orderfromchaos | 10. messages + open spam

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10. messages + open spam

[Private to Elsa]

How do you feel about working on your powers wth Rogue?

[Spam for Helena]

[He talks to Cosima first, waits a day or two before turning up. It's unfair, maybe, using his presence - but his mirror self did it, and he wants the chance for his words to have at least as much weight now.]

Hey. Bucky said it was okay with him for me to visit. Is it okay with you?

[Open spam]

[Sometimes, Dillon just lies on his back on the deck, staring up for a few hours at a time, trying to understand the things his powers are trying to tell him about the stars, about whatever strange ether they're passing. If he understood it, really got what it was and how it worked, he's pretty sure he'd be able to get to the place between, with the red sands and strange ruins and Deanna's body. If he could just - reach.]

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Is that it, then? Is that what your deal is for? Is that why you're here?

Edited 2014-07-27 04:40 (UTC)

My deal is for saving Earth from soul-eating aliens.

[Really.]

[He can't help it, he has to narrow his eyes at Dillon for a beat.]

You're completely serious. Aren't you.

[It isn't the taken aback way he said those same words to Abigail, the first day he was here. It's flat, resigned and knowing when it comes to how things usually are around here, but no closer to letting them go without comment.]

Yeah.

[It's basically his fault they're coming; his power that reconstituted Okaya, his trick that sent the parasite of destruction to bore through their dimension like an invasive species of weevil leveling an old forest.][Before he can be selfish.]

[There's another pause, though this one carries the air of a tired but silent sigh. He walks forward so he's standing at the railing, leaning forward with his weight rested upon his arms.

This is as close to actually sitting down next to Dillon as he's going to get. In his own twisted way, this is his version of being commiserative.]

Who's your inmate? The literal ice queen, right? Well, I think she has personal issues more than she has real problems so...I'm sure she'll be an easy task.

Thanks.

[A tiny bit dryly; but he understands how it's meant.]

She's not cruel, you're right. But she's - tied in knots, you know?

I worry about her.

If it were my job, I'd worry too.

[He's about as dry on the subject as Dillon is. It's not his nature to worry about other people - and though they've spoken a few times, he can't say he knows Elsa. She's not one of 'his'.]

I can sympathize with her plight, a little, you know. Seems like all she ever wanted was to be normal. Not burdened with these abilities she can't control.

Something like that.

[He feels a little awkward discussing it; he wants to defend her, to explain her, but he should keep her private emotions private, he's been trusted with things not everyone would be, by the file and Elsa herself.]

It sucks, doesn't it.

[But it's easy to talk about being your own ground zero; he can sympathize too.]

You ever try to run?

I did. For like a year. I guess I still am. Not that it matters, because there you are, you know?

[He doesn't care about the subject deferral; honestly, he's more interested in Dillon than he is in Elsa. If he cares about her it's only by correlation.]

I only ran at the very end. When hiding was no longer an option.

[He keeps his gaze up, skyward, rather than glance back at him. But his hands tighten a fraction where they grip the railing.

To some extent, he's still hiding. Trying to, anyway. Got his fake skin back and put it back on, once again doing everything he can to ignore what's wrong with him and pretend it never happened.]

At first I didn't have anywhere to hide.

I tried the military after dying didn't work. That was stupid. And now I'm here.

[A smile, tired, something past self-deprecating, not quite self-loathing. He is what he is.]

[It's coming to him that an awful lot of people he talks to here have mentioned trying to take shortcuts out of their own lives. And that many of them are wardens.

That...could be funny. If he were more twisted than he really is.

For a beat he glances at Dillon over his shoulder. Then he turns around so he's facing him, back to the railing with his elbows resting on it instead.]

Well. You were young, yes? No resources. Not much of a life to hold onto. Me, I had the opposite. Too much to lose to simply walk away. Backed into a corner of my own making. I clung, and grew more and more desperate.

In the end it was all gone anyway. Hence the running. But that didn't end so well, either. [A beat, and then, mildly ironic:] And now I'm here.

Yeah. Fourteen. After my parents passed - I couldn't stay there.

[Everyone was so sympathetic, when he was the one who destroyed them.]

I don't actually. Have any advice. People started calling me a god after Vegas, the Second Coming, something, it always creeped me out. I couldn't even take care of one other kid.

But if it helps any, I know what it feels like to lose everything.

[He frowns at that sympathy, but it's mild, rather than with any severity. Dillon lost out on having a normal life, having a chance to grow up as any young person should when he was only just beginning.

Powers lost a city, a company, a massive corporate empire that he spent nearly thirty years working hard shaping. Dillon, in the end, is just a boy who had to run away from home. Powers is a king deposed of his throne.]

"Everything" is...subjective. [He does consider it, though, gaze drifting as his voice softens.] But it certainly doesn't hurt any. And I suppose that maybe, it does even help. A little.

[A past, he considers, or a future. Home and family either way, along the way.]

Variable in content is not the same as subjective.

[But he doesn't sound pressed about it.]

That's something, I guess.

[He smiles, tiny and crooked. But it's there.]

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10. messages + open spam

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[spam] TW oblique suicide attempt mention?

[spam] tw ; mention of suicide ideation

[spam] tw ; mention of suicide ideation

[spam] tw ; mention of suicide ideation

[spam] tw ; mention of suicide ideation