taxonomites | System Glitch: In The City

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System Glitch: In The City

The artificial sun rises in the artificial sky... just like every day in Taxon. For some of the inhabitants, this has been going on long enough to be very routine.

This morning, though, the light shines over quite a few gaps in the city's architecture. There is no Oxford library, no Hedge Maze. A number of the private residences are simply gone, those that people brought with them to Taxon. And the streets are very empty, indeed: no Extras on the sidewalks, no Extras driving cars. No smiling faces in the corner coffee shop. The trams rattle around the city with nary a soul on board. The streets are silent.

But it's not just the Extras who are gone. Most of the familiar faces are, too. The tablets show only a very short list of 'Contacts'-- those few citizens left in the city proper.

Save for a small handful of Taxon's prisoners-- left rattling around like the last pills in a nearly empty bottle-- the city is deserted, and silent as the grave.

[ OOC: The first of two log posts to kick off the event! For reference, these are the characters who are remaining in the city: Azkadellia, Briar Moss, Charles Xavier (AU), Daphne Powell, DG, Drusilla, Eanes, Illyria, James Holmes, Jenna Sommers, Martha Jones, Remus Lupin, and Wyatt Cain. ]

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"I don't know, princess," he tells her for the nth time today, and the not knowing is just as grating to him as the fear is to her. He stays put, shifting his weight from left foot to right in a slow, rocking motion. It's the best he can do right now. He'll just be here, as long as she needs him.

"I know. I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't keep asking," she sighed, pulling back from him a bit and straightening her gown. "I... I apologize for being so... Like this," she whispered softly.

"It's okay." He somehow manages to keep his voice calm enough, just firm enough. His skin burns, and he can't remember the last time it did this, not even after Paul got shot and almost died, not when DG was possessed, not that time Glitch died.

All those times, he told himself there was still hope. Death's only temporary in Taxon, the possession was just a cruel joke on the hamsters' part, and Paul didn't die because he's strong--

Cain ducks his head, dry lips folding inward as he swallows tightly. "It's okay," he says again, taking Azkadellia's hand and leads her over to the table with the scrolls.

This time is different, and until he finds out in what way, there won't be any hope. He'll just soldier on, and keep things in order, everything up to scratch, stay in shape and alert and not slack off.

She knew it wasn’t. It didn’t take magic to know that he wasn’t doing well, but she wouldn’t be the one to point it out to him that he was obvious. Even to her, a woman that barely had ever known him. That ramrod posture, the way he held his head. It was painful to watch and yet she would allow him that dignity. It was his right not to speak of it.

Her fingers clung to his, that offer of comfort enough to keep her breathing even and help Azkadellia to maintain her composure. For now. She looked down at the table, the scrolls there, and then she looked to Cain. “I don’t think I can do this,” she whispered, her voice as soft and delicate as the child she still sometimes felt she was. Her voice trembled, just as her hand did, tightening her fingers against his to try and make it stop.

"Shh." He squeezed her hand, unrolling a length of parchment, picking out a royal green for Azkadellia, a bright, apple red for himself.

"We'll write one together. How about that?" He tilted his head at the young woman, knowing she was still a girl in a lot of ways. She'd need guidance still, and support, and he'd be damned if he didn't try to fill the void at least a ways.

"I'll start."

His fingers grip the colorful pen, and he starts to write, the neat but appealing font right there for Az to read as he goes along.

To Glitch,

I don't just owe you one

He pauses, just needing a moment before the fingers move again.

I owe you everything

Instantly she went quiet, looking almost ashamed as she drew the parchment closer to her. She was a princess. The eldest daughter of the O.Z. She should be acting like it.

"I think that would be acceptable," she said in a low voice, trying to sound like the woman she should be and not the terrified child she still often felt like; now more than ever.

Pen in hand, she watched Cain write.

She leaned in close to him, resting her head against his shoulder for a moment.

"I would be willing to bet he believes the same thing," she whispered to him, trying to be supportive.

Cain rubs his hand up and down the kid's arm, pushing the scroll over to her in encouragement to add a message of her own.

"Things weren't always easy," he tells her, eyes on the glossy red tip of his pen. It's easier to look at that than Azka-D, to think on the trivial things Glitch liked rather than Glitch himself. Candy red apples. Big, juicy ones.

Music. Dancing. Rhythm.

He shakes his head with a stiff shrug. "He, uh, made me this scrapbook for Annual's End. We could look through it, if you want. When we're done here."

"I can't imagine they were ever easy," she said in low though steady tones. "At least not since the time I was but a teenager." When she had taken over as the witch and all of the O.Z. had changed. She couldn't imagine life had gotten much better for them here either, not with this constant threat of change and pain hanging over their heads all the time.

Pen in hand, she leaned down to write on the parchment in careful, neat printing.

My Ambrose who is Glitch.

You have been and always will be my greatest inspiration. May I one day, some day, become half the brilliant mind you ARE.

Not only the man she'd known, but the one she had been learning about since she arrived.

Glancing up at Cain, her eyes glassy with tears, she nodded. "I would like that. Thank you."

In another time and place, if things hadn't conspired against them and he hadn't been quite so broken, he thinks he could've loved Glitch more than life itself.

In some ways, he thinks he already does. In a lot of ways, he thinks he has for a very long time. Longer than he can remember.

If his eyes are a touch bright from seeing that look in the young woman's eyes, from reading her message like she read his, that's neither here nor there. It's a trick of the light.

"Okay. Ready?"

He rolls up the parchment, then reaches for the thin, sturdy yarn. "You tie this together, nice and tight. I'll show you how to make a loop for the branch, just... Just a second."

He can't face Paul right now. Not right now. Later. He'll write to him later.

He grabs a piece of parchment, snips off a length of yarn and picks out a dark pink pen that reminds him of--

Graceful hands. Slightly longer nails than strictly practical. Nail polish.

Nothing felt right. Coming to Taxon hadn’t felt wrong but now it all felt entirely off and slanted sideways and she couldn’t seem to make her mind stop spinning even if it felt like it was the ground beneath her. Part of her wanted to hide, to do what she never had before and bow her head and pretend the world was not there. It wasn't something she did then, nor that she would allow herself now.

Still she kept her chin raised despite the way her lip trembled, carefully wrapping the yarn about the parchment and securing it with deft fingers. That they shook more than a little bit was something she tried to ignore. She glanced over, taking a breath. “I can look away if you’d rather.”

"No, it's--" He says, cutting himself short and forcing himself to look at her. Even when the rest of him is carefully assembled and neat and in control, he's never been that good at stripping his eyes like he can the rest of him. The lines of tension around them would be enough.

"I can't," he admits, barely raising his voice above a whisper for needing it to stay steady and firm. He can't crack, so his voice can't either.

"I don't know where to start, so I can't, and--" He shakes his head, clears his throat, "Let's just find a place for that one, all right? Then we'll have some coffee at my place, or tea. Maybe sandwiches, would you like a sandwich? I'm not half bad at sandwiches."

Azkadellia frowned, setting her parchment down, hand clutching into a fist to try and stop the shaking from being obvious. Drawing a deep breath, holding it, she tried to remember the decorum she was taught, the strength she knew she possessed. Not for herself, but for him.

Reaching over, her hand covered his. "Cain," she whispered softly, staring into his eyes if he doesn't look away. "You don't have to. Not do anything. And... and you're not alone in this. I know I've done a bit of breaking down myself but you don't have to be strong for me," she whispered.

She slumped slightly, her fingers squeezing his. "You don't have to start. He knows. Anyone that you're thinking of, they know," she said, her hand moving to almost ghost over his chest, over his heart. "Just like you know."

He feels sick.

He can feel all the blood draining from his head to cling around his neck like a bright pink scarf, and he can't look away from Azkadellia's eyes despite the fact his own burn like fire.

"It's different for Glitch," he says finally, because she's got to be thinking of Glitch, who else would she even have reason to think was on his mind.

"He gets to go home and start a new life." He tries a smile that actually makes it all the way to his eyes. "He gets to go home, and be surrounded by people who cares about him. He's surrounded by friendship and love, and belonging, and he'll be fine."

The smile falters, though sheer stubbornness keeps it there. "But Smecker-- Paul. He's my friend. My partner, and friend, and he's not so lucky. When the aliens grabbed him, he'd been shot. Badly. And they, they just fixed him right up, like brand new. Not a mark on him but a bloodied shirt."

He swallows, tension-thinned lips sticking together dryly. "He's gone home, and probably to die, and I don't know how to cope with that yet, so I'm not. Okay? I can't right now. It's bad enough his music's gone and I'll never hear it again."

He huffs, mouth twisting into an empty chuckle. "I don't even know half the composers. I wouldn't know where to begin looking them up, I don't have a clue. So that's gone. And he's gone, and I... I'm no good with words. I don't talk, I act. I do things, I don't--"

She stared up at him, attentive and rapt, listening though she said nothing. Yet she watched him as well. The brightness of his eyes, that moment they light up, and then that change.

A small bit of a frown curved her lips, head tilting to one side in curiosity. “If… if they’ve all been sent home, he may return there as he was here. Well and healthy, healed by them and returned,” she offered in soft, slight tones still not sure what to think when they had to consider that so many left at once, and the nonbraceleted besides. There was no way to know, even in her short time she knew that, but she would do no less than try and offer Cain something to hold to. Her hand brushed his hand, hesitant but offering solace as she could.

“Then don’t cope with it. Not yet. Remember the music,” she said, smiling at that. Oh how some of the men in her life were so alike with their music. “Remember him and we’ll get through this,” she murmured, leaning in against his arm, half hugging him. “Then, when you’re ready, we can use the library and the others here and even those weird little things… hatches? And we can try and find them for you.”

She would offer whatever she could, feeling a bit stronger in trying to be helpful.

It's wishful thinking, what Az is handing out like alms to the poor. It's stupid, and silly, and he doesn't do wishful thinking, because the last time he let his hopes run away with him all he found at the end of the rainbow was a gravestone.

No rainbow this time. No cottage beyond the lone white elm tree. No way of knowing for sure if Paul gets help, or if he's left to die alone on some cold, dark street somewhere-- And there's nothing he can do.

He can't do a single damn thing, and it's like he's stuck in the one man prison all over again. Stuck behind a tiny round window and almost completely immobile, and looking away would be cheating. Looking away would be a betrayal.

He gives Az a small, stiff nod, placing his hand atop hers. "Yeah, we'll... We'll get through this."

She knew there wasn't much there in her words. She wanted to make him relax, to untense. She wanted to try and offer more than what she was capable of, and they both knew it. Taking a breath, she put down her pen and turned away from the parchments.

Her arms slid around Cain, giving him a tight hug. She couldn't offer anything more than words and her presence, and she knew well that they were likely nothing more than hollow things but they were all she had in that moment.

There's one stray thought that hits him in the fraction of a second between being hugged and that fact actually getting to him: he has to wonder what it is with people turning the tables on him with empathy and hugs and friendly concern. Last time someone did that was Party, after Glitch had been killed courtesy of one of the aliens' more sinister games.

This time, he only copes marginally better. Last time, he was already under a lot of physical stress, the victim of hypothermia and goodness knew what else from spending a week completely void of pain receptors.

This time, it hits him squarely in the heart, which has been on a tight leash since this morning. He has to be strong, he's got to be, because there are people here who depend on there being at least someone around who isn't about to crumble like so much overworked pastry.

But then the embrace registers, and his skin burns wherever they touch like it did those first Hellish months in Taxon (he doesn't even know what Hell is, but he knows he's lived it twice over and that's all that matters right now, fuck semantics or lexicon or whatnot). Still he returns the hug with one arm, cheek pressed to the top of Az's dark-haired head, his other hand coming up to rub at his face. Forehead too hot, cheeks too cold, eyes burning and dry, jaw so tense it will snap any minute now.

Only, it isn't his jaw that snaps. It's his lungs, expelling one treacherous, wordless sob. What started as a hairline fracture sends the rest of his brave front cracking.

Damn hugs. There's a reason he doesn't do hugs.

Emotionally stunted as she was, Azkadellia knew little about such things as comfort and sympathy. Empathy though, something that even her scarred emotions could remember from her childhood, was something else entirely.

It was why she hovered when Glitch stood in the brain room, staring at the liquid filled container holding his brain. It was also why she avoided her own place, especially if she noticed on the tablet that he was in the neighborhood and might be coming by to visit the room once more.

It was why she was pressed to Cain now, her face buried against his chest as that sob racked his body. Her arms only tightened around him though, holding him tight as she might.

"Do you want me to cry," she asked, voice thick and proving it wasn't merely an offer for his sake but her own tears bubbling up to the surface. "I can be louder than you," she said in a small whisper, both an honest offer and an attempt to fix what she had apparently broken. Even if she felt that broken wasn't such a bad thing to be. Weren't they all, after all?

Cain shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose while he holds on with his other arm. "I know, kiddo," he says, voice coming out more gravely than he'd personally prefer, but beggars can't be choosers, and guys reaching the end of their tether can't very well double back.

"Not here," he says, and it sounds more like a request than anything else. "I'll be fine. Let's just... Let's just get out of here. We can come back with the scrolls later."

She stayed close to him, prepared to make a spectacle if only to let him hide. Something in her felt almost protective of him, though of all those there from the O.Z., he was the one she knew the least about.

"Of course. Do you need a moment or may I join you," she asked in that same soft voice, tilting her head back to look up at him with bright eyes.

She gets a small smile for the offer, but his arm stays put around her shoulders. While his eyes are bright he's holding together through what must be sheer stubbornness.

Sheer stubbornness or a masculinity complex, boy scout syndrome or cowboy vibes.

Damn it all, but he misses being called cowboy. Silliest term he knows, and he doesn't get how it applied to him, but now that it's gone just like all the rest...

"Come on, princess. I promised coffee and sandwiches, didn't I? Of course you can come."

~*~

Cain's home is like it has been for the past few months, in various states of redecorating. He goes room by room, having started with the lounge and worked his way from there. It's all about the light, which is especially vivid in the lounge itself, catching the evening sun. It's rustic but without needless details. Sturdy furniture that stands on its own merit, the walls themselves a semi-matte white and the ceiling painted in all the colors of the rainbow, courtesy of Glitch. Cain hadn't had the heart to tell him no from the start, just added the proviso that he was likely to change it some time or another.

The kitchen is a decent size, but cosy in a way the lounge isn't. It's where Cain goes after showing Az to the lounge and her pick of armchairs or sofas. He promised coffee, and that's exactly what he's going to make. Coffee and treats of some kind.

He comes to the open entryway. "What kind of sandwich would you like? Or, if you'd rather have something sweet, I could make pie."

Azkadellia had offered for him to go home on his own but she was glad he hadn't left her there. She was working so hard to stay brave, to remember her upbringing and the royal blood that ran through her veins. But even if she was mature as her age, she would still be off kilter and more than a little uncertain in these moments.

She peered at this and though, finding so much about his home to be interesting. It said a lot about Cain to her, especially as she settled into an arm chair. Tilting her head back, staring up at the rainbow ceiling.

For a moment she felt peace, losing herself in that swirling beauty, in not being alone. She had so much fear of being abandoned and alone that being here and not out there in that empty town, was the first moment she'd had that maybe something would work out for the better. She could only hope. If for nothing else but Cain's sake.

She broke from her thoughts, looking at him. "You bake," she asked, smiling at that. "A sandwich is fine. I shouldn't probably eat," she said, trying to remember the last time she had. "Is there anything I can help with?"

He nods, the ghost of a smile reaching his eyes. "My wife was a baker. She taught me a thing or two."

He holds out his hand. "You can pick your own toppings, how about that?"

He has a hunch that getting to make her own decisions, even in trivial, everyday ways might be a good start in figuring out who she is or wants to be.

Even if it's just what to eat or not.

Azkadellia found herself watching him. The way he smiled, the look in his eyes. There was something about him that made her feel more relaxed, more centered as to who she was becoming.

She takes his hand, nodding as she rose with grace and poise, moving easily without a thought.

"Do you do this a lot? Cook," she asked, glancing back at the ceiling. "And painting?"

"I mostly bake. I can cook well enough, but Paul enjoys it more than I do." It's become a thing between them. Paul would cook, Wyatt would eat out of a sense of social obligation, and somewhere along the line it turned from social obligation towards a friend and his efforts, and into real enjoyment.

"Glitch was helping me redecorate. The ceiling was his idea. The leafy motif by the window, too. See how it mimics the floors?"

He leads her into the kitchen, also largely uncluttered and very neat. Everything has its place, right up to the small cactus plant in the window above the sink.

"I spend a lot of time at the green house too. Tending the plants. Gardening. Fixing things what need fixing. There's not much policing to do here, so... I figured I might as well do things I enjoy."

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[Greenhouse -> Cain's place]

[Greenhouse -> Cain's place]

[Cain's place]

[Cain's place]

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