redshiftlogs | Farm Livin' [open]

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original: carlisle longinmouth

Farm Livin' [open]

Who: Carlisle Longinmouth, farm animals, and anyone else who might wander into the area
What: With Anchor's #1 Ranch Hand gone, someone had to take care of the animals.
When: Late June/throughout July
Where: Agricultural Level, mostly near the barns/livestock and the adjacent forested area
Warnings: Will update as necessary!

As someone who had everything he ever knew either ruined, upended, or permanently changed for the worse within the near-year he's been aware of himself, Carlisle is glad to have some semblance of a routine back. True, it came at an awful cost, but in an effort to maintain his nerves — and therefore keep his more volatile, necrotic energies in check — he will take what victories he can get, however small they may be.

It started when he first moved into the barn. He's been there for well over a month now, and it took most of that time for the animals to adjust to his presence; with his head-to-toe outfit and fastidious nature, Carlisle is a far cry from their former farmhand, but he simply couldn't let Kieran's animals be without a caretaker. Given the man disappeared so soon after he'd been healed — and after Carlisle had begun to form the barest notion that they could be friends — the former clergyman is quick to blame himself for Kieran's vanishing. What's one more addition to his long list of sins? He has so much to atone for already, and a seemingly endless existence to do it. Who better to be responsible for Anchor's loss but him?

It's self-fulfilling prophecy, of course, but Carlisle is hesitant to label it as such. He felt a genuine bond with Reynir, who then disappeared. The same goes for Kieran, and now he's gone. Carlisle has yet to be proven wrong, shown that the misfortune he's said to breed with his very presence isn't a guarantee, but with only his own experiences to go on, he cannot say he believes otherwise. The only reason he remains in the colony at all is because of the insistence of a few individuals — that, and his own cowardice toward what lies in the wasteland outside of Anchor. The vast, open expanse is enough to have him reeling.

As it is, he told those same few individuals that he was moving from the housing quarters to the barn, slowly converting one of the sheds into a private home as the days went by. He claimed it was for the sake of the animals, and that it'd be a good exercise for him. By surrounding himself with living creatures who depended on him, he'd have to not only have to continue to live withing Anchor, but he would have to master his often destructive energies, keeping them in line lest he wanted their deaths on his hands. It was grim motivation, but motivation none the less. There was a heavier truth lying just beneath that reasoning: he felt that if any animals disappeared, no one would notice, whereas being in proximity of people put them at risk — those he would consider his friends included.

And so, he moved away from them, keeping his distance much as he did in life. It didn't do him any good then, either.

Well, that's not to say that living at the barn hasn't done him some good. Carlisle has indeed gotten a better hold on the necrotic magic that animates him, been able to practice wielding them in the safety of his solitude. He no longer rots everything he touches, can walk across the grasses of the fields without leaving a trail of dying, withered stalks behind him. Animals do not shift uncomfortably at his touch, and there some satisfaction in that. Each day, he feeds them, brushes them, goes about his prayer, watches over those who need him, works a little more on making the barn habitable. It's a routine, and one that often has him interacting less and less with people.

But just because he doesn't seek them out doesn't mean he's completely away from them. He actually has help on the farm some days: there's Pratt, who has shown him how to more or less manage the animals, and Ami, who comes by the brush the horses on a regular basis. Try as he might to fully isolate himself, Carlisle finds that he can't... and deep down, he isn't sure he wants to, no matter how he may seclude himself, both unconsciously or otherwise. Despite everything that's happened in his vicinity, everything he's done as the Blight Heir, Carlisle doesn't want to be alone. He's constantly trying to make amends for an endless guilt that festers in his gut. At least the animals don't judge him as harshly as he judges himself.

When dropping by the agricultural area, one might see Carlisle tending to the start of his garden: he's built up a bed of soil and surrounded it with rocks, hoping to deter the few chickens he has from plucking the new sprouts as they emerge. Acting as an additional deterrent is a tiny dragon, the blue-and-white wyrmling often nestled atop a pole in the center of the bed. Though barely bigger than a chicken himself, he does his best to act as a guard dog, keeping watch over the budding plants and hissing at anyone who would approach, letting loose a breath of chilling air.

When not there, Carlisle can be found over by the field as he tends to the cattle, letting them graze on the grasses to their hearts' content while he prepares their hay or (badly) fixes the fence. Sitting among the cattle is their protector: a hulking beast of an undead abomination. Its malformed body is no less than eight feet tall when sitting, closer to nine or ten when standing, making it out like a sore thumb among the cows and bulls; its rib cage has far too many ribs, and houses a vibrant, blue light that blazes like fire within its cavernous torso. Its frame is built of materials of all sorts, mismatched fragments of both human and animal bone, as well as a twisted branch or two making up its many limbs. The skull of a long-dead cow acts as its head, its eyes shining with the same blue light that burns in its chest. Most notable is a collar that hangs from the human-spine-turned-neck, a shiny bell dangling there for all to see.

And on rare occasion, Carlisle is outside the barn, etching into its walls an elaborate glyph. He accomplishes this with what appears to be a screw with a crude handle added to it. While it may not be a precision tool, it gets the job done, so long as he can work uninterrupted. No matter where one sees him, it's apparent he's attempting to adjust to his new life: in addition to his usual garb, Carlisle now tends to wear a pair of work gloves right on top of his normal ones, as well as a leather apron. With only one proper outfit that masks his emaciated frame, he's not eager to get stains on it.

Then again, he's not always eager for company, either. There are just some things he cannot avoid.

[ooc: alternatively, if none of these prompts are up your alley, hit me up on Discord or Plurk, and we can plot!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Qubit goes quiet for a moment.

On the one hand, absolutely. There's a lot he could do to help, and it's the whole reason he got into this business to begin with. But on the other hand... ]

... I don't know. I... sort of feel like I've already had my shot.

Edited 2021-02-11 16:12 (UTC)

[The guilt creeps into the conversation once more, accompanying the unsaid in Qubit's statement. He feels like he's already had his shot, and he blew it spectacularly. Carlisle turns his eyes to his companion once more, his tone gentle.]

Perhaps, but that does not mean there are no second chances, nor does it mean the world you left behind would not benefit from your insight and abilities, even if many would distrust you for what you've done. You talk about experience and hope and compassion, Mister Qubit — do not discount the fact that you have those qualities yourself.

[ Qubit listens, but then lets out a quiet chuckle. ]

Plagiarist.

[Qubit might not be able to see it, but Carlisle is smirking behind that mask of his.]

I don't know what you mean. I'm simply sharing the advice a clever fellow once gave to me.

Edited 2021-02-12 10:53 (UTC)

Heh! [ A plagiarist and a flatterer! Longinmouth, you card. ]

[ Nevertheless, it's funny that the same advice applies. Just another sign of how alike they are, he supposes. If he were to go home, Carlisle would be in much the same boat. With his healing abilities, there's a lot of material good he could do - but only if he's allowed to. What he did to Bear Den, though unintentional, can't be undone any more than what Qubit did to his universe. Or what Tony did to Sky City.

He lets the silence sit between them for a few minutes, mulling things over in his head as they walk. Soon the path takes them by the fishing pond, a walkway made of fake plastic wood allowing visitors to stand directly above the water. A metal bench (which looks suspiciously like it was scavenged from a cafeteria table) has been bolted to the walkway, with spots of rust clinging to the edges. Not comfortable, but serviceable enough. Peering over the edge, he can make out the outlines of small fish as they dart through the murky water. ]

... Second chances. [ He picks up where they left off, without preamble. ] A second chance doesn't just... come out of nowhere. It's not something you can make for yourself, it has to be given. Isn't that so?

[Carlisle nods at Qubit's assessment, joining him at the side of the bridge, the light of his eyes reflected in the water even in the simulated daylight.]

I suppose.

[He looks into the pond, a fish coming up to investigate the unusual light; he steps away from the side of the bridge only a moment later, his arms crossing over themselves in discomfort. It's a pond rather than a river, but the feeling is largely the same.]

I have spent my entire life trying to atone for existing in spite of my affliction. I will spend what time I have left in this form making amends for what I did to my home and my family. No matter my efforts, I may never be forgiven.

[And it's unlikely he'll ever forgive himself. That much goes unsaid; Qubit knows, and Carlisle knows he knows.]

Second chances must be given, yes. But I believe what we do to atone can convince others to grant them to you in the first place. One must show they are deserving of a second chance at all, and that they want it. Otherwise, there is little point, whether in the eyes of their fellow people or what higher powers look upon them.

Edited 2021-02-15 08:45 (UTC)

[ Qubit notices Carlisle backing away, but he lingers at the water's edge a moment longer, looking down at his reflection. It's not the crispest, but he still looks fine. Better than he's looked in weeks. It doesn't even look as if he's been crying. And yet...

His first encounter with a mirror after the maze was... surreal. Seeing his own face, knowing, at least intellectually, that it was his - yet unable to shake the sense that he was looking at a stranger. What he feels now isn't dissimilar. Ironic, isn't it? Through this whole ordeal, the question at the forefront of his mind has been, "Who is the man in the mirror?" But even now, with his memory restored in full... he's still not sure. ]

... But it's all subjective, is my point. Sometimes, none of that is good enough. Sometimes what people want isn't remorse, or atonement, or restitution. Sometimes all they want are their loved ones back, and no amount of penance can give them that.

[ Talwart comes to mind. Once his culpability was exposed, the people there didn't want his apologies or excuses, or even his help. They wanted his head - and even that wouldn't have made things right. ]

There's no way to ensure we'll get a second chance. Apart from...

[ He raises his head as something dawns on him. A few pieces click together. ]

... apart from manipulating how we're perceived.

[Carlisle nods, turning to let Qubit examine his reflection for a moment. He never found much comfort in his own, frankly. It changed significantly over the course of a handful of years: his hair faded from the auburn red of his father to a dull brown, and eventually greyed entirely; the shadows under his eyes grew darker with age, yet his eyes themselves glowed brighter and brighter as his affliction consumed him from within. By the end, he hardly recognized who he was, seeing that portrait above the mantle in the study as someone he used to know.

And then he died, and his reflection changed again. He's still working on accepting that drastic shift and all the consequences that came with it, but needless to say, it's not an improvement.]

That's when one must accept that they cannot fix everything for everyone, no matter how much they would like to. There will always be individuals who refuse to give the penitent another chance, but atonement is not just about forgiveness in the eyes of others. It must also come from within ourse—

[He glances Qubit's way, catching that look of realization.]

What? What is it?

[ Forgiving ourselves. Carlisle's hit upon the core issue there, the one keeping both of them moored in the past, unable to move on... But unfortunately, right this second, Qubit's mind is somewhere else. He pushes his hair up and lets out a single laugh. ]

Hah...! It's so obvious! How did I never see it before? The secrecy, the double-talk - it was never about trust, it was about control!

[ He turns away from the water, a sort of frenetic energy in his speech. ]

It's the same reason Tony never told us anything! When he went rogue, we knew nothing about him - his past, his origins, his motives, all lies and misdirection - because as long as he controlled the narrative, he could control exactly how he was seen, and -

[ His hands fall to his sides, and though he's smiling, there's no joy in it. ]

My God. All this time, I've been so terrified of repeating my own mistakes - and what do I do instead? I repeat his.

[For a moment, Qubit perks up, and Carlisle can't help but be encouraged by his animated gestures. That feeling fades seconds later, diminishing to nonexistence as Qubit reaches his point. He's figured out something about Tony — and himself — at the same time, and as expected when one discovers they have something in common with a man who betrayed all his friends and murdered a city full of people who depended upon him, it's not a good something.

And frankly, Carlisle can't argue with his logic. In retrospect, all that Qubit has been doing to him — and presumably to others — does sound a bit like what Tony was doing to his own friends. He wanted to control how others saw him, allowing him to hide his weaknesses and maintain his image, but when it came to needing information about Qubit, there was none to be offered, not even by someone he considered a friend. Most of what Carlisle had known about Qubit was what the technomancer wanted him to see, and only in rare moments had he glimpsed what kind of man lay just beneath his surface.

At least the situations were vastly different, and Carlisle wasn't having to fight a rogue Qubit. He can't even fathom that possibility. He studies his companion, trying not to look pitying as he struggles to find what to say, his own insistence of Qubit finding forgiveness in himself lost amidst the unfortunate realization. He lets the silence hang for several seconds, putting his thoughts together before he tries his hand at reassurance.]

At least you are now cognizant of it, and can thus choose otherwise.

Edited 2021-02-16 10:33 (UTC)

Hm. You'd hope so. [ He rests his hands in his pockets and lets the smile fade, eyeing the ground at some indistinct distance. ] But... it's hardly the only thing he and I had in common.

[ No, it goes much deeper than that. Perhaps all the way to the roots. Their childhoods weren't the same, of course, but the pervasive sense of otherness Tony felt all his life - that sense of being irreconcilably different, the experience of hiding his true nature in hopes of being accepted - that, Qubit had certainly found familiar. Then there was the joy of finding others like themselves, purpose in making their strange powers a force for good ... despair when their life's work came crashing down. ]

For all his power, he still lived in fear. Afraid that, if he were ever seen at anything but his best, he'd be rejected. That if his control ever slipped, even for a second - if he acted on impulse or emotion - he would hurt the people he loved.

[ Qubit sighs. ]

In my case, I'm less likely to nuke a city in a fit of rage, but - [ he glances up to Carlisle's eyes ] - well, you've seen what can happen when I give myself too long a leash.

[Carlisle's eyes fall as Qubit describes Tony, presumably himself, and even Carlisle all in one go. The clergyman knows all too well what it's like to live with that fear of rejection, of his own abilities, of what they could do were he ever to act on the bitterness and disappointment he felt bubbling beneath his surface every day. They grew harder to control over the years, as did his curse-born gift; he holed himself up in his house for fear of what would happen.

In the end, it hadn't helped. He's not sure he'd wish those years of torment, only to result in the worst possible conclusion, on anyone.]

You are not the only person to have had the unfortunate combination of incredible abilities and a hot temper, Mister Qubit. My uncle Benistad had a famously volatile temper in the right circumstances, and I believe I've told you enough about him to explain just how destructive his magic could be if he had half a mind to use it in such a way. Perhaps, though, he was blessed in ways that- [hesitation, not we] that you and Tony were not. He had people around him to keep him grounded. He learned early to let others in, and to allow them to support him.

[He shakes his head, his gaze coming back Qubit's way as he starts again, his hands gesticulating as though to further emphasize his argument.]

You can have all the similarities in the world with someone vile, and still be very different people. Your choices matter, Mister Qubit, for better and for worse. Tony made his mistakes, and chose to remain a monster. You can choose to learn from your experience going forward, from both your mistakes and his. That you want to keep doing good, in spite of what people will think and what could happen, speaks volumes. It is not the fear that ultimately guides you, but your character. Were it only fear, you would simply stay here and never go back, never thinking about the world you left behind and how you could change it for the better, despite the danger you would put yourself in by doing so.

[He brings his hands before him, wringing his fingers.]

And should you need to unburden yourself of your fears without the threat of rejection... you know I am here.

[ Qubit's eyes drift absently over the water while he listens, but he is listening. Maybe he was wrong, he's beginning to realize. Maybe Carlisle really does get it after all.

That shouldn't come as a surprise. Their situations are comparable, their psychologies similar. Carlisle's experienced the agitation of a restless brain, the tendency to fixate, the inability to let go. He knows what it's like being overwhelmed by inner turmoil, and he understands, better than just about anyone, the fear of losing control. But likewise, he understands the danger of trying to pack it down and face his personal demons alone. That was Carlisle's only real mistake amid all the misfortune: locking himself in, both figuratively and literally, until his resentment and despair ate him alive. And though Tony made a lot of mistakes, walling himself off was certainly one of them.

But his friend makes a strong point. Of course Qubit likes to think he's capable of learning from the past. He's wondered, at times, what would have happened if Tony had found a more appropriate outlet? Be it therapy, a trustworthy confidant, whatever... how might things have been different? Naturally, he can think of any number of reasons it might not have helped, but... what if it had?

Navel-gazing aside, Qubit's well aware how much it's helped him. Having someone he can go to for help, or voice his concerns and frustrations to - it's been absolutely invaluable over the last few weeks. And yet...

He can't quite shake the feeling that this is all a terrible mistake.

It's not going to end well, he can feel it. It's only a matter of time. He could have done this, once, but he's not the same person he was then. He's too brittle anymore. Sure, he's taken some opportunities to make a difference in people's lives - but how many more has he missed? How many critical moments have there been where someone needed him and he wasn't there? If he'd only been stronger, more resilient, he could have handled it. He wouldn't have failed the few people who (inadvisably) looked up to him.

If he'd been a little stronger, he could have shaken Superman's hand.

It takes him a while to respond, the inner conflict playing out across his face. But now his gaze finds Carlisle again - and lands on his hands, specifically, as they nervously worry at the fabric of his gloves. He realizes two things in that moment, with sudden clarity.

First: that Carlisle is still nursing the same fear from before. He's still afraid that Qubit will shut him out, try to go back to the dysfunctional way things were between them.

And second: that, perversely, that's the exact behavior Qubit's trying to justify to himself. He softens, remorseful. ]

I know. I know you are.

[ ... Well. Ask, and you shall receive. It so happens he has some very relevant fears to unburden himself of right now. ]

It's just - I feel as if I'm going to let you down again. [ Shakes his head lightly. ] In fact, I'm almost certain I will. I know how highly you think of me, but -

[ He pauses a second, casting about for the right words. ]

I want to be sure you're not just - no. I want you to be - you shouldn't have to compromise your values for me, Carlisle. I don't want you changing what you mean by "good" just to suit me.

[Carlisle can see Qubit is thinking, considering his words, and thus waits patiently, watching the drama in his mind play out across his face. All the while, the clergyman continues to twist his fingers nervously, wondering if that's how he lost the skin on them in the first place. Perhaps the Blight Heir had the same behaviors as Carlisle himself, and wrung his fingers in those horrible moments of clarity, times Carlisle can just barely remember when he attempts to do so.

His eyes wander back to Qubit as he finally finds his voice, his hands still within each other's grasp. The thought of someone being worried they would let him down is a relatively novel concept for Carlisle, one he has only really dealt with regarding Qubit. The technomancer was more wary of himself after their late-night discussion, when Qubit grabbed Carlisle by his bathrobe and shook him as though answers could be rattled out of his emaciated frame with enough force; Carlisle could tell he was afraid of it happening again, and of what would change between them if it did. Qubit feared himself after that, was more cautious of his temper simmering beneath his skin.

And despite that, Carlisle still stands by what he said: that Qubit is ultimately good. It's an unquantifiable feeling, but one his heart, long-dead as it may be, knows to be genuine. Explaining it is the tricky part.]

There are many elements that constitute good. It is subjective, be it in the eyes of the living, the divine, or otherwise. [Like himself.] I refuse to believe you to be an irredeemable thing, incapable of doing better. You want to do better, and even said so, and...

[His eyes fall, his brow knitting as he stumbles into a realization himself.]

... And so do I. I would be a hypocrite were I to change what I believe to be good for the sake of one man. And yet, I have done that to myself for as long as I've lived. Nothing I did was ever good enough. How could it be when I have let so many down? When I have been a disappointment time and time again, both in life and death?

[He steels himself with a breath, his hands releasing one another. How can he stay honest to his convictions if he believes Qubit to ultimately be good, but himself not to be?

It's simple, really: Carlisle has to admit that he himself is a more decent person than he'd like to believe. He has to sincerely trust what Qubit has said about him, and give himself an honest chance, too. His gaze makes its way back to Qubit, the sincerity nearly as bright as the light in his eyes as he hones in on Qubit's own words.]

Perhaps you will let me down again, but know this: I will not reject you, Mister Qubit. I will not abandon you, nor despise you, nor- nor feel contempt for you. I have lived with that fear. It is pure, unadulterated torment, the kind that can destroy even the strongest individuals.

[His fingers curl upon themselves, clawing his palms as he fights his anxious habits.]

I care far too much for you to allow you to suffer like that.

Edited 2021-02-24 03:37 (UTC)

[ For a moment, all Qubit can do is stare at him, stunned. It's not that he didn't expect some sort of affirmation, but the level of vehemence is surprising - as is Carlisle's admission of holding himself to a double standard his whole life. I can't condemn myself and pardon you. It's not what he meant, but how can he argue?

As much as that, though, he's caught off guard by what it stirs in him. A surge of emotion, almost frightening in its intensity, but - it's different this time. This isn't the wrenching of a knife or the spasming of unhealed wounds, though it comes from very nearby, rising from a place he hadn't even realized he'd closed off.

It's always been Qubit's style to keep other people at arm's length. The excuses have varied over the years - "I'm not like them," "they're holding me back," "it's for their own protection" - but the behavior is a constant. Very few have seen him up close, and no one has seen him entirely. He wears his secrets like armor, layer upon layer of them, hiding the devastating behind the inconsequential. The more he divulges, the more vulnerable it leaves him to judgment, retribution, betrayal... pain.

Yet that's exactly what he's done just now. He's peeled back the layers of secrecy and misdirection and denial until all that remained was ... him. His good intentions, his abject failures, his shame and fear and insecurity and all the ugliness in his heart, all of it laid bare. Here, he said, is my weak point. Here is the surest way to destroy me, and why you would not be wrong to. Do with it as you will.

And Carlisle did not recoil.

He could have. He could just as easily have passed judgment, or lashed out, or fled. But instead, he reached out, and touched the gaping wound as gently as his fingers touched Qubit's shoulder a moment ago. This is not all you are, Carlisle said, and I will not forsake you.

It's acceptance, pure, unyielding, and unconditional. Had he forgotten what that felt like? Had he ever truly known? ]

Carlisle...

[ Words fail him. What can he say to that? Where does he start? What he's feeling defies classification, language is too clumsy an instrument, it'll only dilute his meaning - so instead, quite suddenly, he throws his arms around Carlisle's shoulders and embraces him, nearly lifting him off the ground. ]

[In the moment Qubit stares at him, Carlisle works on his own budding anxiety. Should he have said that? Should he have admitted how much he's come to care for not just their friendship, but for the genuine man before him, flaws and all? Carlisle scratches at the front of his coat, feeling for his talisman as though it would settle the sudden ache in his chest. It was obvious without words, he's sure, but he's worried whomever runs Anchor will hear, that the beings who created such a dreadful place will decide that the camaraderie they have found in one another ought to be replaced with hardship. As a twice-cursed, he brought misfortune to his family and his home — it would only be fitting for it to find him again in Anchor, manifested through the whims of what forces brought them there.

In contrast, Carlisle finds he's not particularly worried for how Qubit will take his words. He expects his friend will insist his flaws define him, much in the way Carlisle has allowed his own to define himself. There will always be some part of Qubit that will likely doubt what Carlisle says, they will revisit this argument time and again, until—

And then, Carlisle is surprised as Qubit, with hardly a word, suddenly embraces him, bringing his anxiety-riddled train of thought to a complete stop; he pulls in a breath and holds it, as though any sudden move would make Qubit reconsider. He hadn't expected such a reaction from Kieran when he healed his eyes — he expected it even less from Qubit, who has generally struck him as someone who prefers to keep others at a distance, both figuratively and literally. He's always been so guarded, hence this very discussion, and the last time Qubit grabbed him so suddenly, it was in a fit of frustrated rage. It was quite a different scenario.

And in a way, that was quite a different Qubit. The Qubit that night was one who didn't know himself any better than Carlisle knew him — less, even — and therefore could not be as open with him as either of them wanted. What secrets he had were hidden from them both, frustratingly so. This Qubit before him, now embracing him, had the full capacity to do otherwise, and still chose to bare himself before Carlisle in a way the clergyman suspects he's done for few others.

Carlisle's own vulnerabilities came to light in a less measured way than Qubit's, burst out in a fit of anger or seeped into his mannerisms as he fought his own nerves, his worst impulses, and his Revenant nature all at once. And yet, the technomancer continued to offer his help, despite everything. Perhaps Qubit did once see him as a project to focus on, a stepping stone on the path to personal, private redemption, but...

He also saw Carlisle as a person deserving of life — even an unlife. Qubit saw him as worthy of commiseration, camaraderie, of standing by no matter the circumstances. He's forgiven Carlisle for his transgressions, even if the clergyman himself didn't feel deserving of it. It was only fair that he do the same — and in that moment where Qubit draws him close with an earnest and sincere gesture of gratitude, Carlisle cannot imagine ever doing otherwise.

Especially not to someone he has come to care for so much, enough so that the mere thought of their friendship changing once Qubit remembered himself caused him incredible grief. His chest aches again with a sharp, lonely pang.

Qubit easily lifts Carlisle, only his toes remaining on the ground. He's frozen for a solid second or two, but reciprocation comes easier this time as he brings his arms around Qubit's back and revels in what feels like a victory. The feeling of being able to help people was what drove him to be a healer in the first place: he could make his family proud, help others while doing it... and perhaps, come to accept himself as well, flaws and all. Not all healing requires magic: some wounds simply need time and compassion to mend. While the two of them may never truly find the absolution they need within themselves, they can at least find some unconditional acceptance in each other.

Warmth stirs in Carlisle's chest, soothing the familiar ache until he can no longer feel it. Is that hope? Relief? An emotion he cannot yet name? Was it one he once knew, forgotten after his death? Or perhaps he's never known its name at all?

Whatever its identity, he welcomes it as a gift, his arms tightening around Qubit in an attempt to thank him for it. It's a bit awkward, Carlisle's inexperience with such affection showing, but he tries all the same. He can't help the soft chuckle that escapes him as he finally exhales.]

I never took you as the hugging sort.

Edited 2021-02-27 12:21 (UTC)

[ Honestly, Qubit didn't come here expecting this, either. The hug was a spur-of-the-moment impulse. A flicker of panic darts through him at Carlisle's initial tenseness - he doesn't like being touched, you know that, should have asked - but then he returns the gesture, wholeheartedly, and any second thoughts on Qubit's part evaporate. His inner tumult subsides, and in that moment, he just feels... right.

It's strange. There's no guilt, no fear, no kneejerk self-loathing. For the first time since this all began (or perhaps much longer), he feels like himself again. Solid. Concordant. Singular. He may still be divided on a multitude of other things, but - not on this. Not on Carlisle.

The remark gets a chuckle out of him, too. ]

Well, you know. Seems I'm full of surprises.

[ He certainly hasn't been the hugging sort in a while, not like he used to be. See, to hold someone, you first have to let them close. As an afterthought, he relaxes enough to let Carlisle stand on the floor like a normal person, though not enough to fully disengage. ]

... After all, someone's got to keep you on your toes.

Edited (bloody html) 2021-03-03 21:41 (UTC)

[With his feet back on the ground, Carlisle is able to better return the embrace, though what pressure he applies is gentle at best. He's not sure when is appropriate to let go — frankly, he's not sure he wants to just yet, as though the moment he does, Qubit might vanish into the ether just like Kieran, just like Reynir, just like his uncles. He shouldn't let people be close; his affliction will taint them. It is the nature of the twice-cursed.

And yet, he wants that closeness. He craves that intimacy, hungers for attachments he spent a lifetime denying himself, especially after his affliction manifested. He insisted on it further when his uncles disappeared, leaving him the only Longinmouth left, a man who constantly felt the need to keep people at a distance for their own good.

But as a result, he was intolerably lonely. What was his solitude compared to the value of their lives? Who was he, as the heir of his bloodline, to sacrifice their livelihood for his own happiness? He'd made his choice, and while it may have damned him — and damned everyone and everything he ever cared about in the process — he couldn't have known what would happen. He wanted what was best for them. Those are not the decisions made by a monster, no matter how inclined he is to twist it that way.

Carlisle knows good and well the man in his arms would tell him as much. They are alike in so many aspects, this included. Maybe Qubit does realize how important this gesture is for him, Carlisle realizes. Maybe he knows just how much a simple embrace can express, can mean while saying nothing at all.

He gives Qubit one more squeeze before letting go, not wanting to overstay his welcome. His hands remain on Qubit's arms, keeping him in reach.]

I prefer to stay grounded. I'm grateful you're here to keep me that way.

[Whether in the throes of a Shift or in Carlisle's day-to-day struggles with his very existence, Qubit seems remarkably good at that.]

Heh! [ Another laugh, stronger this time - Carlisle would match him pun for terrible pun, of course he would. But the sentiment comes through regardless, and Qubit nods and clasps his arms in return, sharing it. ]

Me, too.

[ Carlisle's kept him grounded as well, if in a slightly different sense. He's learnt to recognize when Qubit's at risk of blowing a fuse, so to speak, and when it was time to trip the proverbial breaker and shut him down, he did so without hesitation.

Normally, of course, Qubit can regulate that sort of thing on his own - or so he likes to tell himself. But he's cracked under pressure a number of times, as Carlisle's had the misfortune of witnessing. Even then, though - even when taken by surprise, while lost and afraid and in pain, stressed nearly to his own breaking point - Carlisle had stepped up. He'd realized the danger they posed to each other in that state, and brought the situation under control when Qubit couldn't.

And maybe that speaks to the unique sort of resonance that exists between them. They've always been strongly attuned to each other's emotions, and it doesn't take much to trigger a feedback loop - not quite as direct or pronounced as, say, the ones Newt and Hermann used to get into via their Drift connection, but loops all the same. But feedback can be positive or negative - it can trend toward instability, or equilibrium. And it doesn't take that much adjustment to turn one into the other. The finest adjustments to phase or frequency can be enough to turn amplification into damping, and bring a runaway reaction under control. They're aware of the effect they have on each other, now, and they've been adjusting for it, even before they realized that's what they were doing. De-escalating, drawing each other back, providing the stability they lacked on their own.

Uncontrolled resonance is volatile, dangerous. But if they can harness it... who knows what they might be able to do? ]

[ It's a while before Qubit becomes aware they're lingering. How long have they been standing here like this? Minutes? Hours? A growing sense of self-consciousness finally drags his eyes back toward the farm. It's ridiculous, of course - even if anyone else were around, the trees make for more than adequate cover. (And thank God for that. Imagine if Pratt, or Peter or someone, were to spot them right now - they'd surely never hear the end of it.)

He sighs and chuckles again, and pats Carlisle on the elbows a couple of times before ~~reluctantly~~ letting go, giving their little moment an appropriately manly send-off. ]

... So! [ He straightens his lapels and looks at his watch (yet somehow completely forgets to check the time). ] Shall we start heading back? I could go for a cup of tea.

[While Qubit straightens his lapels, Carlisle's arms cross themselves, his hands landing where Qubit patted them a moment ago as he tries to revel in that sensation just a bit longer. He offers his friend a smile, one that tugs at the corners of his mask.]

Of course. [He glances upward, also checking the time. Gauging from the artificial sunlight, they've been out there longer than he thought they'd be.] Nearly on schedule, and you've earned a rest for all the talking you've done.

[Not that Qubit doesn't usually talk, but the subjects aren't nearly so heavy, so Carlisle takes the lead with the conversation as they meander back, saving further questions for when they've sat down. He starts with some of the various teas he used to brew when he was alive, particularly sleep aids and painkillers — both of which, from the sound of it, he took in copious amounts. That leads him to talking about the plants involved in their making, including some of the ones featured in his current garden. Then there's the glyphs used to enchant the teas, some of which merely enhance the properties found in the herbs, while others change the concoction into something entirely new.

His hero, Pendlebrook Brimstone, gets a brief mention as he discusses the nature of paw plants and the Forest Folk, and by the time they reach the farm proper and pass the pen surrounding the chicken coop, he's babbling about the kitten-kind who lived near Bear Den. His voice is energetic, animated and warm as he fondly remembers the kind and his camaraderie with them.]

... And they thought then to gift me with my own pair of pants, but much like the cabin and the furniture, they hadn't any real measure of how tall the ought to be, and thus, they vastly overestimated. They wouldn't let me leave without trying them on at least once for them, yowling and howling and pawing until I yielded. They were thoughtful patients, but there was no escaping them when they'd put their minds to something. I ended up walking home in trousers where I could fit my entirety into a single leg.

Edited 2021-03-15 07:49 (UTC)

[ As they head back to the homestead, Carlisle chattering excitedly all the way, Qubit listens attentively with only occasional comment. The topic barely matters, he's just enjoying the sound of his voice. Carlisle doesn't often get to cut loose like this, speaking freely about whatever comes to mind, letting his accent through. His native tongue (when Qubit really listens for it, the actual sounds behind what the translator gives him) has a phonology and cadence that reminds him of a Celtic language, rhythmic and thick with rolling consonants. Almost musical, in a way, especially when he's happy.

And he is happy, right now. Qubit's not going to draw attention to it now, but - a happy Carlisle clearly isn't this one's opposite. For all his worries, all his pain and depression, there's still some joy in him.

That joy resonates in Qubit, too, so strongly it's almost like a physical vibration. He feels warm, even tingly, somehow. It's a novel sensation, but... pleasant. Actually, it's astonishing how light he feels. Clearheaded, awake, sharp - as if the dull edges of liminality have been shorn away, leaving behind only the real.

This, right now, is real. Beyond all shadow of a doubt. The real Carlisle, the real Qubit, without pretense, the innermost selves they've shown only to each other.

He rather likes it. ]

[ They're coming up on the farm now. The latest anecdote gets Qubit laughing loud and boisterously, even doubling him over for a second. What a mental image! It's like something out of a fairytale. ]

Good Lord! Hahaha! They tried, bless their little hearts. [ He straightens up, still chuckling. ] So that makes you, what - an honorary kitten?

[ He is not remotely paying attention to the chickens, and certainly not to the conspicuous absence of the sweater chicken, Walaric. ]

Edited 2021-03-15 15:49 (UTC)

It does, in a way. Despite my complaints, it's an honor, and they've a proper title for it, but I'll be damned if I could ever pronounce it quite right. Their language has so many harsh sounds, and they all get stuck on the tongue.

[He curls his fingers in the air before him as he gesticulates, as though demonstrating the stickiness of said words, his eyes landing on the coop as they pass it by. While Qubit pays them no mind, Carlisle does notice the lack of one chicken in particular when the other three greet them at the side of the pen, their dark eyes watching them expectantly.]

Cisth, Walaric's out again. I've no doubt she's in the house.

[At some point, he realized all four of the chickens were hens, but he hasn't bothered to change Walaric's name — or even address that he named her in the first place.]

[ Well, that draws Qubit's attention to it, and sure enough, only three out of four chickens recommend staying in the pen. ]

Again?

[ This has happened several times over the past few weeks, and it's always a hassle trying to catch her, especially if she gets back out prematurely. You'd think having longer legs would give Team Human the advantage in a chase, but you'd be wrong. He picks up his pace, striding toward the house with purpose. ]

How does she keep getting in, anyway?

I suspect she flattens herself out somehow and squeezes through the window. I have yet to get it closed all the way.

[He meanders over to his makeshift home and pushes the door open. The quietest cluck comes from beneath the bed, behind the stacks of pots he keeps under there.]

I regret raising the bed and giving her a better place to hide. She's as bad as any kitten.

[He sighs in mock weariness, leaving the door open for Qubit as he makes his way to the worktable to prepare their tea.]

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