maddeninghatter | IC Contact

( She'd followed soon after to her sickbed, but not soon enough. Jack had been charming, amusing, not the only new face she'd familiarized with that day. But that thought isn't so much on her mind as watching Break is; trying to read what she can from him even before she goes on.

How much to say? )

I can turn into all sorts of animals if I've touched them before while they're alive. I mean, it is and isn't that simple, just touching something doesn't mean I can morph them later. I have to want to acquire them, you know? It's about concentration!

( Ah... but aquire what? Animals? People. The line most miss, and the line she won't invite Break to cross now: people were as animal as the cats and rats of Exsilium. She won't talk about what it could mean, to become other people. )

Anyway, when I do acquire something, like the dolphin I used at the beach, I'm an exact clone of that original animal. There's no mind there, not one that thinks like we do, though dolphins are pretty smart. You can feel that? A potential. But um... does clone mean anything to you? It means I'm exactly the same. Minus any scars, or things like that, but you get the idea. So the second time I ran into Jack, it was when they were bombing the hospital. I shouldn't have -- well, I couldn't just do nothing, you know? So I went in as a canine, to help track down rooms with people still inside, to get the evacuators there faster. I met him in one of the rooms.

( She leaves it at that for now. It's... too much of an invitation to say how it'd unnerved her; how she'd stepped in as a dog and said, "what are you doing?" in thought speak, becaues the intent, the read her colorblind eyes had, was not a happy one.

And then Jack had picked the child up and smiled and said, Saving him, or something of the sort. She would admit to remembering better that first impression than the way Jack took off, carrying his slight burden. And again... he's been so nice otherwise. Even coming back -- he'd come back for her. One weird feeling was one weird feeling. )

[ He wouldn't have made the connection, except that she'd mentioned the mind of an animal. At which point his thoughts drifted over to the possibility - what about an animal with a mind? ]

You--

[ He puts that thought aside, files it away, because he is paying attention to the rest of her story. The next question filtering to the top of his thoughts is what did he do to you? And that thought is enough to kindle his fury--

No. He will set that aside also. It's difficult to think when he's angry. ]

What did he do?

Ah, he...

( She hesitates. She's not sure if she should mention what she thinks she saw. In the end, how she says what happened might say enough. )

He saved a kid.

( Like she's not entirely sure. And a small smile, brief, following. )

I sure surprised him, walking in like that! After the kid, he came back and escorted me out.

[ He has a lot of other thoughts vying for brain space, including what were you doing there, you could have been hurt; as well as his own memories of what had happened during that bombing - what had happened to Oz, what had happened to him...

But he'll push these aside also, because: ]

You're leaving something out.

[ He picks at the hem of his nightshirt, rolling it between his fingers. ]

Enlighten me.

( She hesitates again, because -- she's actually leaving many small details out. Which ones mattered? Not the mention that she'd still been in recovery, that she'd at least been out of the coughing fits. It's too much of a sideline.

So what was she leaving out about Jack? )

I don't know, it was just a feeling when I came in the room. Animals pick up on a lot we don't notice, so just... I don't know. It was different between before he knew I was there and after.

( Subtly, like there'd never been a difference there. But she relied on reading those situations; she's spent so much of her life in and out of hospitals, dealing with people who loved and hated and resented or appreciated their jobs and their patients.

Still... )

Then the time thing, that was just how he moved. It reminded me of what it felt like when I was getting used to my stop watch, that's all! Kind of stop go, like I was missing a few seconds watching him take the kid back down the hall. I could have been tired.

( It'd make as much sense. And her eyes, as a canine, were predatory -- they focused on motion, sought it out, chased it down with the aid of nose, ear, all sorts of sensation -- but not detailed. Human eyes saw more detail. Raptor eyes turned detail into an artform. )

You had a feeling. An - instinct. An animal's instinct, that something wasn't quite right.

[ He stretches himself out on the sofa, his legs hooked over the back of it. One arm slides down, his fingertips grazing the floor. He looks languorous, but in truth he is thinking, taking all of this in, rolling it over in his mind and considering. How much to tell her, how much to leave out.

She may be... fond of him (cringing involuntarily at that thought), but she has no real reason to trust him, certainly not after everything that has transpired. ]

You may or may not be aware of this, however...

Jack Vessalius is renowned as a great hero in my country, and is much admired.

( Hero.

Until Exsilium, Collette had never thought she could take issue with that word. It's in being here, in seeing people she cares about destroy themselves on that word, hero, in meeting the people who were the superheroes of her childhood, or the idea of those superheroes as played true in other times and places, that the word has started to become gray instead of pristine.

So she watches Break, wonders, considers asking, realizes she has spoken before the consideration has really occurred: )

A hero for doing what?

[ In a voice that is both silky and droll: ]

Why, nothing much. Simply saving the world, that's all. Obviously, then - everybody who loves heroes, loves Jack. But if there were something not quite right about Jack, as you've wondered... and if the tale of his heroism is also not quite right...

[ Delicately: ]

That would be, ah, disappointing to a number of people.

( Sounds like he lived. Part of Collette wonders if that word got thrown onto any of their backs, once the Earth had been saved. As long as Vanadi had spoken true to her, and that detail, dividing her from the Collette he'd known first, didn't stray. )

People like Oz.

( She says, tone conversational, the upturn on Oz's name the only question she offers. Oz because Oz is the first that comes to mind; all of this a thought process going on while at the back of her mind she's wondering on things both related and unrelated.

She shakes her head, shaking off those buzzing kinds of thoughts. )

What did the story not get right?

It's no secret that Oz and Jack share a surname. Nor that they resemble one another. Likewise, Oz admires heroes, as anyone can tell, from the way he goes on about Holy Knight.

So I'm not telling you anything that isn't already common knowledge.

It is also common knowledge that you and Oz are friends. If I tell you anything he doesn't know, it puts all of us in a difficult position.

[ He has spent so many years keeping all of his private thoughts and secrets so closely guarded. Letting go of anything is wrenchingly difficult. ]

So I'll tell you a little bit more common knowledge, okay? The story of Jack's heroism is incomplete. History has left a great many details hanging. Details that affect not only Jack, but also someone else very close to Oz.

( Where are you leading me, Break? It's a curious puzzle, and not the sort she was so often enmeshed in before here. People warped and wrapped in secrets and stories and things that kept them safe or isolated.

But she can understand one kind of request, or at least an implication. Oz wanted her silence on his incuse; something that would drag him down beyond everything if he and his friends didn't find the righting of it in time. What would a silence from Oz mean in turn? Not her own personal one, but something he could know, even while he couldn't?

Pandora's box. Sometimes you have to let it all go to realize how important the hope is that you hold. And hope, unlike the rest, didn't need to be locked away to stay. Hope for the best. )

Someone here? ( Or someone at home? Ada (if gone now), Gilbert, clearly not Break, could it be Elliot? No... maybe? Or others, people in Oz's thoughts, ones whose faces haven't shown in Exsilium. )

But Jack knows all that. Doesn't he? Because of anything Oz says -- or... ( she falls silent. something else niggles at her, only important because of what she holds back out of habit. ) Families do that, look like each other. Share names and all. So why point it out?

[ Grimly: ]

Why indeed?

Now - I've given you enough information to work with. You must do some thinking for yourself. There are a number of possibilities. First, and what some would say is most likely, I am either mistaken or have my own agenda, and Jack is the hero everyone believes him to be. If it came to a matter of my word against his, why -

[ There's no winning that game. A dark chuckle: ]

- any rational person would dismiss me. I am no hero, after all.

The second possibility is that Jack is no hero, either. Perhaps he displayed cowardice, and I'm afraid of Oz being disappointed in someone he's looked up to. Or perhaps he is the opposite of a hero, and is somehow a threat to Oz's life. Even so, death has no sting in this place. However - there are fates worse than death...

[ He trails off for a moment, his features clouded. An instant later, it's gone, and he's back to his measured, even tone. ]

A final possibility is this: if he is supposed to be a hero who saved the world, but this isn't true, that might mean he had no part in saving it; or that he was himself directly responsible for the world needing saving.

( Caesar tries to get her to think, too. Even when she tells him it's not her forte! She's a doer, not a thinker, and here she is, getting it on the homefront! Geez. Couldn't a girl just be all about the action?

Even if that has never been so true as it is that she's always watched the people and pieces around her, looking for ways to engage, strories to spin with an acceptable angle. So that's what pings to her -- stories you spin -- for good purpose, or for ill.

It's simply unfair, to make things relate back to protecting Oz, or protecting aany of his friends. Not fair, because that matters. Still...

Still. )

The Abyss.

( It's her response to that small break in words; the stillness of silence. Swallowed up again as soon as he goes on, in favor of a different question, something that only matters to her: )

Did Jack call himself a hero?

No.

In fact, he specifically asked that he not be called a hero. At least - that's what it says in his official memoirs. Though I feel sure if you asked him directly, he'd say the same thing.

[ Here he hesitates. Being dragged down in chains to the Abyss is certainly a fate worse than death but that isn't quite what he meant. Besides which - what has she learned of the Abyss? Who told her? Jack--? or Oz? ]

The... "Abyss"? Why, what is that?

At least he has that going for him.

( False modesty or not. True statement or not. self-proclaimed heroes usually had the most unreasonable things to offer, in such misleadingly reasonable ways.

She shorts at Break, crossing her arms over her chest. )

A movie from the 80's, and a part of your world.

( Unbidden, an image of mermaid Break pops into her head. Shell bra and everything.

Why not merman?

... Well, do you remember Triton? )

Though anyway, if Jack's a good man or a wicked one, not talking to him at all draws his attention. You'd think that much would be not so good, either!

[ Somebody's been talking. Probably Elliot. Bother. ]

Ah. Quite.

[ It's an answer to both her statements, so he lets it sit for a few moments. ]

Jack... affects a personality that is very light. He makes himself out to be a bit dense. If you trust yourself, that you can keep your discussions inconsequential...

[ A short, sharp sigh. He doesn't like any of this. It's bad enough being here, but Jack just adds another layer of awful. ]

Heh.

( She sounds far too pleased in that simple exclamation. )

Oh, I can do that. We'll talk about skiing. I never get tired of talking about skiing!

( AND NO ONE CARES AS MUCH AS SHE DOES for something she's never done, but that -- is beside the point. Now she knows what to do!

Which is, ultimately, respond to Jack. )

Thanks, Break!

---ah.

[ Now he feels a bit silly. More than a bit. Because who better to talk about nothing for hours and hours and hours than a teenage girl? ]

Er. Er, right. Yes, okay.

( Secret powers of teenage girls the ages over! )

I'll respond now.

( She hums, clapping her hands together. All solved! Sort of! )

Sorry to bother you over this!

[ He's quiet for a little while. He has found his tablet; he could go back to bed. Listen to the network for a little while and then nap some more.

... ]

Sorry.

I... I don't think I've said that, so far. But I am - I am sorry.

( Words are worth so little, when they can be broken so easily. But it means something to have them spoken at all.

And she is not an ungracious person, if at times, she's tempted to be. )

Apology accepted! ( She fairly chirps. ) You keep a lot in, bottling and stuff like that. I'd say you should look into therapy for the anger thing, but I think we could all use therapists.

( Which makes her laugh. Collette doesn't take her own suggestion all that seriously. )

Glad we could figure this out!

Hm.

[ He tilts his head at that chirpy tone. ]

Hm.

I think... I really do believe... that perhaps, just possibly... that is also true of you.

About anger?

( She asks, curious. )

Or about therapy?

( At which point she's giggling again. Been there, had that! She glosses over bottling. Anger she has trouble holding on to, though it comes and goes, usually as frustration. Bottling? She's more guilty of that, but even then, she overflows her own cup of restrained emotion too often. )

Keeping a lot in. Keeping it hidden, behind all that laughter.

[ He taps the side of his nose with his finger. ]

( The nose knows. Such a random thought to have filter through her mind. )

Not all of it! ( She says, amused at the outset. Her voice sobers into something more conversational; factual, after her own fashion. ) We've all got things we work through on our own. Besides, it's not like people want to actually hear everything I have to say. Imagine what whining from me would sound like! It makes people uncomfortable, and it makes me feel like I'm wasting time if I whine. No fun for anyone! And definitely not exciting.

( Forcing others to think about the concessions she makes or needs made, how things take longer for her, period, how this that and the other... nawh. Unless they were family, or paid, or mor recently, good friends, they didn't care. It was uncomfortable to be made to confront something scary -- which, for some reason, seemed to be what physical debilitations came across as to those without them. In how their eyes slid by sometimes, or they got nervous, not knowing how to ask.

She's not sure she can understand, but she's forgiven a lot of people for it. )

So yeah. Sometimes it's easier to be amused than it is to be anything else. My friend Kelly? She used to get snippy and angry. James would get angry, then get things done. I laugh. When you're in the uncute stage of life, after being a kid, before you're an adult, you find your own ways to handle stuff.

( Was that wrong? The other things she held in were partly so new she never knew how to process them. Then there were the secrets she was keeping for other people... aah, when did life get complicated! )

IC Contact - Exsilium

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