Murphy Pendleton (
yardbird) wrote in
ataraxionlogs2012-08-12 06:19 pm
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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 hiscell 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.
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
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.
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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.
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"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.
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"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."
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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.
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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."
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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.
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"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?"
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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?"
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He leans back.
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.
Well, here I am.|
Not so clear and easy anymore.
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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.
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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.
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"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.
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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.
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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."
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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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If nothing else, it prolonged his sentence that weighed down the final decision. Every day was no different than a ticking clock.
"Well, whatever happens, happens. At least it's doin' something, right?" Murphy even managed a sad little smirk just then, as he lowered his head. "Hey, who knows? Maybe they have parole down in Hell for model sinners."
The thought was an amusing one, even if the humor was off.
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"That's fucked up."
We are fucked up. And just a little stupid. There's a short silence as he looks up, fingers still linked together. He raises his eyebrows, exhaling. "Don't think I'll make the cut for parole, though. But I'll put in a good word for you."
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"Whatever. Maybe after some Hail Marys and quiet prayer, I'll make my peace and not just end up damning myself any further." He really doubt that it was going to be the least of his worries, at this point. "And hey, you shouldn't sell yourself short, man. Besides, I think it'd be boring without the good company."
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Because eternal damnation with Curtis and Mayor Bartlett... No thanks.
Just. No fucking thanks. It's why he adds, "Until then, I'm starting to get used to living again, so maybe I'll stick to that for a while, see where the hell it gets me."
Alright. So the next step in life is 'join security'. He supposes he's game for that now. Why the hell not?
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...Yeah, he could talk big about it now while he still made light of matters. But Murphy could definitely think of a few faces that he wouldn't want to bump into again. Ever.
He was glad to hear about that last part, though. Horrible as it was to feel so entertained with making jokes about going to Hell, it was good to see Alex talking about actually living this time. "Good to hear a solid plan as any. All things considered, I plan on doin' the same for awhile."
And you're not allowed to die before me, he also wanted to add, but withdrew his words on the steely fact of what he'd promised.
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"My hero."
A convict and a mental headcase battling together in hell. Sounds like a second rate horror comedy flick on late night television. Or it'd make a pretty interesting comic book, he thinks.
He pauses, frowning. Actually, he kinda turned down another topic path—a reminder of things that's happened. As much as he wants to joke, if it wasn't for Murphy, he's not sure where he'd be right now. Twice he's dragged him. Once metaphorically to a shoddy bar, once literally, when his legs couldn't hold him up anymore. He leans back, clearing his throat.
"... Thanks." Right, vague. He looks up sheepishly. Hard to concisely say why, but he summarizes it up as much as he can, even if he's awful with words 99 percent of the time. "For putting up with me. Not leaving me behind. All that, uh... stuff."
The people here seem good. Most of them seem good.
He has to protect as many of those good people as he can.
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"Hardly, but I appreciate the sentiment."
But he'd take the compliment. Sort of.
Any lighthearted humor and snappy snark got stuck on the back of his throat when Alex said that little word, still strange for him to hear even now. Not many people ever thanked him. Hell, not many had a reason to thank him. That was then.
Murphy breathed in, and exhaled through his nose. His hands folded between his knees as he leaned forward, not feeling like he was looking at anything anymore. "I haven't... always made some of the best decisions. I mean, when my son was born, the last thing I ever thought I'd have to worry about was puttin' him in the ground. It's supposed to be the other way around, y'know? And it... ruined me for the longest time. Shit, it's been years, and I'm... I'm still a mess. Hard to think that anyone could put up with me, after bein' left by what few friends and family I had. Can't say I blamed anyone for it, though." Murphy paused, tilting his head a little. "Guess what I mean to say is, I don't wanna let anyone down again, either. I'll carry 'em kicking and screaming if I have to, but I've decided I'm never gonna leave anyone behind. Don't think I could ever live through that again."
His shoulders dropped, a somewhat defeated feeling anchoring him to that pew. He normally hated talking like this, because it never did anyone good before, least of all to Murphy himself. Maybe it was the setting itself that enticed the honesty out of him.
He didn't know for certain. All he had was his guilt and the path that moved forward.
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Even if he's shared gems of his own, it feels wrong, to have him spill his heart in front of an altar and a tired fake soldier, with nothing in return but the quiet—maybe it's just the way this place is. Maybe it's how faith and god and places of worship were supposed to work. He's never sat in one long enough to feel much of anything. But what he did know is this actually gave enough of a damn to tell him these things. And in return, Alex was willing to tell him the same.
So, Alex. You have a friend. Not the kind with air quotes around it.
He's quiet for a while, and he doubts Murphy really notices how much time passes. Or maybe he does and doesn't care.
"I..."
It's just a sad, brief sound, more like a breath, and his stomach knots.
"... When the curse came to the town, my mom and dad were taken by the cult. I was... standing there, next to her, y'know? She was as the same distance you are right now—and I couldn't do anything but lay there on the floor and watch them take her."
Alex Shepherd, always the one left behind. The Shepherd kid. The sheriff's boy.
"The next time I saw her, she was... the same distance again, just that far away, strapped into some—some machine, and I couldn't get her loose. She was begging for me to kill her because it was hurting so much, so I..." He trails off, clenching his teeth, looking down. He eventually shakes his head. "And then... when my dad died, I just stood there and watched it happen. I don't know why, but I just froze. Every time someone needed me, I just froze."
He slides his hand over his leg as it aches sharply, like it was listening. He knows that's stupid. It's just an old, healed wound whining in the middle of the night. He pauses, squeezing his thigh.
"... I don't want to be the person left standing anymore. Not because I was too weak to protect them. I can't do that anymore, either. I know it's impossible to save everyone, but I can't... I can't do that shit again, either, man. I killed so many people to get to Joshua--"
No. He snaps his mouth shut. That's sacred territory he's scared to tread into. How would he ever explain that—and to someone who lost their son? That he caused the death of a child, because he was a reckless, bitter man? He killed the most important person to him. He can't admit it aloud yet. He just can't. Maybe he deserves disgust or shame from Murphy and anyone else he comes to know. But maybe it's better if he let it fester and rip him apart in silence. He rakes his hand across his face, swallowing hard, finally looking at Murphy with a desperate look in his eyes.
"I can't do that shit again."
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Then it was just Murphy, alone. Because there was nothing left. No love, just anger. More counseling, more money forked over just to be told the same thing every week: It's not your fault, it's not and then--
You destroyed everything I had left...
It almost seemed impossible. Any hope for control crumbled in the mouth of the hatred that devoured all love that he had left. Carol was still gone, Charlie was still dead, and the monster that ruined everything was still alive. There was no other way, and no one had given him a better option. Every session, there had always been something missing.
Flash forward to now, and maybe, he figured, this was it. Hitting rock bottom, fallen to a place where others could be met. Alex, Anne, Heather -- maybe Annie, if he could ever hope to do a damn thing for her. But it wasn't just a matter of dragging himself up from that hole he's fallen through anymore. It was about helping those who were stuck down here with him to that same place. Back up.
"I know..." Murphy listened, he thought, and for a moment, remembered how it felt to be trapped inside of head again; in the four-walled cage that separated him from the rest of the world. He grounded himself from that, though, back to the current. "I know what it's like, to be right there when someone needs you, and... all you can do is watch. I couldn't do anything but watch..."
He thought of Frank's bloodied face, and the sickly feeling that weighed in on his chest when Murphy had learned that the man wasn't dead yet. Not dead at all. Worse.
"It was my fault. If I hadn't..."
If he hadn't... what? What good was that going to do him now?
When Murphy felt his focus come to, he stared down at the back of his hands. He flipped them over, and a muffled, joyless laugh came out.
"Shit, listen to us. Maybe we really are just a couple of damned bastards, talkin' in a place like this..." At the same time, it was fitting, too, wasn't it? He didn't know if God heard, or if God even gave a crap. But Murphy did. Which was why he had to keep going. "But hey, for what it's worth... I think you've done alright since you got here. So... just keep doin' that, and you'll be okay."
Murphy knew he wasn't the only one who'd been doing the carrying this entire time.
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If that was just all their was to it, why would they be here? Why would they have survived that town in the first place? Is it really just dumb luck, or were they given a chance to be something above the misery and pain? He has to tell himself that yes, yes that's absolutely it. Because the alternative is sad as shit.
He stands up, wavering on his leg for a moment. He'd been planning on hitting up the medical bay before this spiraled into a conversation-turned-confessional (ha, how about that?), and he hisses softly between his teeth before adjusting his posture, back turned to Murphy still. Should probably take care of that getting-pain-killers thing, lest he has a random night where it aches him out of sleep.
"Guess we'll see what happens."
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