reverielogs | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

» WHO? The Roci Crew and whoever else wants in on this mess
» WHEN? after the gravity is back
» WHERE? A few different places
» WHAT? A few different prompts as well as a catch-all for any roci crew or related logs for the month of june
» WARNINGS? these are all just terrible people what do you want from me

001: Alex, Bobbie and Amos are Judging You

The Martians and the Earther are sitting at a table in the Mess Hall, and they've started a game. That game? To rate everyone else on the ship in order of attractiveness. Want to be rated? Find the comment header below, drop a picture in of your character, and watch the comments fly. Feel free to overhear them and give them hell.

002: Closed, Alex >> Frank

Going on the morning walk-about to search for Holden was ritual, at this point, and Alex was very used to Frank coming over first thing before they headed out. So the door was already open, waiting for him. Alex was fishing through his drawers, trying to find where he'd stashed that singular glove that he'd found, to show him for a laugh. But instead his fingers found something else - a thin sheet of plastic, creased and bent a hundred thousand times, and Alex's heart nearly stopped.

He pulled it out of the drawer like it was made of plutonium, careful not to touch the edges of the drawer with it.

Christ. Oh, Christ.

003: Open, Alex >> Anyone who wants to find this wrecked man.

He goes straight to the bar.

It's not that he isn't a fairly regular fixture there, anyway, but especially right now, all he really wants is to drink until he numbs everything. So hi, have a depressed Martian with a bottle of who knows what, sitting at the bar and just staring at a picture of a woman and a child smiling lovingly at the camera. He keeps stroking his thumb over it, then looking wrecked and saying something like 'god damn it' under his breath before he pours himself another drink. One of his arms is still wrapped up in a sling against his chest.

If he recognizes you, he might look up when you get close, and sigh. "Hey, partner. Everythin' alright?" Because it's a lot easier to worry about other people, than to keep being miserable about yourself.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He doesn't look up. He just stares into his cup.

"... Honestly, hell, I don't even know. Bobbie said I - Bobbie said I reached out. Or, well, she told me somethin' that made it obvious that I had reached out. But I just..."

His head ducked.

"... Think it's almost a favour. Better for 'im, in the end." He only sounded like he half believed it.

"If you did reach out to him... then I'm glad."

Apollo's words are quiet, almost hesitant - too hesitant for a man like Apollo, who usually approaches everything so directly. His expression, clouded over with unhappy memories, turns a little distant.

"My daughter, Jenny... There was a time when she wanted to see Midnighter more than anything in the world. But he kept his distance. He thought it was for her own good..."

He trails off, shaking his head. Jenny's words - that's me, the product of a broken home - are still so fresh in Apollo's memory. They sound savage and bitter even in his imagination. He sighs a little, finishing his thoughts with an abrupt shake of his head as he adds:

"It wasn't."

It broke her heart, Apollo thinks to himself but knows better than to say out loud.

The guilt is sharp, and Alex tries to swallow around it, but he can't. It just stays lodged in his throat.

"... Did he come back?"

"Yeah." Apollo nods faintly. Talking about this period of his life isn't something that he's done in a long, long time. The words - and the emotions that come with them - are strangely foreign but grossly, uncomfortably familiar. They've been tightly held for so long, locked away somewhere deep and dark within him. He knows their vague shape, remembers how they felt once upon a time, but rediscovering them all over again brings them out in to sharp, savage focus.

"Three years later he did. By that point, Jenny was practically a different child. They never really had the same relationship, after that..."

Alex just nods, too familiar with the concept, trying to just listen and hold his own guilt back, but it's still there, right at the edge.

"... Don't think I'll ever be who I should have been, to him," he admitted quietly. "I wasn't there from the start - was still in the Navy - and by the time I got there... I just couldn't connect with him. Didn't know how. The only time he seemed interested in me at all was when I lied to him and told him stories 'bout fighting pirates on a gunship. When I retired and settled down with 'em, he didn't... hell, he didn't even recognise me."

"Nobody knows how to be a dad. And sometimes we're really shit at it."

It's a collective 'we' incorporating Alex and Apollo both - Apollo knows he wasn't always the best father to Jenny. He did what he could but day by day he couldn't help but despair at how little he seemed to be able to do right.

"But you tried, right? That's better than nothing."

So sue him, but Apollo is forever the optimist. And if Alex thinks that maybe, just maybe, a future version of himself might have reached out to his son then perhaps it would all be okay.

"And if Bobbie said you reached out to him... then maybe there's still time to have another try."

He swallowed.

"I was planning to. But I... The reason I know I did was that Bobbie said she'd never seen me wearing a ring." He wasn't wearing it now, either, had taken it off after Bobbie had told him that. He subconsciously rubbed at where the ring used to be. "Only one reason I would do that. If I reached out and - got a final word back."

There's a conspicuous absence of ring on Apollo's fingers but he's never really felt any need to wear one. There was a ring at one point, safely stowed away in a drawer back on the Carrier, but Apollo doesn't miss it. Almost unconsciously his gaze flickers down to Alex's ring finger and back up again.

"I'm sorry to hear that," He says levelly. And, honestly, he really is. 'A final word' can only mean one thing.

"But -- that doesn't mean you can't still see your son. I don't think she could stop you if you wanted to, right?"

"I mean, not technically. But in reality... The situation as it stands now, I can't exactly go back to Mars as it is. They uh- they dispute the way we ended up with the Roci, and the whole solar system is at war. If I managed not to get shot down, I'd get arrested instead. So as long as he's on Mars with her, me may as well be in another universe."

He paused, sobering as he swallowed. "... Well. Suppose that's a moot point at the moment anyway."

He may as well be in another universe. Apollo nods wearily. Isn't that the truth.

"I guess it is," He agrees pensively. His gaze falls back down to the photo and for a moment - a strangely delirious moment of realisation - he cracks a mirthless smile. There's no real amusement, just a weary kind of dark humour as he shakes his head.

"This fucking place!" There's an edge of anger in his voice, and frustration too. "It really knows how to push our buttons, doesn't it?"

Because Apollo can't really shake off the feeling that every single thing in this station has been specifically designed to mess with them. It's a grossly invasive kind of emotional torture, really. Whether it's a photo, or a mask, or friends disappearing in the blink of an eye. Everything is designed to fuck with their heads in a very specific way.

"The sooner we all get out of here, the better."

And if the by-product of this particular bit of emotional trauma means that maybe Alex gets some resolution, then maybe that's one good thing that's come of it all.

"Yeah. It really god damn does. And doesn't that just scare the shit out of me." He murmured it lowly, before carefully replacing the photo.

"You, uh - you mentioned a daughter. How old is she?" Grasping for any conversation better than the path his thoughts were going down.

"That's a surprisingly difficult question, actually."

Apollo pulls a long-suffering expression but there's amusement there, deep behind the weary look.

"Technically? Nine. But she's the reincarnated spirit of the twenty-first century..." He pauses, knowing Alex's thoughts on these things. "...So she's aged herself up a few times. I think she's supposed to be about eighteen or so now."

Apollo sighs, giving him a 'what-are-you-gonna-do' look, and adds:

"Kids, eh?"

Edited (idk why i accidentally switched to brackets oops) 2018-06-30 14:27 (UTC)

Alex does indeed give a look that translates into 'What even is your life, Apollo', though in his defense he does his best to keep up, even if it doesn't make any sense. Aging up...

9 years put her right around the same age as Melas, then. Eighteen, however, did not.

"Did she, uh - was it sudden? Or was it like time speedin' up?"

Bear with him, he's trying.

"Sudden," Apollo replies with the same grimace. "One moment she was eight years old, just as normal, and then..."

Of course in hindsight Apollo now knows that it wasn't his fault - it wasn't his terrible parenting, during those awful three years of being a single father - but it still stings a little bit. Not just because it happened on his watch, but because Apollo had honestly wanted more time. He reaches for Alex's bottle, pouring them both another drink.

"I think she was sick of being treated like a little girl. She hated not being useful. She wanted to help, to fight, to be a part of the team properly." Apollo shakes his head wearily. "I guess kids always want to grow up too fast..."

He gave Apollo an honest look of sympathy. It was hard to wrap his head around, but not impossible - and missing ten years in the blink of an eye?

Alex mourned every year he missed, even knowing it was his own fault. This felt a lot worse.

"Most kids don't have the power to make it happen, though."

"No," Apollo agrees, almost glumly. It's not a good look on someone who is as sunny as Apollo usually is.

"Midnighter missed out so much. It wasn't his fault, not really. But still... that was time he's never going to get back again."

With a shiver, Apollo (belatedly) realises what he's saying. And who he's saying it to. He gives Alex a quick, pained look of sympathy before hastily adding:

"It might be different with you. With your son. You might still be able to fix it."

He doesn't even look at Apollo, the blade of guilt sliding easily through his ribs. He just stared down into his drink.

"... Maybe." Said with the weight of someone who knew there wasn't any hope, there. "But I don't think so. Best I can do now is - is try to be someone he can be proud of. Even if I can't ever really be his dad."

He feels the weight of Alex's words in the space between them, heavy and unhappy. There's no magic word that Apollo can say that will make any of it better. There's no dreaded enemy to vanquish that will suddenly make Alex's life that much easier. It's just a matter of squaring up to the painfully human weight of responsibility, love and failure. Apollo's heart drops in to his stomach in pity for Alex. And for his son. Carefully, gently, he reaches out with a warm hand to cover Alex's forearm with a sympathetic squeeze.

"That's still something."

It's a damn sight better than nothing.

He relaxed a little, just by the tough, letting it ground him. But he turned his fingers around his empty glass.

"... Yeah. Or it would be, if weren't all stuck out here."

He sighed, raising a hand to pat Apollo's wrist, before sliding himself off the bar stool.

"Think I'm gonna turn in. I'll catch you later, Cowboy."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only