[ A huff, then a heh, then Charlie rubs his hand across his face, grinning unhappily. It's not dramatic, but by his standards it's practically an outburst.
His time in the Dreamlands already seems unreal enough, so this makes him feel a kind of way. ]
You're gonna hafta forgive me, Mr Wake, I-I guess I wasn't ready for all that to be someone's fiction. Yeah, uh...
[ He wonders if Wake has met John yet. Or, jesus, Edwin. ]
The King is real, or was. I... was taken to his realm, for a time. It was... not unlike the experience you described.
[ It's only now that he realises he didn't question Alan's description of the pits as dreaming. That was a slip-up. That means he needs to be more careful with himself. ]
[ Maybe it's not such a bad thing they're paired for now. At the very least, the common ground they share with this alone is practically a football field. Alan nods grimly at the fiction quip, trying to gage Charlie's reaction. He's not sure if he should press for things or back off--hell, he's not sure he knows how to handle people in the first place, not after being so alone for so long.
He lapses into silence for a bit, wishing the coffee was just a little bit stronger, or at least had the tiniest amount of whiskey in it. ]
[ There's a colourful array of bottles on a high shelf that suggest Charlie definitely isn't a tetotaller, if Alan wants to make any suggestive glances towards them.
There's another pause after Alan's question, during which Charlie has to figure out whether he wants to answer at all. If he's ready to dig any more of this up right now, even to someone who'd know what it's like.
But it's probably not coincidence that Alan was paired with someone who'd know what it's like. Charlie's here to do a job. A job that goes back to a promise he made to a person who he owes everything. He's existed for a long time now for the sake of a job. He can pull this scab off again if he thinks of it as part of the job.
He breathes in, breathes out. Tense: ]
You've got three years up on me. It was a decade.
[ Beat. ]
Time ran... strange, there, but it was '22 when I went in, '32 when I came out.
[ He rotates his coffee cup, and forces his voice to stay slow and steady, though he can't force himself to relax. ]
It was, uh, confusing. No real continuity. I'd forget and remember where I was, off and on, you know.
Forgetting's nice until you realize what's happening.
[ He's helpful in supplying the words, if only because Charlie's describing exactly what he went through. He remains nodding ever so slightly, actively listening. When his cup is done he sets it to the side, glances around the too-impersonal cabin, gaze resting on the bottles. Still tempting, if only for the social lubricant aspect of it all. ]
I'm not going to tell anyone. [ Just in case he needs some security. Alan opts for not telling him that he's written what he's seen down, though. That'll stay close to his chest. ]
[ Charlie nods at that first observation. It's true, but it's easier to agree with it than to be the one to say it out loud. ]
And I'd better not see it on a blackboard either.
[ It's not aggressive; in fact, he successfully hits dry. He also follows Alan's gaze, trying to gage what the other is thinking about this, falling upon an unsurprising answer. He can't pretend he isn't tempted too, after the fucking week he's had. ]
Him and his brother made it. Might as well have been a hallucinogen.
[ It's banter. Small talk. Necessary, but something that's still vaguely uncomfortable to Alan as he shifts his weight, watching Charlie go through the motions. ]
[ He doesn't comment out loud on the slip. And he doesn't stop getting out glasses, or pouring. He blows out air in a pantomime of thinking about it. ]
Only easy questions, huh. It, uh...
[ Actually, he does pause, bottle suspended over an empty glass, amber liquid gathered at the neck. Lands on an honest answer. He'd have valued honesty, if there'd been someone in New York for him to ask the same question. ]
There's good days and bad days. [ He pours. ] I got a job that'd keep my... my mind occupied. It helps to make some rituals, uh, things you do to...
[ Another pause over the other glass, while he tries to figure out a selection of words that don't sound nuts to him, fails, and goes on anyway: ]
...to keep knowin' what room you're in, when you start feelin' like maybe you're back there. You know.
[ He holds out a drink for Alan, and shrugs. ]
I came through the Great War too, and the same thing more or less holds true. Time's a shitty healer, and she works slow too, but you notice the difference.
This is the ritual to lead you on. Feels like all I've had is time and it's still not enough.
[ It's the honesty that Alan hones in on. Nice to have someone who doesn't mince words. Saga doesn't either, but this is different. Feels more tangible than conceptual, like hard, solid proof. Here's Charlie Dowd, filled with grit and offering a dry smile. Veteran, detective, to-the-point. Hardly a man Alan would describe as weak, even though they've only talked a few times. He's not bullshit.
Alex Casey comes to mind, too, but that thought is something Alan sets on a shelf for later. This is advice he needs to heed. It's good, too, palatable in a way Alan will mull over. Saying thank you feels incorrect. 'Great job with handling the horrors of your world, and world war one, and then some cosmic shit. Anyway, hold my hand, would you?' ]
Having light helps. Me, at least.
[ His experience is new and old, the past thirteen years of his life folding and weaving together in a way that's nearly indescribable. ]
Time after. The clock doesn't start until you're out.
[ What Alan said about rituals felt like a quote, though Charlie doesn't recognise it. Maybe it's something from his Earth. Maybe something from his Dark... Place, presumably.
That name is uncomfortably similar to another, by the way. But first: ]
Reminds me, you all set up for lights? I'll drop a line to the Admiral if you don't got anything you need.
[ He swallows a mouthful of whiskey, lets it shock him back into his own body. ]
Yeah--uh. Yeah. Saga's taken point and I've got a few things from home.
[ Charlie drinks and Alan follows suit, gritting his teeth against the bitterness but embracing the warmth as it slides down his throat. He sighs a little, barely audible, but pleased. It's been a while, and that small sip gives him a chance to ruminate. The clock doesn't start until you're out. It's good advice. Jury's still out on whether Alan will listen, but he wants to. He'll try. He'll remind himself, at least. He makes a mental note to write it on his chalk board. ]
[ There are thanks that are rote, and there are thanks that are sarcastic, and this thanks is neither of those. Its significance smooths some of the jagged edges that come from talking about the Dreamlands.
He gives Alan a quick smile. ]
You're welcome, Mr Wake. I, uh...
[ He looks down for a moment, exhales in a way that is less at-ease but is more honest. ]
Hey. If I can give someone a hand moving on, maybe that puts a silver lining on the thing. I don't know.
[ There's a certain tone, a certain sense of something that Alan picks up on immediately with that sigh, and he finds himself almost relieved. It's honesty, yes, but he feels like he's successfully navigated something. Social expectations, maybe.
If Charlie is forthcoming like this then that means Alan can be, too. Their experiences are vastly different but relatable to each other. He just has to not lash out when he feels cornered.
Hmm. Alan files that little thought away and puts it in the box right next to 'get better coping mechanisms,' both to be ignored. ]
I'm not sure I really like the idea of wardens and inmates in the first place, but if I'm going to have someone breathing down my neck, you're not that bad of a choice.
[ There's a light in Alan's eyes. He's teasing. And, after a moment. ]
Can I ask you something personal? [ Wait. ] Again?
Glad I'm up to your exacting standards. [ The uncertainty that made itself visible for a moment is gone, and his expression is amused. He takes another sip. ]
Fire away. Gonna turn that question back on you sooner or later, though, so watch out.
They're pretty high. [ For himself, maybe. For others when he's not meeting his own. It's complicated. But this is just a light hearted joke, and the real meat of the conversation is his next question. ]
Wardens all have to take some sort of deal. What's yours?
[ Right. He wondered if that would come up. He answers without conflict, because he's already thought about what to say. ]
Keeping a promise, helping someone outta trouble back home.
[ He wonders suddenly whether he's making it easier for Alan to get glimpses of him, by filling things in. His demeanour doesn't change, but the idea sits uncomfortably. ]
Ever thought about what you'd get? You can graduate into a deal of your own one day, if you feel like making a career out of it.
[ Another loop. Another spiral. An opportunity, yes, but there's weight to what Charlie's just said. Alan's eyes flick from one arbitrary place to the next, face pulling up into a half-frown. ]
I'm still trying to remember what it's like to talk to people, Charlie. I haven't thought that far.
[ God and christ, Charlie has been there. He decides to ask whether Alan plays cards. There's nothing that eases you back into existing around people without having to figure out what to say to them quite like cards.
My wife. She's-- [ In trouble isn't the right phrase. It's complicated. This whole thing is complicated. Alan glances at Charlie, decides to word it about as vague as he did, just for his own sanity.
His head is starting to hurt again. Fuck. ]
I just want to make sure she's safe. And home. I don't know if I could be a warden, but that's what it would be.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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His time in the Dreamlands already seems unreal enough, so this makes him feel a kind of way. ]
You're gonna hafta forgive me, Mr Wake, I-I guess I wasn't ready for all that to be someone's fiction. Yeah, uh...
[ He wonders if Wake has met John yet. Or, jesus, Edwin. ]
The King is real, or was. I... was taken to his realm, for a time. It was... not unlike the experience you described.
[ It's only now that he realises he didn't question Alan's description of the pits as dreaming. That was a slip-up. That means he needs to be more careful with himself. ]
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He lapses into silence for a bit, wishing the coffee was just a little bit stronger, or at least had the tiniest amount of whiskey in it. ]
How long were you trapped?
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There's another pause after Alan's question, during which Charlie has to figure out whether he wants to answer at all. If he's ready to dig any more of this up right now, even to someone who'd know what it's like.
But it's probably not coincidence that Alan was paired with someone who'd know what it's like. Charlie's here to do a job. A job that goes back to a promise he made to a person who he owes everything. He's existed for a long time now for the sake of a job. He can pull this scab off again if he thinks of it as part of the job.
He breathes in, breathes out. Tense: ]
You've got three years up on me. It was a decade.
[ Beat. ]
Time ran... strange, there, but it was '22 when I went in, '32 when I came out.
[ He rotates his coffee cup, and forces his voice to stay slow and steady, though he can't force himself to relax. ]
It was, uh, confusing. No real continuity. I'd forget and remember where I was, off and on, you know.
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[ He's helpful in supplying the words, if only because Charlie's describing exactly what he went through. He remains nodding ever so slightly, actively listening. When his cup is done he sets it to the side, glances around the too-impersonal cabin, gaze resting on the bottles. Still tempting, if only for the social lubricant aspect of it all. ]
I'm not going to tell anyone. [ Just in case he needs some security. Alan opts for not telling him that he's written what he's seen down, though. That'll stay close to his chest. ]
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And I'd better not see it on a blackboard either.
[ It's not aggressive; in fact, he successfully hits dry. He also follows Alan's gaze, trying to gage what the other is thinking about this, falling upon an unsurprising answer. He can't pretend he isn't tempted too, after the fucking week he's had. ]
...Yeah, coffee's not doin' it, huh.
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[ He looks up and pretends to read the labels. ]
Whiskey.
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Were you here for the concert? The old guy on the drums?
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[ Answering the one part, while he pulls a bottle down from the shelf, on the assumption that it'll lead to an explanation of the other. ]
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[ It's banter. Small talk. Necessary, but something that's still vaguely uncomfortable to Alan as he shifts his weight, watching Charlie go through the motions. ]
Can I ask you a personal question?
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[ He lifts the bottle just enough to draw attention to it. ] How d'you like it?
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You've spent some time outside of the Dark Pl--the Dreamlands before arriving here.
[ A quick glance to see if his observation is right or not before he's back to staring at the coffee cup. He taps his wedding ring against it again. ]
Does it.. get easier?
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Only easy questions, huh. It, uh...
[ Actually, he does pause, bottle suspended over an empty glass, amber liquid gathered at the neck. Lands on an honest answer. He'd have valued honesty, if there'd been someone in New York for him to ask the same question. ]
There's good days and bad days. [ He pours. ] I got a job that'd keep my... my mind occupied. It helps to make some rituals, uh, things you do to...
[ Another pause over the other glass, while he tries to figure out a selection of words that don't sound nuts to him, fails, and goes on anyway: ]
...to keep knowin' what room you're in, when you start feelin' like maybe you're back there. You know.
[ He holds out a drink for Alan, and shrugs. ]
I came through the Great War too, and the same thing more or less holds true. Time's a shitty healer, and she works slow too, but you notice the difference.
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[ It's the honesty that Alan hones in on. Nice to have someone who doesn't mince words. Saga doesn't either, but this is different. Feels more tangible than conceptual, like hard, solid proof. Here's Charlie Dowd, filled with grit and offering a dry smile. Veteran, detective, to-the-point. Hardly a man Alan would describe as weak, even though they've only talked a few times. He's not bullshit.
Alex Casey comes to mind, too, but that thought is something Alan sets on a shelf for later. This is advice he needs to heed. It's good, too, palatable in a way Alan will mull over. Saying thank you feels incorrect. 'Great job with handling the horrors of your world, and world war one, and then some cosmic shit. Anyway, hold my hand, would you?' ]
Having light helps. Me, at least.
[ His experience is new and old, the past thirteen years of his life folding and weaving together in a way that's nearly indescribable. ]
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[ What Alan said about rituals felt like a quote, though Charlie doesn't recognise it. Maybe it's something from his Earth. Maybe something from his Dark... Place, presumably.
That name is uncomfortably similar to another, by the way. But first: ]
Reminds me, you all set up for lights? I'll drop a line to the Admiral if you don't got anything you need.
[ He swallows a mouthful of whiskey, lets it shock him back into his own body. ]
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[ Charlie drinks and Alan follows suit, gritting his teeth against the bitterness but embracing the warmth as it slides down his throat. He sighs a little, barely audible, but pleased. It's been a while, and that small sip gives him a chance to ruminate. The clock doesn't start until you're out. It's good advice. Jury's still out on whether Alan will listen, but he wants to. He'll try. He'll remind himself, at least. He makes a mental note to write it on his chalk board. ]
Charlie.
[ Now's the right time. ]
Thank you.
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He gives Alan a quick smile. ]
You're welcome, Mr Wake. I, uh...
[ He looks down for a moment, exhales in a way that is less at-ease but is more honest. ]
Hey. If I can give someone a hand moving on, maybe that puts a silver lining on the thing. I don't know.
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If Charlie is forthcoming like this then that means Alan can be, too. Their experiences are vastly different but relatable to each other. He just has to not lash out when he feels cornered.
Hmm. Alan files that little thought away and puts it in the box right next to 'get better coping mechanisms,' both to be ignored. ]
I'm not sure I really like the idea of wardens and inmates in the first place, but if I'm going to have someone breathing down my neck, you're not that bad of a choice.
[ There's a light in Alan's eyes. He's teasing. And, after a moment. ]
Can I ask you something personal? [ Wait. ] Again?
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Fire away. Gonna turn that question back on you sooner or later, though, so watch out.
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Wardens all have to take some sort of deal. What's yours?
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Keeping a promise, helping someone outta trouble back home.
[ He wonders suddenly whether he's making it easier for Alan to get glimpses of him, by filling things in. His demeanour doesn't change, but the idea sits uncomfortably. ]
Ever thought about what you'd get? You can graduate into a deal of your own one day, if you feel like making a career out of it.
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I'm still trying to remember what it's like to talk to people, Charlie. I haven't thought that far.
[ It's a good nonanswer. Although-- ]
Alice.
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After a few moments: ]
Alice?
[ Gently, an invitation to continue. ]
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His head is starting to hurt again. Fuck. ]
I just want to make sure she's safe. And home. I don't know if I could be a warden, but that's what it would be.
I miss her. [ This he has no problem admitting. ]
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[ Vague is okay. Charlie would like to steer this conversation onto some more positive ground in any case. ]
What's she like, Alice?
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