InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Poor Queequeg."

Erebos (the__dark__one) wrote in paxletalelogs,
@ 2011-06-29 23:14:00

Entry tags:

erebos, nyx

Strangers In The Night
Who: Elias & Cat
What: The Primordial Couple meet in private
Where: Room 202
When: 9:50 p.m., the night of the blackout
Warnings: None

Elias never considered himself a pessimist or an optimist. Dispassionately examining the facts and the possibilities lying beyond them -- his modus operandi -- he rather thought of himself as a realist. In younger years, when Brigetta first slid unexpectedly into his heart, he leaned more heavily toward optimism. It was fruitless, and worse; it was also dangerous. The hardest part of letting her go was abandoning the hope of a future with the person he loved. A realist acknowledged that anything could change, that nothing was certain or permanent. Straying too far from these facts meant coloring one's perspective, and a clear and unhindered perspective was the most intelligent one, in his estimation.

So, as he walked carefully behind a lady he just met, hand clasping hers gently, he acknowledged that his vision may return in time or it may be permanently gone, replaced with the afterimage of a strange and unearthly beast. What he could count on, for now, was that he had a guide to his apartment. "202," he spoke into the double-darkness ahead of him -- he'd never told her exactly where they were going on the second floor, after all. And, upon considering what he recalled of the corridor leading to his apartment, he also imagined she must have been lighting the way in the same manner he had used when he first entered Pax Letale tonight: a cell phone. His mouth turned wry. Technology was wondrous.

By some odd bit of luck, his mail was still tucked under one arm. His keys were still in his free hand. He extended that free hand, palm up, when they stopped walking. His palm was rewarded with emptiness a second later. A click, a sound of metal against metal, and he heard the shifting of air that signaled the door was open.

He didn't see it, but the entry to his living room was uncluttered and tidy -- no sign of the move from two days before. A hip-high pedestal with a concave black stone top by the door invited the keys to be dropped there. He didn't know if she did it or not. Past the entryway, the living room opened up to them. It was a small room with space for a black suede couch with simple lines, its answering black metal and glass coffee table, and a wall-mounted TV. In the corner beside that TV, an entertainment cabinet unobtrusively stored hidden electronics that ran its cords in neat lines into the wall, ostensibly connecting somehow to the TV. Further examination would reveal the speakers strewn in the top corners of the rooms -- again, their cords hidden away in the walls. And from these speakers, on low volume, a gravelly voice layered over quiet piano.

I don't believe in an interventionist god
But I know, darling, that you do

He meant to thank her at the door, meant to close it quietly behind her retreating form, but then she took his hand again and led him forward. The door closed and clicked. Three steps in, he turned to the right briefly, set his mail on the kitchen pass through counter top, then opened his mouth to try again to free her from what she must have felt was a human obligation.

Without warning, jagged light erased that negative image burned in his vision. He tensed, then forced himself to relax. Knowing what was probably to come, and not wishing to involve Ms. St. Giles any further, he gently withdrew his hand from hers. "Thank you," he finally managed.

Was there an easy way to get her out of the apartment before this... ailment... rendered him more than useless again? His mind raced through possible words that might hold the key to keeping her from being insulted but also from seeing him laid low again. Nothing sounded right. He settled on the truth, then, quickly, before it was too late.

"It's starting again," he said, hating the weakness those words carried. "You may not want to be here. I don't want to cause you... discomfort."

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full_of_stars
2011-06-30 11:21 pm UTC (link)

The trip up the stairs had gone far more smoothly than Cat would have anticipated. Her sleek little phone had lit their path with little enough trouble, and despite whatever afflicted him, he seemed to have a good sense of where she was and followed her without trouble. The interior of his apartment was only dimly lit by the moon-and-street light that filtered in through the windows, but she could appreciate the decor, though it was a bit spare for her tastes. As he set down his mail, she looked for a place for his keys, then noticed the piece by the door, which seemed a logical enough place to put them, and Elias Sandoa seemed to her the type to whom logic might be the only law -- or at least, the most important one.

She was taken a bit aback by the low, musical greeting they were receiving, but before she could comment on it, he was thanking her.

"You're welcome, of course," she said.

"I don't see how you could cause me discomfort, though, unless you plan to kick me. I shouldn't like that at all," she said before she took his hand again and drew him toward the couch. One there, she gently nudged him to sit, then found herself at a loss as to what to do.

"Do you think aspirin might help? Or some water?" she cast a glance toward the kitchen, then toward the hall that most likely led to the bathroom and his bedroom. The layout was a bit different than from her own apartment, and it was on the opposite side of the building, but she didn't imagine it'd be too difficult. Pursing her lips, she thought of the pills that sat in her medicine cabinet: a small, emergency supply of Vicodin and Valium that helped with migraines and nights gone too wild. This, she imagined, was certainly worthy of the Vicodin, though she didn't relish the thought of climbing eight flights of stairs in her wedges. Taking another look at him, she decided that if eight flights it must be, eight flights it must be. He looked awful.

"I have a prescription in my apartment. If you'd like, I could go get it."

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the__dark__one
2011-07-04 08:33 pm UTC (link)

Beautiful. He hadn't yet seen her face, but her very presence filled the space between them with the essence of beauty. A pain-riddled mind took turns that logic would struggle to follow. His now imagined her the contemporary and inspiration of Byron -- especially when he penned the words, She walks in beauty, like the night || Of cloudless climes and starry skies. Ms. St. Giles was that kind of lovely. He would have given anything to see her face in this moment. But, he thought, on the heels of his first desire, she would still be beautiful -- regardless of what sort of face she wore.

"No -- no prescription." And then, because there was little left but to draw the conclusion that she did, he asked to confirm: "Do you suffer from migraines?" He did not like the idea of her suffering -- for any reason.

And then he wanted to know everything about her. Needed. Needed to know everything. Now was the time. This was the place. He could have had no better reason to speak with her and to learn about her. Now. Now was the time. Regardless of his circumstances -- and because of them.

There were two ways of handling pain: fighting, wrestling, and controlling it; or relaxing into it and letting it take over for the time of its rule. One left him exhausted, but with more of his wits throughout; the other made him all but helpless, but the task of endurance was somewhat easier. Tonight, he would fight. Yes. That meant... He pulled off his suit jacket and fished out his phone from the inner pocket.

His HTC EVO, covered in a rugged, rubberized case, looked to be fresh and new -- but it was nearly a year old by now. Elias saw no need to yet replace it; it functioned adequately. Of course, he couldn't see to use it now, but the Android system was easy enough to navigate. Even if she - Ms. St. Giles - had no experience with it, she could doubtlessly send a message on his behalf through his email to his team. Tomorrow, they would not have his leadership. This was of little concern to him; there were no patches or revisions scheduled for nearly a week, and his team was largely autonomous. He would have to ask her for help. Again.

And she had been asking about how she could help. Perhaps she hadn't intended this, but...

"Could you send an email for me? I will not go in tomorrow."

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full_of_stars
2011-07-11 02:50 am UTC (link)

"Of course," she said, sitting near him and reaching out her hand for his phone. Tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear, she held the phone in her hand, navigating it with relative ease. Curious by nature, the thought flitted across her mind to look through his contacts, see who he knew, what he did, how he lived, but something restrained her, despite how easy it would have been to do. Instead, she found the application for e-mail.

"As to your other question," she said with a slight, wry smile, "I suffer from a number of things, Elias. I find it prudent to keep a bottle of relief about just in case."

She smoothed out her dress and focused on him. He didn't talk much, but then under the circumstances, most wouldn't, she supposed. Once again, she found his presence oddly compelling, and wasn't quite sure why that was. Of course, he was handsome, but in Southern California, it was almost a requirement. Maybe it was the darkness of his looks, or the timbre of his voice, or his silence. Or his tone.

Something.

In any case, she shook it off -- it seemed like an odd train of thought, one best left to examine later. And so she said,

"And so, Elias, to whom shall I send this e-mail, and what shall it say?"

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the__dark__one
2011-07-11 04:21 am UTC (link)

Above their heads, Nick Cave quietly asserted that he believed in love. Elias turned pale eyes up toward the ceiling, as he felt the weight of the phone leave his palm. Her voice slid silkily into the center of his stomach and curled there, radiating a warm ache that he consciously avoided naming. But he way she said his name... It was a gateway to trouble, and he knew it was, but that didn't stop his desire to reach across the space between them and --

Abruptly, he halted the thought. It was ridiculous, fanciful, inappropriate, and borderline ungrateful. It would never happen. It was better to be alone, to avoid all entanglements. Still, he wished he could see her. Was she as graceful as her voice? Did she glide over the floor the way her words slid across the air toward him?

"Cleo-dot-Grimes-at-dyntek-dot-com," he said, aware that he was close to too much silence. "It should read, 'I will not be in, tomorrow. Please advise my team.' Nothing more is needed, Ms. St. Giles."

Setting the tips of his fingers on his forehead, he rubbed roughly. He wanted to know everything about her, but he would have to ask. That was the difficult part. He felt awkward and thick-headed. Behind his eyes, a thrumming had begun. He was making, he understood, a wretched first impression.

"You are not catching me at my best," he said at last. "But I am... glad... that you are here. Do not judge me too harshly on this night alone." And then, dryly: "Wait until you've --"

The (admittedly bad) joke died in his throat. He closed his hands over his knees and slowly, slowly leaned forward. In the dim light, it was likely impossible to see how sharply he'd paled. But after a moment, he leaned back again, carefully. And if the tension was not yet seeping out of his form, it was clear that he was trying to make it go. Weak laughter spilled from him. "I've never been good with conversation," he said. "Perhaps you could tell me about yourself instead."

As soon as he said them, he blinked. It hadn't been as difficult to ask as he thought.

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full_of_stars
2011-07-12 04:20 am UTC (link)

With hands well-practiced on her own phone, Cat nimbly tapped away at the smooth surface of his touchscreen, the message appearing quickly and accurately. The message was sent as she turned to look at him, listening to him assure her that he wasn't at his best. A soft, if wry, sort of half-smile curved her lips at the caveat, although when he doubled over, however controlled the motion, her hand fluttered to his back. The touch was so light that he might not have even known it was there, but she felt the heat of his skin through his shirt, and moved her hand away, disguising the intimate gesture, as she sat back up.

"Maybe you ought to lean back," she suggested, moving forward to press almost undetectably on his shoulder. "Or even lie down. If you promise to recline in some way, I shall tell you whatever you'd like." She gave him a sidelong glance, and that half-smile returned.

"Within reason."

Once he looked a bit more relaxed, she sat a bit closer, her hand rising again, this time to stroke his hair back from his forehead. His skin felt warm compared to hers, and it struck her as odd, even though she knew this was a natural thing. Slowly, her thumb stroked over his hair, and she spoke.

"I am not an American citizen," she said with a slight smile. "Though perhaps you could tell by my accent. My first love was Thelonious Monk, and I haven't quite decided yet, but I may well hate Southern California." She smiled. "Quite impolite and un-English of me to tell you so, but I suppose we've bonded."

Her hand shifted, and she lightly rested it on his forehead.

"Where did you grow up, then? You don't seem like the Southern California type."

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the__dark__one
2011-07-16 11:31 pm UTC (link)

Whether she meant to have the effect or not, her fleeting touches were pulling his mind away from the thing inside his head. His entire body wanted to follow her - and she'd only just touched him. When she pushed him back into the couch cushions behind him, he went without complaint. He wanted to do what she said. Wanted to hear more about her. Hoped that this - this - would be enough.

Her voice compelled him; but it hadn't been... it hadn't been what every other man hears, hadn't been that accent. He hadn't even noticed the accent. No, there was something else, something... He couldn't immediately define it. "The wilds of Oregon until I was 4, then San Francisco. Then Orange County." And his voice told the truth about which location he truly preferred. City life had happened to him, and so he endured it. But a rustic lodge in the wilderness of Oregon was what he called home. He told her as much, through suddenly-gritted teeth.

"And what --" He paused, focused on the sensation of his short fingernails cutting crescents into his palms, and centered himself, and continued: "What brings you to this place that you despise, Ms. St. Giles? Shall you be leaving soon?"

He hoped that she was here for some time. This compelling, unseen woman had more mystery under her skin than he could fathom -- and he had to know all of it.

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full_of_stars
2011-07-17 02:10 pm UTC (link)

"Oh, I doubt it," she said, tracing the pad of her thumb lightly over his hairline. "The firm I work for has taken quite good care of me in my time there, I owe them at least a few years out here, I imagine." She smiled slightly. "Besides, there are certainly worse places. The climate here is quite lovely."

She paused, considering his answer to her question earlier, having watched him as he'd responded. It made sense that city life wasn't his first choice, or perhaps even his second; his living space indicated that he preferred his own company to crowds. There was something else in her that insisted that she was right, though. Something deeper, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. The same thing, perhaps, that compelled her to stay when really she should go. This was a great deal of familiarity in a very short span of time, and that should be making her more uncomfortable than it was.

Even still, she remained, for now, working on unraveling the mystery of Elias Sandoa and what he was doing in Southern California. He was clearly a man of means; perhaps those means were what kept him nearby. She did wonder.

"And so what keeps you in this place that you don't seem to like very much yourself, Elias? And please, for the love of God, call me Cat. I feel like we're on a job interview, but I'm not sure who's the potential employer," she laughed.

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the__dark__one
2011-07-23 05:55 am UTC (link)

That small touch traveled down deep into him, brushing against things he had willfully forgotten. This lady beside him seemed to disarm all his defenses before he had time to recognize the need to employ them properly. If he'd had the warning, if he'd known that she'd be sitting on his couch with him... But as it was, he could already feel what he thought to be long-dead pieces of himself stirring again. Brigetta's ghost sometimes tramped around inside him, reminding him of how this felt. But he hadn't allowed anyone to get so close to him again as ...

His brow furrowed. He didn't understand this. He wasn't sure if he liked it. No, that was a lie. He did like it. He more than liked it, everything about it, but that didn't mean that it was the wisest thing. He should send her away. Yes, that's what he would do right now. The next thing out of his mouth would be --

"My mother is here," he said. And then, reverently: "Cat." The name felt wrong in his mouth. He didn't understand why this would be so. "She needs 24 hour care. Moving her would be unwise, and so I remain here. When it is time, I'll find a new home. But I have hopes that I will not move soon."

The flashes of light in his vision had faded and didn't seem to be returning. But slowly, gray shapes were beginning to filter into his sight again. He was patient. He waited without comment or expectation as the world began forming again in his sight.

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full_of_stars
2011-07-23 08:49 pm UTC (link)

Nodding at the explanation, she continued to stroke his hair. Cat's own mother was in Napoli at the moment with her father, for the most part healthy and whole. Gianna swore it was the Mediterranean -- that swimming in it daily extended her life by years. Cat didn't know for sure, but she felt grateful, suddenly, that both her parents were in good health, and that they had each other, despite the tumult of their relationship. The thought created a pang in her chest for Elias, and slender fingers traced over his soft waves of dark hair.

"It's good of you to take care of her," she told him. "That must be very difficult for you."

She noticed his eyes slowly focusing; maybe a blink, maybe a change of the glint of the dim light on them from the large windows. It was difficult to tell in the darkness, but she got the sense that his condition was improving.

"Are you feeling a bit better then?" she asked, shifting only slightly away from him to get a better look.

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the__dark__one
2011-07-24 04:41 am UTC (link)

"Mm," Elias murmured. It was a response to everything she said, summed in a single syllable. And then, because she surely needed more than that for the last piece, "My vision is beginning to clear. I see shapes now, where there was only darkness before."

Turning his gaze toward the direction where her voice came, he tried to make her out. And there, in shades of gray, her silhouette made a smooth line at his side. The corners of his mouth turned upward. "You're beautiful," he said, surprising himself with his candor, then laughing shortly from that surprise. "And I wish I could see you."

Brushing the sentiment out of the air with the back of his hand, he set his head back against the couch again. "Where are you from? Did your family come with you... or are they already here?"

Better by far to ask questions and let her answer them, rather than his schoolboy adoration of her. It came to him, then, that she may be leaving soon. And perhaps that was just as well. He was beginning to crave her company, and that was a troubling realization.

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full_of_stars
2011-07-24 02:47 pm UTC (link)

His compliment made her smile graciously, though her eyes were fixed on his.

"A fine compliment from a blind man," she teased him, a soft laugh in her voice.

It was good to hear him speak, though, and to know that his condition was improving. She would feel more comfortable, however, when he was more fully recovered. In the meantime, his questions and even the close proximity to him made it easy to stay.

"I was born in London," she told him, stroking his hair. "But we -- my siblings and I -- would split our time between there and Naples while we were growing up. I came to the States on my own; my parents still split their time between London and Naples, as I imagine they will until they can no longer manage the travel, and my siblings are still in Europe, as well."

She smiled slightly. "None of them are fond of America, though they do come to visit periodically."

Shifting on the couch to stretch her legs a bit, she asked, "And so what is it you do, Elias Sandoa, that occupies your days?"

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the__dark__one
2011-07-25 04:19 am UTC (link)

Her teasing pulled a rare, genuine smile from him. Typically, Elias found teasing of any sort to be pointless and rude. With Cat... With Ms. St. Giles, it was... different. Her gentle jibes were meant to ease and not to raise tensions. It worked. She had a certain sort of magic about her, enchantment lodged in every syllable she spoke, witchcraft in her fingertips. Yes. He smiled.

It was not difficult to imagine her stashed in the back of an Italian cafe, reading and enjoying the ambient sounds of the shop. It was equally easy to see her in a wool peacoat, fur at her throat, with London fog swirling at her ankles. This imagination of his struggled not at all with the fact that he had no good idea about what she actually looked like; it filled in the blank spaces and created for Elias a picture that seemed reasonable enough.

"I'm pleased that you see them every once and a while. Had I so large a family as yours, I would find it difficult to be away from them for long. But as it stands, my parents never had the chance for more than just myself -- and my mother never remarried. You are fortunate, Ms. St... Cat."

As she stretched, he passed a hand over his eyes as if to clear them. It did very little for him, save to confirm that he was beginning to see the difference between light and darkness again. That was encouraging.

"I head the Network Security department at DynTec," he responded. "It is pleasing enough." The truth was that he preferred working with servers and networks more than working with people. He would not say this to her, however. He recognized that his mostly antisocial behavior was frowned upon by most social creatures -- and Cat struck him very much as a social creature.

Occupied as he was with these thoughts, he was rather unprepared for the crashing light that overtook his sight again. More brutal than before, he gasped before he recovered his control. And then again, after the light, the same otherworldly, demonic shape followed. It turned its head toward him before fading away from his view.

Elias found himself, underneath the searing pain, rather unnerved.

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full_of_stars
2011-07-26 01:51 am UTC (link)

Before she could fully enjoy the smile she'd elicited from him, before she could hedge about how being away from her family seemed at times as much blessing as curse, before, indeed, she could even probe him further about his work at DynTec -- a line of questioning that would have been her first, normally, as it was business related, but actually intrigued her more as a means of gaining a better understanding of his mind -- he had another attack. The gasp of pain and the way his body tensed indicated that his discomfort was more than passing. She slipped her free hand into his, holding tightly even as her thumb stroked his.

The severity of the attacks was beginning to concern her, and she wondered if it was best that he remain here; if he'd somehow sustained a brain injury, the sooner it was treated, the better the chance that he'd recover from it completely. She wasn't a doctor, but she knew at least that much.

"Elias," she said softly, not wanting to exacerbate his pain with words or volume, "perhaps we ought to get you to the hospital. I can drive you, if you like."

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the__dark__one
2011-07-28 03:40 am UTC (link)

The way she grabbed his hand... He wanted to reassure her, wanted to take away her worry, and hated himself for being the cause of it. Had he but controlled himself better... Elias had wanted to protect her from this. Protect her from worrying over a person the way she was worrying over him. And there was pride in it, too; he could recognize this. He did not prefer that her first impressions of him came between weak and stifled sounds of pain. Weak. That was the key.

Wordless for the moment as he fought back against the onslaught, he nevertheless lifted the back of her clutching hand to his lips in the hope that the gesture would soothe her. He heard her worry in that soft whisper at his shoulder. He knew he was making her fret. He didn't like it. He didn't like anything about this.

"You're right," he said, when he could. "We should go. But on one condition: You go home afterward. Yes?"

He could endure many things. Having her stay at the hospital for him in those awful waiting rooms was not one of them. She had work in the morning, he was sure of it. No, he wouldn't have her put herself out any more than she already had.

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full_of_stars
2011-07-31 11:17 pm UTC (link)

Cat nodded, exhaling a long breath. There was something that felt wrong -- entirely wrong -- about his condition. The notion made no sense, but there it was. In any case, she would gladly agree to any condition if it meant he'd get care from people who actually knew what they were doing. She was no expert, and hardly felt qualified to help any further in this scenario.

"That's fine," she told him, at once eager to get him to the hospital, and somewhat reluctant to abandon him. She shook off the feeling, however, as clearly, it was important to keep priorities in order at this juncture.

"Come on then, Elias," she said softly, rising from the couch, offering him her hand to help him up. "I've a great parking spot; it won't be too long to the car, I promise."

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	the__dark__one 2011-08-02 01:55 am UTC (link)
	"Mm," he said, accepting her agreement at face value. Standing from the couch was more difficult than he expected, but he did it quickly to keep his visitor from worrying overmuch. On his way out, he grabbed his keys and pocketed them, turning the latch on the doorknob to lock up before he closed the door. And then they were off. (Reply to this) (Parent)