Leo Fitz (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hypoxic) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2016-08-09 12:43 am
hypoxic) wrote in entrancelogs2016-08-09 12:43 am
(open) there's got to be a morning after;
Who: Leo Fitz and anyone else who really needs a beer right now
Where: The bar
When: August 9th, during that very still period between the end of the event and the return of everyone's powers.
Rating: PG-13, will note if anything escalates
Summary: Everyone got to live different lives and be different people! And then they woke up with the realization that they might have said or done some things that maybe shouldn't have happened. Beer is the solution to this problem. Come commiserate.
The Story:
[People talked about it, of course. They mentioned that events could change more than just parts of the mansion. But this was the first time Fitz had the chance to experience it. He'd lived an entirely different life, and it was... Pathetic. He'd become a person so steeped in published dogma that he lost track of common sense and self-awareness. He let people perform atrocities on him, all because he "knew" he was adhering to science.
And ever since waking up with his true memories restored, he's felt absolutely sick about it.
He settles down at the bar at just before noon, nursing a beer and brooding. He's not an expert drinker, and lets the beverage sit long enough for condensation to bead along the exterior of the glass between sips. But the sips do come eventually. How else is he going to wash away an alternate lifetime's worth of horrible choices?
Occasionally, he'll glance to whomever's settled down nearby, seeking comfort in shared misery.]
If I never hear the word "mutant" again it'll be too soon, yeah?
[This might be the most social he's been in the four months since his arrival.]
Where: The bar
When: August 9th, during that very still period between the end of the event and the return of everyone's powers.
Rating: PG-13, will note if anything escalates
Summary: Everyone got to live different lives and be different people! And then they woke up with the realization that they might have said or done some things that maybe shouldn't have happened. Beer is the solution to this problem. Come commiserate.
The Story:
[People talked about it, of course. They mentioned that events could change more than just parts of the mansion. But this was the first time Fitz had the chance to experience it. He'd lived an entirely different life, and it was... Pathetic. He'd become a person so steeped in published dogma that he lost track of common sense and self-awareness. He let people perform atrocities on him, all because he "knew" he was adhering to science.
And ever since waking up with his true memories restored, he's felt absolutely sick about it.
He settles down at the bar at just before noon, nursing a beer and brooding. He's not an expert drinker, and lets the beverage sit long enough for condensation to bead along the exterior of the glass between sips. But the sips do come eventually. How else is he going to wash away an alternate lifetime's worth of horrible choices?
Occasionally, he'll glance to whomever's settled down nearby, seeking comfort in shared misery.]
If I never hear the word "mutant" again it'll be too soon, yeah?
[This might be the most social he's been in the four months since his arrival.]
no subject
Philip glances at his notepad. Truth is, he only ever picked up signing a while ago, and pretty quickly dumped it in favour of his abilities. For times like these - and people who never wanted him in his head in the first place - he stuck with it, though given the amount of people who could sign enough to understand-- Well. Not the biggest payoff.
But! He got that, and it's a start. An opportunity, too. He thinks for a second, and signs: ]
Mine is probably not much better either, but I might as well use the chance to oven.
[ Wait.
Wait, not like that. ]
Practice?
[ Okay, running with it. ]
Practice.
no subject
It's a worthwhile practice for us both, then.
[Especially since Fitz has to finger-spell "worthwhile" because what even is the ASL sign for that?]
In any case, I'm happy to see the end of that event.
no subject
[ He pointedly takes a long drink. ]
Because that was an option.
no subject
[He grimaces sympathetically. It must be horrible to wake up knowing you were responsible for so much suffering. Fitz is mostly upset that his double wasn't more upset, but to have actually committed some of the crimes he'd seen...]
They sedated me straight away, from what I could tell. ["Sedated" is also spelled out.] I hadn't thought it was long after I saw you that everything ended.
no subject
Because he wants to ask, and he sure is bloody relieved that he doesn't have to figure out the right tone of voice for it. ]
When you volunteered-- [ Actually, there may still be a few signs missing. He skips those. Meaning. That's good enough. ] You thought you had to, or you wanted the powers?
[ Philip looks at Fitz tentatively. Because all he knows is that he wants his bloody telepathy back, and that he can't tell if the answer is supposed to be obvious anymore. ]
no subject
I thought... I knew there would be no powers at the end of it. The first batch of lab rats never survives. But I suspected that there wouldn't be many volunteers. And I didn't think that it would matter if it was me.
I suppose it's more that I didn't have a very high opinion of myself in that world.
[He's nowhere close to being buzzed enough to handle this conversation.]
no subject
Guess. That. Is. What. That. World. Did. To. Humans. [ Like that, piece by piece, because he signs every word stilted, thoughts somewhere other than remembering the gestures. His hands--
Philip clenches his fingers, mid-sign. One hand a fist, the other tapping on it. Nervously, not another message, unless by accident. Right, back to the real words, after just another pause, because he needs this to look deliberate. More fluent, too. ]
I'm sorry I was part of it.
[ He's not.
He's not, but his hands are silent now, wrapped around the beer instead, raised sheepishly to toast the apology. ]
no subject
[ Those words weren't signed well at all. Philip has been doing better than that. There's something else happening here.
he sets a hand on top of Philip's, signs abandoned. ]
Are you all right?
no subject
And when he tries to sign an answer, all that comes out is the voiceless huff that would have been an incredulous laugh once, and Philip shaking his head. Right, enough with the hands. He grabs his pen and paper, like a lifeline. ]
Not sure why people keep asking, [ he writes. ] I wasn't the one it turned into a human lab rat.
[ And then, almost, he hands the message over too quickly, before he can remember to add, in capital letters no less: ]
I'M FINE.