ataraxionlogs | Kotov Syndrome [Closed]

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Kotov Syndrome [Closed]

CHARACTERS: Alex Summers (CRAU) and Tate Langdon
LOCATION: Room 006 - 027
WARNINGS: We'll see. There might end up being some talk of trauma.
SUMMARY: Alex and Tate hang out with some booze, Johnny Cash, and play cards.

Alex was actually looking forward to this. He had gone to the kitchen and nicked one of the shitty bottles of vodka that was stashed in a cupboard (hopefully no one owned it--they didn't put their name on it, so that was their fault), and two glasses, heading back to his room.

Bozo was asleep on his bed, the kitten's tail occasionally twitching. Pouring a glass of alcohol for himself, he sipped at it (hissing, the stuff was bad), and waited for Tate.

He had to admit he was curious about the other kid--he didn't seem that much younger than he was, and there was something about him that was familiar. You know, that 'used to steal stuff and hung out on the wrong side of the law' feeling. That despite being on the right side of the law these days (figuratively, considering the government wanted them dead), Alex doubted that chip would ever fully go away.

Flipping on one of the Cash records, he cranked the box, letting the music filter out of his room, the door half cracked.

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Finding Alex's room wasn't hard, it was easy to follow numbers, though the Johnny Cash reaching out into the hall like some kind of siren's song certainly helped. As promised, he has his cards, a meager offering for something as important as music, and a bag of crisps that mostly tasted like chips and some hard candies that he'd never tried before. Look deep enough and god only knows what you'd turn up, and Tate had a lot of time on his hands.

Since the door is open, he sticks his head in instead of knocking and waiting like someone polite might, dark eyes scanning the room. He hasn't, actually, been here before, which was a feat in and of itself considering who he was. When his gaze falls on Alex, he grins. "What is that?" The vodka, he means, stepping into the room and letting it shut behind him.

Alex doesn't even blink at the lack of knock. He hadn't really expected one--he wouldn't have left the door halfway open if he was.

"Vodka. Or what they are attempting to pass as vodka." He made a slight face, giving a bit of a wild grin back, pouring a glass for Tate, holding it up. "Figured if you were bringing snacks and cards, I could provide some drinks."

Tate seemed like a good enough guy, though Alex's definition of 'good' was a lot more warped than most people's. "Grab a seat, dude."

"Better not tell anyone you're supporting my underage drinking habit," He teases slyly, moving into the room to make himself comfortable. Most people, undoubtedly, would choose a chair to sit in. That would be the polite thing to do. Tate, like he hadn't considered it, moves to Alex's bed and drops himself on the edge of it, gladly taking the glass. "That Edgeworth guy will probably lose his mind." And really, Tate seems to think this is a wildly hilarious idea if his grin is anything to go by.

Bozo, for his part, hops into Tate's lap when he sits on the bed; in his space means person will pet him.

"Edgeworth can fuck off." Alex snorted, rolling his eyes. "Lawyers are bullshit, him more than most. And we got bigger issues on this space ship than worrying about how old someone is when it comes to drinking. You're like what--seventeen, eighteen?" He shrugged. "Drinking age is still 18 in 1962. I say you're old enough."

Tate and animals haven't always had a great working relationship. He didn't always get along with the dogs his mother constantly had infesting their house. Cats aren't so bad, because they're normally mind their own shit, and while there's a shiver of irritation that races down Tate's spine at the invasion of his space- he lets it pass without incident, and instead lifts his fingers to scratch the back of the feline's neck.

But his attention is on Alex, brows arching. "No shit, 1962?"

Bozo purred at the attention, nuzzling into Tate's hand for a few moments before bounding off his lap, moving to curl up next to Alex, because the mutant was naturally warmer.

"...yeah, seriously." Alex ignored the cat, just taking a drink and snorting. "Look, the only reason I don't act like a fucking idiot when it comes to electronics and most modern things is because I spent four months in a place with a lot of modern people and technologies."

"I heard about that. Some kind of universe sci-fi crossing thing. I didn't really watch much Star Trek," Which he realizes the irony of, considering who's unoffically in charge around here. Tate takes a swig of his own vodka with only a small wince, before he reaches into his bag to pull out the promised deck of cards. "That's pretty cool."

"I hadn't even heard of it, before getting dumped into the last place I was." Alex leaned back on one of his hands, watching Tate absently. "Eh it had the same issues this place did--except we at least had sunlight and a lot of places to wander." He shrugged. "Nasty shit happened there a lot."

"Like what?" He sounds legitimately curious, and his gaze lingers on Alex perhaps a beat too long before he forces his gaze down the cards in hand, starting to shuffle them as he toes off his shoes and crosses his legs on the cot. "Shit like people getting crushed during the jump, nasty or...?"

Alex caught the gaze, but let it go--they all had their word quirks. Alex pushed the hair back on his head slightly, showing off the scar on his forehead. "No--like monsters attacking, nasty. Skeleton hands coming out of the ground, clawing through flesh, nasty."

After a moment's hesitation, he tugged the leg up on the left leg of his jeans, revealing red and white claw-marked-scars running along his lower leg.

"Not something I'll forget."

Tate's gaze rakes every scar the other boy shows him, following the mark on his forehead, then the deep jagged lines on his legs. It's nothing like what he's seen before; nothing he'd seen in real life, at least. His sources of curiousity had always been remarkably... human.

He reaches across and pushes Alex's glass of vodka back into his hand before he turns to face the blond, starting to deal out the cards. Go fish, or something similar, because he doesn't want to interrupt the conversation. "So is it better or worse here?"

Alex pushed his jean leg down quickly, not really proud of the marks, and not really one to show off. But it was easier to show rather than tell, sometimes.

Snorting at the glass, he gave a slight nod before taking a drink. Well, seemed the guy understood, on some level.

"Different. I would say better--only because this place isn't pretending to be some nice place. It isn't hiding the dark shit." He took the cards, absently arranging them.

"It's doing a good job of trying," Tate says, though it isn't true. It's just that most of them don't feel it the way he does. The insidious crawl of the ship around them. There was discussion of it being sentient, but Tate knew this feeling. It was more than just that.

It was familiar. "I mean that Smiley guy? Can we say it's out to get us when it helped us get that cure?" It's more a devil's advocate question, because Tate lives to stir the pot. It's just so fucking easy here. "Got an eight?"

"Yes, we can." Alex raised an eyebrow. "Go fish." He shook his head, continuing. "Look, a panther might kill another cat over a rabbit, but it isn't because it feels any affection or want to 'help' the hare. It just doesn't want someone else eating it's dinner. I think Smiley might just be someone who doesn't like others playing with his toys."

It might be a cynical view of things, but Alex wasn't going to give the Smiley thing any credit.

Tate inclines his head, picking up a card as he does so, before glancing back at Alex. "I guess you're right," He says it with a bit of a hum, before reaching for the vodka and tipping back a sip. He doesn't wince this time, strangely.

"It's pretty weird that they found those transmissions right before everyone got sick, though. Maybe Smiley was the one who got us all sick. Maybe he wanted to see who would get out of it alive."

"Spent a lot of time with predators." Alex shrugged, as if that one statement explained everything. "Got any twos?" he broke into the snacks that Tate brought, giving a slight nod, mulling over the idea in his head.

"Would make sense; would also explain why he got me out on the station. My group was one of the ones that found the cure in that maze-type thing." Alex chuckled. "Or, it was just a coincidence." He wasn't anything really special, besides a guy with powers--which might be something Smiley wants to use.

Tate purses his mouth briefly and hands over the two, before drawing his card, and lowering his hand to cradle his class of vodka. It isn't cold, so it lacks the condensation it should normally have, but he tilts the glass, letting the liquid slosh against the sides.

"He got you out?" He asks, dark eyes flicking up, unblinking, to Alex's face.

"Yeah he did." Alex shrugged, letting out a frustrated sigh. "I don't--he opened up a door that couldn't have been there before." He snorted, taking another drink. "So he either got us out because he wants to be the only one who plays with us--or he was working with those shits all along, only to save some of us, as if to say he is the good guy."

There were more than a few options on the why, but none of them were good, in Alex's opinion.

"He didn't save everyone," Tate says, with an air of something ominous. He doesn't know who saw him after he was released from that room. If he's honest, he doesn't really recall much aside from being perfectly calm, perfectly aware. That everything made sense, until he'd been knocked out, and when he woke up he had the most splitting migraine he'd ever felt in his life (or death).

"...I know." Alex flinched, then, taking another drink, fingers gripping at the cards, bending them slightly. "Clearly it was pick and choose. Or random. Who the fuck knows."

All he knows is that he lost more than a few friends who never got off that damn station.

And others that got their brains turned inside out, until they got back on board.

"People got unmade."

He searches Alex's profile as he takes a drink, as he muses over what happened, and Tate inclines his head just slightly, eyes heavy and gaze too dark for a kid his age. "Do you think it was permanent? That it fucked us up for good?" There's something soft in his tone, like he's hoping for a different answer, but it doesn't quite match up to the lack of expression on his face.

"...I dunno." Alex shrugged, looking at a point on the wall, not really focusing on anything. "Went through something like it, before..." He shrugged once more time, before looking over at Tate. "...I think it always fucks you up short term. But after that, you choose if it continues to fuck you up, or if you use it to help you become something different. Better."

His gaze finds Alex's for a moment, holding it for a breath before his eyes drop. It wasn't so simple as that, he was sure. Something insidious he could feel about this ship, like it was breathing down the back of his neck. Sometimes it was up to decision.

Sometimes it was like the House. When Tate glances back up through the pale of his lashes, he cocks a crooked smile. Yeah his body language says. Maybe we'll be alright.

"Got any sixes?"

No, it probably wasn't that simple. But Alex didn't really know how else to phrase it. He wasn't a great orator, and he was really just figuring out this stuff himself.

"Yep." He tossed two at Tate, giving him a smirk.

Sure, they may have both been faking it. But it was all they had, some days. Fake it until they made it.

Or crashed and burned.

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Kotov Syndrome [Closed]

THANK YOU sorry this is late D<

never late! <3

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