i_speak_softly (
i_speak_softly) wrote2011-06-07 07:32 pm
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Forty-Sixth Theory [Voice/Action]
((Action part backdated to the wee hours of this morning.))
[The horror ends at midnight.]
[Sort of.]
[Don doesn't know how long it takes him to realize that he's lying on cobblestone instead of mud, and that the water pooling around him is only the rain running off his own skin.]
[It's still raining now, but so lightly he can't even feel it through the numbness.]
[He gets up. People are running in every direction. Someone had organized a clinic and healers, and everywhere he looks the injured are being tended to.]
[There are no provisions for the dead. There are never any bodies.]
[Don turns away from the confusion, points his steps towards home. The walk seems to take a long time. When he gets there, the house is quiet. Don finds Mike asleep at the kitchen table, gives him what may be a startlingly cold hug, inhales the plate of spaghetti at his elbow, and moves on.]
[He closes the door of his room, drops his gear to the ground. Climbs into Leo's bed and finds his brother not yet asleep.]
We lost.
[That's all the words he has energy for.]
[He sleeps for the next thirty-six hours. He wakes intermittently to whisper half-intelligible accounts of the battle into Leo's ear. He runs a low fever.]
[On Wednesday afternoon he manages to get out of bed - or at least sit up, if his family won't allow any more than that - speak to his brothers and father, listen to his messages on the journal. In the evening he'll put out some short, poorly-filtered messages to obvious people.]
*
Ms. Daisy... I lost the samples.
*
Frederic, I'm so sorry. Do you want me to come over?
*
Mr. Mulder. Did you make it back safely?
*
Kay, ah... What are you doing Saturday?
*
((Feel free to leave Voice messages, but assume Don's replies are forward-dated to tomorrow. You may also get a more-timely response from one of his journal-stealing housemates.))
[The horror ends at midnight.]
[Sort of.]
[Don doesn't know how long it takes him to realize that he's lying on cobblestone instead of mud, and that the water pooling around him is only the rain running off his own skin.]
[It's still raining now, but so lightly he can't even feel it through the numbness.]
[He gets up. People are running in every direction. Someone had organized a clinic and healers, and everywhere he looks the injured are being tended to.]
[There are no provisions for the dead. There are never any bodies.]
[Don turns away from the confusion, points his steps towards home. The walk seems to take a long time. When he gets there, the house is quiet. Don finds Mike asleep at the kitchen table, gives him what may be a startlingly cold hug, inhales the plate of spaghetti at his elbow, and moves on.]
[He closes the door of his room, drops his gear to the ground. Climbs into Leo's bed and finds his brother not yet asleep.]
We lost.
[That's all the words he has energy for.]
[He sleeps for the next thirty-six hours. He wakes intermittently to whisper half-intelligible accounts of the battle into Leo's ear. He runs a low fever.]
[On Wednesday afternoon he manages to get out of bed - or at least sit up, if his family won't allow any more than that - speak to his brothers and father, listen to his messages on the journal. In the evening he'll put out some short, poorly-filtered messages to obvious people.]
*
Ms. Daisy... I lost the samples.
*
Frederic, I'm so sorry. Do you want me to come over?
*
Mr. Mulder. Did you make it back safely?
*
Kay, ah... What are you doing Saturday?
*
((Feel free to leave Voice messages, but assume Don's replies are forward-dated to tomorrow. You may also get a more-timely response from one of his journal-stealing housemates.))
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[At the second part, his tone suddenly becomes much more energetic.] No!
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A-Ah, I... I am s-sorry...
...
F-Forgive my... i-impertinence...
[It's clear that Robert took that as something against him, not realizing why Don said it.]
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CONTAGOUS
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So it is a pathogen... [Okay, that makes sense.]
... Leonardo told me you had a fever... have there been any other symptoms besides that?
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[Despite the pragmatism of this, though, it's clear that Robert would kind of rather be with Don, even if he'd definitely get sick.]
... Can I do anything else for you or your f-family, Don...?
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[If it was just a little fever, he would seriously consider letting Robert come over anyway. But when he's possibly carrying malaria... no.]
Talk to me?
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... C-Certainly...
... [Quietly:] W-was... was the r-rainforest... like T-Terran kinds?
I... almost w-wish I could have t-taken samples...
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Was beautiful. Lost my vials...
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R-Rainforests are b-beautiful, yes... [The thought might have made Robert smile at a less horrible time. As it is, he just wipes a tear away.]
... D-Do you think the Malnosso d-deliberately took the v-vials, or do you r-remember losing them...?
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...
In a-any way...?
Were you that sick...?
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It had been raining all day, more rain than I've ever seen. The journals weren't working, we could barely hear each other face to face, visibility was nothing... and the enemies just kept coming. They overran our base camp. We'd been out there three days already, we'd barely eaten or slept, we had so many injured... By midafternoon I was fighting on autopilot, and after that I don't remember anything until I woke up back in the plaza.
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He listens quietly to Don's exposition, comparing it to what he thought would have happened. The idea is... well, it's nightmare-fuel inducing. But it makes him more glad that Don managed to get through.
He wishes he could go over there and hold Don.]
...
I-it... sounds t-terrifying...
... I... [Softly:] If I-I ever get... d-drafted...
[The unspoken implication is that, if they're like this, Robert will die.]
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Sorry I took so long to answer. I was sleeping it off.
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... I-I am just glad you are... [... not really alright, but...] b-better.
...
I w-wish I... c-could have done something...
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[He's been down this path before. It never leads anywhere good.]
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...
I w-wish I could.
[He presses a hand to his face and tries to steady his breathing.]
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[Very softly:] If you ever want to... learn something... from my family...
[He'll leave it there.]
[Voice | Filtered 100%]
But...
... No. He can't think about it, even if that little dark part of him relishes the thought of breaking whatever harmed Helios... even knowing they're dead and gone, now.]
I... I d-don't know...
I c-couldn't; i-it'd... it'd be.... unethical... [Don might notice how Robert's words seem less strong than they were before. And his complaints about the war have been less about the violence and more about the fact that people got hurt or killed.
... Luceti is definitely changing him, and he's almost afraid of it.]
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[Just one more nudge.]
If you just want to hit something, you're welcome to use our training dummy.
[It's a healthy way to vent anger, and Don can't see how anyone could argue that it's immoral to punch a bag of sand.]
[Voice | Filtered 100%]
...
He has wanted to, though, for maybe the second or third time in his life. The sheer anger and disgust he feels towards this situation is enough to actually make him contemplate violence - and then, of course, all that anger and disgust turns inward, at the horrifying fact that he could ever possibly think these things at all, could ever possibly consider the idea of harming something ever for any reason.]
...
H-Hitting something...?
...
[Robert shivers.]
I... [The revulsion is so deep-seated that he doesn't even have the words to describe why he can't consider it.]
[Voice | Filtered 100%]
[Don drops the subject.]
When can I take you to the lake?
[Voice | Filtered 100%]
The subject change does help, though.]
... I... I-I suppose whenever you are feeling better...
[It's not like he has much in the way of obligations. He's just been holing himself up building the small hydroponics garden and in general being a recluse.]
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[He may have been using this to keep himself sane in the jungle.]
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