driftfleet | may mingle (blameless!)

[He turns, surveying the walls, the corner.]

You could maybe fix a bar in the top corner. But you wouldn't have much room to move either side. [As a vague aside.] You wouldn't really need me for the table, just a saw to shorten the legs.

[Which would be crude and awful, of course, but he's just saying.]

[he looks to the corner as well, nodding] Probably not, no. [a pause, and he looks elsewhere] But thank you for not laughing at the idea.

. . . if I tried to do it I would ruin the table.

Well, yes. You would.

[He shakes his head.] I wouldn't laugh at that. [Especially because of what it represents.]

Exactly. And that's why I asked you.

[he glances at Erik for a long moment, as if determining how honest he's being . . . and huffs, glancing away again] Well - good. [he runs a hand through his hair, shifting from foot to foot] I know it may not seem like it, but - I really am trying, Erik. I want to try.

[A sigh, and then he's rummaging through his toolbox. He talks into it, rather than at Hank.] Yes. I understand that. I've seen it, too.

[It's not enough, not to his mind, but he's learned to - compromise. A bit. He'd rather Hank be secure in himself now. It's frustrating to watch him struggle with something so obvious. He bites his tongue more than Hank knows.]

And you still give me a hard time? [it isn't accusing, at least not this time. It's almost a joking tone.

He doesn't know why he feels like he has to justify it to Erik - maybe so he can try to make him understand a little more, or maybe he's too defensive about the whole thing. He watches Erik rummage before he speaks up again] As much as we argue about it - you know I take what you say to heart, right? It - annoys the hell out of me, [he huffs out a laugh] but I don't ignore it. I know you mean well.

You think this is me giving you a hard time, do you. [That, he says mildly, catching on to the tone this time. Between the two of them, there have been multiple stranglings. He honestly doesn't see their sniping at each other as very harmful. If this were a year ago, they would never even speak to each other. Even if they hadn't been locked in their own personal prisons.

He comes up with a screwdriver, examining the head.] I mean what I say. It's not as though I tell you these things just to make you feel bad. [Sometimes, if he's feeling vindictive, that might be part of it. But that's rare, these days.]

If I thought you were trying to make me feel bad, do you think I would bother arguing with you in the first place? [after all, Hank is no stranger to people being assholes for the sake of being an asshole.

He steps back to hop up to sit on one of the counters, out of the way of whatever work Erik's about to do] I'm not going to lie and say it makes it easier, but it's . . . something I still need to hear.

Yes. It is. [No mincing of words here. Once Hank is out of the way, he takes the toolbox off the table and sets it on the floor. Extending both hands, there's a faint screech as the table lifts off the floor and upwards, until it's high enough for him to flip it over.]

[dryly] That'd be why I haven't told you to shut up about it.

[he's seen Erik demonstrate his powers time and again, both home and in Kyriakos, but even then, he's still amazed whenever he does see it. What a nerd] Are your powers dampened here?

[He lowers the upturned table to the floor, legs up. Stepping onto the base of it, he crouches so he can start unscrewing one of the legs.]

I can't feel or affect the outer hulls of these ships. Either they're not made of a material I can control, or I'm being blocked from it. I couldn't get a sense of what was beyond the open areas of the Marsiva, either.

Huh. [very objectively, he can understand why they'd do it. Erik can lift a damn stadium, so of course they wouldn't want him doing anything here. But it's still an annoyance he can't deny, to see that his and Charles' powers have both been affected]

Charles said something similar. [he huffs a little] Ridiculous.

It feels roughly similar to how I was restricted in Kyriakos, but it's hard to compare. There never was that much metal around in that place. [Whereas the Drift Fleet sings with it, everywhere. He hasn't tried to extend his powers to their natural limits, hasn't had a reason to. And yet, he knows his range is diminished, at the very least.

One screw down. He begins working on the next.]

It's probably the augment.

It's very likely. [all the more reason to find a way to block its signal, he thinks, if there's a signal to block. He's given it some thought since their trip to the moon, but it's been so busy lately that he hasn't had the chance to give it the attention it deserves]

I wasn't able to force any of the doors open on the Marsiva. Even with the serum - that's not usually a problem.

[Vaguely:] I couldn't smash my way through them with the exercise equipment, either. Hold this. [He pulls the table leg off, and holds it out to Hank.]

That poor exercise equipment. [he leans over to take it, then leans back out of the way] I wonder if they realize that only makes us more curious. Not that we can get back over there.

I doubt they care. They aren't the most hands-on captors. [Compared to their other hosts, who were involved in just about everything they did.]

No, they aren't. Though honestly, I think I prefer that for now. [at least until he's settled and fully discovered what he's limited in doing]

It's definitely less... taxing.

That's an understatement.

[On the other hand, he had a very clear idea of what the Echoes wanted from him. What they expected, what they delivered. Where he stood in the balance of power (which was far down the ladder). Here, he can't get a good sense of the Atroma, not from second-hand information and one frustrating audio message. His displeasure shows on his face, as he starts work unscrewing the second table leg.]

I'll have been here for three months, soon.

[it's still strange, to know Erik was here an entire month before he and Charles arrived, when he'd seen the man mere hours before. Like it had been any other day.

But here - a month has felt like a month. Not like Kyriakos, where time had moved in such a way that it felt as though he'd been there longer than just the couple of months he actually spent there. He can't help but think about that when Erik speaks up, and there's the faint sound of metal creaking as he closes his hand around the edge of the counter]

That's three months too long, I think.

I agree. [It frustrates him to be stuck out here in limbo, when they have things they need to do at home. Their world needs them. Their people. Maybe Erik hadn't yet decided what to do, himself, only knowing that he wasn't going to walk the exact same path he was on when he left Washington. Everything here is a diversion from that, a distraction. He's grateful for people he knows, for other mutants, to be here with him. Remind him of what's at stake.

But it's not enough. Raven arriving had hit him like a dash of cold water, reminding him of what he was meant to be doing.]

I'll even take leaving this moon as a positive, right now.

[he huffs a little] No kidding.

[and not the ways he's used to, hiding in a mansion or his dorm when things were quiet. He has a routine, here, albeit a shaky one - and sometimes it bothers him, because it doesn't feel right. And that isn't even taking into account his obligations back home.

But he looks down at Erik and . . . his tone is just a bit tentative, like he's skirting the bigger issue. It isn't hard to guess at what it is, but sometimes he isn't sure where he stands with Erik when it comes to these things. But - he can't help but put out the offer to talk, like he's done before]

I was wondering what was bothering you when I sent you those messages.

[Erik holds up the second table leg to Hank, casting him a look at the question. He didn't think this was a bridge Hank would want to cross, or even observe from a distance.]

Why do you think something was bothering me?

[He doesn't think anything in his text messages indicated that. They were short and to the point.]

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