driftfleet | (no subject)

Who: Erik, Charles, and those aboard the Heron
Broadcast: No
Action: The Heron
When: Now

[Erik feels groggy when he wakes. How long had he slept for? Time didn’t hold the same structure that it used to for him, not when he was off alone, but he was certain he had slept before midnight… Shifting in the bed, he automatically casts his arm over the person sleeping next to him, a habit that usually leaves him bereft when it comes up empty. He cracks open his eyes, something nagging at the back of his mind even before he sees--

Charles. He jerks his hand back, confusion taking over. Charles shouldn’t be here, not in Poland. He’d left the mansion weeks ago. A rapid glance around the room (metal walls, a locker, that odd-looking hovering chair they’d spent so long building--) only serves to disorient him further. Where was he? Erik sits up, pressing a hand to his eyes as he tries to think. He had been in Poland. Somewhere remote, an abandoned house in the woods somewhere (not his house, he had already gone there and left again) on his road east, and… information rises out his whirling thoughts. A ship. This was that spaceship. He could feel it now, extending out through his senses. But that had been years ago. This wasn’t right. Something was terribly wrong.

He pulls his hand away from his face and stares at it, jaw tight. On his pointer finger was a slightly irregular silver ring. On his ring finger was his wedding band.

He remembers that his heart is broken. He remembers why he went back to Poland to begin with, why this is the wrong place. He remembers.

Something shakes apart inside him, and the Heron does the same.]

[Days ago, the two mutants on the Heron fell asleep and didn’t wake up. A few days later, their appearance started to change, Erik’s hair growing scruffier and the odd few silver threads starting to creep in, while Charles’s simply disappeared altogether. Anyone paying attention would notice they had grown noticeably older in just a few days. Now, it seems like they’re waking up. And Erik’s return to consciousness stands to shake everyone else to attention whether they like it or not.

It starts as a vibration, humming through the metal surfaces of the ship. It increases rapidly, getting noisier and more violent, until everything is rattling. Loose metal items begin to lift off from wherever they lie, floating jerkily into the air. Those closer to the walls around the edges of the ship will find less of a disturbance, though the floor still does its best to mimic an earthquake.

And then, just as abruptly, it stops. Most of it. Those vibrations are still shivering through everything, screws and spoons spinning drunkenly on the floor. Strange... should anyone investigate that closed bedroom, the culprit is easy to find.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Focus on yourself, Charles. [His reply is just as quiet. There's no point asking Erik what he needs.]

I'm trying. It's . . . not as easy as it sounds.

I know. [It never is, and while it may have gotten easier for them once, when they learned the value of selfishness, those are rusty memories. So much has happened. Erik doesn't blame Charles for not wanting to take stock of himself. He's the same way. It means Erik has to be the one to remind him, the same way Charles was doing with his questions.

He drops a hand to Charles's shoulder, squeezing it once.] Like you said. We have time.

[ He tilts his head at Erik before nodding, buoyed. ]

Plenty of it.

[Pulling away, Erik gathers up his things, then pauses at the box where the slugs are kept.]

I forget. You gave them names, didn't you?

Iris and Lavender. Not that they really respond to them.

[He picks Lavender out of the box. Then, he glances at Charles.]

You did realise back then this isn't actually lavender, I hope. It's magenta.

[ He stumbles briefly. ]

It's floral - they're supposed to be - nevermind.

Ah, that's right. [Now he remembers. The theme.] I can't think of many flowers in that shade alone. [He sets the fluffslug atop his armful of clothes.] Tulips, maybe.

Tulip would be a lovely name as well.

I will confess, I drew a blank with the names and came up with whatever was at the top of my head.

It will have to do.

[There's a hanging moment, where the silence fills with everything unsaid. He reminds himself that he's going next door, not leaving. This is no different than leaving Charles's room those scattered times at the mansion when he had come in to settle the other man's nightmares, and didn't leave until the next morning. That's what he tells himself, at least. Everything that lies underneath that is too much to look at in the light of day.

Erik touches his hand to the door, opening it. ]

I'll see you later.

[ He smiles. ]

Yes. You will.

[Erik leaves. He walks three steps down the hall, and opens up the door to his own room.

His things are placed into the locker, nearly empty save for his toolkit and stored metal. There's nothing familiar about it, no personal touches anywhere. Much the same as Charles's room, really. He reaches up to touch the medallion hanging around his neck. Something from another lifetime, a tie to family. One he'll never see again; he knows this now.

Erik pulls the medallion over his head and places it into the locker, towards the back. He fishes his locket out from his pocket (Nina's) and stares at it for a long moment. Eventually he undoes the clasp and sets it around his neck, taking the place of the medallion.

He doesn't know what to do with the slug. Sitting on the bed, he simply holds it in his hands, faintly resentful of it. Even that fades away, before long.

He stays that way for a long time.]