're bad for you. I keep telling you.

[ There's a slight joke here, because he's not sure he's outright said it before at all, except perhaps having implied it though that's not the same thing. It's much more a way to pace the conversation, continually testing the ambiguous waters of it. ]

But what do you mean?

[ Would what have happened? If Neil doesn't tell him, Arthur won't press, but it's a question that will lurk behind every future conversation they have, a question mark in the form of a shadow. ]

[When did this simple conversation get so complicated?]

Yeah, I know, but I like them.

[He gestures with his cigarette a little.]

Gives me something to do with my hands... and my mouth.

[He takes another drag and makes a smoke ring.]

You know, when bad shit happens, you wonder if it would've gone that way if you weren't on your own...

[Is he explaining this very well? He can't tell.]

Edited 2012-08-21 00:20 (UTC)

[ There's an innocuous tilt of his head at that; Neil likes them. Well. That's actually more an interesting response than Arthur was expecting - indicative of a personal preference. He nods, not quite condoning but what traces of criticism were there are gone too, replaced by sheer attentiveness all over again. He isn't sure to read into those words or not, has the habit of assuming everything means something because of work but tries to mediate it, or has tried to in his time here where sometimes taking things at face value is the only way to get anywhere.

For the moment he lets it slide, watches the cloudy O from Neil's exhale. It's the young man's next words that cause Arthur to lean in a little, attention gone sharper though not yet intrusive - perhaps a little overbearing though, because that's how attention can be when all on one point of focus. ]

Sure. [ is what he says, not wanting to seem like he might be pushing Neil off by saying something about not understanding even if that's closer to the truth. Arthur can't remember ever thinking that, though if he could recall his growing up he'd have a better idea at least. He folds his hands again. ] Weren't on your own [ he reiterates Neil's words and adds, ] or...if it'd been different people.

[ It's not a lie, because Arthur has wondered, but it is maybe kind of a lie because he's never wanted that. Despite the bleak dive of things, he can't say he'd change anything except maybe himself. He'll never not wonder if there wasn't something he could have done and he's speaking before he thinks for once, saying quickly on the heels of his other words: ]

Or...or if I'd done something different.

[ This last one is a whisper more to himself but because of how quiet everything is around them it would be hard to miss, but the tone is very clearly said as if to himself - like he hasn't realized he's let it escape aloud at all. ]

Edited 2012-08-22 09:45 (UTC)

[That whisper gets Neil's attention. He turns his head as the circle of smoke drifts into a formless shape.]

Yeah. Something like that, I guess. I... I didn't have a father, other than to donate the sperm, and that probably was an accident...

[Why is he saying that part? He figures it's just one of those days, one of those moments. It's like having a conversation with himself, though he knows Arthur isn't him.]

My Mom's cool, though. Distracted and she drinks too much, but I know she loves me...

[He shrugs.]

She can't protect me from everything, including myself.

[He laughs a little.]

Shit, that sounded deep. I've been here too long...

[ Saying Maybe you're deeper than you think can be misconstrued in so many ways it makes Arthur's head hurt, so he refrains, but he does shrug a little, something in his expression suggesting well maybe that's more normal than you expect or the like. It is, perhaps, both hypocritical and ironic of him to feel such revulsion for a man he does not know - a father who leaves or a father who is never there to begin with, the inept patriarch who leaves his shadow smeared and permanent on things he never bothered to know about. It's not really fair and Arthur is no psychiatrist but he doesn't need to be for this - a private sort of judgment where strangers are free range.

The mother garners more sympathy, though Arthur reserves most thoughts there as well; alcoholism is a disease but liking it too much otherwise isn't, and he doesn't know which it's supposed to be so he lets it lie for the moment.

It is extremely difficult to know how to navigate this conversation, for Arthur not the least because though people are a business he's in, they're usually asleep and their subconscious all too ready to spend words in places they don't belong. But he focuses, or tries to, on the immediate, asking with a plain, forward look, ]

Do you need protecting here?

[ He is already prepared to not entirely believe Neil if the boy says 'No'. Arthur can't put his finger on what's wrong here, and he wishes selfishly for the first time that Dom was here to help him understand what to Arthur might as well be a foreign language past a certain point.

His gaze is steady without demanding anything. Neil can say more or nothing else and that's up to him, Arthur has long found choice to be paramount; and though he does not remember growing up, he thinks perhaps this has always been one of his truths. ]

[Neil reads Arthur's expression as best he can and it seems to him that there is a lot going on inside the head of his 'twin', but he doesn't know what it is, because Arthur is very good at concealing what he feels.

So is Neil, only he isn't nearly as practiced.

He looks down at the floor, because it gives him a moment to decide what he's going to say. Does he need protecting? No one has threatened him and the curses? Well, you can't protect against those. Would it be the bravado of an eighteen-year-old to tell the other man 'no' or would it be true? He decides to avoid answering, for now.]

D'you do this a lot? Look out for people?

[His tone isn't sarcastic. It is genuine... and vulnerable and raw from lack of use. He doesn't let Vulnerable Neil out much.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( audio ) & ( action )

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