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redshiftlogs2019-06-30 09:07 pm
modblob) wrote in redshiftlogs2019-06-30 09:07 pm
Entry tags:
- !mod post: intro mingle,
- dragon age: cole,
- expanse: alex kamal,
- far cry 5: staci pratt,
- hunger games: annie cresta,
- hunger games: finnick odair,
- izombie: drake holloway,
- mcu: peter parker,
- mortal kombat: kabal,
- original: cho takahashi,
- poison: poison,
- umbrella academy: ben hargreeves,
- umbrella academy: diego hargreeves,
- umbrella academy: eudora patch,
- umbrella academy: klaus hargreeves,
- warm bodies: julie grigio
july 2019. welcome to the void.
Who: Everyone in Anchor.
What: First Introductory Mingle
When: The Month of July 2019
Where: Around and outside the city.
Warnings: Please add any warnings in the subject lines.
A few hours after the first arrivals, odd noises start to filter up from the pavilion and park at the base of the city. Limp whistles, the gunfire pop of small fireworks, and music from what sounds like a broken kazoo. It seems as though the still-functioning robots of Anchor are trying to welcome their new human overlords, based on programming that hasn't been exercised in... uh, shall we say "a while"?
Three of them have formed a tiny off-key band playing unfamiliar tunes from crackling speakers. One of the three punctuates the music at odd moments by smashing together a pair of cymbals that seem to have been constructed from a flattened pot and a trash can lid. Two others man the refreshments table. Some of the food looks downright inedible, but there are piles of wild berries from the upper floors. Raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, strawberries. Apples and cherries. Fruits that shouldn't be in season together but somehow still are. There's a strange and vaguely triangular pastry that tastes like hot cinnamon candy. There are piles of vegetables, too, though the only preparation they've had is to be washed and dumped in baskets.
One of the chef bots has put some work in, though, and there are a couple of stews and soups available for the adventurous. All of them are made with the raw ingredients available to eat on the tables. One of them even has meat in it, though that's best consumed by people with very hardy stomachs.
At the end of the refreshment table is a cluster of fresh-pressed juices and unlabeled alcohol bottles, with uneven stacks of cups stationed around them. (Careful, some of the cups are cracked.) Even the good old bar bot is doing his part, pouring out glasses of orange juice and straight shots of tequila. A very generous compromise in place of his usual tequila sunrises. Right? Right.
The most conspicuous robot is the one setting off fireworks. It’s already blown off one six-fingered hand, but by god that hasn’t stopped it. With every small cluster of colorful explosives, the thing throws back its chunky head and gives a sound that can only be described as a metallic cackle.
Might want to watch that guy.
In the wee hours of the morning after the robots' attempted welcome, the impacts against the dome overhead start. Meteorites, some of them as large as a person's head, bombard the shield and the area around for miles. The alarms that start throughout the colony are enough to wake anyone up, if the thunderous noise of the cosmic storm wasn't enough to do it.
And the alarms aren't for the meteorites. The red shift is rising up around the colony, that phenomenon that no one from the past had the foresight to give more than vague warnings about. New residents who have done some digging will know exactly what’s going on, but for those who’ve avoided even thinking about what’s happened to them, well. It could be a nasty surprise.
Anyone sensible would stay inside with all of that going on, but there's something else: life signs. The communication devices given to residents on arrival light up, indicating the presence of no less than five flecks of life out there in the wastes. Odds are good that at least a few of them are monsters from other worlds, or twisted radioactive creatures warped by the planet itself. But one of them is very human, and has been here for a very long time.
Should residents venture out to investigate these life signs, they’ll find the farthest one to be a man in protective gear, flickering like a badly received signal. As the red shift starts to fade, he solidifies, and as the shift finally dies away, he wrenches off his helmet with one hand and falls to his knees. He's as twisted as the creatures the planet has corrupted, one eye socket nothing but a depression sealed by flesh. His lips on that side curves sharply upward, barely hiding teeth too sharp and long for a human mouth. It's clear now while he pulled off his helmet with one hand--the other is a wreck, a blackened stony mass sealed to the cuff of his radiation suit.
He can hear you coming, if you're brave enough to approach. He can hear you coming, and will turn his one orange-irised eye to watch you until you speak.
Welcome to Anchor, where sometimes you're the only thing between you and the catastrophic failure of life support systems. After the red shift ends, the radioactivity warning alarms will at least fall silent. The cosmic storm has passed, and for a little while there's quiet under the dome.
But those exploring the upper reaches of the city might hear new alarms, much softer and less insistent than the radiation alarms. They're coming from one of the survey rooms near the garage and the exits to the surface. It might take a little doing to pull up the screens triggering the alarms, but you'll be glad you put in the work. It turns out, those meteorites damaged several of the exterior sensors and one of the major radiation and light transfer panels that help keep anchor supplied with energy--and help keep the shield dome in good working order.
While the damage is easy to see and isn't too hard to fix for those with some technical know-how, there are life signs moving slowly closer to the colony. It's quite possible to fix the damage and get back inside before those life signs arrive, but there's also the risk of being caught in the open and facing down some of the planet's native creatures.
In this case, they're large, furry millipede-like creatures no less than seven feet long. They're perfectly harmless, if you don't count the fact that they seem intent on trying to eat the protective gear and tools you've brought out onto the surface with you. It's not their fault that your arms are inside those delicious radiation suits.
A few days of genuine quiet follow the fixing of the exterior damage. Time to explore, to get lost, to drink more than your doctor might recommend at the colony's only serviceable bar. Enough time to feel the weight of Anchor's emptiness.
The next time you walk into the bar, there's a see-through stranger at the pool table, smiling warmly in welcome. "Want a game?"
Get too close, and he disappears. But he was there--he was clearly there. The cue he was holding clatters to the ground and rolls over to rest at your feet.
Down in the pavilion, there are children playing in the park. Throwing balls, playing tag, their laughs echoing somehow in the open air. Invisible parents call for them to be careful or slow down. Now and then one of them will vanish midstep, only to appear again back where they were ten minutes ago and start their run through the park all over again. They can see you. One or two might even invite you to join their games, taking your hand in their own, leading you toward their fellows. And when they do, you can hear their parents' voices exclaiming in shock. A rush of shadows scoop up these phantom children and whisk them away into some invisible world where you can't follow, only hear the children crying in fear.
All around the colony, shades appear and vanish, some solid enough to touch, some just barely visible. Some are inexplicably aggressive, attacking anyone who tries to talk to them or get too close. Just as many run screaming or sobbing at the sight of you.
But there are others, too, who seem to recognize you. One of these is a young woman holding a gun like she has no idea how to use it. When approached, she almost starts to cry. "Oh, thank god. We have to get the kids to quarantine. We have to get them into lockdown. Those bastards-- Those sons of bitches-- The kids should at least have a chance."
She starts to turn, and a laser blast rips through her, lancing across the wall right where a deep score mark still exists, not in the least ghostly or unreal. If you touch it now, it feels warm.
What: First Introductory Mingle
When: The Month of July 2019
Where: Around and outside the city.
Warnings: Please add any warnings in the subject lines.
Redshift: Welcome to the v͖͕̺̲̘̱̜͎o̴̦̣̠̦̘̹͞i̯̖d̛̪̬͈̱̦̝͍̕.
Click here to read what characters will experience when arriving in Anchor.
a. bot party.
A few hours after the first arrivals, odd noises start to filter up from the pavilion and park at the base of the city. Limp whistles, the gunfire pop of small fireworks, and music from what sounds like a broken kazoo. It seems as though the still-functioning robots of Anchor are trying to welcome their new human overlords, based on programming that hasn't been exercised in... uh, shall we say "a while"? Three of them have formed a tiny off-key band playing unfamiliar tunes from crackling speakers. One of the three punctuates the music at odd moments by smashing together a pair of cymbals that seem to have been constructed from a flattened pot and a trash can lid. Two others man the refreshments table. Some of the food looks downright inedible, but there are piles of wild berries from the upper floors. Raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, strawberries. Apples and cherries. Fruits that shouldn't be in season together but somehow still are. There's a strange and vaguely triangular pastry that tastes like hot cinnamon candy. There are piles of vegetables, too, though the only preparation they've had is to be washed and dumped in baskets.
One of the chef bots has put some work in, though, and there are a couple of stews and soups available for the adventurous. All of them are made with the raw ingredients available to eat on the tables. One of them even has meat in it, though that's best consumed by people with very hardy stomachs.
At the end of the refreshment table is a cluster of fresh-pressed juices and unlabeled alcohol bottles, with uneven stacks of cups stationed around them. (Careful, some of the cups are cracked.) Even the good old bar bot is doing his part, pouring out glasses of orange juice and straight shots of tequila. A very generous compromise in place of his usual tequila sunrises. Right? Right.
The most conspicuous robot is the one setting off fireworks. It’s already blown off one six-fingered hand, but by god that hasn’t stopped it. With every small cluster of colorful explosives, the thing throws back its chunky head and gives a sound that can only be described as a metallic cackle.
Might want to watch that guy.
b. life signs in the wasteland.
In the wee hours of the morning after the robots' attempted welcome, the impacts against the dome overhead start. Meteorites, some of them as large as a person's head, bombard the shield and the area around for miles. The alarms that start throughout the colony are enough to wake anyone up, if the thunderous noise of the cosmic storm wasn't enough to do it. And the alarms aren't for the meteorites. The red shift is rising up around the colony, that phenomenon that no one from the past had the foresight to give more than vague warnings about. New residents who have done some digging will know exactly what’s going on, but for those who’ve avoided even thinking about what’s happened to them, well. It could be a nasty surprise.
Anyone sensible would stay inside with all of that going on, but there's something else: life signs. The communication devices given to residents on arrival light up, indicating the presence of no less than five flecks of life out there in the wastes. Odds are good that at least a few of them are monsters from other worlds, or twisted radioactive creatures warped by the planet itself. But one of them is very human, and has been here for a very long time.
Should residents venture out to investigate these life signs, they’ll find the farthest one to be a man in protective gear, flickering like a badly received signal. As the red shift starts to fade, he solidifies, and as the shift finally dies away, he wrenches off his helmet with one hand and falls to his knees. He's as twisted as the creatures the planet has corrupted, one eye socket nothing but a depression sealed by flesh. His lips on that side curves sharply upward, barely hiding teeth too sharp and long for a human mouth. It's clear now while he pulled off his helmet with one hand--the other is a wreck, a blackened stony mass sealed to the cuff of his radiation suit.
He can hear you coming, if you're brave enough to approach. He can hear you coming, and will turn his one orange-irised eye to watch you until you speak.
c. hairy repairs.
Welcome to Anchor, where sometimes you're the only thing between you and the catastrophic failure of life support systems. After the red shift ends, the radioactivity warning alarms will at least fall silent. The cosmic storm has passed, and for a little while there's quiet under the dome. But those exploring the upper reaches of the city might hear new alarms, much softer and less insistent than the radiation alarms. They're coming from one of the survey rooms near the garage and the exits to the surface. It might take a little doing to pull up the screens triggering the alarms, but you'll be glad you put in the work. It turns out, those meteorites damaged several of the exterior sensors and one of the major radiation and light transfer panels that help keep anchor supplied with energy--and help keep the shield dome in good working order.
While the damage is easy to see and isn't too hard to fix for those with some technical know-how, there are life signs moving slowly closer to the colony. It's quite possible to fix the damage and get back inside before those life signs arrive, but there's also the risk of being caught in the open and facing down some of the planet's native creatures.
In this case, they're large, furry millipede-like creatures no less than seven feet long. They're perfectly harmless, if you don't count the fact that they seem intent on trying to eat the protective gear and tools you've brought out onto the surface with you. It's not their fault that your arms are inside those delicious radiation suits.
d. shadows of the past.
A few days of genuine quiet follow the fixing of the exterior damage. Time to explore, to get lost, to drink more than your doctor might recommend at the colony's only serviceable bar. Enough time to feel the weight of Anchor's emptiness. The next time you walk into the bar, there's a see-through stranger at the pool table, smiling warmly in welcome. "Want a game?"
Get too close, and he disappears. But he was there--he was clearly there. The cue he was holding clatters to the ground and rolls over to rest at your feet.
Down in the pavilion, there are children playing in the park. Throwing balls, playing tag, their laughs echoing somehow in the open air. Invisible parents call for them to be careful or slow down. Now and then one of them will vanish midstep, only to appear again back where they were ten minutes ago and start their run through the park all over again. They can see you. One or two might even invite you to join their games, taking your hand in their own, leading you toward their fellows. And when they do, you can hear their parents' voices exclaiming in shock. A rush of shadows scoop up these phantom children and whisk them away into some invisible world where you can't follow, only hear the children crying in fear.
All around the colony, shades appear and vanish, some solid enough to touch, some just barely visible. Some are inexplicably aggressive, attacking anyone who tries to talk to them or get too close. Just as many run screaming or sobbing at the sight of you.
But there are others, too, who seem to recognize you. One of these is a young woman holding a gun like she has no idea how to use it. When approached, she almost starts to cry. "Oh, thank god. We have to get the kids to quarantine. We have to get them into lockdown. Those bastards-- Those sons of bitches-- The kids should at least have a chance."
She starts to turn, and a laser blast rips through her, lancing across the wall right where a deep score mark still exists, not in the least ghostly or unreal. If you touch it now, it feels warm.
e. ping from the rubble.
As though the presence of past residents sets it off, a persistent signal begins to broadcast from the collapsed library. It turns out there's a section not buried quite as deeply as the rest. A row of broken terminals, ending with the one sending the signal. A warning signal about the structural integrity of the library complex and the need to back up crucial data. Too little, too late, but with time and patience some of the partial files on the terminal could be reconstructed....
For those less versed in computers, there's a mysterious door just past the terminals, partially blocked off by rubble. If that can be cleared, the door leads into a dusty room with more broken terminals, but beyond that, there's a small library of real hardcover and paperback books, with comfortable chairs (some of them needing TLC), low tables, and lights (currently broken). The books are in a variety of languages, both Earth-based and alien. A flickering "skylight" at the top of the room shows a blue sky flanked by swaying trees, or a thunderstorm, or other, stranger but still friendly skies. It blinks off, sometimes, but seems determined to keep playing its peaceful scenes for those below. With some cleaning up, this could be a good retreat from the sometimes oppressive emptiness of Anchor.
For those less versed in computers, there's a mysterious door just past the terminals, partially blocked off by rubble. If that can be cleared, the door leads into a dusty room with more broken terminals, but beyond that, there's a small library of real hardcover and paperback books, with comfortable chairs (some of them needing TLC), low tables, and lights (currently broken). The books are in a variety of languages, both Earth-based and alien. A flickering "skylight" at the top of the room shows a blue sky flanked by swaying trees, or a thunderstorm, or other, stranger but still friendly skies. It blinks off, sometimes, but seems determined to keep playing its peaceful scenes for those below. With some cleaning up, this could be a good retreat from the sometimes oppressive emptiness of Anchor.
no subject
His look, now, says something like: it better be, or this bot is toast. Ben's hand idly comes up to his stomach, pressing over it lightly through the hoodie and shirt. Until the theatre, it had been so long since he used his powers. Not since he died. Using them again after all that time, feeling the way it felt - well, nevermind, Ben hasn't got time to unpack all that right now. He thinks he will be able to fight if he has to and that's the important thing. ]
I wonder where everybody went? This place is a freakin' ghost town.
[ Ben watches warily as the bot scans the wound and then goes to work, spraying it with what Ben has to assume is some kind of numbing and/or antiseptic mixture. It administers a tetanus booster (with something that looks more like a hypospray from Star Trek than a needly) and neatly closes the wound, with something that looks like a mix between a staple and a suture. ]
You will require a round of antibiotics. Please remain seated and wait.
[ The brothers watch the bot moving over to a panel to the wall, evidently some kind of automatic pharmacy. Ben's eyes drift away from it and to his brother, and his stomach clenches again at those bruises, as well as the new tattoos, the whole history of different pains written on him. He can see it too, in the droop of Klaus's shoulders and the way he's holding himself, that he is exhausted. He remembers those shuffling steps and suggests: ]
Maybe they've got some beds in here? You look pretty wiped.
no subject
It probably shows just as clearly on his face how relieved and grateful Klaus is. He really had missed this without realizing how much he had, being around Ben and talking to him and knowing that his brother has his back. It's even better, now that Ben is alive again and solid and able to be hugged and openly involved in things. They don't need their silent language, but it's comforting and wonderful to know they can still do it.]
Hopefully they weren't all killed in the robot uprising.
[Klaus says it jokingly, flippantly, but it is actually something he's wondered about. The bot moves closer, scans the wound, sprays something on it - lidocaine, maybe? Whatever it is, it leaves the wound and the skin around it feeling numb and comfortable, and he just watches as it staples the wound, gives him a shot that doesn't hurt at all, and then goes to get antibiotics. Klaus looks up at his brother, his arms loose around his belly, and he nods.]
Yeah, I haven't slept well in a few weeks. Can't sleep much in the jungle.
[A pause, and Klaus exhales heavily.]
I'm so tired Ben. I used my powers there, and it was just...exhausting. Is it like that for you guys?
no subject
You'd think there would be some sign of that. Bodies, or bullet holes. Laser holes, maybe. That kind of thing.
[ It's possible the robot uprising had happened and the robots are just very tidy ones who cleaned up afterwards, but Ben is skeptical. This place doesn't seem war-torn, just empty. Which in a way is almost more frightening. Ben's never much enjoyed mysteries, or surprises. Not outside of books. ]
Do you think you could sleep here?
[ It is a genuine question. This place might not be the jungle, but it is hardly cozy and safe-feeling. Besides, Ben knows Klaus. He knows how hard it is for him to sleep anywhere, no matter the circumstances. That he is plagued by nightmares and ghosts and rest - real rest, not drugged stupor - isn't something he's had for a very long time.
Ben sits down beside Klaus, on the non-injured side. There doesn't appear to be any immediate danger from the bot, and he's just remembered that one of the good things about having a solid body is that, if he needs to, Klaus could actually lean on it. What a novel idea. ]
You know what it is like for me.
[ This, in many ways, is the benefit to having been through so much together and knowing one another so well. Klaus is really the one person who knows what it is like for Ben to use his powers; he knows the baggage, he knows about the pain. There is no need to explain or describe anymore, because Klaus was there. He gets it.
But it's not the same, in reverse. For these last few months Klaus has lived without him there. ]
What do you mean, used your powers? Are you talking about... something like what you did at the concert hall?
no subject
[When he says it, Klaus' voice is a little distant, because it's a little too real, honestly. After the war with the Null he'd just come from, remembers the bodies and bullet holes and laser holes, remembers how it had felt and how it had smelled and what it had sounded like. Shivering a little, he shakes his head, and looks up at Ben again as he asks if he thinks he could sleep here.
For a moment, Klaus looks around the room, looks at the various beds and the curtains around them. There are ghosts here too, but they're not swarming like they usually do at home, at least not yet.]
Maybe. Probably. Kinda feel like I could sleep anywhere right now.
[When Ben sits down beside him, Klaus leans over toward him almost instinctively and rests his shoulder against his brother's. Then Ben says Klaus knows what it's like for him, and Klaus winces.]
Sorry sorry sorry, I know I know...I know how it is. And uh. Yeah kind of. There were a lot of dead monsters there, so I conjured them, from the afterlife, so they could fight and cover us while we blew up the bridge to buy time. I did that a few times.
[Head down, he picks at a thread on the edge of the blanket.]
Man it was tiring.
no subject
When Klaus leans on his shoulder, Ben reaches down between them and takes Klaus's hand in his, lacing their fingers together and holding on tightly. Maybe by some objective measure it is a strange gesture for the moment, or for siblings, but Ben has never had any kind of gauge for normal. All he knows is Klaus takes comfort from touch and he hadn't been able to give him that for a decade and a half as he watched the world batter his brother over and over again. He doesn't know how long this being alive and having a body will last. He has to make the most of it. ]
Just tiring?
[ Ben hasn't seen Klaus conjure enough times to know how it impacts him. So he prompts Klaus, in case there is more. If Klaus had been using his powers to conjure monsters... well, that is starting to sound more and more similar to Ben's own powers. Ben has had monsters inside him his whole life. He knows what it is, to do business with them. And he knows that, even if Klaus's opponents were an army of evil robots, being the conduit through which a monster does violence is anything but easy.
Swallowing, he adds: ]
Were they- like mine?
no subject
When Ben asks if using his powers was just tiring, or if they were like his, Klaus makes a soft noise in his throat, a little hum of acknowledgement. He tries to remember exactly what it had felt like, what it had been like, but a lot of that whole part of the battle is a blur in his head. A lot of his time in Hadriel after that one hard smack on the head is a little blurry.]
It was a lot easier to do with you, but I don't think it's like yours. I could tell the monster wanted to fight, I could feel it, but it didn't really affect me.
[He bites at his lip a little, looking into the middle distance blankly.]
I couldn't control them much at all. I just sorta fed them a target I think? It's hard to explain.
no subject
That is one, small mercy. Ben wouldn't wish that on anyone, and particularly not his brother, who has already been damaged so much. He's not sure Klaus could take it, really. Being joined with those monsters, the way Ben is joined with his own. Perhaps that is just arrogance, but he's happy not to have to find out. ]
I think I get it. You just gave them the energy, and a direction.
[ Perhaps that was why it had been easier for him to conjure Ben; that direction wasn't needed. They were both on the same team already. Besides, Ben had been aware enough to cooperate, in a way that he doesn't really understand even now. It had been something they did together, rather than Klaus all on his own. ]
I'm proud of you. For surviving. And-
[ Ben shuts his eyes, stops holding away the hurt for just a few moments. Lets himself feel it, before he puts on his brave face again and says: ]
-and I'm sorry I wasn't there.
[ Ben squeezes Klaus's hand, and then gently extricates himself, wandering past the bot where it is still crafting antibiotics, peering through a few of the doors to connecting rooms. When he sees one to a little room with two flat beds in it, he waves Klaus to follow him. ]
no subject
Yeah, that's right, it was like I let them come out, not like they were part of me.
[His voice trails off, and he squeezes Ben's hand, because Klaus is suddenly thinking about Ben and his powers and how he must be feeling now that he's got them back. The Eldritch things that reach from their world into this one through Ben. He's remembering how Ben had felt after he used his powers, remembering those nights where Ben would come and huddle on the end of his bed and hold his knees until Klaus managed to talk him into at least lying down and trying to sleep. Remembers how neither of them could ever get to sleep those nights.
When Ben says he's proud of him for surviving, Klaus' gut clenches and he puts his head down on Ben's shoulder again, closes his eyes, and he knows Ben can probably feel him shivering...but it's Ben. Ben's seen worse than Klaus being emotional over this. The first time someone has said he was proud of him for...well, for as long as he can remember. He can't even directly respond to it because it's too much.]
That's not your fault.
[This is when he lifts his head and looks over at Ben again, and his brother squeezes his hand before he gets up again. Klaus watches him with a frown and a slight furrow between his brows.]
I missed you, but it's not your fault you weren't there. You're here.
[Ben gestures at him, waves him to come over to the door he's at, and Klaus slides off the bed, wincing a little as he crosses the room and looks through the door.]
Oh, nice find.
no subject
Ben wipes a hand down his face, composing himself even as he steps aside so that Klaus can settle on one of the cots in the medbay. There is a little closet nearby, and Ben goes to it almost automatically, pulling down an extra pillow and blanket and bringing them over. The room is air conditioned and he knows that Klaus gets cold sometimes. Then it dawns on him he can feel the cold of the air, and a shiver runs through him because all those physical sensations really are overwhelming if he lets himself think about them for even a moment.
He is just laying out the extra blanket when the bot comes in with, presumably, the antibiotics it had said it was preparing. Ben tenses, remains so until the bot is whirring its way out of the room again, perhaps from some kind of privacy or patient care protocol which told it not to linger in this room. ]
You should - get some rest. I can look around and find us a safer place to crash. Shouldn't take too long. This place seems pretty deserted. Doubt I'm gonna have a hard time finding space.
no subject
So Klaus just watches as Ben wipes his hand across his face as if he were crying, even if he's not, and steps past him, green eyes flicking to his face for a moment before he sits down on the cot. While Ben gets some extra blankets and pillows, the bot comes back in and gives Klaus a spray shot thing with some antibiotics and dispenses him two bottles of pills - one is antibiotics, the other is...
Oh.
Oxycodone.
Of all the things he'd expected when coming to the MedBay, being handed a bottle of low-dose oxycodone was the last one. Without thinking, he shoves the bottle under the pillow and when Ben comes back with the extra bedclothes, he offers him a little smile. It's easy to cover the anxiety over hiding something from Ben, he's spent so long lying and hiding his drugs or stolen items from other people that it's a habit he slips into naturally. Easy as breathing.]
Thanks.
[A pause, and he bites at his lower lip for a moment, looking Ben in the face.]
Hey. Ben. Would you mind hanging out for a bit, till I fall asleep? It's been a while since I had you around and I missed it. I think...
[He takes a deep breath and then lets it out slowly.]
I never realized how safe I felt with you around until you were gone. Sorry.
no subject
It says one a day. You should probably take one now.
[ Then Klaus is asking him to stay until he falls asleep, and that hits Ben hard. There had been a small voice somewhere in the back of his head, wondering if Klaus wouldn't want him around as much now. He's alive again, and that means he can speak to other people. No reason to hang around his brother 24/7 anymore. But Klaus is asking him to stay, saying he missed him. Telling Ben how safe he felt when Ben was there.
Hearing that, in particular - safety is such a precious thing, to both of them. They'd found pockets of happiness, each in their own way, all throughout their lives, no matter how bad things got. But they'd never really had safety, either of them. It's a big deal, and Ben knows it, and Klaus knows Ben knows it.
All of a sudden, his throat is tight, and there's a hot pressure in his forehead that tells him he's going to cry if he isn't careful. And so he is careful. He nods, rather than speaking, sitting at the foot of the bed with one leg tucked up underneath him, the other dangling off the cot. Ben knows Klaus will see through his sudden silence-and-blinking-a-little-too-much, but knowing how obvious he is doesn't mean Ben knows how to respond in any other way.
Eventually, he regains his composure, waits until Klaus is settled in before he starts talking about the plot of some interminably long Russian novel. It's just noise, and they both knows it, but Klaus doesn't appear to have his walkman, can't listen to music the way he did so often back home. Ben doesn't know how loud the ghosts might be, so he offers up a counter - something very boring for Klaus to tune out as he drifts off. ]