( [audio] backdated to Saturday )

[dropkick]

Sai--

Aria--

Dom--

M----

Not a fan of these weekends. Too crowded and too many cases of mistaken identity.

Most of you're better off just heading inside somewhere to stay warm. Probably won't be here long. Assuming the pattern sticks as usual.

[ pause, considering saying something else, then decides against it and turns the audio off. ]


[ooc: do not want to miss 4th wall but ridiculous placeholder ;_; rl so crazy ..... /just wants to rp u_u anyway open post! anything goes...]

Comments

[buncos]

I think your attitude toward the weekend was always usually on the side of indifferent or appreciating the lack of traffic.

[credential]

You can assure that "inside" is safer?

[notfuckingcasper]

Isn't that what everyone wants the most? To be someone else?

[deskjob]

'These weekends'? Is is a frequent occurance, then?

[archivy]

[ For the Archive — an entity whose sole purpose is procuring and remembering knowledge — the memory loss that comes with leaving the City and the subsequent return of it upon arrival is disorienting in a way that she doesn't often experience.

Arriving in the City no longer worries Ivy the way that it did the first and even the second time, particularly not with the knowledge that it is one of those weekends. ]

Arthur.

[tucktuck]

Is this place really that amenable to strangers bustling their ways indoor, mate?

[ cia training doesnt make him impervious to le cold. ]

[dropkick]

[ Deep breath no one can hear? Deep breath no one can hear. Dom does not seem too unsettled. Is it because he remembers this place or assumes this is a dream? The latter does not quite fit or maybe Arthur has gone too critical in their time apart. Really it feels like he has gotten soft if anything but it's hard to tell offhand. ]

Different kind of weekend.

[ Pause. ]

Where are you?

[dropkick]

I'm not calling it a sure thing but odds are? Yeah.

Wouldn't say it just to say it.

[dropkick]

Not the 'everyone' I know.

[ Pause. ]

Why d'you want to be someone else?

[dropkick]

Not enough to call it 'regular' like every other week or something, but frequent enough I'm not surprised by them anymore.

I'd tell you you'll see for yourself, but by Monday you'll probably be back where you're from, so.

[dropkick]

[ Ivy is a hybrid of something young, old, soft, joyful, and deeply sad to Arthur. The inclination to protect her, to bring her something worth smiling over was never merely to do with her childlike exterior, but that certainly had something to do with it. Even with all the impossible things around them, it was never easy to digest the idea of such an entity as the Archive -- to comprehend and believe, more accurately. Still. He can only remember her kindly and actively thinks of her thus now, already wondering if she's arrived in warm enough clothing for the season. ]

Ivy... hey. Are you...where did you arrive?

[ Do you need a coat? I'll bring you one. Are you okay?

These thoughts and others pace in his head, against the background of a subtler reality -- that Ivy's image is among the handful Arthur peruses at the Hall of the Missing, at least once a week.

1/3

[dropkick]

E---

[dropkick]

[ W a i t ]

[dropkick]

[ le cold. . . ]

N--- y---

...

I'm not saying barge into someone's apartment -- just go into a store or an empty flat or...something.

[ because.

it's le cold out.

and stuff. ]

[notfuckingcasper]

I think that means you don't know them that well.

Sure. If given the chance. I mean, who ever gets that? Why the hell not?

[dropkick]

Some of them, maybe.

Well. I wouldn't.

[comeback]

It's just another version of lying to yourself though.

[ Isn't it, she thinks. But truth is, she doesn't know; she doesn't know a lot of things really. What's the saying? Ignorance is bliss? Something like that. ]

[supplier]

Perusal of their archived network suggests yes, though in this case 'frequent' is an arguably relative descriptor.

Fancy meeting you here.

[ And no flying required... ]

[notfuckingcasper]

You're that fucking happy or that fucking personal.

1/2

[notfuckingcasper]

[What does a person do when they wish for something and now is the terrible moment where it's going to come true and you see that should have wished in better detail.]

[notfuckingcasper]

Are you going to stick around, Violet?

[...don't go.]

[dropkick]

Flip a coin and you tell me.

[notfuckingcasper]

I call heads.

[comeback]

[ she doesn't want to hate him. she wants to hate him. it would be easier. it would be harder. violet could pick a garden to withered stems and not make up her mind. even alive she played at convictions except for the few she knew: that home wasn't home and, eventually, no face was safe.

not even her own. especially not her own.

tate though.

what he did isn't forgettable, isn't forgivable.

but he's the only familiarity she's found here and yeah, okay, fine. maybe she's scared of it. apparently being dead isn't the immunity she'd so desperately imagined it as -- needed it to be.

at least they're out of that house. ]

Dunno.

[ Pause. ]

People're telling me I don't have much of a choice.

[ and telling him to go away won't do anything outside the house.

but even that logic is a coverup.

in spite of everything, a part of her somehow still aches at the thought of saying it again. it makes no sense.

why can't she just hate him through and through.

why. ]

[dropkick]

Looks like I'm just a happy kind of guy then.

[ HAHAHAHA....but really...he's not sur what to make of this kid...and at the same time Arthur has a soft spot for kids -- not excluding adolescents so...curiosity overrides most other things. ]