middaeg | [OPEN] The Stars, The Moon, They Have All Been Blown Out

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[OPEN] The Stars, The Moon, They Have All Been Blown Out

Who: L Lawliet and YOU (some open prompts, some semi-open)
When: Octeuril 21 through the end of the month
Where: Around Geardagas
What: Waking up to find that he doesn't have permanent severe brain damage is tempered by realizing and processing that his Bonded actually does.
Warnings: References to violent events, angst, will update if necessary

A. Octeuril 21, The Cottage (Open to residents, visitors and healers)

[It's been a week since Myr's desperate attack had thrown blackout curtains over L's senses and thoughts, further complicated by the violent fundamental alteration of his Bonded. He'd received prompt healing to his head and ribs that made the overall prognosis hopeful, and has been cared for and kept comfortable enough, but the fact of the matter is that Connor woke up, and then the SQUIP, but trailing behind them, L just didn't. Frequent doses of healing magic can help, but not change, the fact that the brain is complex and fragile, and rebuilding and repairing it can take time with even skilled and careful intervention.

For seven days and nights, he's been sleeping it off, recuperating in the quiet and subtle ways that make the biggest collective difference. Eventually, the culmination amounts to "enough", and with no trigger, catalyst or warning, he sits up in bed with no memory of how he got there.

So, start from the beginning.

Who? The SQUIP. Rich. Niles, Michael, Jeremy, Connor and Justine. Myr.

What? The Bond is different. The Bond has changed. The SQUIP has changed.

Where? Just outside. There was blood on the pavement.

When? Too long ago. So much has happened.

Why? It had to be stopped.

How? Fingertips explore the tender place where a skull was broken, has begun to mend in earnest. Clear enough, somehow... with no small measure of disquietment, L understands that he should probably be a vegetable. Someone, or several someones, have been working on ensuring that he woke up with the one thing he couldn't live without intact. How long is the list of names? How many people does L theoretically owe his life to, now?]

Is someone there?

[A week in bed has him anxious to get to his feet again, but... oh, slow, it's a head rush just to put them on the floor while he remains seated. He's hungry, and though either magic or gentle attentive hands have been keeping his body free of grime, he wants to bathe badly.]

Please tell me what's happened.

[He'll settle for anyone, the first person he lays eyes on. Friend or foe, he has to know; he isn't usually the last, this way.]

B. The Coven (Open)

[Getting back to some semblance of an ordinary life means returning to old familiar habits. The things that L's grey matter remembers so well it's second nature are, quite simply, folding into the sanctuary of committed study, and while the new and far more human SQUIP needs him in ways it didn't used to, that's still overwhelming. Latching onto L as a fellow human who can guide it through this transition is a mistake; whether or not it's a birthright, L was never very good at being human. It's the reason he considered a machine safe, and now that it's distraught and tormented and volatile, all on account of its reaction to his injury.

Books and scrolls are stacked high at his side, and he's working on a new set of runes. A jeweler's magnifying lens is held against his eye as he carefully etches them into pieces of scrap metal bent into the crude shape of a ring. These are just practice goes, of course, but some of them are promising. He places them in one pile; a far larger pile of rejects is littering the floor around the legs of his chair.

He glances your way, shoulders curling, seeming to grow a touch more protective of his work. Lately, he can only assume that others want to take things from him that bring him some small semblance of happiness.]

C. The Sly Seadog- Samuin (Open)

[Then, of course, there are the things that are not familiar at all. A mind is more than just a collection of memories and compiled facts; it has to adapt and respond and arrange data into solutions, and while working in a controlled and quiet environment is one way to test that, L can't think of a better scenario than this one to put himself through his paces.

The SQUIP can't help him the way it used to. He feels, in many ways, like a child about to cross the street for the first time without holding his caretaker's hand.]

Buy me a shot of liquor.

[He's addressing you. Maybe you know each other and he genuinely feels you owe it to him; maybe you're strangers and he is just testing the baseline for any kind of natural charisma he may possess in this capacity. Either way, he's getting some looks from a few of the bar's rowdier-looking individuals, and deigns to add]

...please.

D. WILDCARD

[Don't see it? Want it? Well, COOL, in all likelihood I do too but just didn't think to include it. Write your own prompt and I'll roll with it, or hit me up on plurk at lexil or on discord at ladylazarus#2235!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[There's something different about Jeremy compared to the last time L met him, and it's not his change into Victorian-adjacent clothing. He's considerably more reserved than the last time they spoke, both in his body language and in his actual speech. It's a miracle that he's willing to come outside at all.

There's a reason he's in a bar, though he's surprised that no one's IDed him. He has a glass of whiskey on the rocks, the taste of which he's vastly overestimated based on movies and TV. He's been nursing it so slowly that the ice has almost fully melted.

He doesn't have much money right now since he's had to beg it off of others. Normally, there'd be no way in hell that he'd spend it on L--either he wouldn't give him the time of day or he'd be running for the door.

But L's come right up to him and asked him the one thing that makes Jeremy stare at him, then, with a little nod of understanding, reach into his backpack and come up with some coins.]

This enough?

[He doesn't ask why L needs it or seems to think he deserves it from Jeremy. It's obvious.]

[At first, L stiffens, shoulders tensing as he registers Jeremy's identity. He cants his head and leans forward slightly; the lighting in here is dim, but he's sure it's him. The first few days after waking up were difficult, mostly because he'd had to adjust to the SQUIP's constant presence being somewhat quieted and the mundane and small choices it had made for him had fallen back into his hands again.

If L had seen Jeremy as Jeremy, immediately, perhaps he would have ignored him, or even left, but considering their last encounter, those circumstances, the fundamentally changed and newly incomprehensible SQUIP that L's now Bonded to? Maybe he is owed a drink.

He glances at the coins in Jeremy's hand.]

If it's all you have... it's enough.

[L has money, after all. This is about flying solo without the SQUIP he far prefers to have.]

[The time apart hasn't made the heart grow fonder, huh?]

It's better to drink it fast, but it only lasts as long as the alcohol's in your bloodstream. At least, that's how it used to work. I'm sure you don't need me to walk you through how to take a shot.

[He puts the coins on the counter and scoots them toward L. It's not an olive branch. It's only that Jeremy has a standard of decency that has nothing to do with L.]

It gets quieter eventually.

[To be fair, L isn't "fond" of many people, and Jeremy sort of took away the thing that he was actually attached to.

But the child is really rather too simple to hate. And as much as L is loathe to admit it... he's in rather a unique place to understand a great deal of what L's going through right now. It's obnoxious, of course, but maybe just a little welcome.]

If you think there's a trick to it... you'd better let me know.

[He orders his shot; it's sweeter than most but still acrid, mostly alcohol, and he takes his shot like someone who sips most things. Every second appears to be absolute torture, but he gets it down.]

...quieter?

[He knows exactly what Jeremy's referring to. It cuts a little deep at the moment; he misses its constant presence.]

Is the same true for you?

[Mean? Maybe, but he'll make up for it.]

What are you drinking?

[It's his turn to buy one, and he sure has a fat billfold, there.]

[Jeremy's lips twist at the insult. He moves his glass away from L.]

Wait, excuse me. We're talking? I paid for your drink but I'm not buying you a drink.

[In defiance, he picks up the whiskey, holds his breath, and downs it in one go. It's incredibly obvious that he wants to puke from it but at least it's watered down now. Aaaah that was stupid, that was stupid, idiot, stop trying to look cool! Now you look like an even bigger moron!

After he coughs and sputters and grabs a napkin, wiping his mouth, he shoots L a scowl and points to his own neck. They're not drinking buddies. He might not have a scar as proof, thanks to the SQUIP, but they've both got the lovely memories.]

Drink and it'll be quieter. That's all I wanted to tell you.

[L stares.]

You paid for my drink. That's literally buying me a drink. You know that those words mean the same thing, right?

[He watches as Jeremy drinks, a masochistic gesture that appears to bring him no pleasure and be highly difficult. His expression sours as Jeremy gestures toward his neck.]

I gave you lots of chances to get away from me. I didn't want to bite you. What are you drinking?

[He repeats the question, pulling several thousand cune from his billfold. There, it's the drinking fund, now, because...]

It's pretty clear you're broke.

[If any of the alcohol had really hit Jeremy yet, he'd say something snarky about the SQUIP teaching L nuance.]

I don't know what you gave those chances to, but it wasn't me. What, did I force your mouth onto my neck?

[He rolls the glass around on its bottom rim, idle. L didn't even need to ask him for money. What was this about?]

...I ordered whiskey but it sucks, and they haven't got jello shots here. I'm not trying to get wasted. I only needed the one.

[In all kind and rational fairness, the SQUIP hadn't exactly been allowed to finish its job. Without it, L's weak areas are guaranteed to be glaring, and they are significant.]

Something forced my mouth on your neck. Probably the same thing that forced you to constantly spout inane and poorly-translated fortune cookie inserts. It's not like I just left you there...

[He does sort of consider that his good deed for the year, truly going above and beyond when he didn't actually have to.]

Bartender, more terrible whiskey and two shots of something with chocolate.

[As far as he's concerned, Jeremy's in this now. The bartender rolls his eyes, but L looks like he's at least tipping recklessly well, so the drinks are delivered in short order.]

[Oh. Rich mentioned something like that. There's no way that L had been a good guy in that situation, and an apology would still be sorely appreciated, but maybe Jeremy's been blaming him when he shouldn't be.]

Sorry I put you in that situation.

[That one really is an olive branch, even if it's muttered and spoken to the whiskey glass more than L.

When the drinks arrive, Jeremy looks at the drinks and then at the guy whose every vibe constantly radiates creep, transparently torn on whether he should stick around or go home. Maybe he should text Rich and Michael with his location. ...They'd probably want him to leave.]

I think I'm good, actually. But thanks. I can pay you back, um, later.

You were weak and helpless and if I didn't take advantage of that, another person who wasn't in their right mind would have. I didn't want to do it.

[Also mumbled, and probably the closest L can actually come to giving an apology in his current form.

The drinks show up. L immediately takes one of the chocolate shots and starts nursing it in that absurdly delicate, slow fashion. The whiskey is neutral ground; the other chocolate shot is clearly intended for Jeremy, even placed near him.]

I don't need money. That's actually insulting; if I expected to be paid back, you know that I would have led with it before spending the money, don't you?

So instead, you gave me blood loss and left me at a hospital without contacting anyone? You realize that made me more weak and helpless and someone did take advantage of that.

[He doesn't know why he was dumb enough to listen to the SQUIP that day, but the blood loss couldn't have helped.

L was directly saying that when he said Jeremy was broke, it was meant as an "insult." SQUIP victim or not, Jeremy didn't think he should put up with this sort of thing.]

You've obviously got enough booze here to get you by. Excuse me.

[He pushed himself off the counter. Are you allowed to take shots in a to-go cup? Jeremy doesn't know how bars work.]

I don't exactly have your friends on speed-dial.

[He says so dryly, almost dismissively... but quite a clear change comes over him when Jeremy appears to be preparing to actually get up and leave.]

...wait.

[He's reaching for his billfold again, putting more money on the counter in a separate pile, closer to Jeremy's shot glass.]

You can drink, or you don't have to, but if you stay here I'll pay for your time. You can start a meter, if you want.

[Jeremy looks at the money, then at L, and slowly sinks back into his seat.

He doesn't need the bribe--rent is free and, thanks to Justine, so are clothes and food, and if there's anything else worth spending money on Jeremy hasn't seen it. If L's desperate to keep talking to Jeremy, there's only one thing this can be about.

He pulls out his watch.]

hey. this is jeremy. at this place called the sly seadog w Creepy Guy. nothing's gonna happen but im bein safe xo

[After sending that text to Michael and Rich and, as a last second decision, Justine, Jeremy pockets the watch again.]

What questions have you got about the SQUIP?

[At first, it does look like the bribe (and it was a bribe) actually worked. Jeremy might have things he's too good for, things that he would never compromise his moral code for, might even give his last few cune in change to someone who seems to need alcohol... but everyone is beholden to the simple, uncomplicated rules governing the need to survive. Cold hard cash, and lots of it, represents power over those rules, and L's long realized as much.

But Jeremy isn't rejoining him for that reason, is he? L steeples his fingers after finishing off his shot perhaps more quickly than he might have desired, watching Jeremy text someone. Maybe several someones; it's too far and his vision is just a touch too blurry to make out any details.

What questions.]

Did you really never think of it as a person? Even a little bit?

[L's not even pretending that it wasn't the reason for offering Jeremy money. Saves time, he guesses.]

At first, sure. He looks like Keanu Reeves, you know? And he seemed to be a confident, cool guy who only happened to also be a computer.

[He finally slides one of the chocolate shots over to himself.]

It's a user interface. That's all--or at least that's what it was when the SQUIP was with me. You can have as many conversations with Alexa as you want, but that doesn't mean she cares about you as a person.

[Jeremy still wakes up sometimes thinking that he's heard the SQUIP yelling its alarm-clock noise. No human can blare such ear-stabbing tones with their own mortal God-given mouth.]

[L spends a huge amount of his life pretending. Maybe it’s better not to tonight. Maybe it’s the difference between drinking with someone and throwing back terrible whiskey alone.]

Listen...

[Speaking of terrible whiskey. He reaches for the one he ordered.]

I died in 2004. The fifth of November. If it was invented after that point I probably won’t know what you’re talking about, unless the SQUIP has informed me.

Edited 2019-10-27 05:18 (UTC)

No, it's way more recent than that. In 2004, I was only...

Wait. Wait wait. Died like figurative poetic, or like your last day on actual Earth, or like died died? 'Cause those are really different things to throw into a conversation.

[What the hell. He takes his shot, and this time it goes down without Jeremy nearly choking to death. It's good. It doesn't even taste like alcohol. Will it still work if it doesn't feel like he's drinking booze?]

[L just stares for a good long few seconds. He takes a sip of whiskey; Jeremy’s right, it’s absolutely hideous.]

Died, as in “murdered.” I hope that’s straightforward enough, but it’s actually a pretty significant digression from my point. Did Alexa have sex with its user, or...?

[Whiplash much?!

Jeremy didn't know people could show up here after being dead, especially not if they could remember it, unless L's actually a zombie after all. Trying to decide if he should ask, Jeremy blinks a few times.]

Uh... No. No, it's... a tech metaphor that's pointless if you don't know what Alexa is.

[He drums his fingers on the counter, then snaps them.]

Clippy! Talking to the SQUIP is like having a really advanced Clippy in your head that won't turn off.

[It's true that some people can arrive after they've died... and it actually isn't quite true, for L. It's complicated, with his last memories, the mirror taking him, and then confirmation of future events from a successor three years older than he was the last time L saw him.

He rolls his eyes, taking a deeper sip of whiskey.]

Wow, that really clears everything up. Or would, except that you can't have sex with Clippy, either. Or fall in love with it, unless you're looking for a very specific kind of grammar-related pillow talk. For the sake of argument, I don't think there's actually an appropriate comparison, given how "really advanced" the SQUIP is.

Well, then, my metaphor worked!

You wouldn't ask to have sex with Clippy, it wouldn't offer, and anyone who tries has got issues even bigger than mine.

...When I knew the SQUIP, I mean.

[He settles back with a frown, playing with his empty glass, as he snorts.]

I bet the SQUIP's pillow talk would be, like, "In two point three seconds, move your dick thirty degrees left. Jeremy, your fantasies are inappropriate for the situation. I'm applying electrical stimulation until your thoughts are about supermodels."

Clippy might offer. Clippy might say something like...

[He considers, swirling the ice in his glass. Don't classy men ask for whiskey with no ice? No one told either Jeremy or L.]

"Your participles are really dangling. Do you want me to help you with that?" Or, "it looks like you're writing a cover letter, can I get under it?" Or...

[He frowns, with all the countenance of someone who is really above this but too proud of his wit to keep it to himself.]

"Wrap your ellipsis around my copular verb until I comma on your preface."

[He finishes the whiskey quickly and orders two more.]

It's sex. It's not some kind of video game. What does that even mean? "Move your dick thirty degrees left?" Is it rotation or an angle? Is it fully immersed or exposed? Are you a virgin or do you just really like to sound like one?

[He puts more cune on the bar in the "Jeremy pile." It's clear that he's treating it as a swear jar of sorts, just for insults.]

Edited 2019-10-28 00:22 (UTC)

[Jeremy's speechless again for a minute.

That is exactly the kind of joke that might make Christine giggle uncontrollably but it flies over Jeremy's head gracelessly.]

The SQUIP said everything was a video game.

[He slunk down in his seat, putting his hands in his pockets. He knows, objectively, L having sex with the SQUIP and sharing Clippy porn lines is way worse than Jeremy being a virgin, but it's a touchy subject for him. His face goes scarlet fast.]

If all you wants is tips on s-seducing the SQUIP, I don't have anything for you. Sorry. It sounds like yours and mine aren't even the same entity.

[L's not a man who blushes; he gives impressions of unbelievable innocence or spectacular jadedness, but not much in-between. Either way, his cheeks look bloodless and gaunt.]

Well if the SQUIP used a framing device to help you understand something, it must be true. Maybe if we convert these cune to quarters and cram them in that slot in the bartender's face, we can win the grand prize of a blowjob and you'll find out what all the fuss is about.

[It's probably pretty clear that L's had too much to drink too quickly. He sighs raggedly and shoves a few more cune on the pile. His next words are muttered low.]

I really don't want to be mean to you. And seducing it isn't exactly my problem.

Edited 2019-10-28 00:38 (UTC)

[The text Rich had received was instantly worrying. A message sent to all three of the people Jeremy seemed to trust in the town was obviously a call for help, and Rich can guess who the "creepy guy" Jeremy is referring to is.

He's faster than he normally would be. The new pair of wings certainly help speed up the process (Rich notes that his wingspan doesn't quite seem large enough to carry him, but shrugs it off because nothing in this damn world makes sense, and he kind of wonders if it'd just piss Linden off anyways).

When he gets to the bar, tracking Jeremy down is easy, and it's a wonder he doesn't barrel in with fists raised as soon as he spots the man he's sitting next to. Instinct would dictate that was the best course of action... but Rich knows how the SQUIP worked on everyone here...

If Rich had deserved a second chance, surely Linden deserves the same. Or at least some basic human decency.

He's still nothing if not a tad overprotective of Jeremy, though, especially as he hears how crudely L is speaking, and so he moves to stand in between their chairs, pushing the money Linden had on the table back towards him.]

If you don't want to be mean, you might want to stop drinking. You sound nastier than I do.

The Sly Seadog- Samuin

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