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CHARACTERS: Netherlands and Heather.
LOCATION: Oxygen Gardens.
WARNINGS: ....not... yet.
SUMMARY: How does worry work.
NOTES: n/a

It's been a few days.

Maybe more than a few days. Maybe a few weeks. It was hard to tell when every day slid straight into another and there was no tide nor sunrise to tell.

And he'd heard from her, he knew she was here, somewhere. Seen the evidence - the parts she'd taken over remained cultivated - his texts were answered, he saw the words which couldn't come from anything other than her fingers, right?

Right.

It still didn't do a damn thing to assuage any worries he'd had (he hadn't worried, really, it was practical, the Gardens were down three, now, and they needed all the help they could get) and it was because of the Gardens that he found himself standing at the door... Not doing shit. Just. Lurking, rabbit in tow. Waiting. Just to check that she was still around.

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For her part, Heather's been mostly trying to stay out of his way. She keeps up with her work in the gardens -- carries a little of the extra, now that they're short staffed again -- responds to his texts, and tries not to get underfoot. Strela was just too much excitement for her, maybe, but she's found herself less inclined to deal with the fallout of antagonizing people, wanting to keep things smooth. In this case, that means keeping her sleeplessness and the dark circles under her eyes out of his face so she doesn't have to deal with him grumping at her over it.

So when she wraps up her shift and sees him hovering, it's the rabbit she greets first. Hey, you, because she still doesn't know that she can say his name, before her eyes pan up.

"Hey. What's up?"

Lodewijk is more than happy to greet her. The lead tugs before he even hears footsteps coming his way, but when he sees them greet one another he doesn't feel any desire to interrupt.

"He's got a name," is all he says, even as he relaxes his shoulders and glances down to watch Lodewijk dance around her heels, and looks back up - eyes raking over her uniform, the way she's carrying herself, those circles and he's not sure what to attribute those to and that bothers him. What's up, huh.

"And I'm sure you wanna hear me butcher it." Sarcastic, but she's smiling as she says it because it's familiar. Comforting, somehow, and she knows that's messed up but it doesn't make it not true. In this place she clings to what constants she can find.

"You on already?" The though that he might be worries her. It would mean she's lost track of time again, and she's trying not to do that. It's important to keep a schedule, if only because it keeps people from freaking out.

"It ain't hard," and he huffs it out almost out of habit, wonders how different it would sound to her if he were to say the same thing in English. For a second he contemplates it, between the looks he sends her and his bunny.

"On." At that he snaps to serious. It's more of a statement than an inquiry, even if he's curious as to what that means. On? If he's here, he's on, even if he shows up high and scatterbrained he's on and with half a mind to relax he ends up working on something. It's the Gardens. But today he's not, and he isn't sure what that means, so he shrugs because what the hell else can he do. "Guess so."

Edited 2012-09-02 19:09 (UTC)

He huffs, and she winks at the rabbit like Netherlands' attitude is a joke between the two of them, like he understands. And really, in this place, who knows? She's having a conversation with a freakin' country, after all. And while his reply doesn't exactly give her the answer she was looking for, it's something.

"Just bored, then?" She answers his shrug with a shrug, smiling not so much because it's funny but because some things, apparently, will never change. "Wanna walk?"

Lodewijk probably does, and if he doesn't, he sure acts like he can, standing on his back legs to twitch his nose up at her.

"Just checkin'," is the explanation Netherlands ends up muttering, after a moment of debate over how to phrase the fact that he was worrying and his feet ended up bringing him here, without, well. Saying it. When she asks about walking he's glad for something else to concentrate on and nods, even as he glances down at Lodewijk. Two seconds later finds him scooping the fuzzball up and jerking his head out to the Gardens - lead the way.

She does, slouching along, hands sunk into her pockets. Their being in the gardens together is probably something that should have happened a lot more, considering the amount of time they both spend there, but. Well. Things got weird. And weirder. Hell, they're still pretty goddamn weird, which is why after walking in awkward silence for far longer than she's comfortable with, she breaks it with:

"How've you been?"

Ugh, stellar. Scintillating conversation, Mason. A+ effort.

He kind of grimaces to himself; half because, great, small talk, and half because it's not a thing he wants to bother talking about. Trying to stave off both boredom and feeling miserable is the most honest answer, and maybe a month ago he would've griped to her about it no problem, but something about the conversation and the stroll is weird enough already. Then again just about everything seems off-kilter lately. It sucks.

"Busy," he grunts, and thinks that she probably wants more information than that, but instead of talking about gardening or visiting the catboys he opens his mouth and "Or high" is what comes out. Well, whatever. He gives a half-shrug with the arm not cradling Lodewijk, looking anywhere but to her, and tries to switch the subject.

"Where've ya been?" Almost the same question in return, but not quite. For living so close to one another and working in the same place (however huge), he'd barely seen her at all lately.

Or high gets a little frown. Stereotypes aside, it's never seemed like something he does with enough frequency to be the alternative answer like that. Not that she disapproves or doesn't get why -- the place is a goddamn horrorshow, and it's the people who aren't doing something to take the edge off that worry her -- but developing a coping mechanism means you feel like you can't cope, right?

Well, it's a little early in the piece to go after that, so she leaves it. For now.

"Here. Walking. Talking to people." There's a pause, a beat while she wonders whether she should even bring up such a sore point, but what the hell. "There's a few people turned up from the same place as me, so I've been talking to them about it."

Well if that doesn't pull a reaction straight out of him. It's probably not the one she's expecting, though, because he looks at her like he's checking her over for injuries or illness and nearly steps sideways, away, out of paranoia.

"I thought ya - " thought she said the people she knew from her place were the scum of the Earth and she'd shove them straight out of the airlock if they showed their faces here, he's almost sure she said that - "you're okay?" Did they do something to her? Has she been acting off so far (and is that why she's been a damn ghost lately)?

"I'm fine. It's actually been really-"

Click. It takes a second, but the concern and the assessing look fall into place and she does skitter back, hands rising, though she stops them before the reach her throat.

"Not them! Not the cult! It's just people who've been there, just - I'm -" okay, he's not moving for her, doesn't seem to pose any kind of threat, and she starts to feel a little stupid - and honestly, kind of bad - for her reaction.

"I'm fine." She she huffs a self-conscious little laugh as her hands uncurl and fall to her sides. "I'm sorry, I should've been clearer. They're not from Silent Hill, they've just... been there. Seen what it's like when it goes bad. They don't even - I haven't told them. About my whole... thing."

The way she flips the hell out doesn't go unnoticed - for a step or two he stops short completely, out of surprise or maybe some outside sense of worry, and the longer she goes on the more he just stares at her like "the fuck". Finally seems to take it all in at once with a slow blink and a nod, then takes a few steps to sigh and glare at some unfortunate spot a few meters in front of him, fingers idly rubbing behind Lodewijk's ears.

"I shouldn't've been so damn paranoid," he mutters, and even if he's not looking at her at least it's an odd admission that he feels pretty bad about that, if she wants to take it that way. His next words nearly trip out of his mouth as he glances over once more. "That's good. S'like, uh. A club, or somethin'."

The look she gives him is sharp, but only for the second it takes her to figure out he's not actually making fun of her. Then it's puzzlement and finally outright laughter, though it's at the situation rather than at him.

"Pretty crappy club. We didn't even get jackets or anything." Yeah, that's what's wrong with it. "It's more like group therapy with booze. It's been good, though. Helps put things in perspective, I guess." Makes her feel less like she must have somehow deserved it.

For once he feels like he needs to do something than nod and grunt over that kind of information, but he can't figure out what to say. Not even that, but how he feels about it. He's glad for her and sad for her all at once - good that it's been good for you, fucked up that you've all been fucked over so hard all of you need it. Instead of saying anything, though, he gives her a look as the corner of his mouth twitches down and offers out Lodewijk for her to take.

At the same time he wants to know about the practical part. "Y'didn't know them? Before. Didn't, uh..."

Yeah, he's not sure how finish that and lets it trail off, biting at his lip.

She takes the rabbit and cuddles him in close to her chest, feeling like that offer is significant and making a really poor job of keeping the surprise and gratitude off her face.

"Never met 'em. Far as I can tell we're all from the same... version of the world, I guess. But different times, different places." She focuses on Lodewijk becasue it's easier, rubbing gently behind his ears, face tipped down towards him. "It's easier that way, I think. It's really selfish, but it means I don't have to explain."

She laugh a little, remembering how quickly she dumped it all out for him, and finally looks back at him.

"It's different trying to tell someone who's been there. Trying to tell them that I might be part of the reason it is how it is."

That offer is significant, and of anyone other than Russia she should know just how significant it is. That's his kid, basically, but the fuzzball does a better job with comfort than he ever could. And he can't say he's displeased when she takes it with no qualms, and only cuddles. Cute.

As she nuzzles him and he nuzzles right back, Netherlands turns their strides toward the corner with the cow, not really thinking about it.

And yeah, now that he's heard all of this, he's wondering why she hasn't shared with anyone who's - uh - she answers it before he even has to ask. But he's never been there, not like that, and he doesn't have anything conciliatory to say. Comforting, whatever. Still, he feels like a lot of it is going over his head, and if that feeling doesn't suck in its familiarity.

"But you're gonna have to," he points out, guarded because he's not 100% sure he's following her, and even if he is he doubts he knows everything, let alone them, whoever they are.

"Yeah. And it's gonna suck." She follows unconsciously, far too preoccupied with the things she's turning over in her head to pay too much attention to where they're going. Even if she has been avoiding the cow.

"Especially Alex. Jesus, I think the cult killed his little brother. I mean, how do you even bring that up? You know those assholes who ripped a hole in your family? Well, I'm their goddamn Virgin Mary."

Wry as she may sound, her hands give her away, fingers stroking constantly through soft, warm fur. God - or, no, something less problematic - bless that rabbit.

"Uh - " Yeah, in over his head already. Not that he doubts that it sucked, but really, he has no idea what the rest of that rant - no.

Wait.

He does. And if that isn't fucked up. But he's not about to question why she's venting to him about it; all he does is pull out a cigarette, check on his rabbit (and halfway grins at the scene they make but that's neither here nor there), and let out a long breath. Shrugs and spits out the first thing that he thinks.

"Y'aint them. Just tell - " and another shrug as the lighter goes snick. Tell whoever she was talking about.

He's right. Without even knowing who she's talking about, knowing any of the people involved as far as she can tell, he's absolutely right. Maybe it's that thousand-something years of experience of people making the same stupid mistakes over and over or maybe it's just good old Dutch pragmatism, but he's nailed it. She isn't the cult, and if anyone knows how important it is for people not to judge you by the folks who raised you it's Alex. Probably nobody on board knows that you're more than where you've come from better than Murphy.

Hopefully the two of them'll keep Anne from shooting her.

"You're right. I have just to tell them. I though it'd be better if I waited on it, let them get to see that I'm not one of those whackjobs, but... well, they do, now. If I hold off any longer I'm just lying to them. And then they'd really have a reason to hate me for it."

"Hn." It's not a word so much as a light sound of agreement, because he's busy both mulling the words over and taking a drag. "Or they already know you're a -" Uh. "Whackjob." Other than the trip straight into English over the slang, it comes out soft. Not unkind, but not untrue, either. And not necessarily a bad thing if his tone has anything to say about it, and the implication is that the rest are probably fine with it as well.

The rest, there's not much need to comment on because it's true, and for all he knows she's steeling herself out-loud. So he simply ashes and nods.

Well that's mean. But the way he says it - soft, almost gentle - the sting that should be in there is taken right out and she laughs, shaking her head.

"You're such a jerk." There's no animosity in that, either. It's even fond, if he doesn't simply choose to straight-up ignore it. "I'll tell them after the jump. Don't want to get them all stressed out when they need to be concentrating on getting to their pods on time." She says it out loud more for her benefit than for his; now she's told someone (especially this someone), she'll stick to it. "Plus it'll limit the possibility that one of them'll take offense and jam my door."

There's a beat, because she's never quite sure whether this stuff is going to make him sneer or stare at her like she's cracked, but what the hell.

"Thanks."

"Usually," he agrees, shooting her a look over his hand at the tone and raising a brow as she makes plans out loud. Whether she's speaking to herself or to the trees or, hell, to Lodewijk, he's paying attention. Thinking that she probably needs to pick a specific time, or something, but as he's busy smoking that over she thanks him.

He's not really sure what she's saying it for but he doesn't really want to ask, though it's obvious with the way his brows knit that he thinks she's, well. Doing that whackjob thing. In the end he doesn't ask, just huffs and attempts to flick the side of her head with his free hand.

"You're jokin' about the door thing, right."

She moves her head as he flicks at her but it's careless, lazy. Nothing more than craning her neck away, and miles off her earlier freakout. And honestly she feels bad about that; it seems now that he's concerned for her, not about her.

The appropriate answer to his question was probably of course I'm joking, but. Well. That wasn't entirely true. If their experiences in Silent Hill had been anything like hers -- and it was sounding more and more like they had -- they'd probably picked up the same inclination that if your saw a monster, you should kill it. She'd just have to hope she'd done well enough to convince them she wasn't one.

"I'm pretty sure Anne'd have the decency to kill me to my face, at least."

For that, his fingers come back around to swipe at the back of her head on their return trip. While he can't bring himself to tug her close or tease her or indulge in whatever familiarity others seem to come by so readily, a bit of playfulness is good enough.

What she says sort of draws him up short, though. "Uh." He glances at her, serious, torn between skepticism and worry and relief that she'd at least said something real and just what the hell crowd did she land in.

"Who?"

Oh, right.

"Uh, Cunningham. She's on security. Cop, back where she's from. She's pretty intense." She shrugs. "They're... I dunno. I'm pretty sure nobody's gonna take it that badly. You don't end up there without having some pretty messed-up crap of your own, so maybe they'll go easy on me." She's still absently petting at the rabbit, though the movement's now less a nervous one and more just for the pleasure of it.

"I dunno, the more I think about it the more I think they'll probably just... stay away from me. Which'll suck, because I like those jerks, but it's better than the airlock."