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[reargunner]

ᴛᴇxᴛ | ᴀᴜᴅɪᴏ | ᴠɪᴅᴇᴏ | ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ



Leave a message if you want. I'll get back to you when I pick my comm up.

Or I won't.

Comments

[reargunner]

[Ack. He rubs the side of his head with one hand and grips the edge of the couch with the other again as that sudden rush blends unpleasantly with his own background anxieties and makes his thoughts spin for a moment.]

It's okay.

[It's okay. Alexei drops his hand and reaches for John's, giving a reassuring squeeze.]

I wasn't... expecting that.

[greatoldjohn]

[ Alexei will feel it immediately, the way the anxiety drops off, how the concern and regret don't go away, but they're warmer now, past fear and into something that's purely concerned for him and grateful for his acceptance of the apology. An in general. John nods. ]

It's a little like the 'accent'. I, uh... slipped into it. I'll be more careful.

[ It hasn't dimmed his joy, though, or the warm affection. ]

[reargunner]

[He lets out a little snort.]

No, uhm... it's fine, I think. Now I know.

[Then he reaches up to ruffle John's hair in that familiar, familial way of his.]

Never had anyone's voice in my head except mine, that's all.

[greatoldjohn]

[ He leans into the touch. ]

For a long time, that is all that I was: a voice within Arthur's mind. This place is the first where I was able to... meet people myself.

[reargunner]

[He doesn't pull his hand away, letting it linger. There's an intense look in his dark eyes.]

... What's it like, being you?

[greatoldjohn]

...oh, that's a pretty... big question.

[ He looks over at Alexei. ]

But, if I had to say...

[ A deep breath in. ]

Happy. Even if there's plenty of shit to deal with.

[reargunner]

[Another little ruffle, then he tweaks a lock of John's hair between his fingers.]

You're fuckin' adorable sometimes John, but that isn't what I meant.

[No, he meant it more literally - what is it like to... exist the way John does.

Also a big question.]

[greatoldjohn]

[ Oh. Huh. Hmmm. He reconsiders, and that's a much harder question.]

I don't know how to answer except to say that it's nothing like the existence you have. Which feels like a shit answer but even then, I don't-

I only know what I know about your existence from being with Arthur. So even then, it's hard to explain the differences.

[reargunner]

[He worries his lip for a moment, the question in his mind right on the very edge of touching John's and making itself known before he can say it.]

Can—...

[A breath.]

Can you show me?

[greatoldjohn]

[ He considers that carefully. ]

Sort of. I can... limit it down to what your mind can handle.

It's not the same, but it'd show you some of the differences.

[reargunner]

[What his mind can handle, huh. That's probably going to be a lot.

It probably is, but...]

Okay.

[He wants to know.]

Then show me what you can.

[greatoldjohn]

Okay.

[ And that has him taking a moment to consider how to do it, and decides that the memories of the last few minutes would probably be a good 'primer' once he's edited them down to human sanity levels. ]

Whenever you're ready.

[reargunner]

[Alexei flashes a quick grin and exhales a breathy little laugh.]

I've been ready, John. Get your ass in gear.

[greatoldjohn]

[ He says that. Which is why John rolls a shoulder to make sure he has a tentacle free if he has to catch Alexei.

But then he lets the memory through ]

It starts with sensation. All of his skin, all of his bone. All of the flesh and the blood, all of the air against it or in it or being pushed out of it. The knowledge that skin and bone and flesh and blood are all unnecessary, like a suit jacket you don't have to wear, but it's what's expected, it's what people need to see, need to feel, a million unconscious cues that come from these systems necessary to interact normally.

And on top of that is the realization that this is all outside of you; it's not you, it's a thing you're wearing, like your own personal space ship, used to interact and deal in this strange physical space, but it isn't you it's just shaped around you according to a thought and it isn't you but you know so many people think of it as you and it isn't you no matter what shape you're in but also it's you in every shape you're in because those shapes are just externalized feelings, twists and turns, how you're navigating, how you're piloting your way through Space.

And then there's the Space, everything else, everyone else. None of it is empty but some of it is lighter and some of it is heavier and some of it smiles at you and some of it has a soul inside and some of it likes you and some of it is a part of other parts of it and you can see it connected to it's parts and you can see it connected to everything else and you can see the atoms mixed up and next to each other and how the cells interconnect and where they have space and how some of them are a person and others are just dust and you can see the bone and the blood and the organs but you can't see them, you just know that they're there in a way that feels like a physical sensation if you focus on it too much but feels like you're seeing it if you don't and sometimes just feels like blankness until someone touches you and then a whole new universe exists for that moment, connected to you, and it's exponentially more real than anything else in that moment.

There's warmth and pressure and scent and sounds, so many sounds, and music that can't be translated to any other sense but it is a kind of music, even if you're not hearing it. There's a force and a spirit, an energy, a soul, and you can feel things at the edges of it, emotions and they're as distinct as night and day, black and white, but the idea of trying to tell those things without this sensation is insane. What are those sensations without that sensation? How can a sensation be something else?

Then you get to the rest of everything, and it is layers upon layers, various types of existence on ever slice, angles of time and space like an overlay except it isn't an overlay except that's the only way your mind can interpret it so it's just lines laid over your vision even though some part of you knows that it's actually the seams of reality, the way that it all fits together, and you could just slip your hand between those creases and touch what's on the other side even though your mind rebels from whatever that might be.

But even then, even now, everything is so beautiful. Every color and every scent and every sensation is a gift, is a joy, is new and wonderful and special because you've lived for millions of years without any of this. There's the shadows of ages behind you, of being things, of being a place, of being multiple creatures, of being dreams and concepts but this, now, here, is where you get to be you and you get to experience it yourself. It's like a dream coming true, true and real and visceral, good and bad, fear and joy, because you need now.

There is no fear of death. There is no hunger. No thirst. No fatigue. There are no needs except those you decide upon and you have decided that you need to love and be loved. That you need hope. That you need people and their needs are everything because you need for them to be okay. That is all that you need, in truth. And foremost among all of these is ARTHUR. You can feel him, always, the red string of fate between you rarely tight but always present, a comforting anchor through all the ways that you fit yourself into an existence you weren't made for.

And that is the most devastating of all: how ill-suited you are to all of this, how many ways you have to consciously remember the floor and the walls and the ceiling but also all of those for every interaction because none of it is natural. Language, culture, science, manners, family, life, death: every single bit of it is a dance that everyone has been taught since birth that you stumble through the steps on, aping as best you can in the hope of that strange grace you see all around you.

You have your own grace, your own gravity, your own existence. You have a mind and you are a person but you are also a concept (entropy) (excess) (Glory that WILL Fade) (Ecstasy that you WILL Chase The Rest of your Life) (the End of All Things Eventually) and you are also a place (black stars and a lake made of clouds that holds Twin Suns and the music of the spheres through All) and you are also John (what is it? you don't know? you don't feel it you just know it, you don't control it you just acknowledge it, this amorphous thing that people believe in and love and touch and long for and fight for and adopt and are adopted by).

And at the end of it all is you, the Thing You Are covered in scars upon scars upon scars, as many as Arthur, more maybe, because all you've ever done outside of this place is fight and kill. And you have to repress the urge to fight and kill because there's nothing to fight here, just things that you could destroy with a thought and you love some of them and the ones you don't love you know you could love and you've never found anyone here who's outside of that category even if you think they might fall into 'it's pretty fucking unlikely' but even those, even them, you can see the strange universe that is Them and it's not the same size as you but it is still beautiful and you know it will one day not exist and you hate that because it means you will never get to see every permutation of them and maybe they won't either.

It's a lot.

And that was one second of it.

[reargunner]

[It's like—

He doesn't have the words, in Russian or English, to even begin to describe—

Alexei isn't sure, between one moment and the next, how he ends up on the floor with one shadowy-yet-solid tentacle keeping him from ending up collapsing entirely. It might have been somewhere between Space and existence where the young man made a funny sound like he suddenly forgot how to breathe and abruptly slid forwards from his eager, curious perch.

John said he could handle it. Said he could but he's not sure he can. He doesn't have the language to make sense of it so it filters through other avenues instead - through emotion and buried instincts and through the threads of his subconscious.

It feels like—

Only a second, but he's on the floor gasping for breath around strange, rough, almost-choking sobs while he digs one hand into the carpet and tries to pull his head back together. He seems to remember he can see, looks at his legs and remembers they belong to him, and feels the texture of the carpet like a sudden jerk of sensation up his arm.]

Holy shit.

[He's not sure if he spoke English or Russian. It probably doesn't matter. His hand is shaking so much as he rubs it over his face that he almost pokes himself in the eye.]

Holy shit.

[greatoldjohn]

[ John holds him in place, even though he wants to hold him in his arms. Wants to hug him, but he knows he might not be ready for that. Instead, he holds him there, gently, carefully, in space, with the least amount of Anything to let him settle out from Everything.

His mind can handle it. He had no way to gauge how his heart might. But he offers the warmth of fondness, something to wrap himself in to settle out, if he wants it. ]

[reargunner]

[He needs a minute to settle himself back into his own existence, meagre as it is, but the sense of being so incredibly small fades gradually and leaves him simply in awe of that brief second of having seen so much.

Quickly, he rubs his face. Sniffs. Takes a couple of breaths to calm the way his heart is thundering.]

Fucking—

[Another quick facerub. He pushes one hand through his hair and then lets them both fall to his lap.]

... You-... You're incredible.

[greatoldjohn]

[ There's a bright, warm smile on his face and not an ounce of sarcasm as he finds Alexei's eyes. ]

So are you.

[ 'Meagre'? It's miraculous. It's beautiful. It figured out all these things that John struggles every day with. John is in loving awe of so many people, Alexei among them. ]

[reargunner]

[The smile John gets in response to that, brief as it is, is a warm and bright thing that he would not have seen before. The kind of smile Alexei might have had all the time, if his life had been different.

Wobbly, he pushes himself up onto his knees and slides back onto the couch, then wraps his arms around John and pulls him into a tight, firm hug as he mutters one word with immeasurable fondness.]

Dork.

[greatoldjohn]

[ Those big arms of his are going to reach up and wrap around and hold him just as tight against him, that warmth filled with a thankfulness for that smile. For the acceptance that Alexei gives, like it's as easy as breathing.

He also nudges him with his nose before a muttered- ]

Am noooot.

[reargunner]

[He just laughs, squeezes his arms briefly around the other man, then sits back a little and looks unflinchingly into his eyes.]

That was just—

[Phew. It's still a bit... He tries again.]

You're amazing. That was... amazing.

[greatoldjohn]

[ That earns him a genuine chuckle, which always sounds a little evil, but this one is too warm to be anything but fond. ]

I'm glad it didn't fuck you up. Too much.

[reargunner]

[A little evil, as a treat. It doesn't even occur to Alexei to think of it that way anymore.]

Not too much, fucking hell, I nearly forgot how to exist for a second.

[greatoldjohn]

...yeah, I can't blame you there.

[ He winces. ]

People ask me why I don't like breaches. That's why I don't like breaches. Going between that and being a normal human. It's a lot for me.

[reargunner]

[Alexei nods. He's... incredibly aware of himself now in a way he isn't usually.]

Yeah. I... I get it.

[He gets it enough.]

John, I... [Huff.] I think you already know this, but... I— I always want you to be yourself with me. As much or as little as that means at the time. I...

[A frown. His gaze wanders a little bit.]

I accept you.