I'm sure that you will go down

[unevoked]

Characters: unevoked And ziongaiv
Date/Time: April 11, evening
Location: Room of Fail in the Spa
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of old wounds
Summary: Castor found a memory crystal! He decides it'd be a good idea to have someone there to talk about it. Because, you know, he never tells anyone anything otherwise.

Comments

[ziongaiv]

Pollux had been sitting in his corner on the futon, he'd found it was significantly harder to do anything with the lack of his left hand. You weren't really aware how dependent you were on your dominant side until you didn't have it. Though his right hand was somewhat functional, his writing was hardly legible and he was fumbling with most tasks.

While he knew his shoulder was somewhat his fault, it lessened the blow on his ego if he blamed Castor. He really did not think the whole situation through, instead ploughing head on (rather, fist on) into a stupid situation. Though Medical stuck a needle in his arm and told him to keep it in the sling and allow it to heal. It was difficult, he kept trying to lift his arm and use it, getting a jolt of pain in return. He just wanted it to heal, partially because he wanted Castor to stop being a smug bastard about it, it was really hard (as shocking as it might be) to run with one arm that could keep momentum.

So he'd taken to staying in the room for the afternoon, grabbing some milk from the refrigerator, staring at the journal in hopes that something interesting would happen, and then Castor came in. It took him a few moments to understand what Castor was showing him.

"Where'd you find it?"

[unevoked]

"Over in the bazaar. Saw it sittin' there, so I took it." Well, phrased that way, it sounded like he stole it. Not that he really cared that much. it wasn't like anyone was selling it or even noticing it. he just saw it wedged between some stalls and decided to take it. Not like anyone would miss it, right? If it belonged to someone, they should have looked after it better.

He moved to sit on his bed, across from Pollux's corner. He almost- almost- felt back for probably fucking Pollux's shoulder up worse than it would have been if he had left it along, but reminding himself that his roommate was stupid made him feel better. besides, he was being nice and going out of his way to make sure he shared information.

Mostly because if he checked out the memory on his own, he wouldn't tell Pollux everything. He'd take his time to decide what was important and disregard the rest, and that was probably not for the best-- after all, between the both of them they had more context then just by themselves.

"Figure I should just go ahead and use it?"

[ziongaiv]

"Yeah, I mean what good's it going to do sitting around?" He doesn't make eye contact, idling with his sling. It was slightly frightening, now that he knew what these things had the potential for, even more so that there were monsters in their reality, and he had no idea what that could mean for them.

Though, he was somewhat surprised to hear Castor offer to share this whole experience with him, while he had no reason to think Castor hadn't told him the whole truth about anything, he had come to understand the other boy well enough to know that he was guarded. While they were sure they knew each other in the before, they didn't know how well, or to what extent (enough to punch him in the face, apparently). Pollux was afraid, if he was honest with himself, that something would be revealed that would only garner animosity and distance Castor from him. While he knew Castor would be fine without him, if it ever came to that, in such a short time Castor became a very close friend.

Though, he was in no position to stop Castor about finding out more about their lives. At least, Castor's own.

[unevoked]

He nodded. Pollux had a point, there was no sense doing nothing with it. In a way, it was weird-- his past two memories, he hadn't known anyone from his world, he was able to keep them to himself, go back to his room, figure out just what they meant-- but now he had a friend here-- someone close from back home, someone sharing his room, someone who would potentially benefit from a lot of the information he discovered about his world. If the memory was personal, he could just say that-- but hell, maybe he could at least figure out more general things about their home. Where had they lived, how they had known one another, why they fought monsters, those things in their head, anything.

He was good at suppressing and shielding his emotions, though, so rather than let on his anticipation and faint worry. After taking another moment to calm himself, he touched the crystal, mind going blank for a moment.

In reality it was only a few seconds that he had just sat there, touching the crystal before the faint glow of it disappeared, his eyes went wide, and a small, strangled noise escaped his throat. It was as though there had been a sudden change in his demeanor, suddenly only half-aware of what was going on and what had only been in the memory. He dropped the crystal, fingers scrabbling at his adomen for a moment, breath coming quickly. After assuring himself that, no, the scar there hadn't opened up, he hadn't been shot, and that flaring pain was all gone but for the memory, he moved a hand up to his opposite shoulder, checking for the same. Again there was no blood, no open wounds, no pain, and he slowly began to calm down, looking down at the used crystal on the floor.

"...Fuck. That was a bad idea." He swallowed after he spoke, shaking his head, completely oblivious to the fuzzy white rabbit ears that were suddenly upon them.

He glanced up to Pollux, a bit paler than he had been before. Well, he had promised to share his findings. "...Think I got shot."

[ziongaiv]

It was weird watching Castor's eyes fade out of focus after he touched the crystal, weird even stranger still that in a matter of seconds Castor was clutching his stomach, his skin gone ghostly white. He'd never seen Castor in such a state of terror. It was unsettling, at the very least. Castor was always collected in his demeanor, but it was nothing short of horrifying to see him like this.

He pushed himself up from his futon, his arm shooting with pain as he crossed the room to were Castor was sitting, due to his vantage point from the floor the ears were currently unseen to him, besides, he was far more concerned about the words coming from his friend's mouth.

"You- what?" was all he could splutter out "What happened? How-?"

[unevoked]

He shook his head, trying to figure it all out himself. His fingers tightened on his leg, doing his best to remain collected. Still, he could vividly remember the shock of the bullet impacting, and the complete lack of any sort of context. "Fuck I don't-" Again, he shook his head, trying to find the right words for it. "Couldn't see or hear nothin'."

How was he supposed to gain any insight from it? He wasn't sure how long ago it had happened, where he had been, who had been there, who had shot him or why-- still, he glanced back down at himself, pulling up the hem of his shirt as though to once again assure himself that it was still just a scar, rather than an open, bleeding wound.

"It just started an' I got shot. Or something. Knew I had a scar but-- Shit." The faint pressure of a headache steadily growing across his temples wasn't helping either, but he forced it down. The last thing he needed was that acting up. Heedless of the fact he was in doors, he began rustling in his pockets for his pack of cigarettes, taking one with his lips. Before tossing the pack over next to his journal. He didn't trust his hands too much right now. He grabbed his lighter and clicked it a few times, swearing each time until the flame caught. Taking a drag bought himself time to calm and fight back that growling, aching presence in his mind-- not that the nicotine didn't help. A lot. And if Inara bitched, he'd tell her to fuck off. It was no worse than her incense.

"...Got shot in th' shoulder, too," he noted quietly after a second. "Right before it ended. Couple'a people were all tryin' to help or something after it, though." his voice was a bit distant. He hadn't known he had an injury on his back. it had been impossible to miss the large scar on his abdomen, but he had no idea he had two of them.

"just. The fuck."

[ziongaiv]

All he could do was blink staring at Castor trying to think of anything to say but all of this left him feeling empty inside. One of those things he didn't remember but just felt familiar. Why would he he just understand something like this? Why would being shot, and, based on where Castor said he had been shot - dying, dying like that be familiar. A friend, someone he called a friend died. And they didn't know why or how or when. What could he say? There's nothing he could say, he couldn't just say 'Hey at least you're okay now?', that didn't fix anything, it didn't give them answers. And it certainly didn't make Pollux feel any better.

"You have scars?" was all he could say. It was all he could say without delving into what happened, into talking about the finality of death and trying to make sense of how it could have happened. He looked away as Castor lit up, pulling his sling up his shoulder. He couldn't say anything further. Just, what are you supposed to say to something like that?

[unevoked]

He nodded, resting his elbows on his knees. Fucking memory crystal. Why did he think this would be a good idea again? Fuck. Still, he took in a deep breath before exhaling, taking the cigarette from his mouth and moving to take off his shirt-- besides, he kind of wanted some confirmation that there was one on his back as well.

"Known I had this one," He indicated the large, round scarred flesh near the center of his torso- the wound was fairly large, indicating a large caliber. He moved to remove the shirt fully, somehow managing to keep the lit end of the cigarette away from the fabric. "Got hit on the right-what."

He stopped as his shirt got caught on something over his head, finally, glancing up as he wrenched the fabric from it and grasping one of the white, fuzzy ears. "Motherfucker." Castor growled out the word angrily. He had completely forgotten about the stupid punishments. He forced himself to disregard it for now-- he didn't need one more headache.

He turned so his right shoulderblade was to Pollux, tapping it. "Right 'bout there. I got another one?"

[ziongaiv]

He couldn't believe he didn't see the ears before, but he couldn't laugh, not now at least. Not when he was surveying his friend's back for scars. They weren't hard to miss. One small round dark scar near his shoulder blade, and another, lower on his torso. It was as though the skin had once been torn apart, as though something - a bullet obviously - had exploded outward, mangling the flesh around it.

"There's two." tentatively he put his finger on the smaller scar "Here." and then moved to the larger one, tracing around the edges, making it clear it was decidedly larger. "And here." It seemed invasive touching Castor, he wasn't sure he'd really done it before outside of hitting him. It was one of those things he was painfully aware of, and it was extremely uncomfortable. Perhaps it was just the circumstances.

He wants to comment on the ears, maybe it'll make the situation less tense, but based on Castor's reaction, he knows that's not the case. Maybe he'll get him a hat later, do something for him, even if the damage (no pun intended) had already been done.

[unevoked]

His shoulders tensed at the touches, obviously uncomfortable with it. His brows furrowed, remaining still as Pollux indicated the spot on his back-- the same place he could vividly remember feeling that sharp pain explode into his back, burning his chest and bringing that damn heaviness into his lungs-- he took another drag of the cigarette as though to counteract the fresh memory.

The larger one, though, he hadn't been expecting. Well, in a way, he had, but he hadn't been focusing on that in the memory. He had more been trying not to bleed out. Still, the size of it was surprising-- and the fact that it felt as though it had gone straight through his body, without much diversion.

What the hell kind of gun had he been shot with? His fingers tightened on the cigarette and the furry ears stood straight up as he thought. Something strong enough to fuck him up. He brought a hand up to his sternum, recalling the sheer pain in his chest. "...Least I got scars," He finally shook his head and stood to pull away, pulling the shirt back on carefully.

"Means it healed up. People prolly got me taken care of."

[ziongaiv]

He notes the ears standing up, they certainly were adding some levity to the situation, but it still didn't feel right laughing in the situation. Pollux still felt like the bottom of his stomach dropped out. Why had his memory just been something to do with monsters in his head and fighting and something noble like that, but Castor. Castor died.

He saw the scars, he was looking right at them. Castor didn't live. There was just no way. He hated thinking it, he hated looking at them it was just too real. Maybe there were monsters where they were from, but apparently they was a real risk. Why they wouldn't be, he wasn't sure, it just seemed all like some far off fairy tail where no one got hurt and they got to be the heroes. He should have known better.

But he couldn't just tell him that it wasn't possible. "Yeah." he said, his voice was slightly feeble, he was a terrible liar. "I'm sure you were fine. They don't even look that bad."

[unevoked]

He nodded, keeping his thoughts to himself. He could work it through as he went, but it made sense, right? They had to have healed, because he was alive here. They had healed. His ribcage wasn't shattered, his organs worked, he was fine-- the initial withdrawal aside. He couldn't have died from it.

Maybe if he kept telling himself that he'd start to believe it.

He sat back down, doing his best to ignore the retarded fucking ears that disrupted his shaggy hair. He didn't want to talk about his anymore, so he wouldn't. The cigarette got stubbed out against part of his shoe and discarded somewhere on the floor. He'd deal with that later. All of it. Potential death, the fucking rabbit ears, picking up his cigarette, telling Pollux some of the more personal things he'd learned from his dream and memories-- everything always got shoved to the side. He didn't want to deal with it.

"...Your shoulder doin' any better?"

[ziongaiv]

He understands the need to dodge talking about it, he is perfectly aware that they're lying to each other. Probably because they need to. It wasn't as though either of them were expecting a revelation of this magnitude. He also knew that if they didn't talk this out now, it would never be spoken of again. He didn't want to be the one to beat the dead horse (this was the worst time to make that pun), and he didn't want Castor to be more irritated with him than he was on a regular basis. But he wasn't about to let this go.

He pulls the sling back up his shoulder again, pain shooting briefly up his arm "It doesn't matter. It'll be fine."

The "Not like you" went unsaid.

He looked at Castor expectantly, as though waiting for him to keep talking of his own volition.

[unevoked]

He let out a monosyllabic noise of acknowledgment at the comment. He'd take it to mean that it was still hurting. Probably his own fault for trying to fix it when he had no clue what he was doing. Still, it was just a shoulder. It could be fixed given enough time.

Still, it made him wonder just what this place was. if he was dead, then he should have been dead, not running around some stupid Tree-Globe looking for memories. After a second he forced out a snort, amused noise. "Hurry up and get better. Don't think I'm gettin' paid while Zombie keeps closing the damn store." A lame avoidance, but whatever. He wasn't about to voice his concerns.

Who had been the guy who claimed he was dead? Moon? So it wasn't solely him. But did that mean that everyone here had died? No, that would be retarded. And the shittiest afterlife ever. After a second, he twitched a smirk, one of the ears twitching simultaneously in stupid, forced amusement.

"Makes you wonder why we think shootin' ourselves's a good idea."

[ziongaiv]

He simply stared at Castor, perhaps because he couldn't believe he'd say something like that. Though, upon a moment of reflection it was Castor, his tact (even in delicate situations involving himself) was not exactly something that was highly lauded.

Though Castor did, indirectly, bring up a good point. He had in his memory, very clearly, shot himself. The barrel of the gun was pressed directly between his eyes and pulled the trigger. He hadn't died, he saw things happen after he pulled the trigger. There was that monster, but he saw the people around him run towards the other monster, they seemed entirely unconcerned that Pollux had shot himself.

Was he perhaps dead? Was this not some place where you were forced to start over in your life because you were plucked from your every day, but you were forced to start over because your life had ended? Should Pollux just wait for a memory like Castor's?

As different as he thought the gun that he put between his eyes, and the gun that shot Castor were, he couldn't simply say that there was no way the two actions were the same. Though perhaps that would call attention, again, to Castor's mortality. Clearly they were trying to avoid that now, despite Pollux's reluctance to simply let this topic fade from conversation.

"That's not the same."

[unevoked]

He rolled his eyes. He knew it wasn't the same-- not in the least. They had some reason to be shooting themselves. It did something. There was some trick to it and it worked as some kind of power they kept referring to in his memories, whereas this was just tearing flesh apart and potentially killing him. There hadn't been such pain and ugly wounds and bleeding in his memory of shooting himself-- not like there had in this one.

What was he supposed to say, though? 'Let's talk about how I'm dead. Man, that sucks, don't it. Oh well, now I know.'? If he was dead back home, he couldn't go back. It was as easy as that. This may have been all he had left-- some stupid life trying to run around and gather memories, working at the stupid butchers, with stupid things happening constantly.

Still, the way Pollux had been looking at him, he was sure the other man was waiting for him to acknowledge it-- acknowledge anything. It was so much easier to just say forget it and pretend he hadn't learned anything, but he was sure that wouldn't fly. So he tilted his head back slightly, glancing up at nothing in particular-- it was just a way to avoid eye contact. Avoid, avoid, avoid.

"You get the chance, you gonna get outta here and go home?" That was all he had to say, right? He didn't have to tack on 'Because I don't think I can.' That could go assumed.