ataraxionlogs | (CLOSED) there's an elephant in the room

CHARACTERS: a dream thief (

topolpgy and a high school detective (

dirtyword)
LOCATION: a hallway
WARNINGS: 20s slang?
SUMMARY: face twins
NOTES: Probably won't be very active right away since I'm on hiatus (and apparently don't get the meaning of the word). Pretty much just chucking this up for date purposes

[Shadowing Arthur is harder than it would seem. It's hard because even though Brendan's been very careful not to be seen, Arthur behaves suspiciously. Like the whole ship is out to get him.

Part of him wonders if it's because he's been here longer, or if it's a habit from the past. Maybe he knows Brendan's been following him and is just trying to ignore it--or maybe, as much as he doesn't want it to be, Arthur's in league with something not so good aboard the Tranquility.

Ariadne had been a nice enough dame, if wary, and apparently had mistook him for Arthur when they first met. Why, he's not sure--Brendan's hair is all curls, shaggy and unkempt, and he wears glasses whereas Arthur is a well-dressed man with a business vibe to him, never mind the fact that they're drastically years apart. But he's reminded of Hayley, the girl that looks like a younger version of her with shorter hair, and wonders if this is a thing. The ship has a twisted sense of humour, that's for sure.

At the end of the day, he's not looking for that--the ship is a big mystery he's not interested in at the moment, despite wanting to figure out who sabotaged that Hotspur guy. Right now he wants to know why the older version of himself (Arthur, he's heard other people call him, but never with a last name) is acting the way he acts.

Brendan's currently hugging the corner wall, waiting a healthy amount of time before darting out and walking behind the other--enough to make it seem casual, a simple 'I'm going your way' except he keeps his footsteps light and stares too intently at the back of Arthur's head. He's been following the other for almost two days straight now, refusing to approach him. Just watching. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Yeah. [ A short nod. Arthur's been wondering that too, about the mechanics of it: projection is the right answer but it's odd, the way the younger version of him answers to a different name and a different way of speaking. He's no forger but these details don't escape him, things Arthur catalogues for cross-reference rather than outright use. Imitation is the next answer but it's a shock poor one if they can't get even the name or stance right.

He didn't wear glasses either. ]

I don't have a better explanation than you do. [ Liar. ] I don't have an explanation for anything about this place.

[ A little closer to the truth than Arthur would readily admit. His brows draw together again, creasing into a small frown. ]

Brendan, right?

[ That's it. It's hard to say what triggers Brendan but it does and he's back to his old ways, of somehow managing to stay still while moving. It takes all of his energy not to start pacing then and there.

Bullshit, he thinks, and he takes a small breath before deciding to voice it: ]

Malarky--you're just bumping gums at this point, you want to clam, clam, but don't expect me to blow just because you're a good liar.

[ Brendan's anything if observant--Arthur won't share his theory with the class and that's fine but it makes him look suspicious--real suspicious--and Brendan wants answers. ]

You spill and you're square with me then I take a powder, but I don't want to tighten your screws and I'll put money on the fact that you don't want my button in your business. You got answers and I wanna hear them, dig?

[ Brendan talks and gets frustrated and Arthur remembers what it's like to be that age, restless because nothing fits the way you want it to. His own hands curl then uncurl in the pockets of his slacks, shoulders tensing, the strict readiness travelling from the line of his back to the turn of his wrist; just-in-case. It's a conscious decision to let his shoulders go — he's relying on instinct and body-memory and the last thing he wants to do is get into a fight with a doppleganger of himself, with this Brendan.

That would be really fucking unfortunate. ]

No. [ His voice is calm and patient but also well-practiced. Arthur doesn't make a living off of lies, not the way others do, but he knows the distinction between being too genuine and just genuine enough. ] You want answers and that's fine, but I'm not the one to give them to you. I get that you wanna go home, but I don't know what's happening here — it's a guess. Theoretical. [ Truthfully, he adds: ] It could be a bad one.

And it is?

[ Brendan's not angry, he's tired. Tired of everything not fitting and of people's slight of hand and thievery, of space and sickness and just about everything that goes with it. I got knives in my eyes, I'm going home sick, he remembers telling Brain. He's never wanted to roll over and sleep more in his entire life.

But he can't, so he won't, and instead swallows, taking a moment. It's uncharacteristic of him to sound like he's going to interrogate someone--he likes to naturally coax things--but for some reason part of him thinks it's okay because it's Arthur. He's not sure if it's a familiarity thing or the fact that the older version of himself is both unnerving and comforting in terms of aesthetics. Finally, he shrugs and shoves his hands back in his jacket pocket. ]

Theories are better than waiting for answers.

[ It's kind of alarming to have a truth kept to yourself spoken aloud by, you know, yourself, or at least someone wearing your face but not your name. Arthur's been in a few situations that are supposed to be this fucking iluminating or whatever, on-the-nose imagery like a maze or bustling city when the military used to do dry-runs in the early days of extraction. Then, it was easy: a photograph inside the heel of a shoe, a key on a string, the color of a relative's eyes. Small secrets but light secrets too. Maybe it's because he knows the planes of his own face well enough that the thought rises in Arthur's head, unbidden: Brendan's a kid, but he's not a good one.

An oversimplification maybe, but true enough. Good people get answers because they have easy questions; the bad, well. ]

Theories are inaccurate. [ Arthur shrugs mildly. Despite their surroundings, having a conversation with yourself is a little strange. At least this disproves the shared knowledge theory. ] I work in security. The private sector. Some people have access to technology that could have made this happen— or not.

Uh-huh. [ There it is again--the word he's used so very often, his go-to while he mulls it out. A brief pause that allows him a few more seconds to think but it's still an acceptable answer. ]

So you think this is all in your head? [ 'including me' is left unsaid, but he licks his lips, mindful of the split lip that's almost done healing, resisting the urge to pull a face. ]

I'd bet racing money that we're not from the same place. How's that explained?

That's not what I said. [ Being vague isn't in anyone's interests, let alone Arthur's, but he knows the value of caution better than falling into something as easy as just tell me the truth. Arthur's expression shutters, not into something full of sharp lines and distance but into something unreadable though not unkind. In his pockets, his hands curl into fists.

He can't explain it. Any of it. That's half the problem. ] It isn't, [ Arthur admits, his voice level. ] That's why it's a theory.

Can't blame a cat for guessing.

[ This is hard--this is very, very hard. Arthur's expression's slips into something hard to read and Brendan's having troubles figuring out the nuances. This isn't San Clamente High, and part of him knows he's not just dealing with local heroin dealers anymore. He's in Space, for crying out loud, talking to an older version of him and maybe he's imagining it, but he seems a lot more dangerous.

He blinks a few times at that thought--because Brendan can still hear the cries of the Pin, screaming for help, begging Brendan to save his life and how he'd backed away. It got the job done, he reminded himself, and returns to the conversation. ]

So. This is all a Government conspiracy?

[ He's not waiting for the answer--he's already begun to pace, back and forth, back and forth, mind tick-tick-ticking away, hands stuffed in pockets, gaze fixed on the floor as he mulls his words over. ]

What type of technology? You're their inside boy, you want to share it with the class?

(CLOSED) there's an elephant in the room

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/slides off hiatus

confetti!!! c8

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