TLV Inbox

[greatoldjohn]

[in a rather deep voice] "This is John Doe. Please leave your message. I'll get back to you as soon as I can. I may respond in text if I'm currently with Arthur. Apologies."

Now Moved To: Inbox: Act II - please tag in there!

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[pitofguilt]

[ It's clear what he means by the gesture, and she has to admit that there's something... nice, about when he's with someone. With her. It only happened once, and it wasn't her choice, but it ended up being okay. Strange, but okay.

So, with a shaky breath, she reaches out and takes his mask. ]

[greatoldjohn]

[ The mask slips against her fingers and the robes disappear as the world goes utterly, completely dark. There's the soft hum of the electronics, the gentle sounds of life around the cabin, but there is nothing but blackness. Her leg goes numb from the knee down and her nose will start wiggling and twitching.

There's something else, the feeling of him, settling inside of her and around her and part of her. His voice echoes differently than the last time, given she can hear other things, but it's still a world away from when he's across the table. Much more intimate.

The world is small.

The world is just them for right now.]

[ I can guide you to the bed. Perhaps we lay down for a while. ]

[pitofguilt]

[ Intimate and dark and... safe. She's not alone in the darkness. ]

Okay, but you need to stop doing that. [ She puts a hand on her nose. Sorry about the tingly prickling sensation from when she's close to crying, though. At least she's smiling a little?

Standing is weird when the feeling in one leg cuts off at the knee, but she can still judge how her balance is. After a few steps (just getting up from the chair, stepping around it, and pushing it back in) she's almost used to it. ]

Okay. Let's go lie down.

[greatoldjohn]

[ Oh.

Sorry.

...I've never had a nose before. It's weird. ]

[ Then, easily enough- ]

[ We sat on the side closest to the kitchen area. So you need to step two feet to your right to get around the table. If you move your leg naturally, I'll follow the movement. Just lead with your right. ]

[pitofguilt]

[ Noses are weird, now that she thinks about it. Why do they have to protrude the way they do? Plenty of mammals get by without that.

Okay. Two feet to her right to get around the table. She takes it slow, keeping a hand on the table so she's oriented as she moves. Once she's sure the table is clear, she starts carefully walking back to the bedroom. The dishes can wait. She doesn't want him to leave, she realizes, his mask still held firmly in one hand. ]

It's in your best interest not to let me hit my shins on anything. Hurts like hell.

[greatoldjohn]

[ I wouldn't let you do that anyway. Also, if you like, you can put my mask against your leg or your arm or something; the Admiral adjusted it so I can hold myself on as needed.

Stop. You're about to hit the bedtable. Shift a half foot to your left, then straight, and you can put your hand down on the table to guide yourself onto the bed. ]

[pitofguilt]

[ She puts the mask against her upper arm, lets it go one finger at a time, and... there it stays.

Then it's easy, a few more steps so she's sitting on the bed. She takes off her shoes and lies down on her side, relaxing as she exhales. ]

Have you ever felt tired? Not physically, obviously.

[greatoldjohn]

[ Yes. After a fight or something harrowing.

I feel wrung out. Drained. Laying down with Arthur like this always makes me feel better. I thought maybe you'd like it too.]

[pitofguilt]

That's what I meant when I said I'm tired. I haven't been through what you and Arthur have, but...

[ She shrugs one shoulder. ]

This is actually pretty nice. Lot less depressing than lying around with the tv on to try and drown everything out.

[greatoldjohn]

[ You've been through plenty. Especially in the last few days. i'm not... unaware that this was difficult on you too.

But you can have this when you want. I don't mind sharing this with you. ]

[ A pause before- ]

[ Would you like for me to read to you? ]

[pitofguilt]

[ Not nearly as bad as it's been for Arthur, so her response to that is another shrug. At least John can comfort Arthur like this-- god. After this, Natalie will get her sight back, but Arthur is blind even without John. And she shot him. Fuck. She really went for a low blow, didn't she. ]

You don't have to leave Arthur if you're with him when I ask.

[ Not "if" but "when." She's already sure she'll ask.

...she can't remember the last time someone read to her. ]

Ywah. Sure. Which book?

[greatoldjohn]

[ I know I don't have to. We'll work that out between ourselves if it comes up. ]

[ A short pause as he considers what's in the room. ]

[ I started the Emily Dickinson book but I got distracted. Would that work? ]

[pitofguilt]

Yeah, that works. Where'd you leave it?

[greatoldjohn]

[ It's on the dresser beside the bed, next to the vase. If you move your hand slowly, it's the second one down in the stack. ]

[pitofguilt]

[ She does so, carefully pulling out the book without knocking over the one on top of it. Then she sits up, piling the pillows against the headboard to lean back on, knees bent. It's comfortable to hold the book this way. ]

...it's not upside down, is it?

[greatoldjohn]

[A low chuckle. It's a little easier to feel the warmth of it while he's like this.]

[ No. Shall we begin at the beginning or where I left off? ]

[pitofguilt]

[ Warm and safe. Like... like a crackling fire on a cold night, and a warm, thick blanket around her like a cape. ]

Go from where you left off.

[ She runs a finger along the top of the closed book, looking for any kind of bookmark or placeholder. ]

[greatoldjohn]

[ All right. There's a little ribbon down near the bottom. It should pull open to the right spot. It's thin.]

[pitofguilt]

[ It's easy enough to find once she's feeling for it along the bottom. She pulls the book open, holding it close to the edges so that no words are covered. ]

[greatoldjohn]

[ Ah. Here we go. I think I stopped here because I liked it. It felt... good. Helpful. ]

[ There's a short pause and the way he reads it, he means every line, every verse. The same way he loves colors and shapes and lines, so too does he love words and rhythm and music. He loves what they hold, the life and the feeling, the meaning of them. Each and every verse is special, precious. ]

[ “Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.]

[pitofguilt]

[ Natalie wasn't the best student in high school, but she was better than everyone expected. English lit class featured unexciting classics, but the lessons on text analysis were good. They stayed with her, allowed her to enjoy music more, to read contemporary essays and grasp the arguments better. Poetry a little harder for her without context, and she hasn't had reasons or time to sit and read, but what she remembers about Emily Dickinson is enough for now. Hell, even if she had zero context, this poem is still fitting. Helpful, like John said. ]

I used to think we'd all lost hope when we were stranded out there. But every time something happened, I felt hopeless all over again. I don't think we ever stopped hoping.

[ It goes without saying that she feels hopeless here too, despite John's faith in her. ]

[greatoldjohn]

[ "Hope springs eternal," I read.

I wonder if people realize how much of a curse that can be. ]

[ A pause. ]

[ Every time someone opened the book, I thought I'd be free. I hoped. And when it didn't-

No, when I killed them because they wouldn't give me enough control...

It was that much worse when I went back. But... it's also why I got to meet Arthur. That I kept trying. That I kept giving in to hope. ]

[pitofguilt]

I don't know if it's better or worse to feel hopeless. Not the kind of hopeless where you're upset about it and you keep fighting; that's still hoping for something.

[ He kept hoping to be free. He killed because he wanted and hoped for more, if she's understanding. And she did too. Why else would she have kept hunting, finding food to keep everyone going? ]

I mean the kind where you give up. You stop fighting, because you think there's no point anymore.

cw suicidal ideation

[greatoldjohn]

[ Did you attempt what you did because you gave up hope...

...or because you thought you'd done more harm than that hope was worth? ]

cw suicidal ideation / suicide mention

[pitofguilt]

[ He'll notice how still she goes, not moving any part of her that she can consciously control. She's been avoiding truly thinking about that decision, instead remembering (as little as possible) the things around it and leading up to it, always abandoning it when she felt a similar despairing sadness starting to creep up on her.

She could say she doesn't know, but they'll both know what she means is that she doesn't want to think about it. She could give an actual answer, but then she runs the risk of cracking open, and that makes her afraid that she won't be able to stop herself completely falling apart. Lying and deflecting have never worked, much less with John. And if he hasn't walked away from her yet, then he never will. His word means something. She can trust him. If she trusts him enough to be with him like this right now, talking about this isn't a terribly big leap. ]

I think... both. I don't really know. It's not like it was the first time I'd tried.

[ The sting of tears comes back, stronger this time. ]