inbox;

[nonfictional]

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[atowncalledtreffy]

[A quick knock at the door. Trevor's left behind some orbs Ye Zun put together for Alan]

after the Arthur Alan Slapfight

[makethestory]

There's a knock on his door.

She knows he's there. She can hear the typewriter.

[nonfictional]

There's a clear delay between the knock and the typewriter stopping--just a sentence that needs to be finished--as Alan actually registers the knock. Progress. The first three nights he'd been here he'd been ignoring them completely, assuming they were some sort of auditory hallucination.

When Alan opens the door it's with a slight nod, the usual vague surprise that someone's here to call on him etched on long features.

"Saga, hey."

He already has a feeling. He'll move aside for her to come in--there's lights now, a fridge, a changing screen, a bed, all thanks to her. The chalkboard has the humble beginnings of an idea web. Alan opens the door all the way, moves aside so Saga can enter if she pleases.

"I've actually been meaning to talk to you."

during June flood;

[trustinthedevil]

Matt knows something's going on. He recalls, he thinks, when he first got here that someone warned him there are weird things on a cycle around here. He assumes, based on how it seems like no one's freaking out, this is one of those weird things. But he's missing some context. He doesn't bother trying to get his device to read any text posts, but he listens to what he can. A lot of people are here for other people. Or in here someone's place. He supposes he's smart enough to put together the basics.

Matt's never liked just knowing the basics.

He also doesn't have many people he can reach out to, but, fortunately, the one person he's pretty sure will fill him in lives just across the hall.

Matt pulls on a sweater and makes his way to Alan's door. As he knocks on it, he hopes that Alan hasn't been replaced.

[nonfictional]

There's the usual sign Alan's in there--incessant typing, paused only because he needs a new piece of paper. He hears the knock this time, though he doesn't move, far too engrossed in the pages.

"Yeah--come in."

There's upgrades--light strips, a mini fridge. Basic amenities like a bed, a changing screen--thanks to a few people, Saga spearheading it. Alan glances up and only then does he stop typing.

"Matt. Hey."

He has absolutely not noticed the chaos outside.

15th June, audio

[the_second_noel]

[ A little bit after the pairings are announced, though not too long after, Alan gets a call. ]

Hey, Mr Wake! It's me. Looks like our next bar-hop just turned into a work meeting, huh?

[nonfictional]

Just heard the admiral. [ There’s a neutrality to his voice: He’s willing to give the pairing thing a go, and he likes Charlie enough. Reminds him of a detective–or at least, the idea of one.

He glances down at the desk, at the half-finished work he still needs to do when he doesn’t even know what he’s writing, and decides yeah. Work meeting. ]

You free now?

after pairing annoucments

[oddswerebad]

Hi. This is Nico.

[He has... not gotten any better at this.]

[nonfictional]

Nico. Warden pairing, right?

[ Alan doesn't miss a beat: ]

You do coffee?

voice; way-ass backdated to Charlie's minicoma start;

[howtheyshine]

Mr Wake? It's Edwin, uh, we met in the library and you gave me some books--are you able to talk?

[nonfictional]

Yeah. Hit me.

[ Is he ever doing anything else other than hunching over his typewriter? ]

check in after pairing

[makethestory]

Hey.

I saw the announcement.

...how're you feeling?

[ A pause before- ]

I don't think I need to tell you that Charlie's a good guy. But I figure it can't hurt to hear it from someone else.

[nonfictional]

[ Saga checking in is nice, even though he'd usually think it's overbearing. Saga's the exception to a lot of rules, though. Literal, metaphysical, personal... ]

Oh, Charlie's a great guy. We've already bonded. [ A pause. He's rebating whether or not to just say it. It's Saga, so he does. ]

I wish this didn't feel like the first day of school.

After pairings

[primedirector]

Congratulations, I guess? Unless he's a dick, in which case, sucks to be you.

[nonfictional]

Charlie's great.

You got Matt, he's a good guy. Probably won't start shit. Heads up, there's no light in his cabin right now.

I kind of took it.

After pairings

[the_second_noel]

Well well, Mr Wake. Guess you're stuck with me after all.

[ It's dry, of course, but Alan probably has an idea of Charlie's different flavours of 'dry' by now. In which case this one comes with an audible grin. ]

How bout I take a flip through the rap sheet now, and then we meet up later to chat about it?

[ He's optimistic. The idea that Alan has some huge unforgivable something that sent him here has occurred to him, but from becoming friends with the guy, he really does expect his crimes to be on the petty end. And like, Arthur's killed people and he still thinks that guy's neat, so. It'll probably be fine even if 'petty' has to do a lot of work. ]

[nonfictional]

You don't--you don't have to look at it if you don't want.

[ It's a tone that sounds alarmingly like a sulking kid knowing he has to hand over his terrible report card. But he's a grown ass man, and Charlie's pretty fucking cool, and he's actually kind of excited about it. ]

I'm just glad it's someone I know and like. Coffee, or something a little harder?

in person, during the silent hill event

[reviewstarlight]

These puppets are really annoying.

Nana doesn't want to think about it too much, as she slices at them with her katana. She doesn't want to think about how each of the marionettes, about two feet tall and currently trying to cut her with their strings or tackle her to the ground, looks like a friend. She needs to cut them down and cut them down fast.

Maya and Claudine first, who already lie on the ground in a broken heap. Then Hikari. Futaba and Kaoruko she can save for last, they were never a threat. But Karen. Why is the Karen shaped marionette giving her so much trouble?

As Nana kicks it off of her, stepping back to get some distance, she looks up just in time to see Alan Wake. Shit.

"Run!" Nana orders, wielding her katana like she's had years of experience as she brings it down to unceremoniously cut off the Karen puppet's head. Four down. Four left.

[nonfictional]

There are mannequins in Thomas Zane's room, poised and set up for the perfect shots, puppet like. These are not those--this is not his nightmares. This is someone else's. The 'who' is pretty obvious as soon as he sees a flash of metal, and then--yeah, that's Banana alright, sword in hand and looking entirely too comfortable with how she's using it for a girl who makes muffins and lives in a dorm room. She fights elegantly, cleanly, like this whole thing's second nature.

He doesn't have time to think of anything else--he's happy to follow Nana's orders when she calls them out. There's a puppet with purple hair that's awfully close to her, though, and Alan raises the pistol in his hand and fires. He manages to hit. The creature crumples. Alan nods.

"Let's go!"

a few days after pairings

[hostileterritory]

Mr Wake? My name is--

[He falters.]

Uh, this is David Collins. I understand you're a colleague of Agent Anderson?

[nonfictional]

[ This is already way too formal. Entirely too polite. Alan finds himself automatically slipping into his Talk Show mode, the closest he'll ever get to a customer service voice.

It's the word 'colleague' that does it, he thinks. ]

We know each other, yeah. David. You're her new inmate, right?

earlier in the month;

[trustinthedevil]

[ Matt's mostly recovered from his death toll, and he's had his time to sit in his self-pity and reflect on his poor decisions. He'll continue to make poor decisions, sure, but at least his frustration with Alan has subsided and he's willing to admit his own wrong in the situation.

Though maybe not in so many words.

He shrugs on a sweater and some shoes and makes his way across the hall, finding comfort in the way he can hear all the other things going on in the public areas of the Barge, the way he can smell the kitchen team prepping the next meal, the way he can acutely feel the softness of the lining on the sweater he's wearing. Not being so out of his depth anymore has gone a long way, too, to pulling him out of his self-imposed misery.

Matt knocks on the door of Alan's cabin. ]

Alan? it's Matt.

[nonfictional]

[ Alan's typing. He almost always is, his pace its' usual steady rhythm, punctuated by a new line. He could go back to his laptop, especially here, but he doesn't want to. Typewriters feel right.

He stops when he hears the knock, shifts in his chair when he hears its Matt. The hesitation is more confusion but he eventually rises, opening the door. Confusion gives way to stubborn spark of ranger almost immediately, jaw set. ]

What?

Audio;

[planetdialup]

Hey Alan?

[She sounds tired. But still:]

Do you have any escapist book recommendations? Something I can read while hanging out in your room for a while?

Audio;

[nonfictional]

[ Alan can sense the tiredness, even via voice. ]

I can think of a couple, sure.

Everything alright?

[falkeditupagain]

[Hanna had hopefully helped John the night before, but he'd drank with Alan when Charlie had gone under, he was thinking of offering him something a little stronger.]

Hey Mr. Bjorn!

I am requesting your presence at my humble abode this evening. And, in case you were thinking you might decline, I have something you cannot refuse...

[Which is exactly when he holds up a package of doublestuf Oreos, still sealed.]

You better hurry or I might just eat them all.

[nonfictional]

Are those oreos?

[ That's Alan's slightly bewildered response, nothing but amusement in his eyes despite his usual stoic features. ]

[text, shortly after pairings]

[abyssalflames]

I presume you are aware of the recent announcement from the Admiral?

[nonfictional]

Occasionally I listen to the announcements.

[ Only occasionally. Usually he's buried in his head as he tries to write. ]

Does this get any less awkward?

[voice; after permapair announcement]

[abyssalflames]

I have received a file.

[His voice is solemn, but he says nothing more. He knows Alan will know what it means, in light of their previous conversation.]

voice;

[nonfictional]

[ Shit.

Alan can feel his stomach drop considerably, half because he knows exactly what's in there and half because he can't get a good read on Lahabrea. He's not sure he ever will. There's a delay in when he receives the call and when he actually responds. ]

Mine, right?

[ Duh. ]

evening

[howheendures]

Armand is old enough that he's long pushed past the need to sleep through the day and only wake at night. For a time, it was a schedule that he almost set himself against. There was much to do during the day, and he was the only one who could do it.

On the Barge, he still doesn't need to sleep during the day, and skips sleep entirely when he feels like it, but going out during the 'night' generally cuts down on the number of people wandering the halls, and he doesn't have anything he needs to do. It's convenient, for him.

He knocks on Alan's door, easily balancing a covered dish.

[nonfictional]

Alan's in his element--writing, typewriter clacking away, suit and tie and hair pushed back behind his ears. The knock is heard and the writer takes a brief pause to finish his sentence. It's only when the soft thunk of the typewriter sliding back to the beginning of the page sounds that he gets up.

Had he said 'just a minute?' he doesn't think so. He voiced it in his head, probably, but it hadn't been that long. The door with the spiral painted on it opens, revealing his attic-like writer's room, outfitted with a changing screen and a small coffee station, as well as a cot--and light.

"Armand."

Alan's tired--it shows in his eyes, his usual insomnia creeping up. He hasn't slept yet, or slept very little. But his smile is genuine, however small.

"Hey." He opens the door wider, allowing him in if he'd like to.