ataraxionlogs | letting the days go by, into silent water [open]

Entry tags:

letting the days go by, into silent water [open]

CHARACTERS: Murphy Pendleton and you.
LOCATION: Anywhere. This is pretty much a free-for-all of CR.
WARNINGS: Insert the usual Silent Hill disclaimer here.
SUMMARY: Insomnia hits. Friendly neighborhood convict takes a little stroll.

He couldn't sleep.

Granted, this was nothing new and exciting. If nothing else, it was fucking tedious. His brief spell of excessive sleeping habits died real fast after the jump wired Murphy up all over again.

It wasn't always this bad. In fact, he used to sleep a fair bit. There wasn't much else to do during his alone time in prison, so it had been the only resort next to going stir-crazy with boredom.

Even with Anne in the same room these days, Murphy still felt the nagging urge to escape the closing walls of his ~~cell~~ bedroom. Unlike Ryall, he could at least work off his restlessness by stretching his legs. There were still places that he hadn't yet seen, grounds that he hadn't yet covered. He could scratch this itch. He could.

So he just wandered for awhile. Aimlessly, as usual. He almost felt dazed. But it was good to be out. Not free, not safe, though close enough to settle on the fact that his present situation proved to be more favorable than where he had been coming from, in ways.

That was just sad.

Murphy, this is your life right now. Take a good long look at it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Alex has had a relatively peaceful month so far. It's a relief, to say the least—his first few weeks here had been spent trying to warm up to the idea that he was stranded on an old ship in space while simultaneously trying to survive the unbearable truth he'd faced back home. And of course when that was dying down, Strela took him by the jacket lapels and shook him hard. Time to digest his life and everything in it was a thing laborious to find.

Gotta take your downtime where you can find it.

He'd spent a long while wondering if he should... at least visit the chapel Murphy had built—had suggested—but the times he'd attempted to approach the place, he found moving his feet just as difficult as finding time to truly rest. He currently did not like religion, and it did not like him; his last experience with a church left him falling flat on his back from a second story while a monster jumped after him.

And of course, it left him with a monster ramming a sword through his father's gut and splattering him into less than a man in form.

So no, the chapel wasn't an easy place to go to.

But at the same time, Murphy had built it, and part of him felt a weird obligation to make use of a peaceful place a friend had made. One particular night his leg woke him up from a short catnap; it was the third or fourth time now that it had, and he wondered if maybe it was like an old, unforgettable memory dredging up to the surface. A stamp of the torture room and everything centered around it.

(Or maybe it was the ghost of the family dog, gnawing on his goddamn femur bone.)

So he finds himself wandering off to the gardens, and once again, he faced the chapel. He might've stood there again just to walk off. Maybe. But then his leg throbbed and he walked, finding a handmade pew and falling back onto it. Eventually, his restless mind got the better of him; it spawned plenty of thought for him, being here. Who is God? Is it the God that ruined them? How could he ask for answers from a faceless figure that would take everything away from him?

He remembers his father, in the confessional. He knows it had to have been... somehow him. Some floating, shadowy vision of him, reaching out through the ways of that town. He remembers the admittance, the things Alex had always wanted to hear from him, and that final act of forgiveness. Now that he knew the complete, whole truth, he's not so sure he'd forgive him. He's sure he'd hesitate, stammer, maybe turn away in anger.

He didn't love his father. Love was a word you used when you would go to the ends of the earth for someone. Love was something prized and hard to reach the older you got. For the one who is loved, it has to be earned. For the one who loves, it has to be built. To say 'I loved my father'... No, he couldn't honestly tell someone that. When his mother had told him they both had loved him ('so much'), he didn't believe her. But family was complicated. His relationship with his father was complicated. He wanted his father's appreciation, his acceptance, his word that Alex was a strong and good man. A long, long time ago (or maybe not that long ago at all), he wanted to be like his dad, so that maybe... so that maybe Adam Shepherd would love the reflection, not the boy. He would love the creature created by favored qualities and characteristics, not the failed son that wasn't allowed to touch his things or enter his hunting room.

No... Alex didn't love him. But he didn't hate him either (only sometimes—blindly, in the moment, like a protective covering), like he'd said in the church. And he never actually had forgotten him, despite the fact that he'd wished so much that he would. He regrets letting him go. He regrets not protecting him. He regrets not giving his father reasons to save him from his fate, to love his son.

Alex regrets not finding reasons to love him.

He takes off the dog tags around his neck, palming them in one hand as he slides his thumb across the rough letters and numbers. A sad shadow passes his face. Yeah... he supposes he was nothing but regrets by now.

'God...

If everything could start over, somewhere far away from Shepherd's Glen—from Silent Hill...

Would we have all been a happy family?'

He wishes there were such a thing as a restart button. He's sure he's probably not the only one who dreams of such a ridiculous notion.

Edited (SNEAK NINJA EDIT) 2012-08-13 07:53 (UTC)

While the chapel was considered functional, it was still far from complete. If it was one good thing that came from Murphy's troubles on Strela, it was the fact that he returned with a decent supply of material to continue his work on it. If nothing else, it provided a much-needed distraction from the monotony of having nothing better to do.

Plus, to Murphy, it felt like he was doing a deed that was actually worth something. As if it was possible for him to climb that scale back from the bottom of that horrid pit. He didn't expect redemption out of this, though. After all, it was just a chapel: A series of pews and a shitty altar that had been constructed from a severe lack of materials. That would no longer be an issue now, and he had Dave's little inventory trick to thank for that. Sure, by all rights, it was deemed stealing. But it was for a good cause. He doubt that it, of all things, would damn him. Not when the previous owners of these things probably didn't even realize half of their crap went missing in the first place. Or cared.

So it was okay.

Flawless logic.

Murphy had plans of finishing a more complete-looking chapel now. It was a goal that he'd determined by himself since the whole thing came up, and in a small way, it brought him a little peace of mind. Stealing was wrong, but bringing people together based on ideas and faith was the exact opposite. He was raised on this, and while Murphy may not have had the greatest upbringing (or much of an upbringing at all), it was one of the few things he had left that he respected -- even if he had a brash way of showing it sometimes.

He had already started to haul pieces of scrap metal and tools that would help put it all together. It would take a lot of time. Murphy had plenty of time. Hell, he had nothing but time in this world. While everyone else could figure out how to make life easier or try to find a way out, Murphy would be in the gardens, hammering away with a bludgeon to form what would eventually become a part of a wall. It was definitely starting to become something.

By the time Murphy had arrived at the chapel after several trips across the ship (which was also tedious as hell in itself), someone else had occupied the space at some point. A bit worn out from physical exertion after sending so many scraps and supplies to the unfinished chapel, it seemed like a good time as any to take a break. He'd set these things aside for now, and walked tiredly towards the shape on the pew.

Well, shit. It was Alex.

Part of Murphy wondered if he should have just left him alone instead. But his feet were already in motion, and by then his shuffles would have announced his presence, anyway.

"Didn't expect to see you here so soon." Coming from personal experience, Murphy learned that it was better to at least announce yourself somewhat, first. He dropped himself down on the row behind Alex, resting his elbows over his knees. "Sorry it isn't much yet. I'm still workin' on it." As indicated by the supplies he'd already started to bring in.

For as worn out as he was now, he honestly could have made this all less physically taxing if he had asked Dave to just deposit the supplies here rather than the other side of the ship. But there was something to be said about the physical labor that Murphy welcomed. And the time spent alone in what he felt to be productive helped him think more clearly -- sort out the thoughts in his head. It took more than just being there, he realized. It was the work in itself that he valued the most.

At the footfalls he clamps his fingers around the dog tags, which he realizes not a moment later is a pretty ridiculous thing to do. It's not like he actively attempted to hide them or anything. It sort of feels like he's putting a lid on his own sad, rambling thoughts, under a lock and key typically broken in by booze or depressing girls who want to be unmade.

Sometimes, he wonders how ridiculous things sound.

His hand drops to his lap and he smiles faintly. It's good to see Murphy's at least keeping himself occupied aboard the ship. After all, so many other people around here seem to have their hands tied in knots (they don't realize they have an audience, he thinks). Finding things to do is important. Even just walking around has helped him.

"You sure are. I come around here pretty often; noticed when I walk by there's a little more added or changed to the place." He slides the ball chain necklace over his head, letting the small metal plates clink back into the mouth of his jacket. "It's not the same kind of quiet as the hallways. Lot less eerie."

Less creepy is good. And he reminds himself, again, that this is a place of peace. It's okay here. Paranoia can be pushed aside, for the meanwhile (until this ship flips its shit, anyway, whenever that'll be).

Murphy managed to cast a quick glance as Alex hid away the dog tags, before leaning back in his seat. He realized then just how sore he was, and it was good to sit down for awhile. It'd been awhile since he actually worked himself like this. While it was a pleasant change from being involuntarily thrown into a life-threatening situation, he appreciated this brand of fatigue much more.

"I know what you mean. It's a lot less..." Shit. How could he even begin to describe it? "Well, I never feel as alone here, like most places. In a good way."

Be it the presence of the place or something else, there was at least a sense that something else had been invited here. But that could have just been him and his line of thinking.

He did relax a little more, sitting there, and even smiled slightly in spite of himself with all the aches that plagued him at the moment. Damn, this used to be a lot easier for him, too.

He's not sure he can agree with Murphy on that entirely; as much as he wishes, he has no reason to believe God was on his side, or even bothering to be around him, if whatever God was existed to begin with. Sitting in a pew with a dead man's ID tags, he's only reminded that if there is something beyond what he can see, it's only reminding him that he's never been as alone before as he is right now.

But he couldn't deny that, outside of awful circumstances, places like these were at the very least peaceful. A good type of quiet... And frankly, he's not against finding faith. He'll take what he can get right now.

"Good place to get lost in thought." He itches his forehead, a little embarrassed at the realization that time is (still) broken. He doesn't keep track as much these days. "I'm not sure when I got here, exactly. I haven't been very good at keeping track of time lately..."

"Yeah, me neither." Murphy felt his palms clam up, and that much wasn't part of the exertion but something else. He clamped them into fists over his legs, trying to smile even when it broke into something a little more crooked. "Honestly, I... Er, guess it doesn't matter now, but... Never did get around to figurin' out what the damn year even was before I got here. "

Murphy knew the cliché of the prisoner marking tallies on the wall, counting down the days. And at first, it was easy to keep up, because back then they would let him out of his cell quite a bit. Model prisoner, and all that.

So much of that time after was blacked out now, he just didn't know anymore. Someday, he might ask Anne about it. Right now, it was the last thing Murphy had to worry about.

Priorities.

Murphy, Alex has figured out awkward body language at this point in his life. Hell, the wavering sort of smile in it made it obvious that it wasn't the best topic to have jumped into, and at least Alex knows now why. Or at least has a pretty good idea of why. He bites back an apology and goes for something more casual. He thinks that makes it easier.

"Guess that won't matter until we get off this ship anyway." He rubs the side of his thigh when another tired old ache pangs, grumbling, "Just makes it harder to tell when I'm waking up in the day or night... I guess there's no such thing in space."

And that is weird as hell.

There was at least some good that came from being out with the truth sometimes, even if only so very few people, like Alex, actually knew where Murphy was coming from. Despite others who had been more open about it, he didn't want to be stuck with the label of being A Guy Who Just Got Out Of Prison. No matter how obvious it might be to some, now that he thought about it...

He moved a hand around the back of his neck, his fingers digging into one of the many stubborn kinks in his muscles. He shrugged all the while. "If you base night and day on when there's a sun up or not... then yeah, there kinda isn't."

Murphy hadn't seen much of the sun in years until the transfer. And even then, after the bus had crashed, and the way that same sun hung over Silent Hill -- it all seemed detached, like being underwater. Murphy was pretty sure he'd been there for a few hours, and nothing about that sky changed much, with the exception of frequent rainfall and the flash of a bipolar storm.

... Huh. Reminds him of a time where he'd sat in front of a big ugly hunk of television as a child. He's not sure how he remembers such an insignificant slice of his life so distinctly, hunched there in the dark with his hands around his knees and a blanket over his head, but he does; his mother had just had Joshua and his father had to go out on business, so he'd taken the effort to sneak on some TV. It was uh... some astronaut show, faded on their old technology. He remembers being gripped by the training they had to go through just to do what they loved.

"Actually... clocks on space shuttles are synced to run slower than the ones on Earth." At least it isn't a clock in Shepherd's Glen. It says something about the shambled, weird state of mind he's in when he bitterly thinks hey, the clocks back home are synced differently, too. But then he'd spiral into more quiet depression, lingering on the subject, and he wouldn't want to trouble Murphy. Whether he understood or not.

So, he scrunched his nose and goes for teasing instead.

"Astronauts go back home a little younger than if they would've stayed on earth... So... maybe you'll be less likely to get that gray hair now."

Thank you, Alex, for sharing your Pearls of Wisdom once again.

"Oh. That... makes sense, I guess."

The More You Know.

Murphy didn't spend much time watching television when he was a kid. It was a luxury they sometimes did have when they were on good behavior, but for the most part, he read books or ran around the Boston streets or hung out at the movie theater. Back then, he thought it'd be cooler to be like those badasses on the films he used to watch. In hindsight and considering his current situation, maybe he should have watched more space programs, after all.

Then Alex just had to go and mention gray hairs. Murphy stared at first, before ducking his head and self-consciously running a hand through his own hair. "Wh... Are you serious? Already?"

Murphy really didn't check mirrors that much anymore to pay notice to the state of his own hair color.

No problem, bro.

He tries in vain to hold in a laugh; so Murphy was as hideously self-conscious, too. How about that. He leans his mouth into his palm and tries to play it off as just a casual smirk. No laughing at your expense here. Not even if there was an ugly little snerk that snuck out between his fingers. It was funny, okay? And endearing, for an alleged escaped convict.

(The company he keeps.)

"That worried about going gray? You shouldn't freak about it too much; it's a distinguishing thing. The chicks'll dig it."

He has no room to talk about hair, with his poofy magical nest and all, but whatever.

If Alex did laugh... Actually, it probably wouldn't have been such a bad thing. Considering past encounters and knowing where the kid was coming from, it was a good change. Even if it had to be made at his own expense.

"N... No. I'm not... worried, just..." He stopped himself suddenly and stared. Chicks dig it, he says. "What're you tryin' to say, huh?"

Because this was a terrible place to be concerned about being attractive. Just terrible.

Alex raises his eyebrow, turning so that his arms are supported on the back of the pew. He gets the whole 'awkward about ladies' thing if that's his problem, since hey--he's not exactly the bastion of relationships like that. Never even had a girlfriend, y'know. He'd thought about asking someone out once... and then shit sort of went downhill. But still, seeing that kind of reply from someone nearly two decades older was still kinda funny.

"I was mostly joking."

... Mostly.

"Just be glad you're not getting a bald spot anywhere. Seems like a sad way for someone's hair to go."

It really was a miracle that Murphy ever got married in the first place. He was never that great with his people skills, and even worse when it came to dealing with women. He got too many ideas from the movies he watched that the tough guy act was the way to go, even if it wasn't something he ever pulled off well. He was just a punk -- the only one who ever did see through that had been Carol.

Simply thinking her name alone was enough for Murphy to shake it from his thoughts. It was just surreal to realize how things were back then. Normal.

Now he was on a spaceship, having a semi-normal conversation like a normal person. On a spaceship. In a chapel. In space.

Murphy, what is your far-from-normal life right now.

"Well, don't think I've gotta worry about that anytime soon, thank God." If nothing else, Murphy had plenty of hair on that head of his.

"I sure hope so."

He shakes his head, smiling faintly.

"You're, what... 35? 36? Having a hard time living up to the old man title, anyway." It's a distant and pleasant sort of reply, spoken as fodder to keep the silence at bay. He looks back to the chapel again, his fingers entwined in front of his knees. "Just don't get yourself overworked, doing all this. Limits, and all that."

"Sounds about right, maybe." Thanks, Alex, for reminding Murphy about his age issue all over. He combed his hand through his hair again, looking down at the floor.

When Alex spoke again, Murphy's eyes shifted -- up at his chapel-in-progress. Already he'd done what he could to make it look like a traditional altar of sorts, but in a way that wasn't restricted to one faith. No crucifixes or rosaries or anything like what he grew up with. He planned to keep it that way.

"Hey, I know my limits. Besides, I can't complain when it gives me somethin' to do." And he could use all the distractions he could get. Things were already pretty damn confusing, more so lately than usual.

... It really says something when Alex isn't surprised. At the response. The fact that Murphy didn't give an exact number. He's not surprised at all, knowing how things back home were sometimes.

"Yeah. Good to see you're finding something to do around here."

Personally, Alex was thinking about joining the security around here... but he's not had a whole lot of luck with that just yet. It's an idea shaping up in his head—but lately, the energy he wants to dedicate to it has been spotty at best. It's frustrating, how he can be content and well one day, entirely unscrewed and locked up the next. He wishes he could find some balance that didn't make him feel defective.

He adds, thoughtful, as he fidgets with the chain around his neck lazily, "Not always that easy, right?"

Edited (adverbs. adverbs everywhere.) 2012-08-14 18:05 (UTC)

"Nice to break the everyday cycle sometimes." If Murphy didn't find something to do with his hands, he was pretty sure that the alternative would be significantly less productive.

Eventually, Murphy managed to cast a glance to Alex, the echo of a previous drunken conversation rattling in his head. For as much as people drank to forget, Murphy could definitely remember his stupid antics clear as anything else.

Sometimes, it really sucked.

"It isn't, no." He then nodded at Alex. "And you? Said you wanted to be useful -- help people. Got anything in mind yet?"

"... Yeah... I've been thinking about joining security, but..." But. There's a lot of uncertainty, holding over people's safety in his hands, if only just a little. He's not the soundest of minds, either... Hard to find faith in your own abilities when your qualifications for it are I'm a nutcase from the hospital who's killed plenty. It's on that thought that his expression falls, frown deepening. He shrugs. "Don't know. When I was younger I thought I had an idea of what I wanted to be, wanted to do... but now I don't have a damn clue."

He leans back.

I grew up in a small town. I left because I wanted to make a difference and the people around me were too blind to see that I could.|

He'd thought he was making a difference, but he was just running away. So now what? Yeah, good fuckin' question there. He remembers typing blindly, filling a computer screen with words. At least, he thinks the computer was there. At this point, he's never sure about anything anymore.

My dad would have called me weak. He spent fifteen years in the military. Yeah, nothing to live up to there, huh? He tried to groom me to be a soldier for a while, but he pretty much gave up on that after my brother was born. I think it surprised the hell out of him when I enlisted. He probably didn’t think I could do it.

Well, here I am.|

Not so clear and easy anymore.

Edited 2012-08-14 20:44 (UTC)

"Right, well... I think that'd be a good place to start to sort that stuff out." There was something else that held the kid back, and Murphy could imagine why. He also didn't forget the things that Alex had told him so easily, and perhaps it was a good thing in understanding where he was coming from.

There was still that need to do something. It was nice to take it easy, but all play and no work also makes Danny a very lazy boy.

Murphy bit back at first, then went out with it: "Y'know, uh. Anne... I mean, Cunningham--" Okay. Him and Anne were on a first-name basis now, but Alex didn't know that. "...She's joined security recently, too. She used to be a correction's officer before this, so... I dunno. I could talk to her. Or you could, talk to her. Maybe she could help you figure out if that's what you wanna do. That way, you don't have to make any commitments yet...?"

There. It was a win-win situation, right? They've all quite literally been through Hell before they got here, maybe that would make it easier on everyone.

Huh. So you're going with 'Anne' now. That was fast.

I mean—

Alex appreciates the advice, and the metaphorical nudge; he's at a point where he's in a hall full of dark corridors to pick from, as much as he'd like to pretend he has everything under control. He's not sure what's going to happen, and frankly, the only thing he's actually truly decided on was that he wasn't going to give up and die. And hell, it took a mad woman and a convict giving him Alex's word to get him through that much.

"Thanks for the help... That sounds good." He nods. "I've got a little training in some military stuff. Nothing official, but I know my way around guns, self defense, things like that." Among other topics.

But the idea of having people's lives in his hands still makes him uneasy. He guesses it's a natural feeling... but this place isn't some mall that needs lazy security. Bad things will happen, and he'll have to be ready to do whatever it takes to protect the people on here.

Even take more lives.

He looks up at the chapel again, quiet. If there's a god other than the vengeance, cruel one he'd come to know... what did it think of him killing so many people? He knows the Christian and Catholic God. He knows it's wrong, to take life. He knows that much... He must absolutely reek of sin. The whole town of Shepherd's Glen must have.

Edited 2012-08-14 22:39 (UTC)

Actually, it took Murphy long enough to even find out that Anne was what the "A." stood for on her badge. If nothing else, it was just sad.

"Can't really think of a position better for you, then. And... if that job doesn't pan out, I don't think it's like you're stuck with it for good." Murphy grinned slightly, trying to lighten up somewhat for Alex's dark, moody sake. "If it's goin' crazy and snapping on people that's been holdin' you back, just know that I still stand by my word. Don't have official experience, either, but I know a thing or two 'bout kickin' people's asses."

He had to. Murphy avoided trouble whenever that was an option. When it wasn't, he had to learn to bite the bullet if he didn't want to become someone else's little toy.

And yeah, he couldn't have that.

Good luck with that, Murph. Sometimes lightening up Alex's mood is easy. But sometimes it's like trying to replace a car battery with ones out of a Walkman. Still, that earns a snort out of the guy. "Good to see you keep your word on things, then."

But good. This kind of supportive push... he's just not used to. He'll take whatever he can get around here. Truth be told, Alex was akin to a plant sucking up sunlight—he's been getting stronger for it.

"Maybe I'll have what it takes this time around." To live past whatever standard his family had set for him. Without falling into denial. That would be nice.

He grabs one end of his field jacket. Maybe sometime, someday, he can earn it and the tags. For now it's just a reminder—but the future might make it something more. He hopes, anyway. In the end, maybe he's just a dog wagging its tail, hoping it's enough, how he behaves, the tricks he's learned. Did I do right? Did I do good? He's not sure. At least he knew how why his parents didn't have any aspirations for their son to live up to.

"Wouldn't wanna let anyone down, I mean."

Not this time around.

Edited 2012-08-15 00:16 (UTC)

"Mn, I will. Frankly, though, I'd rather if I didn't have to, so I'd appreciate it if you at least... try to keep it together."

Just because he was capable of violence, didn't mean that Murphy enjoyed it. Much like how he took no pleasure in hearing the screams of his son's murderer back then; the pleas for help in hope that someone would spare him his sad life.

Pathetic.

Murphy was only human. It seemed natural to wish damnation on the monsters who hurt the ones you love. But he had taken that and turned it into something else. It wasn't just grief anymore -- it was something ugly and monstrous, and becoming.

You go to Hell for murder. That's how it worked, right? There was no middle ground. Even if he did have forgiveness, it was a wonder if it even mattered in the end. If Charlie would be waiting for him at the end of his life, or another entity entirely.

He turned away from the altar then, rubbing his forehead while he listened to Alex speak. This place was a mixed blessing for him. Sometimes, it helped to clear his head. Other times, it often reminded him of the conundrum of what judgment that was waiting for him. If anything he did now would really matter after all was said and done.

"I... wouldn't worry 'bout that." Keep talking. Stop thinking so damn much. "You've done alright so far, I think. Can only go up from here."

"Yeah... Maybe. Still feels like I haven't done enough, I guess. To make up for other things I've let people down at."

Yeah, Murphy. About that 'judgement' thing... It's not exactly easy to forget the people you've killed. He even knew some of their names. Could, at times, attach a face to the voice behind the gas masks. The four heads of the family suffered for their crimes, he could say that much. Bartlett was crushed into the dirt. His father was ripped apart. Fitch was beheaded. And then he murdered the judge.

He remembers seeing red when he'd done it.

He keeps his eyes on the altar, eyes half-lidded. And then he turns back to Murphy, something sadly determined about his expression. "It's not like I can get forgiveness, so... I, uh... I guess before I go wherever I go, I should do something good."

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