Валерий is creeping on your memories (tipofthetongue) wrote in invol_rpg, @ 2013-01-03 18:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! phone log, ! plot: kidnapping, kelly ansell, valya zhiglov |
WHO: Kelly Ansell and Valya Zhiglov
WHAT: Valya calls Kelly for a distraction and ends up with a revelation, too.
WHEN: Early morning hours, January 2nd
WHERE: The American and European Safehouses
WARNINGS: Minor language
STATUS: Completed phone log
According to Russian Orthodox religion, a departed person’s soul has two days to wander the earth and visit loved ones. Valya has never considered how fast that time would pass before. Truthfully, he’s always felt the belief was grim - a little creepy, even. Who wants to be stalked by a dead person for goodbyes? It’s something he assumed has been fabricated by the Church -- a way to intimidate people into mourning the dead publicly, respectfully, and most importantly, deeply within their pockets. The dead are watching. You only loved them as much as you show you love them after they’re gone. Where he is from, people put themselves into debt for a proper burial. But now that he can count his grief in minutes, Valya doesn’t find the idea of Alyosha visiting him so creepy. Part of him aches for a sign from his brother -- literally aches -- but Alyosha is gone and Valya feels nothing. A vast emptiness stretches ahead of him - a blank canvas he can’t fill. He keeps to the room mostly, falling apart and putting himself back together again. He’s a mess -- red rimmed eyes, raw nose, disheveled hair. Valeska’s warmth and comfort comes and goes and eventually sleep does, too, but he doesn’t feel better. At some point - time is just numbers on a clock - he starts scrolling through the messages he’s received. He appreciates that his friends and teammates are thinking of him, but a trite reply of “thanks” doesn’t seem appropriate and he doesn’t have the energy or desire to drum up more than that. It’s after midnight when he tries to distract himself by composing answers in his head. Everything sounds wrong and is wrong and really, he just wants to mourn in private. There is piano music streaming from his laptop (the silence is too much and he still sounds too ugly in his resonating hole of a room) and it gives him pause when he reaches Kelly’s message. The music is hers. A distraction. On impulse, he touches the screen and dials her number. He doesn’t fully realize how lost he is until he hears the first ring. Apprehension lodges in his throat and he casts about frantically for some kind of purpose. What is he going to say? What does he have to tell her? What is he doing? Half a world away, Kelly Ansell heard and felt the vibration of her phone. She wasn't using her powers -- it was unlikely that she would have heard or felt anything if she had been using one of her other senses -- but it caught her off guard nonetheless, and she jumped, nearly spilling the cup of coffee she'd just poured for herself. Kelly placed the mug down on the counter and pulled out the phone. She has it to her ear almost immediately. "Val?" He’s half wishing for Kelly’s voicemail to pick up when she does, but after hearing her voice, Valya thinks that maybe the whim isn’t so misplaced. He lets out an audible breath and leans his head back against the wall. “Hey. Yeah.” There’s a quiet beat as he wonders how to explain himself. “I, ah, don’t know why I’m calling, really. I just...” Trailing off, he closes his eyes and tries again. “Are you busy?” "No," she answers right away. The cup of coffee is all but forgotten. "No, I'm not, I'm glad you called." Kelly gave her best bitch look to some 17 year-old who was lingering in the kitchen, and the kid scurried away. "I've been thinking about you." It doesn't mean anything, but it's better than saying 'I'm sorry' again. Kelly knows that Valya is already more sorry than anyone. “Thanks.” There it is. He’s said thanks more times in the past week than he has in months, and he doesn’t know if the repetition has made it lose its significance or if his delivery is just that bad. He means it. There’s even a small release of tension as he says it, but he’s not sure it conveys. “I’m not good at this,” he confesses, “but it’s better to say things in person, I think. Texting would be--” he breaks off to laugh self-deprecatingly -- a little bitterly. “I don’t know, maybe a text would have been better.” "No," she says the word again, "seriously, I'm glad you called." Kelly wonders what she's supposed to say next. Are you okay is inane but on the tip of her tongue, how are you feeling has to be bitten back. Kelly has never known the pain of losing a sibling, not like this. She has felt the loss, but it has been a gradual one, a slow pain that developed over time. Valya has had his brother ripped away from him without warning. He didn't even get to say goodbye. "I bet the assholes over there don't even give you any good distractions," she says, trying on a bitter tone for levity. And then, softer, "sorry the best I have to offer is a fucking phone call." “Not good enough,” he replies, thinking of the interrogations -- the tip that lead them nowhere. It’s nothing he needs to focus on now, so he pushes it away and grasps for something else - something less painful. “No one has wheeled in a piano yet.” A half-hearted joke. He shakes his head even though she can’t see him. “Don’t apologize. I don’t expect anything. I don’t have anything to offer, either.” He sighs. It’s too unreal. “George Cooper is definitely dead, right?” It should be a funny question, but it isn't. He has good reason to wonder whether or not this is reality. Valya wasn't the only person wishing that all of this was no more than a bad dream. She sighs. That is her her answer to him. A moment of silence passes before Kelly speaks again. "Have you talked to your parents at all?" She doesn't know what his relationship is like with them, or if they're still married, or even if they are both still alive. His answer sticks in his throat. “Yes.” Finality seeps into his voice before he can help it. That phone call is something he would gladly erase from his own memory. His mother had been inconsolable -- awful, tearful wails. Things like, Why did you let them take him? and He is too young, too young. His father had been drunk, and for once, Valya didn’t begrudge him for it. “It was...not good.” Media speculation has made things even worse. It could easily become a morbid fixation - his mother is glued to it - but the footage and hateful comments are too much for him. “I should have been with him,” he says. What does -- did -- Alyosha think of him, he wonders. Alyosha was his responsibility, and had been since they were young. Kelly lets out a sad breath of air. "You can't think like that. I know it feels like it was your responsibility, but..." she struggled to find something to say. "But I mean, Mason is a fucking telekinetic and he just barely fought them off with Donovan there, and if you'd been there, then all that would have meant is that they'd fucking have you, too --" Kelly cut herself off, realizing suddenly that Valya might have preferred that. The thought hit her hard in the chest. "I just -- look, he wouldn't have wanted that." It was what people always said, in these kinds of situations. Everyone was always assuming what the dead would or would not have wanted. And maybe it wasn't true. Maybe Alyosha would have preferred to have his brother by his side as he choked on the poison gas. But Kelly doubted it. "Val, nothing about this is your fault." He was there, he wants to say. He was in another room, tangled between flight and fight, and now every alternative to seems better than the decision he made. He doesn’t tell her, though, because he doesn’t want her to think he’s the fuck up he feels like he is. And maybe it isn’t his fault, but he remembers Alyosha being hauled away. Surely his brother wondered what he was doing. “He wouldn’t have wanted me to be chipped, either, but here I am.” He reaches back and rubs the spot where it was injected, wondering if he’ll ever have it removed. It doesn’t matter anymore. His plans have changed. “I don’t know. We were always--” he pauses, trying to find the right words. He can think of them in Polish and Russian, but translating it to English is more difficult. “--on the same path,” he finally decides. “Even when I didn’t pay attention to him, I knew he’d be there when I turned around. I never thought I’d leave him behind.” He can feel his throat tightening again and swallows hard. Kelly nods, even though Valya can't see her do it. She understands. She wonders, then, if there might be some extra connection that Vol siblings have to each other -- probably not, but it isn't as if she has an alternative to compare it to. "I know." A beat. "I know. You think things are always going to be like they were, when you were kids. But life is fucking shitty, Val. It's not fair, but..." But what, she wonders? What futile piece of encouragement can Kelly give to him? Her voice is low and she feels helpless, angry at the entire situation. "We can't always look out for them." “Life is shitty,” he agrees. He thinks about what she’s said - I know - and he realizes that maybe she does, and that she isn’t talking to him, but about herself. We have something in common. Or had? He’s uncertain. If she is going to be like Remy and tell him she has a dead brother and it doesn’t get better, he is going to hang up and never call anyone again. “I didn’t know you had siblings.” It’s not exactly a question, but he still poses it tentatively. “Or--someone else you look after.” "Oh," Kelly says, somewhat awkwardly. She doesn't want this to be about her. About Kim. But something has to fill the air. She knows that Valya probably wants something to think about that isn't Alyosha, and so she volunteers it. "Yeah, a little sister. Well -- probably not so little anymore. She left when she was 16, and we're only a year apart from each other. She's..." Kelly swallows a little bit of fear. She's never said the words out loud before. "--she's a Vol, too, like -- like us. She ran away after the Seattle Incident. Kim. That's her name." Kelly pauses, feeling guilty for telling him this, not sure whether it was the right thing to do or not. Fuck, why does no one tell you what you're supposed to say when things like this happen? Valya makes a surprised sound. It’s as close to “Wow,” as he can get, and he processes the information bit by bit as she speaks, letting it all sink in. “I would never have guessed.” He can’t recall Kelly sharing much information about her life before IVI at all, now that he thinks about it, but then, he isn’t one for sharing personal information, either. For a moment, he feels the urge to ask her about her sister’s powers, to compare her experience as an older sibling to his own, but then he thinks about how that experience has ended prematurely and his enthusiasm fizzles out like a damp sparkler. He wonders, instead, how Kelly ended up at IVI while Kim ran. “So you’ve been apart for a long time.” He wants to ask if she knows how her sister is, but the chance that she might not makes him hold his tongue. Then again, he muses, not knowing might be better than knowing. Hope will keep you going. “I don’t know how you do it.” She thinks on this, letting a careful silence fall between them momentarily. "I write to her. She can't write me back, usually -- we've gotten a few things from her, over the years. Postcards, that kind of thing. But I write to her a lot. Just in case she's reading it." Kelly rubs her temple. She feels strange, sharing this kind of information, even with someone who she has grown to consider a friend. Even with someone who clearly deserves to hear it. “I hope she is,” he replies. He means it, and the words fall heavily out of his mouth. “She must appreciate it.” He knows he won’t write to his brother. Kelly writes her sister with an actual purpose, but any letter he pens would be completely self-serving and he’s not interested in catharsis. It doesn’t mean he isn’t interested in messages, though. Alyosha’s two days are drawing to an end. Valya could get lost in evaluating the world around him for signs, but he knows his brother. Anything from Alyosha would be flashy, like the stupid fedoras and silk shirts he wore. Like the illusions he created to attract attention from girls. Valya looks around his room but nothing changes. His lips press together and he sags. He doesn’t want to lose faith in religion. Prayer is the only thing left he can do for his brother. “I keep hoping for a sign. Like it will make this better.” Will it? He doesn’t ask. Signs. She doesn't know much about signs. Kelly notices things that other people do not, it's a part of who she is -- or who she has been since she turned 16, at least. To Kelly, everything could be a sign. But she isn't entirely sure that anyone up there is sending them. "Well," Kelly finally says into the phone, "I can keep you company in the meantime. They say that kind of shit usually happens when you're not looking for it, right? Watched pot never boils, that kind of thing." “Yeah.” Valya’s mouth twists. “I’m not sure the heat’s on, anyway.” But he can’t stop looking. He shifts on the bed, stretching his legs out as he lies back. A flat pillow cradles his head as he stares at the ceiling. It’s how he goes through memories when he’s alone. Film reels of a ghost. “Tell me something good,” he says. “Please. I won’t keep you long.” He knows she has things to do - things that are more important than keeping him company. There is a long table in the kitchen, scattered with pastries and fruit and other half-eaten snacks. Kelly pulls up a chair and sits. She's relieved for the break, really. "Sure." She searches for it. Something good. It seems like a long time since Kelly has experienced anything that fits the definition. But then again, maybe it only seems that way. She doesn't have to search her mind very long to find the memory, because it was only a few weeks before. Back before they'd been pulled back into this nightmare. "Have you ever -- no, of course you've never been to Iowa. Nobody goes there. It's where I'm from, though. Was just home for Christmas." She takes awkward pauses as she speaks. Kelly has never been a natural storyteller, but she is trying. "Anyway, there's this hill in Iowa City. Really fucking -- it's really pretty. Beautiful, I mean. And in the winter, it gets covered with snow, and all of the local kids..." Kelly continues with the story and it gets easier as the words tumble out, one after another like sleds down that stupid hill. |