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all of a sudden you're a hostage to things you thought you wanted
( open for messages, action, overflow. )
( open for messages, action, overflow. )
Hey, do you know how to work a shotgun?
[If you asked Dante, he would personally assert he was a great planner. Living on the run from age nine, you develop a sort of... improvisational skill that would make a college drama group weep.
Hotwiring a dipshit crime boss's car? Easy. Unlocking a cage door that he didn't even need to steal the keys too? Simple. Grabbing his little conversation buddy out of it in the middle of the day? Jackpot! Dante would be the first to admit he didn’t have a great idea of what came after that, but that was fine! ]
It should be in the back with you? Look under all the boxes, sorry I kinda threw all my junk in here before I picked you up.
[ He looks in the back, squinting to see if Four has even remembered to put his seatbelt on while Dante is speeding. Yeah, they might be on the run but that was the sort of fun that made life worth living. What's the point of hightailing it over to the next town if you aren't going to get into at least one car based firefight? ]
I stole that one from this bar ages ago. I'm thinking of calling it something sick like Coyote-A? Doesn’t feel fair to leave a gun without a cool name, even if I already have some pistols.
[If you asked Dante, he would personally assert he was a great planner. Living on the run from age nine, you develop a sort of... improvisational skill that would make a college drama group weep.
Hotwiring a dipshit crime boss's car? Easy. Unlocking a cage door that he didn't even need to steal the keys too? Simple. Grabbing his little conversation buddy out of it in the middle of the day? Jackpot! Dante would be the first to admit he didn’t have a great idea of what came after that, but that was fine! ]
It should be in the back with you? Look under all the boxes, sorry I kinda threw all my junk in here before I picked you up.
[ He looks in the back, squinting to see if Four has even remembered to put his seatbelt on while Dante is speeding. Yeah, they might be on the run but that was the sort of fun that made life worth living. What's the point of hightailing it over to the next town if you aren't going to get into at least one car based firefight? ]
I stole that one from this bar ages ago. I'm thinking of calling it something sick like Coyote-A? Doesn’t feel fair to leave a gun without a cool name, even if I already have some pistols.
No... ( that's what four says. and he means it. but he rummages around in the back anyway, picking up a gun and eying it with...well, with his usual impossible to read look. but he does look at it. a very slight pinch to his brow suggests something but what that is even four doesn't know. some buried memory, or rather, removed. a doll. for amusement. for pleasure if that's what the buyer sought. for novelty. not for protection or defense. anything superfluous was scoured out of him.
or it was supposed to be.
there's a slight sigh.
dante broke him out with so little problem, but that makes sense to four because he was the guard. if the guard changed sides or his mind, then what was there to stop him? but being freed is confusing to four more than a relief or a happiness. add to that whatever drug they run through his system — something to do with memories, something to do with how once you start taking it, you can't stop or you'll die — incapacitates him in some ways, he's not the best partner to have on the run.
but he's also not the worst.
four doesn't have his seatbelt on, but he moves closer to the window, gun in hand, trying to then turn more to peer out the back view to see if they're being followed — probable, since four wasn't a cheap buy. he sighs again. )
It's yours. You can name it or not name it as you please.
( the way four's hands adjust on the gun, it looks familiar even if his mind can't catch up to what his muscle memory provides. so far he doesn't see anyone in pursuit, but that probably won't last. )
Why did you...
( he trails off. but it's pretty obvious: why did you take me with you?
what's the point?
his head hurts. vaguely it occurs to him also that he has no clothes, just the plain shift that the traders put all their merchandise into to keep things simple. annoying. )
or it was supposed to be.
there's a slight sigh.
dante broke him out with so little problem, but that makes sense to four because he was the guard. if the guard changed sides or his mind, then what was there to stop him? but being freed is confusing to four more than a relief or a happiness. add to that whatever drug they run through his system — something to do with memories, something to do with how once you start taking it, you can't stop or you'll die — incapacitates him in some ways, he's not the best partner to have on the run.
but he's also not the worst.
four doesn't have his seatbelt on, but he moves closer to the window, gun in hand, trying to then turn more to peer out the back view to see if they're being followed — probable, since four wasn't a cheap buy. he sighs again. )
It's yours. You can name it or not name it as you please.
( the way four's hands adjust on the gun, it looks familiar even if his mind can't catch up to what his muscle memory provides. so far he doesn't see anyone in pursuit, but that probably won't last. )
Why did you...
( he trails off. but it's pretty obvious: why did you take me with you?
what's the point?
his head hurts. vaguely it occurs to him also that he has no clothes, just the plain shift that the traders put all their merchandise into to keep things simple. annoying. )
Why did I name it that? Pretty simple, the A in Coyote-A stands for Ace.
[ Dante effortlessly evades the question Four can't bring himself to voice. He's glad, because he hardly wants to explain it, or even think about it. He just did it, didn't he? No point in pondering the implications, he's shallower then a dish of water, he is.
Dante doesn't even look back at Four again, just reaching up to adjust the mirror and focus on the car following them. Just one for now, but Dante is sure they might have sent another to cut them off further up ahead. That's what he would think to do!]
Like ace in the hole! Which is what you can be, if you could pretty please shoot the tires out from that great looking car when it gets close to us.
[ Four seems to be picking up the gist of a gun better then Dante ever dreamed (unfair really, he had to spend so much time as a wee kiddo fucking up his wrists till he understood the basics). ]
Oh and buckle up, dammit. If you go through the windshield, I'll cry.
[ Dante effortlessly evades the question Four can't bring himself to voice. He's glad, because he hardly wants to explain it, or even think about it. He just did it, didn't he? No point in pondering the implications, he's shallower then a dish of water, he is.
Dante doesn't even look back at Four again, just reaching up to adjust the mirror and focus on the car following them. Just one for now, but Dante is sure they might have sent another to cut them off further up ahead. That's what he would think to do!]
Like ace in the hole! Which is what you can be, if you could pretty please shoot the tires out from that great looking car when it gets close to us.
[ Four seems to be picking up the gist of a gun better then Dante ever dreamed (unfair really, he had to spend so much time as a wee kiddo fucking up his wrists till he understood the basics). ]
Oh and buckle up, dammit. If you go through the windshield, I'll cry.
( . . .
four, predictably, doesn't respond to dante's explanation, though he does think to himself: that was unnecessary. his hands don't go for the seatbelt at all despite dante's promise/threat to cry if four goes slingshotting out of the window. instead, he tentatively peers out only to dodge back in when, sure enough, shots are fired their way.
there's no sound from four, not a startled yell or even a yelp. even his expression hasn't changed yet, just a soft sigh. he settles for peering over the backseats through the window, waiting until he can tell the car is pulling up with them. )
I might miss.
( an unintentionally cocky warning, though it's only in words. his tone stays fairly deadpan as his body seems to fulfill what his hands did moments ago: remembering where four's mind can't. the angle he gets himself in through the window with the gun is optimal, and, it's four clean shots: two for the front, two for the back. it sends the car skidding angled back and harshly into the guardrail of the bridge they've just started.
nice if it were that easy, but the traders that picked four up aren't that small time.
in the distance, four can tell there's more in pursuit. offhand, he'd say... )
Three more. I think.
( it's five actually! but the other two aren't visible yet. four readjusts his hold on the gun and asks, not picking his timing well at all, )
...why did you take me with you?
four, predictably, doesn't respond to dante's explanation, though he does think to himself: that was unnecessary. his hands don't go for the seatbelt at all despite dante's promise/threat to cry if four goes slingshotting out of the window. instead, he tentatively peers out only to dodge back in when, sure enough, shots are fired their way.
there's no sound from four, not a startled yell or even a yelp. even his expression hasn't changed yet, just a soft sigh. he settles for peering over the backseats through the window, waiting until he can tell the car is pulling up with them. )
I might miss.
( an unintentionally cocky warning, though it's only in words. his tone stays fairly deadpan as his body seems to fulfill what his hands did moments ago: remembering where four's mind can't. the angle he gets himself in through the window with the gun is optimal, and, it's four clean shots: two for the front, two for the back. it sends the car skidding angled back and harshly into the guardrail of the bridge they've just started.
nice if it were that easy, but the traders that picked four up aren't that small time.
in the distance, four can tell there's more in pursuit. offhand, he'd say... )
Three more. I think.
( it's five actually! but the other two aren't visible yet. four readjusts his hold on the gun and asks, not picking his timing well at all, )
...why did you take me with you?
Woaaah! Bullseye!!! Where did they get you, huh?
[ Dante takes both hands off the wheel and completely looks away from the road to look at the firey carnage. Coyote-A is a damn good gun, better after Dante dragged her over to some people that could put some real oomf in her, but taking a car down with that level of percision is not Dante's usual MO. Did they load up Four with military training during his...whatever had happened to him?]
Three? Fuck, seriously! You're going to need more bullets...did I pack the shotgun shells?
[ The backseat Four had been dumped into is a mess of old cardboard boxes and pizza containers with records jammed into them. Dante's sword is rattling around there somewhere, along with some crusty gemstone laden artifacts, a strawberry yogurt container and a few old books. Somewhere in that mess, there should be a few ammo containers. Dante wouldn't forget to grab those...probably. ]
Take you? [ Dante spins back around to look at the road. Maybe Four has spent enough time with him to see the nervous way Dante spins his hand around, fiddling with nothing as he chatters. ]
My brother showed up! He's got this whole plan, some tower thing one city over, he crashed my apartment! I have to go kick his ass, you know, win our dick measuring contest. I can't be babysitting you all day anymore.
Anyway, isn't slavery awful? We live in such a messed up world!
[ Dante takes both hands off the wheel and completely looks away from the road to look at the firey carnage. Coyote-A is a damn good gun, better after Dante dragged her over to some people that could put some real oomf in her, but taking a car down with that level of percision is not Dante's usual MO. Did they load up Four with military training during his...whatever had happened to him?]
Three? Fuck, seriously! You're going to need more bullets...did I pack the shotgun shells?
[ The backseat Four had been dumped into is a mess of old cardboard boxes and pizza containers with records jammed into them. Dante's sword is rattling around there somewhere, along with some crusty gemstone laden artifacts, a strawberry yogurt container and a few old books. Somewhere in that mess, there should be a few ammo containers. Dante wouldn't forget to grab those...probably. ]
Take you? [ Dante spins back around to look at the road. Maybe Four has spent enough time with him to see the nervous way Dante spins his hand around, fiddling with nothing as he chatters. ]
My brother showed up! He's got this whole plan, some tower thing one city over, he crashed my apartment! I have to go kick his ass, you know, win our dick measuring contest. I can't be babysitting you all day anymore.
Anyway, isn't slavery awful? We live in such a messed up world!
Mm. ( impossible to tell if that is a yes or a no or a maybe from four, but he begins rooting through the curious amalgamation of things in the backseat, pausing at the books before remembering to continue. he does find them, though his mind stops for a second: how?
that's when one of the three pursuers takes a shot. well. several. fortunately for dante and four, all of them miss, and perhaps more fortunately, the sound of being fired at flips the switch in four's muscle memory again, gun reloaded and no longer thought about. he remembers dante asking him a question but not what it was, distracted by his answer regarding his brother and the oddly casual statement on slavery. yes, four supposes it is fairly messed up.
the other three cars seem to have learned from their predecessor and don't get that much closer, which means four has to lean himself out of the window, justifying his lack of a seatbelt (?) )
I don't understand your motivation.
( four fires again, buried training and conditioning equalling a formidable sense of timing, aim, and other things. even at this angle, he nails the front left tire of one, which is enough to send 1/3 swerving.
sadly it doesn't hit any of the other cars, so they've still got a tail of minimum two — one of which takes another shot. this one's closer; grazes four's face. you wouldn't know it to look at him though. his expression doesn't change, only his eyes flickering as he briefly pulls back into the car, not to assess his own minor damage but to peer out through the back window again before moving to the other side of the car and running that window down instead. )
that's when one of the three pursuers takes a shot. well. several. fortunately for dante and four, all of them miss, and perhaps more fortunately, the sound of being fired at flips the switch in four's muscle memory again, gun reloaded and no longer thought about. he remembers dante asking him a question but not what it was, distracted by his answer regarding his brother and the oddly casual statement on slavery. yes, four supposes it is fairly messed up.
the other three cars seem to have learned from their predecessor and don't get that much closer, which means four has to lean himself out of the window, justifying his lack of a seatbelt (?) )
I don't understand your motivation.
( four fires again, buried training and conditioning equalling a formidable sense of timing, aim, and other things. even at this angle, he nails the front left tire of one, which is enough to send 1/3 swerving.
sadly it doesn't hit any of the other cars, so they've still got a tail of minimum two — one of which takes another shot. this one's closer; grazes four's face. you wouldn't know it to look at him though. his expression doesn't change, only his eyes flickering as he briefly pulls back into the car, not to assess his own minor damage but to peer out through the back window again before moving to the other side of the car and running that window down instead. )
[ Four may not let out a sound when the bullet grazes him but Dante stiffens on the all to familiar smell of blood. There's not exactly time to stop and check the status of his passenger so Dante hooks the wheel behind his arm as he swears and digs around his coat for a pistol. The shots he sends back at the car approaching them are wild, Ebony lacks the power to really put a car out of business. They hit the passenger side windshield and the car slows long enough for Dante to shake his gun at Four. ]
You better not be playing risky, you idiot. [ Is he fretting? No way. Dante would never fret. ] I don't have time to bail you out! Geez...
[ Another round of shots from the other car makes him cut off his half-assed caring. The steering and gas both seem fine, Dante is keeping a pretty good speed but he's pretty sure one of the tires is loosing air. Better finish this fast.
Still, he can't stop being distracted by Four's questions, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel with a surplus of energy.]
Who are you, my brother? Do I need a freaking motivation? [ Four's words sting an unexpected nerve. It's not so different from what his brother said before he stabbed Dante right through the heart. What is Dante supposed to say, huh? My heart just said I should take you along. I felt bad. Bad things were going to happen to you, and I was playing along. You weren't paying attention, surely, but I blabbed all my secrets to you. You don't have anything, so its fine if I take you along ]
I just wanted too, man.
You better not be playing risky, you idiot. [ Is he fretting? No way. Dante would never fret. ] I don't have time to bail you out! Geez...
[ Another round of shots from the other car makes him cut off his half-assed caring. The steering and gas both seem fine, Dante is keeping a pretty good speed but he's pretty sure one of the tires is loosing air. Better finish this fast.
Still, he can't stop being distracted by Four's questions, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel with a surplus of energy.]
Who are you, my brother? Do I need a freaking motivation? [ Four's words sting an unexpected nerve. It's not so different from what his brother said before he stabbed Dante right through the heart. What is Dante supposed to say, huh? My heart just said I should take you along. I felt bad. Bad things were going to happen to you, and I was playing along. You weren't paying attention, surely, but I blabbed all my secrets to you. You don't have anything, so its fine if I take you along ]
I just wanted too, man.
No. ( the answer comes toneless, because no, dante doesn't need a motivation. in a way, four is surprised at himself for even asking. it is enough that dante did it at all, more than four would have expected of anyone or thought himself worth of. he readjusts his position in the window, firing a couple more eerily acute shots. the other cars are recovered enough from dante's wild firing that they are again close enough or the people are loud enough that cursing and threats can be heard. predictably, four shows no feeling about this. )
Does the car go any faster?
( without feeling. without urgency. barely a question. four leans farther out of the window, lithe body allowing this with ease and some inexplicable flexibility and surprising core strength. he takes a shot that nails one tire, and then another, the second. it's all on the other car's right side, so it veers and half flips.
it's all pretty fast but long enough that when the remaining car's passengers take their own shots, one of them hits four again. four counts it as lucky because it goes right through, but there's the softest sound of pain as he retreats into the car. dante's hands are undoubtedly full with driving the getaway but if he does look back, he'll see four in a kind of trance, autopilot, tearing a strip of the hem of his long shift they'd kept the slaves in, using it to bind his upper arm tightly with what might be a stray popsicle stick or some other random piece of something. then he flexes the hand of the same arm and seems satisfied before picking the gun back up again.
sweat breaks out across his pale skin, which looks a little paler even than usual. but being task oriented is a strength and a weakness. only the smallest wince as he angles through the window again, though not leaning so far out anymore.
dante took him because...he wanted to?
why does that sentiment hurt?
or...is it scary?
four can't figure it out, but he knows a debt. he will repay it as best he can in aiding the getaway dante likely would not be stuck in if it weren't for four in the first place. )
Does the car go any faster?
( without feeling. without urgency. barely a question. four leans farther out of the window, lithe body allowing this with ease and some inexplicable flexibility and surprising core strength. he takes a shot that nails one tire, and then another, the second. it's all on the other car's right side, so it veers and half flips.
it's all pretty fast but long enough that when the remaining car's passengers take their own shots, one of them hits four again. four counts it as lucky because it goes right through, but there's the softest sound of pain as he retreats into the car. dante's hands are undoubtedly full with driving the getaway but if he does look back, he'll see four in a kind of trance, autopilot, tearing a strip of the hem of his long shift they'd kept the slaves in, using it to bind his upper arm tightly with what might be a stray popsicle stick or some other random piece of something. then he flexes the hand of the same arm and seems satisfied before picking the gun back up again.
sweat breaks out across his pale skin, which looks a little paler even than usual. but being task oriented is a strength and a weakness. only the smallest wince as he angles through the window again, though not leaning so far out anymore.
dante took him because...he wanted to?
why does that sentiment hurt?
or...is it scary?
four can't figure it out, but he knows a debt. he will repay it as best he can in aiding the getaway dante likely would not be stuck in if it weren't for four in the first place. )
My apologies, princess. We're pretty limited by the fact those bozo's just shot out our tire rim.
[ Dante's doing a pretty good job holding onto the wheel, but both of them can feel the lurch as the car is increasingly starting to drift without proper alignment. There's only so many bullets the car (and Four) can take before they just have to give up.
One car left, and the smell of blood in the car is really making Dante's skin prickle. He's never liked how it made him feel, a weird sensation between nausea and hunger. Man, he's not thinking about this. He's fucked up enough without analyzing if some part of him wants to eat his buddies.
He does look back, clicking his tongue with an uncharacteristically serious expression as he scans the remaining car and Four's state of injury. He gets the sense (and don't say Dante isn't half clever!), that Four is probably not putting his safety first in this little hoe down. He puts the gun down on the seat beside him as he leans over to roll down his window. ]
I'm getting real sick of this. Hey, Four- [ Keeping his foot on the gas, he leans back to wrap a hand around the back of Four's shirt. ] Let's blow this joint.
[ It's a good thing maybe, that Four didn't buckle up. It makes it loads easier for Dante to kick the door open in one smooth motion, dragging Four behind him. The car, left spinning by one last flick of the wheel, follows its own inertia to slam back into the rapidly approaching final car.
Dante himself takes the opportunity to do a flip before landing on the highway. ]
[ Dante's doing a pretty good job holding onto the wheel, but both of them can feel the lurch as the car is increasingly starting to drift without proper alignment. There's only so many bullets the car (and Four) can take before they just have to give up.
One car left, and the smell of blood in the car is really making Dante's skin prickle. He's never liked how it made him feel, a weird sensation between nausea and hunger. Man, he's not thinking about this. He's fucked up enough without analyzing if some part of him wants to eat his buddies.
He does look back, clicking his tongue with an uncharacteristically serious expression as he scans the remaining car and Four's state of injury. He gets the sense (and don't say Dante isn't half clever!), that Four is probably not putting his safety first in this little hoe down. He puts the gun down on the seat beside him as he leans over to roll down his window. ]
I'm getting real sick of this. Hey, Four- [ Keeping his foot on the gas, he leans back to wrap a hand around the back of Four's shirt. ] Let's blow this joint.
[ It's a good thing maybe, that Four didn't buckle up. It makes it loads easier for Dante to kick the door open in one smooth motion, dragging Four behind him. The car, left spinning by one last flick of the wheel, follows its own inertia to slam back into the rapidly approaching final car.
Dante himself takes the opportunity to do a flip before landing on the highway. ]
What —
( the startled noise from four is the most human sound he's ever made in front of dante, probably. he's light, enough so that the force with which dante yanks him forward and out of the car makes his head spin tenfold and not just from the flip. maybe some of the bloodloss catches up to him too, but he doesn't factor that in just yet. vaguely he's aware of their last pursuer going up in flames, which is convenient now that they too are without a car and four doesn't feel like he can run very fast if at all.
in fact, he's gone momentarily slack in dante's hold, trying to reorient himself with not much success, incredibly dizzy. his words come out softly even so, on the threshold of gasps. blood has completely soaked through the fabric he tied around his upper arm and between that and the gash across his face, the smell of it is overwhelming. the only thing that competes is the smoke from the fire. )
What...what now?
( the startled noise from four is the most human sound he's ever made in front of dante, probably. he's light, enough so that the force with which dante yanks him forward and out of the car makes his head spin tenfold and not just from the flip. maybe some of the bloodloss catches up to him too, but he doesn't factor that in just yet. vaguely he's aware of their last pursuer going up in flames, which is convenient now that they too are without a car and four doesn't feel like he can run very fast if at all.
in fact, he's gone momentarily slack in dante's hold, trying to reorient himself with not much success, incredibly dizzy. his words come out softly even so, on the threshold of gasps. blood has completely soaked through the fabric he tied around his upper arm and between that and the gash across his face, the smell of it is overwhelming. the only thing that competes is the smoke from the fire. )
What...what now?
Jackpot! That's what I'm talking about!
I would love to say Dante has the thought to put his injured friend down on the street carefully, but he just sort of drops him. A bit of Four's blood has gotten on his hand, and he very empathetically tries to shake it off before he can do something embarrassing. ]
Well. [ Dante puts his hands on his hips as he surveys the wreckage before them. God, they are so cool. What a team! ] I guess it's either hitchhiking or we just walk? Unless...
[ Well Four is no longer trapped in a car. He could run off now, and Dante is pretty sure in all the chaos they've caused it would be pretty feasible to escape into the woods? No need to stick with Dante if he doesn't want to...
He opens his mouth to say something, maybe do the mature thing and tell Four to fuck off but his gaze rests on the car they were driving and he stiffens. ]
...Crap, my stuff! Hold on - I gotta do something! My sword was in there! [ And his guns, and his limited edition records! The wreckage of the car isn't far, but Dante seems unharried by the raging inferno, instead trying to stick his hand right into it and grab something. ]
I would love to say Dante has the thought to put his injured friend down on the street carefully, but he just sort of drops him. A bit of Four's blood has gotten on his hand, and he very empathetically tries to shake it off before he can do something embarrassing. ]
Well. [ Dante puts his hands on his hips as he surveys the wreckage before them. God, they are so cool. What a team! ] I guess it's either hitchhiking or we just walk? Unless...
[ Well Four is no longer trapped in a car. He could run off now, and Dante is pretty sure in all the chaos they've caused it would be pretty feasible to escape into the woods? No need to stick with Dante if he doesn't want to...
He opens his mouth to say something, maybe do the mature thing and tell Four to fuck off but his gaze rests on the car they were driving and he stiffens. ]
...Crap, my stuff! Hold on - I gotta do something! My sword was in there! [ And his guns, and his limited edition records! The wreckage of the car isn't far, but Dante seems unharried by the raging inferno, instead trying to stick his hand right into it and grab something. ]
( someone else might be offended or even amused. four just picks himself up off the ground, a minor struggle, seeming caught between going after dante and just staying where he is. he'd had the thought before dante broke him out, that dante was not necessarily the most sane of people he's met. but his choices being what they were, following him was easier at the time more than explaining how someone could be resigned to their fate as a slave, scoured clean of anything that was once actually theirs.
dante seems to have a lot of things. this is the thought that goes through his head, quickly overtaken by four's first show of some greater emotion: confusion.
though his memories are erased, it isn't just a keen eye and practical application four has for shooting; it's his body as well despite its lithe and deceptively slight frame.
even so, he does not stick his own hand into the fire, walking slowly until he's sort of a few feet behind dante, staring. )
...I didn't see any first aid kits in the back. Won't your hand burn?
( his tone is no different than usual, which might be comedic to a passerby if there were any. or it might be alarming. probably alarming. anyway, any kits are surely incinerated already. dante's sword must be made of stronger stuff obviously, though four isn't sure what else he's trying to salvage, ducking himself to the side a little as part of the rupturing car flies off and narrowly misses taking his head off. )
dante seems to have a lot of things. this is the thought that goes through his head, quickly overtaken by four's first show of some greater emotion: confusion.
though his memories are erased, it isn't just a keen eye and practical application four has for shooting; it's his body as well despite its lithe and deceptively slight frame.
even so, he does not stick his own hand into the fire, walking slowly until he's sort of a few feet behind dante, staring. )
...I didn't see any first aid kits in the back. Won't your hand burn?
( his tone is no different than usual, which might be comedic to a passerby if there were any. or it might be alarming. probably alarming. anyway, any kits are surely incinerated already. dante's sword must be made of stronger stuff obviously, though four isn't sure what else he's trying to salvage, ducking himself to the side a little as part of the rupturing car flies off and narrowly misses taking his head off. )
Oh, yeah. Sure it will.
[ A smoldering pizza box gets tossed backwards towards Four, and then Dante's other pistol, and a single book that survived the initial burn. The sword is deeper in, probably burning hot to the touch and Dante sighs as he leans back to shrug off his distinctive red coat. ]
You and I are probably a lot more similar then you wanna think, Mr. super soldier~ [ He waves a seemingly fine hand at Four with a grin. ] I dunno what lab they made you in, but my brother and I are tough as nails.
[ Anyway, back to fishing out the important stuff, like the gun Four was using (banged up but fine) and trying to shove himself into a fire to grab that sword. The car is collapsing in on itself, scratching and burning as Dante brute forces his way in. It's only when Dante's hands are barely touching the hilt of the sword that he hears a weak groan... ]
Damn it... [ He waves his free hand to get Four's attention. ] Hey Four! How do we feel about letting slavers die in car fires? I feel kinda bad?
[ A smoldering pizza box gets tossed backwards towards Four, and then Dante's other pistol, and a single book that survived the initial burn. The sword is deeper in, probably burning hot to the touch and Dante sighs as he leans back to shrug off his distinctive red coat. ]
You and I are probably a lot more similar then you wanna think, Mr. super soldier~ [ He waves a seemingly fine hand at Four with a grin. ] I dunno what lab they made you in, but my brother and I are tough as nails.
[ Anyway, back to fishing out the important stuff, like the gun Four was using (banged up but fine) and trying to shove himself into a fire to grab that sword. The car is collapsing in on itself, scratching and burning as Dante brute forces his way in. It's only when Dante's hands are barely touching the hilt of the sword that he hears a weak groan... ]
Damn it... [ He waves his free hand to get Four's attention. ] Hey Four! How do we feel about letting slavers die in car fires? I feel kinda bad?
( that's...surprising. but also a relief. four doesn't have any training in caring for burns that he can recall -- unless it would wake up inside him like a memoryless disease like wielding a gun. his mind swims back and forth over the question of where he was made, or rather, remade, but no answer is provided. not that he expected one to be anywhere in him, or that would defeat some of the purpose of his makers, he supposes. but even enhanced as he is, he isn't overly inclined to stick his own hand into the fire. so he stands out of the way as dante fishes through more things, careful to avoid any stray bits of blown off car and everything else. he ducks again as he answers, )
I don't feel bad. Are we saving them?
( he does not sound like he wants them to suffer either. it is simply that he does not care either way, after perusing his feelings it's difficult to say he feels at all, is the thing. like that was somehow conveniently removed from him too to make him a better merchandise. )
I don't feel bad. Are we saving them?
( he does not sound like he wants them to suffer either. it is simply that he does not care either way, after perusing his feelings it's difficult to say he feels at all, is the thing. like that was somehow conveniently removed from him too to make him a better merchandise. )
Well he could be like me, a poor ne'er-do-well. Couldn't help his shitty career choice - we've all been there.
[ He pulls the sword to where he can get it better later, and then gets the still living guy by the scruff as he starts to pull. ]
Or he could be a total shithead who kicks puppies and you and like a million babies, who's gonna ruin our day when he wakes up.
[ Dante pulls the somewhat living body from the car, turning to face Four again with his back to the flame. He worries his tongue over his teeth as he meets Four's eyes. ]
Do you really not give a shit at all? You were shooting at them, I kinda thought you might want revenge.
[ He pulls the sword to where he can get it better later, and then gets the still living guy by the scruff as he starts to pull. ]
Or he could be a total shithead who kicks puppies and you and like a million babies, who's gonna ruin our day when he wakes up.
[ Dante pulls the somewhat living body from the car, turning to face Four again with his back to the flame. He worries his tongue over his teeth as he meets Four's eyes. ]
Do you really not give a shit at all? You were shooting at them, I kinda thought you might want revenge.
It seemed like the logical thing to do.
( ice cold in contrast with the fire, to be sure. he blinks, not even intending an iota of how unfeeling that must sound. the only slightly off thing about four, really, is how his breaths aren't as silent and therefore even as normal; injuries slowly taking a toll. not that he acknowledges them.
rather, he moves his gaze from the not-dead-yet body back to dante, confused. )
...anyway, I don't understand. Are you bringing him?
( as it seems just leaving him here even outside of the flaming car, will likely spell death without any assistance... )
( ice cold in contrast with the fire, to be sure. he blinks, not even intending an iota of how unfeeling that must sound. the only slightly off thing about four, really, is how his breaths aren't as silent and therefore even as normal; injuries slowly taking a toll. not that he acknowledges them.
rather, he moves his gaze from the not-dead-yet body back to dante, confused. )
...anyway, I don't understand. Are you bringing him?
( as it seems just leaving him here even outside of the flaming car, will likely spell death without any assistance... )
( cont. from here )
[ It's a spectacularly stupid idea, and Elan can't get it out of his mind.
A few weeks have passed since Four sent him that second "thank you." Elan wasn't sure what acknowledgement of his semi-retaliatory shopping spree he'd been expecting, but something so simple, without any questions about its purpose or price, had -- well, pleasantly surprised him. He'd read it as a confirmation of what he'd thought was obvious: Four did like books. In spite of himself, Four did like -- find interest in -- things. (Like he wouldn't! Four might be a clone, but he's still a person!)
And Elan might be a CEO waiting in the wings, but he's a person, too -- a bored, restless person who's rarely had the opportunity to be in his comfort zone, much less know what it is. He just knows what it isn't: Four stinky, sweaty ladies wearing matching outfits who make him speak for them when the time is right. The cash and the freedom to tinker with their scientific operations is the only thing that makes it worth it.
One morning, the desire to just leave becomes irrepressible. Elan's never gone to school. Today, he's going to go to school.
It's child's play to mock up some fake identification with all the access he's been given to Peil's systems. The bribes -- to some choice Peil operatives and a couple people at Asticassia itself -- are a piece of cake, too. The fun part is the costume: Elan bleaches his hair a warmer blonde for the occasion (harder than it looks from the video tutorials), slips into a replica of the Asticassia Academy uniform, slaps some glasses (silver) over colored contacts (blue), and doesn't bother with the make-up for once. No one should be able to tell who he is with skin that pale and eye bags that designer.
The best part is how obsessed with the school Elan feels the second he gets there: A tiny, bustling metropolis unto itself. He makes sure to walk in a way that's less commanding than he's in the habit of projecting, and that gives him the opportunity to enjoy all the cool plants. (He should buy some.) Finally, he arrives at his destination: The Peil dormitories. It takes him no time find Four's door and give it a couple loud knocks. Absently, he wonders what others will think when they see someone's paying Four a visit. Wait, he has a friend? Is that a relative?
As soon as Four opens the door, Elan's got that trademark cheeky smile plastered on his face. ]
You're welcome~ No idea what any of it means but Being and Nothingness sure sounded like something you'd be into.
[ It's a spectacularly stupid idea, and Elan can't get it out of his mind.
A few weeks have passed since Four sent him that second "thank you." Elan wasn't sure what acknowledgement of his semi-retaliatory shopping spree he'd been expecting, but something so simple, without any questions about its purpose or price, had -- well, pleasantly surprised him. He'd read it as a confirmation of what he'd thought was obvious: Four did like books. In spite of himself, Four did like -- find interest in -- things. (Like he wouldn't! Four might be a clone, but he's still a person!)
And Elan might be a CEO waiting in the wings, but he's a person, too -- a bored, restless person who's rarely had the opportunity to be in his comfort zone, much less know what it is. He just knows what it isn't: Four stinky, sweaty ladies wearing matching outfits who make him speak for them when the time is right. The cash and the freedom to tinker with their scientific operations is the only thing that makes it worth it.
One morning, the desire to just leave becomes irrepressible. Elan's never gone to school. Today, he's going to go to school.
It's child's play to mock up some fake identification with all the access he's been given to Peil's systems. The bribes -- to some choice Peil operatives and a couple people at Asticassia itself -- are a piece of cake, too. The fun part is the costume: Elan bleaches his hair a warmer blonde for the occasion (harder than it looks from the video tutorials), slips into a replica of the Asticassia Academy uniform, slaps some glasses (silver) over colored contacts (blue), and doesn't bother with the make-up for once. No one should be able to tell who he is with skin that pale and eye bags that designer.
The best part is how obsessed with the school Elan feels the second he gets there: A tiny, bustling metropolis unto itself. He makes sure to walk in a way that's less commanding than he's in the habit of projecting, and that gives him the opportunity to enjoy all the cool plants. (He should buy some.) Finally, he arrives at his destination: The Peil dormitories. It takes him no time find Four's door and give it a couple loud knocks. Absently, he wonders what others will think when they see someone's paying Four a visit. Wait, he has a friend? Is that a relative?
As soon as Four opens the door, Elan's got that trademark cheeky smile plastered on his face. ]
You're welcome~ No idea what any of it means but Being and Nothingness sure sounded like something you'd be into.
( the last thing that four expects is for elan ceres to show up at the peil house dormitories, and for obvious reasons. suffice to say it never occurs to him that elan ceres would show up by donning a disguise; more likely in four's head that he would not come at all.
at first, when the door opens, he does not recognize him.
it's not that the changes are all that dramatic per se, but as someone well acquainted with the face that he himself wears, it's startling once he realizes. this is all happens within mere seconds, but to four it feels like time slows down and expands in a truly bizarre fashion. more unsettling still: seeing the actual elan ceres like this only makes four wonder what he himself looked like. was his hair lighter? the color of his eyes? was his vision poor? was more of how he looks now closer to the same than he could ever guess? pointless questions. childish questions. they end up neatly boxed and placed away with the others as four inclines his head briefly and steps aside to let elan ceres in.
there are already a few people in the hall casting less than subtle glances in their direction. he doesn't want to have to deal with it, honestly. )
Please come in.
( a polite request, quiet and mild mannered and every imagined iota four down the the last. the books have been promoted from stacks on four's desk to being properly lined up, held together by their own perfect balance rather than bookends, which four would never ask for. the room otherwise is devoid of things. even the bed looks strangely sterile, as neatly made as a picture. the chair by the desk evidences itself slightly askew though, signs of life if ever there were any, as well as four's handbook actually on the desk, the low burgeon of light a reminder that he's still got messages to field from peil.
there's something like an itch under his collar, beneath the fall of his cravat: he wants to ask why elan ceres did this. it is not as though four needs bribery to do his job, indeed what he reputedly agreed to however long ago. it is not as if elan ceres owes him. it is not as if anything. but maybe it isn't so complicated. sometimes when elan ceres messages him, the boredom a considerable presence, four wonders if he's so restless why not do something else? he is his own person is he not? but again he can't ask, or feels he should not. could that boredom be the sole and root reason for the gift of thirty books? they aren't cheap; four knows. with the long-ago digitization of most things, with the near decimation of resources, paper books are luxuries.
four, it seems, is an avid reader to his own surprise and not to that of elan ceres.
he doesn't understand much of what he consumes but he does consume it, over and over, voracious in a manner many would never associate with him.
his handbook goes off again; peil. likely to follow with him on the checkup he had not long ago: how often does it hurt? when does the permet score flare outside of the mobile suit? heartbeat. lung capacity. muscle retainment or deterioration. endurance. reaction time. sleeping? eating? the list goes on. just the thought of it is tiresome. it's not lost on him that when he started, if he reported discomfort, they never did anything about it. yet even now, he doesn't lie; they'll be able to tell from his reactions and all their machines; he just has little to no expectations. a pointless conversation if ever there was one, often littered with belmeria winston's half-there, half-nowhere concerns.
so, for now, he ignores it. elan ceres is also peil, and he is in front of him.
speaking of which, )
If you would like to sit, please do so.
( despite formality and politeness, four doesn't consider it niceness by a longshot. it's easier, he's found in his time at school, to use that general way of behavior as an arm's length barrier. it also offers a guide in how to function at all, if or when he's at a loss, thrown for a loop by a transfer student's kindness or his not-boss's decision to surprise him not once, but twice.
and counting.
four himself does not sit, stays standing close to the desk, as if in some kind of curious gravitational pull with the books standing quiet and strangely adored just beside him.)
at first, when the door opens, he does not recognize him.
it's not that the changes are all that dramatic per se, but as someone well acquainted with the face that he himself wears, it's startling once he realizes. this is all happens within mere seconds, but to four it feels like time slows down and expands in a truly bizarre fashion. more unsettling still: seeing the actual elan ceres like this only makes four wonder what he himself looked like. was his hair lighter? the color of his eyes? was his vision poor? was more of how he looks now closer to the same than he could ever guess? pointless questions. childish questions. they end up neatly boxed and placed away with the others as four inclines his head briefly and steps aside to let elan ceres in.
there are already a few people in the hall casting less than subtle glances in their direction. he doesn't want to have to deal with it, honestly. )
Please come in.
( a polite request, quiet and mild mannered and every imagined iota four down the the last. the books have been promoted from stacks on four's desk to being properly lined up, held together by their own perfect balance rather than bookends, which four would never ask for. the room otherwise is devoid of things. even the bed looks strangely sterile, as neatly made as a picture. the chair by the desk evidences itself slightly askew though, signs of life if ever there were any, as well as four's handbook actually on the desk, the low burgeon of light a reminder that he's still got messages to field from peil.
there's something like an itch under his collar, beneath the fall of his cravat: he wants to ask why elan ceres did this. it is not as though four needs bribery to do his job, indeed what he reputedly agreed to however long ago. it is not as if elan ceres owes him. it is not as if anything. but maybe it isn't so complicated. sometimes when elan ceres messages him, the boredom a considerable presence, four wonders if he's so restless why not do something else? he is his own person is he not? but again he can't ask, or feels he should not. could that boredom be the sole and root reason for the gift of thirty books? they aren't cheap; four knows. with the long-ago digitization of most things, with the near decimation of resources, paper books are luxuries.
four, it seems, is an avid reader to his own surprise and not to that of elan ceres.
he doesn't understand much of what he consumes but he does consume it, over and over, voracious in a manner many would never associate with him.
his handbook goes off again; peil. likely to follow with him on the checkup he had not long ago: how often does it hurt? when does the permet score flare outside of the mobile suit? heartbeat. lung capacity. muscle retainment or deterioration. endurance. reaction time. sleeping? eating? the list goes on. just the thought of it is tiresome. it's not lost on him that when he started, if he reported discomfort, they never did anything about it. yet even now, he doesn't lie; they'll be able to tell from his reactions and all their machines; he just has little to no expectations. a pointless conversation if ever there was one, often littered with belmeria winston's half-there, half-nowhere concerns.
so, for now, he ignores it. elan ceres is also peil, and he is in front of him.
speaking of which, )
If you would like to sit, please do so.
( despite formality and politeness, four doesn't consider it niceness by a longshot. it's easier, he's found in his time at school, to use that general way of behavior as an arm's length barrier. it also offers a guide in how to function at all, if or when he's at a loss, thrown for a loop by a transfer student's kindness or his not-boss's decision to surprise him not once, but twice.
and counting.
four himself does not sit, stays standing close to the desk, as if in some kind of curious gravitational pull with the books standing quiet and strangely adored just beside him.)
Edited 2023-07-11 16:38 (UTC)
[ Elan hangs his glasses on the uniform collar as soon as Four lets him inside, tugging the door closed behind him with his free hand. It's possible that there's someone with more than half a braincell at Peil house that'll be able to put two and two together -- the mound of books that had been brought to Four's doorstep; an entirely "new" face, dropping by unannounced, claiming responsibility for the delivery (or so one might infer from his words). At most, that half-braincell might say to themselves: Ah, yes. A rich relative. Does Elan Ceres have a secret, ditzy twin? And maybe, with any luck, Elan will be able to run with the lie on those days he wakes up feeling particularly whimsical. It's not like Peil could fire him for this. (His parents, on the other hand...) ]
So~rry for the intru~sion~
[ He makes no attempt to hide his curiosity once he's inside Four's room. Elan can't say the total absence of internal decoration surprises him, but the lack of furnishings is... paradoxically excessive. It begins to dawn on him that Four might be the type to deny himself things just for denial's sake. (They could not have picked a worse candidate for his clone, at least in that respect: Elan's greedy -- in an easy and, for the most part, totally innocuous way. After all, he's never not had the latitude for it; never had to deny himself in any way, even if others have impressed roles and their attendant expectations onto him.)
He inclines his chin to the handbook on Four's desk at the second battery of messages, having made no motion to sit down. ]
You should get those or they might figure out I'm here. Just make stuff up, they don't actually care.
[ Well, he probably knows that.
Elan's eyes follow Four to where he's standing in front of the desk then, juxtaposes the other's posture with how he's lined the books up. They widen in a way that makes his dark circles stand out more clearly, and while he's tempted to go over and take a closer look, Elan reads Four's position as defensive -- as if guarding something he likes.
Elan grins. He was right. ]
It's too bad those earrings don't stream visuals or I might've tuned in for once just to see the look on your face when you got these -- I know you had one.
Incidentally, [ he tugs at his own earlobes ] take them off. I doubt they'll think to listen, but... [ and just like that, the eyebrows scrunch up; the grimace he so often wears comes back ] I don't want to be reminded they exist right now.
So~rry for the intru~sion~
[ He makes no attempt to hide his curiosity once he's inside Four's room. Elan can't say the total absence of internal decoration surprises him, but the lack of furnishings is... paradoxically excessive. It begins to dawn on him that Four might be the type to deny himself things just for denial's sake. (They could not have picked a worse candidate for his clone, at least in that respect: Elan's greedy -- in an easy and, for the most part, totally innocuous way. After all, he's never not had the latitude for it; never had to deny himself in any way, even if others have impressed roles and their attendant expectations onto him.)
He inclines his chin to the handbook on Four's desk at the second battery of messages, having made no motion to sit down. ]
You should get those or they might figure out I'm here. Just make stuff up, they don't actually care.
[ Well, he probably knows that.
Elan's eyes follow Four to where he's standing in front of the desk then, juxtaposes the other's posture with how he's lined the books up. They widen in a way that makes his dark circles stand out more clearly, and while he's tempted to go over and take a closer look, Elan reads Four's position as defensive -- as if guarding something he likes.
Elan grins. He was right. ]
It's too bad those earrings don't stream visuals or I might've tuned in for once just to see the look on your face when you got these -- I know you had one.
Incidentally, [ he tugs at his own earlobes ] take them off. I doubt they'll think to listen, but... [ and just like that, the eyebrows scrunch up; the grimace he so often wears comes back ] I don't want to be reminded they exist right now.
( at the suggestion, four does in fact answer the most recent group of messages. fortunately for him, his answers are always on the side of brevity and it's barely after elan is done speaking that four looks up again, handbook resuming its place on the desk. )
Hm?
( it's not that he wasn't listening, but it was less than his full attention up to now, though his mind catches the thought up. earrings, right. removing them, much like he answered the messages, without question or conflict, as if it does not occur in the slightest to refuse elan ceres; and that would be correct. the earrings take their collective place beside the handbook, the subtle tink of the glass bead somehow loud in the room. the light in them is so subtle that when it goes out, no longer worn by a living person, it would be hard for even the sharpest of eyes to detect. they used to keep four up at night, but now he can hardly tell the difference.
if four were the type to fidget he might tug at his gloves or tuck his own hair behind his ear. he isn't. he doesn't.
he does:
stare at elan ceres, finding the longer he looks at him the more obvious it is but perhaps not to anyone who would simply not expect the real story here. there's something in his frown (?) -- he's not sure that's the right word --, that makes him even more so and four wonders why that is before he reminds himself not to.
less denial for the sake of it, more a carefully maintained life of only what he needs. the fact that it hasn't worked out all that great, doesn't elude him. that sigh gets bottled and thrown away. instead, he stays standing, staring, waiting. )
I was informed that they found the visual monitoring capacity for the earrings to be "overkill".
( of course this is what he replies towards, not because elan ceres wouldn't know but because it is the most relevant piece of information four has regarding it. that peil knows its puppets to be on strings tight enough to strangle is not even thinly veiled. no need for a camera when a recording and location coordinates provide all they would really need if he defected. )
Hm?
( it's not that he wasn't listening, but it was less than his full attention up to now, though his mind catches the thought up. earrings, right. removing them, much like he answered the messages, without question or conflict, as if it does not occur in the slightest to refuse elan ceres; and that would be correct. the earrings take their collective place beside the handbook, the subtle tink of the glass bead somehow loud in the room. the light in them is so subtle that when it goes out, no longer worn by a living person, it would be hard for even the sharpest of eyes to detect. they used to keep four up at night, but now he can hardly tell the difference.
if four were the type to fidget he might tug at his gloves or tuck his own hair behind his ear. he isn't. he doesn't.
he does:
stare at elan ceres, finding the longer he looks at him the more obvious it is but perhaps not to anyone who would simply not expect the real story here. there's something in his frown (?) -- he's not sure that's the right word --, that makes him even more so and four wonders why that is before he reminds himself not to.
less denial for the sake of it, more a carefully maintained life of only what he needs. the fact that it hasn't worked out all that great, doesn't elude him. that sigh gets bottled and thrown away. instead, he stays standing, staring, waiting. )
I was informed that they found the visual monitoring capacity for the earrings to be "overkill".
( of course this is what he replies towards, not because elan ceres wouldn't know but because it is the most relevant piece of information four has regarding it. that peil knows its puppets to be on strings tight enough to strangle is not even thinly veiled. no need for a camera when a recording and location coordinates provide all they would really need if he defected. )
[ At the "overkill" comment, Elan scoffs. (♪ Why the fuck they lyin'? Why they always lyin'? Mm, oh my god. ♬) He bridges the short distance between himself and Four's desk to pick up the earrings, considers them as he says, ] No. I just couldn't figure out how to get them to project images that were more interesting than the wearer's cheekbones. They thought you should all wear glasses, but it would've been harder to explain why I had seven different pairs. Still wouldn't have been able to see your face, anyway.
[ He pockets the jewelry-surveillance device then, glancing at Four's handbook as he does so. Often. Occasionally. Erratic. Decreasing. Decreasing. Decreasing. Increasing. Increasing. Poor. Elan suspects that it would ask more of Four to lie than to simply tell the truth, so he takes what he reads at face value.
He feels -- nothing.
They'd exterminated Elan's first iteration quickly, seeing as how Peil had still been troubleshooting their cloning technology; his second iteration had realized what had happened to the first, tried to cut his losses and ran -- that had ended in a predictable fashion; and his third iteration had been so anxious to play the part perfectly in his desperation to live as himself again that he'd burnt out within months. Learning that had made Elan feel strange, though he'd only met the man but the once. He'd retained -- and still hadn't looked -- at his file.
Elan turns his attention back to the books, then, but has no idea what to inquire about them -- no desire, really, after confirming his suspicions about Four's fondness for reading. It's not like he does it for fun. Too passive.
And Four is -- preternaturally so. It's even more obvious when Elan's up close like this. The other man's chest barely rises and falls with his breath; his gloved hands are so white and still they look like a statue in Elan's peripheral vision. Even Four's eyes economize movement -- so unlike the third, who went so far as to exaggerate Elan's liberal relationship with gesture. Then again, Four's lasted longer than all of Elan's previous iterations combined.
He taps the desk near one of Four's hands. ]
It's the strain, isn't it?
[ He pockets the jewelry-surveillance device then, glancing at Four's handbook as he does so. Often. Occasionally. Erratic. Decreasing. Decreasing. Decreasing. Increasing. Increasing. Poor. Elan suspects that it would ask more of Four to lie than to simply tell the truth, so he takes what he reads at face value.
He feels -- nothing.
They'd exterminated Elan's first iteration quickly, seeing as how Peil had still been troubleshooting their cloning technology; his second iteration had realized what had happened to the first, tried to cut his losses and ran -- that had ended in a predictable fashion; and his third iteration had been so anxious to play the part perfectly in his desperation to live as himself again that he'd burnt out within months. Learning that had made Elan feel strange, though he'd only met the man but the once. He'd retained -- and still hadn't looked -- at his file.
Elan turns his attention back to the books, then, but has no idea what to inquire about them -- no desire, really, after confirming his suspicions about Four's fondness for reading. It's not like he does it for fun. Too passive.
And Four is -- preternaturally so. It's even more obvious when Elan's up close like this. The other man's chest barely rises and falls with his breath; his gloved hands are so white and still they look like a statue in Elan's peripheral vision. Even Four's eyes economize movement -- so unlike the third, who went so far as to exaggerate Elan's liberal relationship with gesture. Then again, Four's lasted longer than all of Elan's previous iterations combined.
He taps the desk near one of Four's hands. ]
It's the strain, isn't it?
Edited (my perfectionism) 2023-07-15 13:53 (UTC)
( at first, four doesn't understand. he doesn't panic, doesn't hurry his way to a response, going instead through different possibilities silently before he settles on what feels like the most likely subject. he bases this on elan ceres' glance at his handbook and his general yet also focused attention on, well, him. the books do not seem to interest him, four also notes and does not mind. it makes it more likely that they are a gift rather than a loan, and while this perplexes him in any variation, he also will not refuse them.
when four has no idea of something, his face softens even more, akin to the universe's most inadvertent puppy eyes both on the note of not being able to obscure the question mark but also not knowing what's going on. the word "pure" might come to mind though four would use "blank", if asked to analyze his own image in such a situation. but four never pretends at ignorance unless he's trying to get away from a conversation, which often can be done by simply pretending to not hear it in the first place — aloof, untouchable, the "elan ceres" the school 'knows' and admires, respects, dislikes, finds truly odd...just to name a few.
strain. that's one way to put it.
there hadn't been much conversational precedence around what four would experience as a gundam pilot except what to hide and to make sure stayed hidden. very little explanation or perceivable research into the way sometimes, more often lately, not even piloting, four finds himself struggling to breathe and feeling like heavy hands are pushing into his head to press it apart from the inside. it's sheer dumb luck no one has run across him when this sort of thing happens as it always does: without warning and utterly inconvenient. he mentioned it once to belmeria winston as an answer to one of her routine questions and she hummed that inconsolable intonation of hers and murmured something about "I see".
more or less what he expected.
on the daily, four keeps himself to himself for so many reasons, but more and more lately it is as much to survive as anything else. if it hurts, he can't do much about that, but he can: discipline his calm, his breaths, his body movement. minimize on all accounts and perhaps he can steal some time back before he is replaced.
because these days four has come close to that conclusion he supposes the second clone assumed from the jump: it's inevitable.
the enhanced persons experiment is exactly that, and four is their best yet but far from perfect. maybe it is also a lie anyway, that there exists some superior form of an elan ceres clone who both could wear his face and prevail against the gundam's curse.
then again, that's not the only kind of curse out there. four's hands don't curl at his sides but it's a near thing. his gaze lowers with the soft incline of his head, on the highwire above and below different kinds of endless things. there is no point in lying. elan ceres is not asking because he doesn't know; he can tell. he is asking because he does. )
Yes, but they say my capacity remains unclear.
( as of yet no "you'll be able to handle the next duel" or any such words implying he won't after that. as of yet only "try not to raise your permet score unless you need to", a weak attempt at prolonging a guinea pig's life not for the guinea pig but perhaps because five isn't ready or the string of data four has accumulated so-far is just useful enough they don't want to start over. as of yet.
but elan ceres has brought attention to it in a way four typically avoids like the plague, has made a near art of doing so — the most malformed version of out of sight out of mind one can manage. it isn't shocking to him when the focus of it makes him feel it more.
again though: inconvenient.
his posture seems a little more rigid, the neutral line of his mouth tighter, both things that might not stand out on anyone else. )
when four has no idea of something, his face softens even more, akin to the universe's most inadvertent puppy eyes both on the note of not being able to obscure the question mark but also not knowing what's going on. the word "pure" might come to mind though four would use "blank", if asked to analyze his own image in such a situation. but four never pretends at ignorance unless he's trying to get away from a conversation, which often can be done by simply pretending to not hear it in the first place — aloof, untouchable, the "elan ceres" the school 'knows' and admires, respects, dislikes, finds truly odd...just to name a few.
strain. that's one way to put it.
there hadn't been much conversational precedence around what four would experience as a gundam pilot except what to hide and to make sure stayed hidden. very little explanation or perceivable research into the way sometimes, more often lately, not even piloting, four finds himself struggling to breathe and feeling like heavy hands are pushing into his head to press it apart from the inside. it's sheer dumb luck no one has run across him when this sort of thing happens as it always does: without warning and utterly inconvenient. he mentioned it once to belmeria winston as an answer to one of her routine questions and she hummed that inconsolable intonation of hers and murmured something about "I see".
more or less what he expected.
on the daily, four keeps himself to himself for so many reasons, but more and more lately it is as much to survive as anything else. if it hurts, he can't do much about that, but he can: discipline his calm, his breaths, his body movement. minimize on all accounts and perhaps he can steal some time back before he is replaced.
because these days four has come close to that conclusion he supposes the second clone assumed from the jump: it's inevitable.
the enhanced persons experiment is exactly that, and four is their best yet but far from perfect. maybe it is also a lie anyway, that there exists some superior form of an elan ceres clone who both could wear his face and prevail against the gundam's curse.
then again, that's not the only kind of curse out there. four's hands don't curl at his sides but it's a near thing. his gaze lowers with the soft incline of his head, on the highwire above and below different kinds of endless things. there is no point in lying. elan ceres is not asking because he doesn't know; he can tell. he is asking because he does. )
Yes, but they say my capacity remains unclear.
( as of yet no "you'll be able to handle the next duel" or any such words implying he won't after that. as of yet only "try not to raise your permet score unless you need to", a weak attempt at prolonging a guinea pig's life not for the guinea pig but perhaps because five isn't ready or the string of data four has accumulated so-far is just useful enough they don't want to start over. as of yet.
but elan ceres has brought attention to it in a way four typically avoids like the plague, has made a near art of doing so — the most malformed version of out of sight out of mind one can manage. it isn't shocking to him when the focus of it makes him feel it more.
again though: inconvenient.
his posture seems a little more rigid, the neutral line of his mouth tighter, both things that might not stand out on anyone else. )
[ Four's changes aren't lost on Elan, of course. His self-awareness might be duller than some of the books lining Four's desk, but his training -- devoted as it was to improving his capacity to perceive the strengths and weaknesses of other people -- has primed him for moments just like these, when one small, well-timed push will take his interlocutor to those conclusions that serve Elan Ceres and/or his clients best.
In most conversations, this is exactly what Elan relishes: That instant before the push, when the other has no idea they're at his mercy. It feels different now. Still nothing, because Elan would never experience a pity he couldn't put to good use and he's pegged Four as someone who would chafe against anything given to him for pity's sake, but...
Elans taps a finger against the desk as he speaks, mouth drawn into a thin curve. What comes out sounds professional. ]
They're so moronic. What they should have done with the lot of you is assessed you for your suitability to different aspects of the role and swapped you all out as necessary, to improve your longevity. It's not like this technology's cheap.
[ That finger taps harder, faster. He looks into the space just above the other Elan's shoulder. ]
You're very good at piloting -- one of the best of us, probably. Certainly better than me. They should keep you in reserve for duels Elan Ceres has to win and have the other guy substitute for the rest, given his self-preservation instincts. It's not like he hasn't been ready for a while.
[ It's not like I haven't been ready for a while.
The more Elan thinks about it, the more absurd his situation at Peil strikes him. Their own systems rate his competence head and shoulders above the rest. Yet what does he spend his days doing? Presenting things other people have prepared for him. Attending meetings where his only function is to sit there and judge the living shit out of his superiors. Financing his clones, which he isn't even in charge of managing and who continue to be rolled out -- used up -- without a thought spared for cutting waste. The money is fungible. Elan's doubles, ironically enough, aren't -- not in the same way.
He looks at Four then, voice still in that businesslike register. ]
Your capacity's perfectly clear. Leave the duels to Five until you're actually needed.
In most conversations, this is exactly what Elan relishes: That instant before the push, when the other has no idea they're at his mercy. It feels different now. Still nothing, because Elan would never experience a pity he couldn't put to good use and he's pegged Four as someone who would chafe against anything given to him for pity's sake, but...
Elans taps a finger against the desk as he speaks, mouth drawn into a thin curve. What comes out sounds professional. ]
They're so moronic. What they should have done with the lot of you is assessed you for your suitability to different aspects of the role and swapped you all out as necessary, to improve your longevity. It's not like this technology's cheap.
[ That finger taps harder, faster. He looks into the space just above the other Elan's shoulder. ]
You're very good at piloting -- one of the best of us, probably. Certainly better than me. They should keep you in reserve for duels Elan Ceres has to win and have the other guy substitute for the rest, given his self-preservation instincts. It's not like he hasn't been ready for a while.
[ It's not like I haven't been ready for a while.
The more Elan thinks about it, the more absurd his situation at Peil strikes him. Their own systems rate his competence head and shoulders above the rest. Yet what does he spend his days doing? Presenting things other people have prepared for him. Attending meetings where his only function is to sit there and judge the living shit out of his superiors. Financing his clones, which he isn't even in charge of managing and who continue to be rolled out -- used up -- without a thought spared for cutting waste. The money is fungible. Elan's doubles, ironically enough, aren't -- not in the same way.
He looks at Four then, voice still in that businesslike register. ]
Your capacity's perfectly clear. Leave the duels to Five until you're actually needed.
Edited (delete) 2023-07-16 13:29 (UTC)
( elan ceres' thought process makes sense. at the same time, the system that the women of peil have set up also makes sense, though it is without a doubt more wasteful and inhumane. yet what elan ceres suggests feels like it's been said to the wrong recipient. )
They seem unlikely to implement enhanced person number five until absolutely necessary.
( it speaks for itself what that means, what they both are saying without saying. the tension in four's body lines his nerves and burns through his blood, never wholly going away though its fluxes vary. if nothing else, his expression stays as unreadable as ever, which depending on the person he is in front of might be more of a giveaway than if it wasn't.
his eyes drop to the floor between his feet and elan ceres'. should he say something else? what is expected of him? it frustrates him to be in a situation where he doesn't know the answer to that, can't adjust his own behavior and response in accordance.
it's fine. over and over. it's fine.
but he has the thought if elan ceres hadn't sent these books, if he hadn't shown up like this, if ...
it's fine.
though his breath rattles around uncomfortably in his chest, feels too thin, too tight, it doesn't show. he's so far in his time avoided breaking in front of the person he is supposed to be, though his inevitable successor has seen it, and belmeria winston, and at least two of the women of peil. another breath, deeper, sharper. four's complexion veers from pale to ghostly. under his gloves, the permet pulses in a way that he knows would show on his arms if not for his long sleeves as well.
what does elan ceres expect him to say otherwise? to do? to go to peil and suggest it? he said it himself earlier: they don't care. and, for the most part, four doesn't mind. he did not come to peil to be cared about; of that he's certain, and anyone with half a braincell could have shown up and known this wasn't what that kind of person would look for. sometimes he wonders why he did go to them, but it's as he thought before: it wouldn't matter would it? he's already here and his memories gone par for the course. )
I will uphold my part of the contract.
( it lacks elan's business-like tonality. in its place: quiet resignation balancing out an earnestness he couldn't explain if his life depended on it, the subconscious muscle memory that it felt important to do this once. like it mattered.
perhaps, even, to someone else.
though imperfect, peil doesn't boast innovation and technology for nothing. four cannot touch that part of the truth yet. for that he'll need the offered hand of a witch from mercury.
until then, he works as even ordinary people tend to: within the realm of what he knows.
not much.
just enough. )
They seem unlikely to implement enhanced person number five until absolutely necessary.
( it speaks for itself what that means, what they both are saying without saying. the tension in four's body lines his nerves and burns through his blood, never wholly going away though its fluxes vary. if nothing else, his expression stays as unreadable as ever, which depending on the person he is in front of might be more of a giveaway than if it wasn't.
his eyes drop to the floor between his feet and elan ceres'. should he say something else? what is expected of him? it frustrates him to be in a situation where he doesn't know the answer to that, can't adjust his own behavior and response in accordance.
it's fine. over and over. it's fine.
but he has the thought if elan ceres hadn't sent these books, if he hadn't shown up like this, if ...
it's fine.
though his breath rattles around uncomfortably in his chest, feels too thin, too tight, it doesn't show. he's so far in his time avoided breaking in front of the person he is supposed to be, though his inevitable successor has seen it, and belmeria winston, and at least two of the women of peil. another breath, deeper, sharper. four's complexion veers from pale to ghostly. under his gloves, the permet pulses in a way that he knows would show on his arms if not for his long sleeves as well.
what does elan ceres expect him to say otherwise? to do? to go to peil and suggest it? he said it himself earlier: they don't care. and, for the most part, four doesn't mind. he did not come to peil to be cared about; of that he's certain, and anyone with half a braincell could have shown up and known this wasn't what that kind of person would look for. sometimes he wonders why he did go to them, but it's as he thought before: it wouldn't matter would it? he's already here and his memories gone par for the course. )
I will uphold my part of the contract.
( it lacks elan's business-like tonality. in its place: quiet resignation balancing out an earnestness he couldn't explain if his life depended on it, the subconscious muscle memory that it felt important to do this once. like it mattered.
perhaps, even, to someone else.
though imperfect, peil doesn't boast innovation and technology for nothing. four cannot touch that part of the truth yet. for that he'll need the offered hand of a witch from mercury.
until then, he works as even ordinary people tend to: within the realm of what he knows.
not much.
just enough. )
[ While Four's eyes are trained on the floor, Elan allows himself a small, private smile -- one that even the likes of Peil find nasty, that he knows makes him ugly. No matter. Four wouldn't dare look up now.
He's right where Elan wants him, drawn taut between an increasingly tenuous commitment to his expressionless facade and the knowledge, however inchoate, that there are things he values -- has valued -- with his life. The "with" is critical: In that moment, when all Four can bear to let slip beyond his stillness is a sincerity he can't account for, Elan feels that he understands him. This is a person who wanted to live and who was compelled to suppress it. The reasons are as various as they are immaterial: Sheer force, necessity -- love, perhaps (that, too, is a curse). Immaterial, because neither Elan nor Four need to know the first thing about Four's prior motivations for that one, well-timed push to land just like Elan intends.
He knew speaking so frankly about Four's situation would hurt him. Showing Four care will hurt even more.
The hand that had been tapping away at Four's desk clenches now, as if what Four says has struck him. Elan lets a beat or two pass, eases some of the tension in his posture, and takes a single step forward, that same hand extending to Four's. There's a moment of hesitation, right where Four can see it, before he touches the glove -- searing against his fingers as he expected. ]
No, [ he says quietly, ] I don't think you will.
[ Touch is so rare for Elan that the heat radiating from Four's skin prompts him to inflect his voice with a tenderness that's as good as the real thing. Unconsciously, his fingers tighten against Four's, and he finds that he likes that they're hot enough to hurt. He doesn't stop to ask himself why he's putting on this performance, or why he wants Four to stop being such a fucking hypocrite. Instead, he says, ]
Why do you pretend that you want to die, even now? Peil's contracts are my contracts. If you have the courage to admit the truth... I'll change it.
But you have to tell me. It's worth that much, at least.
He's right where Elan wants him, drawn taut between an increasingly tenuous commitment to his expressionless facade and the knowledge, however inchoate, that there are things he values -- has valued -- with his life. The "with" is critical: In that moment, when all Four can bear to let slip beyond his stillness is a sincerity he can't account for, Elan feels that he understands him. This is a person who wanted to live and who was compelled to suppress it. The reasons are as various as they are immaterial: Sheer force, necessity -- love, perhaps (that, too, is a curse). Immaterial, because neither Elan nor Four need to know the first thing about Four's prior motivations for that one, well-timed push to land just like Elan intends.
He knew speaking so frankly about Four's situation would hurt him. Showing Four care will hurt even more.
The hand that had been tapping away at Four's desk clenches now, as if what Four says has struck him. Elan lets a beat or two pass, eases some of the tension in his posture, and takes a single step forward, that same hand extending to Four's. There's a moment of hesitation, right where Four can see it, before he touches the glove -- searing against his fingers as he expected. ]
No, [ he says quietly, ] I don't think you will.
[ Touch is so rare for Elan that the heat radiating from Four's skin prompts him to inflect his voice with a tenderness that's as good as the real thing. Unconsciously, his fingers tighten against Four's, and he finds that he likes that they're hot enough to hurt. He doesn't stop to ask himself why he's putting on this performance, or why he wants Four to stop being such a fucking hypocrite. Instead, he says, ]
Why do you pretend that you want to die, even now? Peil's contracts are my contracts. If you have the courage to admit the truth... I'll change it.
But you have to tell me. It's worth that much, at least.
Edited 2023-07-17 16:19 (UTC)
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