[Hank's said a lot of things, brought up a lot of good points, and truly there are things that should probably be addressed. Cayde, however, is more distracted by one particular thing-]
Sit down, stay awhile.
[As if he isn't the one intruding on someone else's living space. But it brings things onto more equal ground, he thinks, if he can convince Hank to relax even the slightest bit. Ignoring the hypocrisy of that, he himself is tired and stressed, he reaches up as if to grab the man's wrist and guide him down, but aborts the action just moments before his gloved hand touches skin. Right. The touching thing. Hank had made that pretty clear back in the dream, it'd be a pretty shitty move to ignore that. So instead he turns the gesture into a sweeping motion, patting the mattress beside him.]
Well, there was a lot less water and a lot more. A lot more storms. Real tech-y kinda place, the kind where no one'd bat an eye at me walkin' down the street. The storms though? Bad news. Nearly took a chunk of us mechanically inclined individuals out for good. Food was pretty bad too. I'm talking really bad. Made all the fish seem like a gourmet meal, if I'm bein' honest.
[Hank's on the edge of making up some excuse, but then Cayde moves to pull him in and- stops. Hank watches Cayde's hand move away, feeling his posture relax, feeling himself relax. It's shitty that that's what does it. The way Cayde touches so casually was such a relief, before. But it does. Hank relaxes. He sits, kind of gingerly, a little further away than the spot Cayde's hand had patted.]
Come on, you don't even need to eat.
[Hank leans back, starting to smile a little. It's a little easier to sound natural, when he's giving Cayde shit. That's nice.]
You know when I first heard about that, that big storm you guys had back in android world or whatever, I didn't give a shit about it? [His gaze flicks over Cayde. Oh, how things change.] So, what was it that made it that dangerous for you? A bunch of lightning, or something?
[Hank finally does sit, and it's a small win at the very least. A step forward in breaking some of the not-tension that's built up, and even if he's made it clear to place himself a little further away than suggested Cayde's glad to see him relenting regardless.]
Yeah, well. Sometimes a guy wants to appreciate a good bowl of ramen, you dig? And that stuff? Awful. Just awful.
[It's nice to fall back into banter, takes some of the stress of everything away, but he has to spend a minute or two thinking over how to actually answer Hank's question. I didn't give a shit, it's a strange way to word things and there's a follow-up question there, on the edge of Cayde's tongue, but he bites it back.]
I mean, you weren't there, so you really didn't have a reason to give a shit. [He grins slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he leans forward.] But it was...like I'm no scientist, I'll be the first to admit that, and I've gotten myself into way worse but. I dunno, imagine just...pain, deep in your bones, like someone split 'em open and filled 'em with acid. There's only so much a frame can handle, so I'm pretty sure if any of us had gotten too close it'd been lights out, fried circuits all around.
[Washing everything, clothes and all, before Cayde came over was the best move, he still thinks, but it maybe wasn't a smart one, and he shivers a little as his clothes keep dripping around him. He's not paying so much attention to that now, though. He's distracted, frowning while Cayde describes what went down and looking almost pained himself, sounding a little concerned.]
So, if you don't know exactly what caused it, you think that's something we might encounter again? Or do you think it was a one-off?
[He hasn't thought about it, hearing about it all that time ago, as 'something that might be a problem later'. To be fair, he'd still been trying to deal with being here in the first place, and he hadn't actually realized that androids here are... different, yet, but, still. It's stupid that it hasn't occurred to him, that the kind of problem they had back there could be something he might want to watch out for.]
[It comes as a surprise that Hank sounds as concerned as he does, and it stops Cayde’s train of thought right in its tracks. He has to take a second or two to wrap his mind around it, his expression honestly surprised as he does his best to offer more than a shrug.]
I mean, it probably was the lightning there. Never felt anything like it, and I’ve been around plenty of lightning.
[He exhales slowly, trailing off into a quiet, slightly rueful, laugh as he looks over and meets Hank’s gaze.]
I hate to use the ‘m-word’ but I’m not gonna count anything out at this point, not after the whole misadventure we just had. Magic is one hell of a thing.
[He’d take Struxia over Akvos any day, if given the choice. Killer lightning storms didn’t seem quite as horrible when compared to void-rending and the all-out war. Two different possible genocides, two very different outcomes. It’s not something he wants to linger on, not coming on the heels of the Red War. But what’s done is done, and fixating on it, lingering, is a surefire way to get himself stuck in a cycle of destructive redundancy. That isn’t useful right now, or ever really.
Instead he raises a browplate, finally taking note of the way Hank is shivering. His first instinct is to reach out and place his hand on the man’s shoulder, a small token of comfort and a show of camaraderie, but he restrains himself.]
Being completely straight here, no tomfoolery? You should probably get outta those clothes and into somethin’ dry. Wouldn’t want to catch the plague again.
[Hank gives an embarrassed little grimace. Yep, he's a moron. He knows it.]
Yeah, you're not wrong, but- I did mention that this was the only outfit I have here, right? Hence the whole uh, 'wash it all at once in the shower' thing. And I'm not sure the towel's big enough to cover my whole uh, modesty.
[He wants to leave it at that, he does, because talking about his 'modesty' is a lot better than talking about the rest of it. But as he looks down at the wet spot his clothes are leaving on the mattress, the heavier, serious stuff just sinks down toward his mouth and slips out.]
You're probably right about the magic thing, though. I guess there's no point in trying to figure out if shit like that's gonna happen to you guys again. Or- or any of the rest of it, either. [He slumps back a little bit, any energy in him starting to leak out of his voice.] I mean, what do I understand about any of that shit anyhow.
I think a lot of us are in that boat, don’t know how I feel about asking the ghosts about finding new clothes.
[Another joke, but there really is something a bit off-putting about the idea of unseen servants. Of servants in general, if he’s being honest with himself. But now is neither the time nor the place to ponder over the perceived morality of the possible indentured servitude of weird ghost. It’s far more important to make sure Hank’s as alright as he can be, given the situation.]
What about the blanket? Should be big enough, and I even promise not to sneak a peak while you’re getting settled. Cross my heart.
[But Hank barrels on, and it’s…it’s heavy stuff, things that he’s not used to having to think over. Back home things were much simpler, but the Circle has had the nasty habit of throwing everything for a loop.
He decides to risk just a little, reaching over to place his hand on the mattress next to Hank. It’s still not touching, he’s not going to break any boundaries, but it’s a small show of support nonetheless.]
You’re not the only one that doesn’t understand it. I don’t think any of us do. Don’t gotta be so hard on yourself, it’s just…it’s like a really crappy roller coaster that we’re all on and no one knows when the heck it’s gonna take us all for a drop.
[Hank stares at Cayde's hand, listening. He takes a slow breath, he nods, he breathes out. He sets a hand near Cayde's, not quite touching, and runs his thumb back and forth over the sheet.]
Thanks.
[He murmurs it and then stands, clearing his throat and starting to walk toward the bathroom again, grabbing at the hem of his shirt. Barabas was cool about it, about the stupid shit Hank carved into his fucking walls, it almost hadn't felt weird when he saw it. So maybe it'll be okay, pulling the blanket away from the wall and using it for him instead. Besides, he kind of underestimated how annoying being cold in wet clothes is.]
Guys who've seen me naked can take all the peeks they want, though. It's not like you haven't seen it all already.
[Then he pulls his shirt over his head and once it's off he finds himself - it's stupid, if he was going to say this shit he should have said it before he stood up, before he tried to break up that heavy mood with something lighter, but now his back is turned and they can't look each other in the face and it's coming out anyway, still, like a leaky goddamn faucet, like the slightest hint of sympathy means Cayde wants to hear all a-fucking-bout it.]
But it's- sometimes shit just happens and there's nothing anyone could of done to- [His shirt's down over his arms now. He stops, takes a slow breath.] Just... just freak accidents, you know. I know that. But-
[He pulls his shirt off his arms and holds it, staring at the wall and trying to figure out what he's even getting at.]
But this is so- It's so- It's not all supposed to be like that. There's supposed to be- something. Just, something you can do, something you can change. Just sometimes. But this, it's all- everything about this fucking place-
[He clears his throat, balling his shirt up tight in his hands, and turns to toss it toward the bathtub, where it'll dry or mold or... something. Whatever.]
Sorry, uh, I know you didn't- you didn't really sign up for all that shit. I um, I'm not great company right now, I guess.
Edited (my turn for code shenanigans ) 2019-02-19 16:49 (UTC)
[The quip earns a small snort, delicately contained amusement at the fact that it's just so Hank. Despite everything that's happened, despite the awful aftermath of Akvos and the dreamscapes and every other crazy thing that'd had gone down...there's still room for the quiet back and forth that he's come to appreciate.
Hank's gone in a moment, though, and true to his word Cayde does avert his gaze. It's true, he's seen, and very much appreciated, it all before but there's something different between heated kisses, the press of skin against metal, than there is in this sort of vulnerability. He wants to give Hank this, let him keep some of himself private.]
Yeah, it's not supposed to be like this.
[Perhaps that's not what Hank wants, or needs, to hear. Perhaps it's unhelpful.]
But it is. It is, and it's bad, and it's-
[He stops himself, instead busying his attention to some minuscule, unseen fleck of dirt on one of his gloves. It's what? It's over? Akvos is, yes, but that doesn't mean that they're not still technically prisoners to the Circle.]
it's the bad hand we got dealt. Nothin' to say we can't hand-muck a card or two though.
[Everything's a metaphor, always. But Cayde finally does look up, glancing over to rest his gaze on Hank's bared back.]
Stop that though. You think I would be here if I really gave two shakes? Lemme decide what's 'good company'.
[He huffs, looking down at his hands on his waistband and nodding a little.]
Yeah, I guess you can have weird taste if you want.
[He pauses and then - nope, it's still coming out, he can't leave it at that even though he wishes he would, even if a part of him's yelling at the rest to shut the fuck up and give Cayde a reason to want to stick around, to stop digging up all this shit and tossing it all over the place. But he can't leave it at that, at Cayde telling him what 'should be' isn't like he thinks Hank's some kind of idealist or, or whatever.]
But- I know, I know about getting dealt a shitty fucking hand, it's not- [He swallows.] I can't- I haven't been able to do a goddamn thing since I got here and I need- I can't-
Fuck, if it's all gonna be like this, if it's gonna keep ending in random tragedy and freak fucking accidents-
[His voice struggles under all the baggage in that last little phrase, wavers and cracks under the weight of it, and he stops. He breathes. He unbuttons his goddamn pants.]
This is the least sexy strip tease I've ever done in my life.
[Hank's trying to sound amused there and he shivers on the tail end of it, a little reminder from his body that, yeah, taking off the wet clothes probably is a pretty good idea. But it feels weird, he'd be the only naked person in the room and he's not sure if standing here shivering like a moron because of his own bad decisions isn't preferable to that.]
How about you? Seen worse? It'd take a real bad one to top this.
[There are so many things he could respond with, so many light jabs, but he doesn’t. Cayde stays silent for once in his life, lets Hank continue as he watches on. Everything that he’s saying is true, and it hits home in a way that Cayde isn’t quite expecting it to. Maybe it’s the words. Maybe it’s the way he can hear Hank’s voice crack before he abruptly changes subjects. There’s pain there, much more than he’d have expected and that in itself is cause for concern. More concern than he’s realized, he thinks.]
It isn’t all like this. Hasn’t been. This time we got fucked over, didn’t get a fighting chance and there are a lot of people mad as hell about that. As they should be.
[He exhales slowly, closing his eyes and taking a few moments to try and put his thoughts into something comprehensible to address the second part. It’s such a loaded question that it almost isn’t fair to expect him to answer, but Hank has had no way of knowing that. Right now they’re talking, they’re talking about heavy stuff and Cayde realizes belatedly that he’s been quiet for just a little too long.]
Seen similar a couple of times before. Doesn’t make this one any less bad; feels kinda wrong to try to rank them.
[More than a couple, only a few on the same scale of mass tragedy. It feels odd now, to think about. To think that out there, somewhere in the weird multiplicity of universes there are people that wouldn’t recognize the name Twilight Gap. To know that Six Fronts never happened. That Towerfall- no, that one’s too fresh he’s done thinking about the intricacies of the multiverse.
But it brings another question to mind. He’s always taken things like this as just a fact of life, no matter how horrible they are. Has Hank? Cayde’s never stopped to think too hard about it, but he knows so little about where the man is from, what his home is like. It’s a sobering thought, that he doesn’t really know much about Hank at all.]
Honestly? It’d be real nice if stuff like that took a holiday, though.
[The bed creaks as he shifts and stands, reaching over to snatch the blanket away from the wall. The carvings get a glance, but Cayde doesn’t say a thing; each to their own, everyone had their own coping mechanisms. Instead he hefts the blanket up and dares to close the distance between the both of them, working very carefully to not startle Hank in the process. He’s equally careful when he drapes the thing over Hank’s shoulders, taking great pains to make sure he doesn’t accidentally make contact.]
[Hank looks up as the bed creaks and turns to face Cayde, watching him, watching the careful way he moves, not feeling anything touch him but the blanket around his shoulders.]
Thanks.
[He mutters it, looking down again, hitching the blanket closer around his shoulders - not closed, but closer to it - and finally just pulls his stupid pants down. He steps out of them, kicks them away, then slips the blanket off his shoulders so he can wrap it better around his waist.]
That's, uh, not what I meant.
[Then he looks up again, eyes flitting over Cayde's face before he moves back toward the bed.]
About the, um- I wouldn't ask you to rank that. I just, I meant the stupid strip tease thing.
[He takes a slow breath, slumping back against the wall and letting his shoulders hunch. He frowns, feeling ridiculous and mostly-naked and still exposed, feeling the afterimages of all the bullshit he just dug up still there in his head, settling now under a thin layer of embarrassment at not having been clear, having made himself look like a selfish shithead. He might not have meant to say that this disaster here and now, Akvos, that it was worse than any other horrible shit that's ever happened anywhere just because it's the one that's fucking his special little self up, but that's how he came off and Cayde didn't even get mad at him for it, and Hank can't even tell which part of any of that's the part that's making him feel like an asshole.
He clears his throat, he leans back, he raises his eyebrows and slaps some cheer up on his face. It's cheap cheer, dollar-store cheer, clearly fake and meant to look it. Where do you take a conversation after that? Hank's got no idea, but wherever it goes it's got to get there by acknowledging how stupid it is to try and go anywhere at all.]
[Well, that’s a point off for his deductive skills and for as awkward as Hank sounds Cayde feels somewhat the same. A slip, it’d been a slip and of course they weren’t talking about things like that. Of course things weren’t supposed to go that dark, that’s very clear now with the way that Hank’s frowning and tripping over his words. For as cool and well-spoken as Cayde would like to claim he is, he finds himself with a cool bloom of embarrassment deep in his chest. Right, okay. That’d been a critical mistake on his part, one that he’s kicking himself for because somehow something had managed to slip past him and-
and things had gotten surprisingly honest, surprisingly raw. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, to know that he’d let his guard down enough to misinterpret so badly; not because of Hank, the man’s done nothing wrong, but because it means that he himself has to confront the fact that he’s apparently gotten so…what? Lonely isn’t the word, he’s definitely not lonely, but just for a moment there something had slipped.
And now it’s weird. He’s made it weird.]
Oh. [Eloquent.] Yeah, yeah, uh, right. Heh, looks like I got you good.
[Oh it’s a weak attempt at covering his own blunder, it sounds weak to his own ears, but damn if that isn’t what he’s going to stick with. Joking is easier than ‘hey, I know you’re going through some shit so sorry for bringing up even more shit that you really didn’t need to hear haha’.
Right. Okay. Hank’s moving, Hank’s clearing his throat, Hank’s grinning in that empty, fake way that’s so very obviously fake. The awkwardness continues, but fuck it, if Hank’s going to push through all of it like this then the very least Cayde can do is to go along with it. The bed feels a little off-limits, at least for the current moment, and so he seeks out Sumo for a distraction, gently coaxing the big ball of hair away from his dish with the promise of more scratches and attention. And so he finds himself sinking to the ground, sitting, fingers carding through warm fur to buy himself a little time.]
Awesome, just great! [His enthusiasm is definitely just as hollow as Hank’s cheer.] Nothin’ I love better than aggressively curious vines and stuff all over. You know, one of ‘em tried to get my piece away from me? Like hell I’m lettin’ some overgrown houseplant put its weird tentacles all over the Ace.
[He’s definitely rambling now, the words unfiltered and just spilling out until his brain finally pulls the plug on the torrent.]
…...okay, so. [He exhales, slumping forward to very carefully rest his forehead against Sumo’s shoulder.]
We really gonna do the small talk thing? I hate to say it, but I think we kinda suck at it right now.
[Hank looks at him for a second, frowning, watching him lean his head against Sumo like that. It’s- maybe he’s projecting. Every time he’s done that, like he’s trying to hide against his dog, it’s never meant anything good - but even if he’s not projecting, what the fuck is he going to do about it? Even if he wants-
He tucks his hands under his arms,ducking his head and looking away, then glancing back with something friendly and rueful brushing at the corners of his mouth.]
Look, uh... I don’t remember, I think under the bed somewhere, there should be a bottle around here somewhere. Behind the bed, probably. That does loosen you up, right? Drinking? Does something to your... I don’t know, your circuits?
To quote someone, “who gave you the right to be such a decent guy”?
[The reply may be slightly muffled by dog, but there’s still a weak twist of amusement to the words and after a moment Cayde looks up, resting his chin against Sumo’s shoulder as he continues to ply him with fingers absentmindedly scritching behind one ear.]
I’m supposed to be the one here makin’ sure you’re okay after all this, not the other way around.
[He can’t sound cross though, if anything it’s almost funny at this point. Sad, but funny. Sfunny.]
Not that I’m doing a good job at that, but heck, man. I’m not going to take your only booze. That’d be cruel and unusual, wouldn’t it?
I just said you can drink my shitty moonshine, I don't think that counts as 'decent' anything. But- I mean, if it makes you feel better about taking it, uh... it tastes better with company.
[His rueful smile tries to grow, a little. For a couple seconds, Hank just looks at him, thinking about how - wow, shocker - turns out Hank's not the only person in the whole world having emotions right about now.
So. Hank looks at him. And after he looks at him he goes on, and when he does his voice this time is clear and decisive.]
Come on, get up here. Get the bottle of bullshit, then get up here. I'm not gonna let someone who came over just to check up on my stupid ass sit on the damn floor. Bring Sumo if you want dog hair all in your, uh, everything, we'll make it a party.
[There’s a snort of rueful amusement in response as Cayde raises a single browplate. There’s a snarky response on the tip of his tongue just waiting to spill forth but- but honestly, he’s tired. He’s tired, he’s been concerned about his friend, and at the moment it feels like pleasantries and pride are way too much effort. He’s not fine. Hank’s not fine. They can be not fine together.]
With a pat to one of Sumo’s haunches he pulls himself back and contemplates the best way forward. What that eventually becomes is a smooth slide across the floor until he’s able to unceremoniously shove his upper body under the bed and take a look around.]
I feel like this is just a ploy to get me to grab the thing so you don’t have to.
[There’s a little bit of laughter to his comment as he finally manages to scrabble around enough to get a hand on what he’s pretty certain is the bottle. Fuck it, hopefully that works. With a wriggle and a shimmy he manages to extract himself and toss the bottle up onto the mattress and pull himself up moments later. His cloak’s askew, there’s a smudge of dust along his breastplate, but he’s not even going to care. Fashion can wait until later.
One hand reaches to scrub at his face, a very human habit that he hasn’t quite lost, while the other nudges the bottle over in Hank’s direction.]
[Hank watches him, eyeing that smudge on his breastplate. His eyes dart to Cayde's face and back again. It's- stupid. It's stupid. He doesn't even know if he'd want to brush it off so bad if it felt like he could actually do it.]
This thing's way too big to wear it like a toga, the less I move around the less chance I'm gonna accidentally flash Sumo. I'll let you take the first drink though, since you went through all that trouble so I can sit on my ass. Come on, Sumo, wanna hang out, buddy?
[It doesn't take a lot of encouraging to get Sumo to climb onto a bed, especially when there are people on it, so after a moment he heads their way. Hank thinks he should maybe steer Sumo to settle down between the two of them, just to make sure, but Cayde's already being so careful not to touch him and the idea of making that worse, it's- well, if Cayde feels like they need a dog between them he can do it, Sumo likes him. Hank scoots a little closer to the wall and leaves the rest up to fate.]
Alright, we can’t have that. Think of Sumo’s poor, impressionable mind.
[More humor, because it distracts from the weight of everything around them, from the fact that Hank’s all the way on the other end of the bed and things just feel weird between them. Physically and metaphysically, actually, but at least the former is solved with a giant furry body that wedges itself between them with a contented huff. Cayde’s grateful for the contact, it helps keep him grounded, but at the same time it’s alienating in a way that he’s not sure how to put into words.
If things hadn’t gone tits up, how would this be different? There’s a small, selfish part of him that wants to imagine that they’d be drinking to their success, shoulder to shoulder and laughing as they passed the bottle between them. He’s surprised to find how much he misses that, just the general closeness and camaraderie.
He tamps that down though, it isn’t the time or place for those kind of thoughts, and snags the bottle from where it lays on the bed. With a slight nod and a flourishing toast, he cracks it open, throws back his head, and does the honors. Whatever the booze is, it doesn’t taste the best, but it’s harsh against his palette and throat and that’s a good enough distraction from the rest of everything. Coughing, he carefully offers it over, his other hand reaching up to wipe away a few errant drops that’d spilled through his cheek struts.]
You sure this isn’t gonna blind anyone? Because, dang.
[Hank half-smiles, self conscious, and grabs the bottle - careful to grip the end opposite Cayde’s hand - to take a drink that barely even makes him gasp anymore. Yeah, he knows it’s strong, but at the same time he’d kind of forgot, until he saw Cayde drink it just now, the way you ought to drink rot-gut like this.]
Guy who makes it says he knows what he’s doing and it hasn’t killed me yet, so.
[He shrugs, hesitates, wonders if they’re just drinking for something to do right now or drinking to get drunk, and holds the bottle back out anyway. If Cayde wants to go slower he can just keep the moonshine to himself for a while.]
Seriously though, what does drinking even do to you? I guess it does something, unless you weren’t being straight with me that first night we met, but how does that even work?
‘That which doesn’t kill me’, gotcha. Yeah, I can appreciate that.
[Rambling again, because it lets him stall and drag his heels on answering Hank’s actual question. Unfortunately the few moments he manages to buy himself don’t really help him come up with a suitable reply and so he just exhales slowly, letting his head fall back as he shoots an almost guilty grin over.]
That’s definitely a question. I can’t-
[If he still had lips they’d be pursed at the moment, but instead he settles for an annoyed flicker of the lights in his throat.]
It’s not like I can get shitfaced, believe me I’ve tried. Not on this type of stuff, at least. I’m a robot, remember?
[It’s the first time that he’s used the dreaded ‘r’ word to describe himself since arriving in the Circle. Hank’s one of the few people that haven’t made a huge deal about it, it feels a little more natural to talk about with him.]
That stuff back in, uh, the dream? That’s made for people like me, does something weird to the ol’ processors or something. The stuff we get here? Not as much, but there’s something there. Maybe it’s one of those psychosomatic things, I don’t know. Just feels like the right thing to do.
[He winks, reaching back over to playfully flick the side of the bottle in Hank’s hand with one finger.]
Besides, I was totally being straight and honest with you. You were a riot to hang out with, that’s the important part.
Bullshit you were being straight. You let me make that bet with you under false pretenses, you sneaky motherfucker.
[Hank's voice is low and amused, honestly relieved that he's got something as normal and comfortable to do with Cayde as give the guy shit about this. But that doesn't mean he can't show some sympathy.]
That sucks, though. This is, uh- kind of the only thing getting me through this fucking place.
[He smiles a little to make it sort of jokey, but honestly? He thinks he probably needs to put some clothes back on. Maybe it's being naked that's been making him feel like being so fucking honest. Which probably isn't the right impulse when he also feels like he wants to help Cayde feel - well, maybe not better, but less shitty. Hank can follow one of those two impulses, maybe, or neither of them, but he's pretty sure he can't have both.]
We got a lot of people who know about tech shit here, maybe we can figure something out. You remember anything about the stuff? Like, its chemical makeup or, you know, whatever?
[It's the truth, he can't be blamed if the rules were never completely laid out properly. First rule of bets: take every advantage possible, and if that's giving half-truths then so be it.
But it's- worrying, worrying but understandable, to hear Hank admit that his drinking is what's helping him get by. To be honest, Cayde doesn't blame him in the slightest; being dragged from somewhere so particularly mundane must make all this Circle stuff look practically insane. In fact, Cayde's pretty sure that if he hadn't gone through things like this before back home he'd probably be taking it pretty similarly. In that way, Hank's strong. Strong in a sense that he's kept going, despite everything, even if he's leaning on something else to help him get by.
He's not going to judge. It's not his place. Something something glass houses.]
You do what you gotta do here, and screw anyone that wants to dispute that.
[His hand falls, his fingers winding in Sumo's fur as he absentmindedly pets along the dog's haunch.]
Like, really, I don't think anyone's gonna fault you. There's some weird shit here. And frankly? We all do stuff to get by. I don't think the techy people here are really focused on 'how do we get a robot drunk' though.
[It's a joke, and he winks again before casting his gaze downwards.]
Honestly though? We don't even have microwaves here, I'm thinkin' synthesizing stuff and all that science mumbo-jumbo is way out of reach. Maybe next world we go to will have some tech we can snag and try to steal back, make this place a little more comfortable.
[His hand lifts and then stops as he catches himself, then starts up again to turn the aborted gesture into holding the bottle out toward Cayde again.]
What kinda stuff is it you do to get by, then, if you don't drink? Guess I could use a couple pointers.
[He takes the offer bottle, throwing his head back to down another mouthful. It’s offered back, that’s the polite thing to do, right after. Sharing is caring, isn’t that how it went? Probably.]
Me? I mean, we’re mostly out and about whenever our witch wants us to be, so I guess that’s enough to keep a guy busy. Back here? Me ‘nd-
[If it were possible for him to grimace he certainly would be.]
Me and the kid, Daylight, the missing one? We were makin’ a map of everything around here. Figure it could be useful in the future maybe? It’s something to do. Not sure if I’d recommend it though if you’re not a nature kinda guy, lotta mud and lotta running around.
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Sit down, stay awhile.
[As if he isn't the one intruding on someone else's living space. But it brings things onto more equal ground, he thinks, if he can convince Hank to relax even the slightest bit. Ignoring the hypocrisy of that, he himself is tired and stressed, he reaches up as if to grab the man's wrist and guide him down, but aborts the action just moments before his gloved hand touches skin. Right. The touching thing. Hank had made that pretty clear back in the dream, it'd be a pretty shitty move to ignore that. So instead he turns the gesture into a sweeping motion, patting the mattress beside him.]
Well, there was a lot less water and a lot more. A lot more storms. Real tech-y kinda place, the kind where no one'd bat an eye at me walkin' down the street. The storms though? Bad news. Nearly took a chunk of us mechanically inclined individuals out for good. Food was pretty bad too. I'm talking really bad. Made all the fish seem like a gourmet meal, if I'm bein' honest.
[Rambling, he can do that.]
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Come on, you don't even need to eat.
[Hank leans back, starting to smile a little. It's a little easier to sound natural, when he's giving Cayde shit. That's nice.]
You know when I first heard about that, that big storm you guys had back in android world or whatever, I didn't give a shit about it? [His gaze flicks over Cayde. Oh, how things change.] So, what was it that made it that dangerous for you? A bunch of lightning, or something?
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Yeah, well. Sometimes a guy wants to appreciate a good bowl of ramen, you dig? And that stuff? Awful. Just awful.
[It's nice to fall back into banter, takes some of the stress of everything away, but he has to spend a minute or two thinking over how to actually answer Hank's question. I didn't give a shit, it's a strange way to word things and there's a follow-up question there, on the edge of Cayde's tongue, but he bites it back.]
I mean, you weren't there, so you really didn't have a reason to give a shit. [He grins slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he leans forward.] But it was...like I'm no scientist, I'll be the first to admit that, and I've gotten myself into way worse but. I dunno, imagine just...pain, deep in your bones, like someone split 'em open and filled 'em with acid. There's only so much a frame can handle, so I'm pretty sure if any of us had gotten too close it'd been lights out, fried circuits all around.
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So, if you don't know exactly what caused it, you think that's something we might encounter again? Or do you think it was a one-off?
[He hasn't thought about it, hearing about it all that time ago, as 'something that might be a problem later'. To be fair, he'd still been trying to deal with being here in the first place, and he hadn't actually realized that androids here are... different, yet, but, still. It's stupid that it hasn't occurred to him, that the kind of problem they had back there could be something he might want to watch out for.]
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I mean, it probably was the lightning there. Never felt anything like it, and I’ve been around plenty of lightning.
[He exhales slowly, trailing off into a quiet, slightly rueful, laugh as he looks over and meets Hank’s gaze.]
I hate to use the ‘m-word’ but I’m not gonna count anything out at this point, not after the whole misadventure we just had. Magic is one hell of a thing.
[He’d take Struxia over Akvos any day, if given the choice. Killer lightning storms didn’t seem quite as horrible when compared to void-rending and the all-out war. Two different possible genocides, two very different outcomes. It’s not something he wants to linger on, not coming on the heels of the Red War. But what’s done is done, and fixating on it, lingering, is a surefire way to get himself stuck in a cycle of destructive redundancy. That isn’t useful right now, or ever really.
Instead he raises a browplate, finally taking note of the way Hank is shivering. His first instinct is to reach out and place his hand on the man’s shoulder, a small token of comfort and a show of camaraderie, but he restrains himself.]
Being completely straight here, no tomfoolery? You should probably get outta those clothes and into somethin’ dry. Wouldn’t want to catch the plague again.
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Yeah, you're not wrong, but- I did mention that this was the only outfit I have here, right? Hence the whole uh, 'wash it all at once in the shower' thing. And I'm not sure the towel's big enough to cover my whole uh, modesty.
[He wants to leave it at that, he does, because talking about his 'modesty' is a lot better than talking about the rest of it. But as he looks down at the wet spot his clothes are leaving on the mattress, the heavier, serious stuff just sinks down toward his mouth and slips out.]
You're probably right about the magic thing, though. I guess there's no point in trying to figure out if shit like that's gonna happen to you guys again. Or- or any of the rest of it, either. [He slumps back a little bit, any energy in him starting to leak out of his voice.] I mean, what do I understand about any of that shit anyhow.
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[Another joke, but there really is something a bit off-putting about the idea of unseen servants. Of servants in general, if he’s being honest with himself. But now is neither the time nor the place to ponder over the perceived morality of the possible indentured servitude of weird ghost. It’s far more important to make sure Hank’s as alright as he can be, given the situation.]
What about the blanket? Should be big enough, and I even promise not to sneak a peak while you’re getting settled. Cross my heart.
[But Hank barrels on, and it’s…it’s heavy stuff, things that he’s not used to having to think over. Back home things were much simpler, but the Circle has had the nasty habit of throwing everything for a loop.
He decides to risk just a little, reaching over to place his hand on the mattress next to Hank. It’s still not touching, he’s not going to break any boundaries, but it’s a small show of support nonetheless.]
You’re not the only one that doesn’t understand it. I don’t think any of us do. Don’t gotta be so hard on yourself, it’s just…it’s like a really crappy roller coaster that we’re all on and no one knows when the heck it’s gonna take us all for a drop.
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Thanks.
[He murmurs it and then stands, clearing his throat and starting to walk toward the bathroom again, grabbing at the hem of his shirt. Barabas was cool about it, about the stupid shit Hank carved into his fucking walls, it almost hadn't felt weird when he saw it. So maybe it'll be okay, pulling the blanket away from the wall and using it for him instead. Besides, he kind of underestimated how annoying being cold in wet clothes is.]
Guys who've seen me naked can take all the peeks they want, though. It's not like you haven't seen it all already.
[Then he pulls his shirt over his head and once it's off he finds himself - it's stupid, if he was going to say this shit he should have said it before he stood up, before he tried to break up that heavy mood with something lighter, but now his back is turned and they can't look each other in the face and it's coming out anyway, still, like a leaky goddamn faucet, like the slightest hint of sympathy means Cayde wants to hear all a-fucking-bout it.]
But it's- sometimes shit just happens and there's nothing anyone could of done to- [His shirt's down over his arms now. He stops, takes a slow breath.] Just... just freak accidents, you know. I know that. But-
[He pulls his shirt off his arms and holds it, staring at the wall and trying to figure out what he's even getting at.]
But this is so- It's so- It's not all supposed to be like that. There's supposed to be- something. Just, something you can do, something you can change. Just sometimes. But this, it's all- everything about this fucking place-
[He clears his throat, balling his shirt up tight in his hands, and turns to toss it toward the bathtub, where it'll dry or mold or... something. Whatever.]
Sorry, uh, I know you didn't- you didn't really sign up for all that shit. I um, I'm not great company right now, I guess.
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Hank's gone in a moment, though, and true to his word Cayde does avert his gaze. It's true, he's seen, and very much appreciated, it all before but there's something different between heated kisses, the press of skin against metal, than there is in this sort of vulnerability. He wants to give Hank this, let him keep some of himself private.]
Yeah, it's not supposed to be like this.
[Perhaps that's not what Hank wants, or needs, to hear. Perhaps it's unhelpful.]
But it is. It is, and it's bad, and it's-
[He stops himself, instead busying his attention to some minuscule, unseen fleck of dirt on one of his gloves. It's what? It's over? Akvos is, yes, but that doesn't mean that they're not still technically prisoners to the Circle.]
it's the bad hand we got dealt. Nothin' to say we can't hand-muck a card or two though.
[Everything's a metaphor, always. But Cayde finally does look up, glancing over to rest his gaze on Hank's bared back.]
Stop that though. You think I would be here if I really gave two shakes? Lemme decide what's 'good company'.
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Yeah, I guess you can have weird taste if you want.
[He pauses and then - nope, it's still coming out, he can't leave it at that even though he wishes he would, even if a part of him's yelling at the rest to shut the fuck up and give Cayde a reason to want to stick around, to stop digging up all this shit and tossing it all over the place. But he can't leave it at that, at Cayde telling him what 'should be' isn't like he thinks Hank's some kind of idealist or, or whatever.]
But- I know, I know about getting dealt a shitty fucking hand, it's not- [He swallows.] I can't- I haven't been able to do a goddamn thing since I got here and I need- I can't-
Fuck, if it's all gonna be like this, if it's gonna keep ending in random tragedy and freak fucking accidents-
[His voice struggles under all the baggage in that last little phrase, wavers and cracks under the weight of it, and he stops. He breathes. He unbuttons his goddamn pants.]
This is the least sexy strip tease I've ever done in my life.
[Hank's trying to sound amused there and he shivers on the tail end of it, a little reminder from his body that, yeah, taking off the wet clothes probably is a pretty good idea. But it feels weird, he'd be the only naked person in the room and he's not sure if standing here shivering like a moron because of his own bad decisions isn't preferable to that.]
How about you? Seen worse? It'd take a real bad one to top this.
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It isn’t all like this. Hasn’t been. This time we got fucked over, didn’t get a fighting chance and there are a lot of people mad as hell about that. As they should be.
[He exhales slowly, closing his eyes and taking a few moments to try and put his thoughts into something comprehensible to address the second part. It’s such a loaded question that it almost isn’t fair to expect him to answer, but Hank has had no way of knowing that. Right now they’re talking, they’re talking about heavy stuff and Cayde realizes belatedly that he’s been quiet for just a little too long.]
Seen similar a couple of times before. Doesn’t make this one any less bad; feels kinda wrong to try to rank them.
[More than a couple, only a few on the same scale of mass tragedy. It feels odd now, to think about. To think that out there, somewhere in the weird multiplicity of universes there are people that wouldn’t recognize the name Twilight Gap. To know that Six Fronts never happened. That Towerfall- no, that one’s too fresh he’s done thinking about the intricacies of the multiverse.
But it brings another question to mind. He’s always taken things like this as just a fact of life, no matter how horrible they are. Has Hank? Cayde’s never stopped to think too hard about it, but he knows so little about where the man is from, what his home is like. It’s a sobering thought, that he doesn’t really know much about Hank at all.]
Honestly? It’d be real nice if stuff like that took a holiday, though.
[The bed creaks as he shifts and stands, reaching over to snatch the blanket away from the wall. The carvings get a glance, but Cayde doesn’t say a thing; each to their own, everyone had their own coping mechanisms. Instead he hefts the blanket up and dares to close the distance between the both of them, working very carefully to not startle Hank in the process. He’s equally careful when he drapes the thing over Hank’s shoulders, taking great pains to make sure he doesn’t accidentally make contact.]
Figured I’d save you the trouble.
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Thanks.
[He mutters it, looking down again, hitching the blanket closer around his shoulders - not closed, but closer to it - and finally just pulls his stupid pants down. He steps out of them, kicks them away, then slips the blanket off his shoulders so he can wrap it better around his waist.]
That's, uh, not what I meant.
[Then he looks up again, eyes flitting over Cayde's face before he moves back toward the bed.]
About the, um- I wouldn't ask you to rank that. I just, I meant the stupid strip tease thing.
[He takes a slow breath, slumping back against the wall and letting his shoulders hunch. He frowns, feeling ridiculous and mostly-naked and still exposed, feeling the afterimages of all the bullshit he just dug up still there in his head, settling now under a thin layer of embarrassment at not having been clear, having made himself look like a selfish shithead. He might not have meant to say that this disaster here and now, Akvos, that it was worse than any other horrible shit that's ever happened anywhere just because it's the one that's fucking his special little self up, but that's how he came off and Cayde didn't even get mad at him for it, and Hank can't even tell which part of any of that's the part that's making him feel like an asshole.
He clears his throat, he leans back, he raises his eyebrows and slaps some cheer up on his face. It's cheap cheer, dollar-store cheer, clearly fake and meant to look it. Where do you take a conversation after that? Hank's got no idea, but wherever it goes it's got to get there by acknowledging how stupid it is to try and go anywhere at all.]
So. How've you been?
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and things had gotten surprisingly honest, surprisingly raw. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, to know that he’d let his guard down enough to misinterpret so badly; not because of Hank, the man’s done nothing wrong, but because it means that he himself has to confront the fact that he’s apparently gotten so…what? Lonely isn’t the word, he’s definitely not lonely, but just for a moment there something had slipped.
And now it’s weird. He’s made it weird.]
Oh. [Eloquent.] Yeah, yeah, uh, right. Heh, looks like I got you good.
[Oh it’s a weak attempt at covering his own blunder, it sounds weak to his own ears, but damn if that isn’t what he’s going to stick with. Joking is easier than ‘hey, I know you’re going through some shit so sorry for bringing up even more shit that you really didn’t need to hear haha’.
Right. Okay. Hank’s moving, Hank’s clearing his throat, Hank’s grinning in that empty, fake way that’s so very obviously fake. The awkwardness continues, but fuck it, if Hank’s going to push through all of it like this then the very least Cayde can do is to go along with it. The bed feels a little off-limits, at least for the current moment, and so he seeks out Sumo for a distraction, gently coaxing the big ball of hair away from his dish with the promise of more scratches and attention. And so he finds himself sinking to the ground, sitting, fingers carding through warm fur to buy himself a little time.]
Awesome, just great! [His enthusiasm is definitely just as hollow as Hank’s cheer.] Nothin’ I love better than aggressively curious vines and stuff all over. You know, one of ‘em tried to get my piece away from me? Like hell I’m lettin’ some overgrown houseplant put its weird tentacles all over the Ace.
[He’s definitely rambling now, the words unfiltered and just spilling out until his brain finally pulls the plug on the torrent.]
…...okay, so. [He exhales, slumping forward to very carefully rest his forehead against Sumo’s shoulder.]
We really gonna do the small talk thing? I hate to say it, but I think we kinda suck at it right now.
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He tucks his hands under his arms,ducking his head and looking away, then glancing back with something friendly and rueful brushing at the corners of his mouth.]
Look, uh... I don’t remember, I think under the bed somewhere, there should be a bottle around here somewhere. Behind the bed, probably. That does loosen you up, right? Drinking? Does something to your... I don’t know, your circuits?
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[The reply may be slightly muffled by dog, but there’s still a weak twist of amusement to the words and after a moment Cayde looks up, resting his chin against Sumo’s shoulder as he continues to ply him with fingers absentmindedly scritching behind one ear.]
I’m supposed to be the one here makin’ sure you’re okay after all this, not the other way around.
[He can’t sound cross though, if anything it’s almost funny at this point. Sad, but funny. Sfunny.]
Not that I’m doing a good job at that, but heck, man. I’m not going to take your only booze. That’d be cruel and unusual, wouldn’t it?
[Joke. It’s a joke, as poor as one can be.]
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[His rueful smile tries to grow, a little. For a couple seconds, Hank just looks at him, thinking about how - wow, shocker - turns out Hank's not the only person in the whole world having emotions right about now.
So. Hank looks at him. And after he looks at him he goes on, and when he does his voice this time is clear and decisive.]
Come on, get up here. Get the bottle of bullshit, then get up here. I'm not gonna let someone who came over just to check up on my stupid ass sit on the damn floor. Bring Sumo if you want dog hair all in your, uh, everything, we'll make it a party.
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With a pat to one of Sumo’s haunches he pulls himself back and contemplates the best way forward. What that eventually becomes is a smooth slide across the floor until he’s able to unceremoniously shove his upper body under the bed and take a look around.]
I feel like this is just a ploy to get me to grab the thing so you don’t have to.
[There’s a little bit of laughter to his comment as he finally manages to scrabble around enough to get a hand on what he’s pretty certain is the bottle. Fuck it, hopefully that works. With a wriggle and a shimmy he manages to extract himself and toss the bottle up onto the mattress and pull himself up moments later. His cloak’s askew, there’s a smudge of dust along his breastplate, but he’s not even going to care. Fashion can wait until later.
One hand reaches to scrub at his face, a very human habit that he hasn’t quite lost, while the other nudges the bottle over in Hank’s direction.]
Sumo, c’mon. Three’s a party.
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[Hank watches him, eyeing that smudge on his breastplate. His eyes dart to Cayde's face and back again. It's- stupid. It's stupid. He doesn't even know if he'd want to brush it off so bad if it felt like he could actually do it.]
This thing's way too big to wear it like a toga, the less I move around the less chance I'm gonna accidentally flash Sumo. I'll let you take the first drink though, since you went through all that trouble so I can sit on my ass. Come on, Sumo, wanna hang out, buddy?
[It doesn't take a lot of encouraging to get Sumo to climb onto a bed, especially when there are people on it, so after a moment he heads their way. Hank thinks he should maybe steer Sumo to settle down between the two of them, just to make sure, but Cayde's already being so careful not to touch him and the idea of making that worse, it's- well, if Cayde feels like they need a dog between them he can do it, Sumo likes him. Hank scoots a little closer to the wall and leaves the rest up to fate.]
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[More humor, because it distracts from the weight of everything around them, from the fact that Hank’s all the way on the other end of the bed and things just feel weird between them. Physically and metaphysically, actually, but at least the former is solved with a giant furry body that wedges itself between them with a contented huff. Cayde’s grateful for the contact, it helps keep him grounded, but at the same time it’s alienating in a way that he’s not sure how to put into words.
If things hadn’t gone tits up, how would this be different? There’s a small, selfish part of him that wants to imagine that they’d be drinking to their success, shoulder to shoulder and laughing as they passed the bottle between them. He’s surprised to find how much he misses that, just the general closeness and camaraderie.
He tamps that down though, it isn’t the time or place for those kind of thoughts, and snags the bottle from where it lays on the bed. With a slight nod and a flourishing toast, he cracks it open, throws back his head, and does the honors. Whatever the booze is, it doesn’t taste the best, but it’s harsh against his palette and throat and that’s a good enough distraction from the rest of everything. Coughing, he carefully offers it over, his other hand reaching up to wipe away a few errant drops that’d spilled through his cheek struts.]
You sure this isn’t gonna blind anyone? Because, dang.
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[Hank half-smiles, self conscious, and grabs the bottle - careful to grip the end opposite Cayde’s hand - to take a drink that barely even makes him gasp anymore. Yeah, he knows it’s strong, but at the same time he’d kind of forgot, until he saw Cayde drink it just now, the way you ought to drink rot-gut like this.]
Guy who makes it says he knows what he’s doing and it hasn’t killed me yet, so.
[He shrugs, hesitates, wonders if they’re just drinking for something to do right now or drinking to get drunk, and holds the bottle back out anyway. If Cayde wants to go slower he can just keep the moonshine to himself for a while.]
Seriously though, what does drinking even do to you? I guess it does something, unless you weren’t being straight with me that first night we met, but how does that even work?
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[Rambling again, because it lets him stall and drag his heels on answering Hank’s actual question. Unfortunately the few moments he manages to buy himself don’t really help him come up with a suitable reply and so he just exhales slowly, letting his head fall back as he shoots an almost guilty grin over.]
That’s definitely a question. I can’t-
[If he still had lips they’d be pursed at the moment, but instead he settles for an annoyed flicker of the lights in his throat.]
It’s not like I can get shitfaced, believe me I’ve tried. Not on this type of stuff, at least. I’m a robot, remember?
[It’s the first time that he’s used the dreaded ‘r’ word to describe himself since arriving in the Circle. Hank’s one of the few people that haven’t made a huge deal about it, it feels a little more natural to talk about with him.]
That stuff back in, uh, the dream? That’s made for people like me, does something weird to the ol’ processors or something. The stuff we get here? Not as much, but there’s something there. Maybe it’s one of those psychosomatic things, I don’t know. Just feels like the right thing to do.
[He winks, reaching back over to playfully flick the side of the bottle in Hank’s hand with one finger.]
Besides, I was totally being straight and honest with you. You were a riot to hang out with, that’s the important part.
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[Hank's voice is low and amused, honestly relieved that he's got something as normal and comfortable to do with Cayde as give the guy shit about this. But that doesn't mean he can't show some sympathy.]
That sucks, though. This is, uh- kind of the only thing getting me through this fucking place.
[He smiles a little to make it sort of jokey, but honestly? He thinks he probably needs to put some clothes back on. Maybe it's being naked that's been making him feel like being so fucking honest. Which probably isn't the right impulse when he also feels like he wants to help Cayde feel - well, maybe not better, but less shitty. Hank can follow one of those two impulses, maybe, or neither of them, but he's pretty sure he can't have both.]
We got a lot of people who know about tech shit here, maybe we can figure something out. You remember anything about the stuff? Like, its chemical makeup or, you know, whatever?
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[It's the truth, he can't be blamed if the rules were never completely laid out properly. First rule of bets: take every advantage possible, and if that's giving half-truths then so be it.
But it's- worrying, worrying but understandable, to hear Hank admit that his drinking is what's helping him get by. To be honest, Cayde doesn't blame him in the slightest; being dragged from somewhere so particularly mundane must make all this Circle stuff look practically insane. In fact, Cayde's pretty sure that if he hadn't gone through things like this before back home he'd probably be taking it pretty similarly. In that way, Hank's strong. Strong in a sense that he's kept going, despite everything, even if he's leaning on something else to help him get by.
He's not going to judge. It's not his place. Something something glass houses.]
You do what you gotta do here, and screw anyone that wants to dispute that.
[His hand falls, his fingers winding in Sumo's fur as he absentmindedly pets along the dog's haunch.]
Like, really, I don't think anyone's gonna fault you. There's some weird shit here. And frankly? We all do stuff to get by. I don't think the techy people here are really focused on 'how do we get a robot drunk' though.
[It's a joke, and he winks again before casting his gaze downwards.]
Honestly though? We don't even have microwaves here, I'm thinkin' synthesizing stuff and all that science mumbo-jumbo is way out of reach. Maybe next world we go to will have some tech we can snag and try to steal back, make this place a little more comfortable.
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[His hand lifts and then stops as he catches himself, then starts up again to turn the aborted gesture into holding the bottle out toward Cayde again.]
What kinda stuff is it you do to get by, then, if you don't drink? Guess I could use a couple pointers.
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Me? I mean, we’re mostly out and about whenever our witch wants us to be, so I guess that’s enough to keep a guy busy. Back here? Me ‘nd-
[If it were possible for him to grimace he certainly would be.]
Me and the kid, Daylight, the missing one? We were makin’ a map of everything around here. Figure it could be useful in the future maybe? It’s something to do. Not sure if I’d recommend it though if you’re not a nature kinda guy, lotta mud and lotta running around.
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