Donovan

Thursday, April 13th, 8:43am @rosastein​​

[Few people (if any) would describe Alex as an especially ‘excitable’ man. He’s reliably stoic, and even his sense of humour—and he does maintain that he has one—is quite reserved. 

But he’s excited by the prospect of a new recruit in his rotation today. In some cases, he might’ve been wary of the task of having to introduce somebody new to what they do here at Colony 22, especially if they’ve just come from somewhere run entirely differently, or even from the wastes. It’s a lot to take in for new comers, sometimes, and though Alex certainly has no problem with being patient with the transition period, sometimes it can be a little exhausting, depending on the newcomer’s attitude. 

But things have been... morose around the Colony for the better part of a week now. In fact, things have felt somewhat sullen since before Bahr’s death, too. The last Games had been a brief window of fresh air and good-humour, but for the past several weeks, there’s been a cloud hung over the Colony’s little island, and it’s been a weight bearing down on the shoulders of every citizen. He hates to agree with the nay-sayers, but it does feel like something is coming. Like this death is only the beginning. 

But today there is a ‘Rosalind Stein’ scheduled into his training rotation, and she’s been instructed to report to the training grounds about fifteen minutes before the rest of the group, for a brief orientation with Alex.

He glances at his PDD as he waits for her on the field, and squints towards the doors in the overcast daylight. She’s cutting it close, time wise—but he’ll reserve judgement. For such a small Colony, it has a way of feeling large, and new people have a tendency to get lost. He pops over his water bottle with his teeth and takes a swig.]

cambieandrews​:

[Fine mostly, given the circumstances, seems a fair assessment of things. Cambie nods; the same is probably true for her. It’s not been a fun time for anyone, and the Elites seem to have picked up a great deal of the pressure. That’s the way the system was designed, of course, but sometimes it just feels strange. There’s plenty of non-Elites that are close to Cambie and Alex in age and life experience, but they haven’t got the pressure of being a formal pillar of the community.

Not that non-Elites haven’t taken the initiative to offer comfort or help in their own ways. It just feels… different. And it’s left Cambie feeling a bit isolated. She’s got Mitch to lean on, and other friends besides, but it just feels like she needs a holiday. Not just time off, but sun and sand and margaritas. The clubbing scene in Ibiza is probably pretty thoroughly dead, but god Cambie wishes it wasn’t.

Alex returns her question, and Cambie’s about to wave it off with a bland ‘fine’ when he also echoes her ‘really?’ Cambie exhales with a soft smile, shaking her head. She’ll not insult Alex with a white lie, then. She respects him too much for that.] 

Bloody tired. [It’s bone deep. It’ll take more than a good night of sleep to recuperate.] I would say I’m glad it’s over but I have an awful feeling it’s just beginning. Of all the people that could possibly have popped their clogs, it just had to be Kaiser.

[He had been a semi-frequent topic of conversation at head of house meetings, and it looks like he’ll be haunting them even now. This isn’t going to be another Ulla, or Bjorn. This is going to have lasting consequences; probably for the worse.]

[’Bloody tired’. He knows it’s the truth, because it’s candid, and informal. She tends to be very... precise and pleasant when she’s lying. More so than usual. Besides ‘bloody tired’ sounds pretty accurate; it’s definitely how he’s feeling about all this.]

Mm. I hate to agree with you on this but... [but he agrees.] It’s... messy, at best. Accident or not. I tried to speak with the Chancellor about it; I thought it might help get some clarity, forge some ties, anything. Obviously, I immediately regretted it. 

kip-whitmer​:

[He almost jumps out of his skin at the voice in his head. He hadn’t realised Alex had seen him. Usually Kip is acutely aware of Alex’s presence, even in a crowd. The better he gets to know a person, the more easily he can pick out their emotional presence in a room, and although Alex’s is more understated than most, it’s always had a unique sort of intensity. Like rushing water deep in a cavern, felt through the soles of your feet more than actually heard.

But on this particular day, it all just gets drowned in the crowd. A telepath talking to you when you’re not expecting it is rather like the jumpscare in a horror movie when the hero closes a cupboard door and the killer is standing right there, but obviously less traumatic. It’s nice, actually; Kip finds he kind of likes the intimacy of talking to telepaths, although it’s not as comfortable if he doesn’t know them well. Suffice it to say he’s extremely comfortable with Alex, though, and his presence in Kip’s mind is a small comfort.

He’s glad Alex didn’t follow him. That’d be embarrassing. Kip exhales slowly through his nose, nausea fading as he gets further from the crowd, and he wishes this was a less one sided conversation. Not that he’s sure what he’d actually say, but it’d be nice to at least give a nod of acknowledgement. Feels a bit rude just walking off, but walk off he does.

And he does take Alex’s advice. He’s kind of sick of the sight of his dorm by this point, so it’ll be nice to get some fresh air while everyone else is elsewhere. Ugh… fresh air. He sounds like his mother trying to tempt him outside after he’s spent the entirety of a blazing hot summer day sitting cross-legged at his desk playing WoW.

He finds himself almost dozing off on the bleachers, until it starts to rain. And then he scowls up at the sky, debates going inside. It just seems like a lot of energy, so he ends up sitting through it. It’s not especially cold or anything. There’s worse things than getting rained on, and it’s not like he’d spent ages coiffing his hair this morning. He keeps sighing, and then catching himself sighing and tugging on the small silver loop in his ear till it pinches just to distract himself, and then he sighs again. When Alex arrives, Kip can feel him this time; he knows it’s Alex before he can hear the even stride of his step, though Kip doesn’t turn till he’s in earshot.] 

You know, Alex, people don’t usually have catchphrases outside of cartoons. [Even if the man’s voice wasn’t so engrained in Kip’s consciousness he’d have known it was Alex just from the first two syllables. Easy. Though the frequency with which he says it might have something to do with Kip’s habit of overdoing things rather than Alex’s natural tendency to say it.

The comment is a stupid and thinly veiled diversionary tactic, and they both know it, but Kip doesn’t know what else to say.] 

[There’s a very split second where Alex doesn’t actually know what Kip is talking about. He doesn’t consider himself to be a man of ‘catch phrases’—especially given ‘easy’ is more of a word than a phrase—but he, for lack of a better word, catches on after a beat, and considers saying something in return, perhaps something smart, perhaps something clever or gently teasing, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t because there’s nothing really to say, because a comment like that is just a distraction from what’s really going on. What’s really important. And Alex is and has always been patient with Kip’s satirical crutches, but he’s not going to submit to them so easily.

So instead, he’s quiet as he approaches Caelan on the bleachers, somewhat surprised he hasn’t sought out cover from the rain yet. He slows to a stop, hands in his pockets, then after a moment, rests his forearms on one of the steps at chest height, and levels the boy with a steady look—of inquiry, of curiosity, of empathy.]

People don’t usually have superpowers outside of cartoons, either, [he offers, apparently having changed his mind the slightest bit on the teasing factor. A beat.] So how are you feeling—now that you’re presumably out of range of the general public, that is. What are you feeling?

kip-whitmer​:

[Alex smiles, Kip suppresses the urge to mirror the expression, because he was being serious. He knows Alex doesn’t think he was joking, that the smile is for another reason, but still. Kip had meant it, and he doesn’t find Alex’s statement that he’s ‘through it now’ to be particularly believable. On the outside, Alex is one of the most well-adjusted people here, but there’s so much going on under the surface.

It’s not easy, Kip knows. He goes to therapy these days largely because it keeps Cambie happy, but he’d gone to therapy before D-Day too. His parents signed him up after he started getting into fights at school, because they couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him. Nobody ever did figure it out to the tune of a diagnosis, but Kip enjoyed having an hour in which he could rant and talk about himself. And it probably did him a world of good, in the end: he’s not been in a fight for months, and his impulse control is improving.

Tonight is probably not a great example of that, though. Which is why Kip allows Alex to turn the conversation away from himself. They have, as Alex notes, had this conversation to death – Alex’s desire to protect Kip, Kip’s obstinate determination to do things on his own. It’s probably not something they’ll ever see eye to eye on, but perhaps they’ll eventually find some middle ground. It’s just that they’re both so wilful, even if they go about it in very different ways.] 

You know I don’t want you to do that. Maybe before the NWRF it’d be different, but right now if you go all heroic on me I think you’ll get more than a slap on the wrist. Don’t really want that on my conscience, honestly. Much as I fucking hate to drag politics into it, they make it all political, they make our existence political, so… I don’t know. I think it’s good someone’s got a stick up their ass, and I don’t want you, er, removing it for me.

[Yeah, that’s probably not a figure of speech that should be unpacked too much. But he stands by the sentiment, anyway. He likes that Alex would go out of his way to protect him, but that doesn’t mean he necessarily wants it to happen. ]

[Surprisingly, Alex actually laughs at Kip’s last comment—maybe because he fumbles over it first, which somehow makes it funnier, or more surprising. Alex’s laugh is filtered by the subdued fog overhanging the evening, and it transitions into something more like a chuckle, but regardless, it’s real, and briefly earnest. He doesn’t even bother disguising his wince. Though it’s not like Kip has any disillusions about how crass he can be.

However, Alex sobers just in time to make it obvious that despite the banter, what he says next should be taken seriously.] Right. Well. In that case, don’t give me a reason to ‘go all heroic’ on you, and neither of us will have anything to worry about it.

[There’s a finality to his tone, however calm and almost playful he remains, and it’s the same one that is echoed every time he suspects there will be no more discussion over something. At least not tonight. In the future? God knows there will be, if the track record between the two of them is anything to go by. Caelan has proved himself nothing if not argumentative and wilful. But Alex wouldn’t have it any other way. Because he knows he can trust Kip to speak his mind, to stand up for himself, to define himself by his own thoughts and desires, not by Alex’s, despite the nature of their relationship. In fact, it’s the very reason their relationship works in the first place.

As punctuation to his implied subject change—because they can’t be out here forever, after all, and if they were to try to come to a complete agreement tonight, they’d be out here until well past breakfast tomorrow morning—he steps in and touches a hand to Caelan’s hip. It slips into the valley of his back and pulls him closer. And it’s a transition—a transition from a figure of authority to one of companionship. He’s no longer Donovan, the stoic and hard-ass ex-cop turned trainer; he’s just Alex. The imperceptibly broken and quietly lonely ex-cop, turned soft, for a boy fierce and stubborn and kind enough to see through a practiced and persistent exoskeleton.]

I suppose your roommates are probably waiting for your return... [And it would raise eyebrows, and questions, and suspicions, were he to not return at all. Shame, though.] 

isha-feinberg​:

[She doesn’t like the idea that for some people, it’s too late. She doesn’t like what it might say about her. She’s not stupid: of course the things she’s done are terrible. The authorities acted properly in imprisoning her. But she has to hope that one day she won’t be so hateful, and for that she has to hope that anyone can change.

It can be frustrating talking to people like Alex about this, because he has the bearing of a person that’s done very little wrong. He just seems good, and because of that it is hard to trust the lengths of his empathy. How could someone like him understand and forgive the people that have done awful things? He lives with such measured control that to him, surely, a lapse of control is something unfathomable. It’s not that Isha thinks he actually is ‘good’, but he carries himself in such a way that she is reminded of the ‘good guys’ in movies.]

I believe that rehabilitation and foundation come from similar places, though. They are both social influences. [She shrugs.] It is only semantics, though. My thought is that people are always impressionable; less so when they are adults than children, perhaps, but always changeable. Without that thought, there’s no point, is there? A damaged person has no way of knowing if they can be healed or not, but doubting their ability to change won’t help them at all.

[She knows how hypocritical it sounds, advocating for second chances when she killed so many men without giving them an opportunity for an explanation, let alone a second chance. But this conversation isn’t about Isha, it’s just academic. And academically speaking, she does believe in second chances. She’d taken that opportunity away from those men because she was one of the damaged people they’re talking about; she was angry and scared and so, so vengeful. A rage like that leaves no room for ethics.]

[It occurs to him, perhaps a little too late, that she’s talking about more than the rehabilitation of the average person; she’s talking about herself. And there’s a certain... reflective humility in it that surprises him, because in truth, though he’d not developed too much of an opinion on her yet, he’d also not necessarily anticipated her capable of this kind of mindfulness. Is it remorse, she’s feeling? Regret? Or is it simply fear? Not knowing the kind of person she wants to be, but not wanting to look down a path that promises no choice. No hope.

He’s quiet a moment. Nods. He wants to choose his words carefully—this is a conversation that affects her much more deeply than it does him. What she thinks on a subject like this, is in fact, much more important.]

Well, you’re right. Hopelessness helps no one and nothing. The absolute only way progress of any kind is made, is because someone believed it possible enough to be worth pursuing. We’d have nothing, if we didn’t have hope. 

RUINA REX: HOWL Saturday, April 8th, approx. 3pm

quinn-dervilia​:

[[ The way he sits makes Quinn unreasonably angry. The steepled fingers, elbows resting on the chair. Like he’s a pissed off teacher looking for answers. That’s what Alex is, really, relegated to being a P.E teacher in the post-apocalypse.

‘I’m sure you’ve asked all these questions of your team already,’ Fuck he’s insufferable. He steadies a look at Alex, Quinn pauses to consider.

Telling him the truth would help, probably. He puts the knife and fork down, pushes his meal aside. Seems wrong to eat, now. Talking about the man’s death won’t put him off his food, but it probably should in Alex’s eyes. It’d be simply another thing they can hold against Quinn.

‘That heartless bastard ate whilst talking about a man’s death!’ As if they haven’t all been complicit in much worse things. ]] Just an EEG.

[[ He’s grateful it was one of the less invasive testing methods. ]] Some blood was drawn so he was strapped down. For his own safety and that of the lab techs. [[ The next part is probably unnecessary, but Alex asked for details: he’s getting details. ]] I’m told it’s a nasty injury to get a needle stuck in your arm, clearing up the plastic splinters wouldn’t be an easy job either. [[ He chews on his lip. Eyes go a little distant: like he’s contemplating that horror (he is in fact, wondering if that would look more suspicious or not?). Would a bloody death have suited the beast more?

Quinn sighs, suddenly falls back in his chair. Head tipped back on the chair, hands settling in his lap. None of that dramatic steeple crap, simply letting them sit. ]] Six years.

You’ve been here six years with only four deaths. All violent or due to lack of supplies until Mr. Bahr. That’s… that’s fucking impressive. Before D-Day that’d be a world record! You’re looking for answers I can’t give you, Alex. Unless you want me to lie, take the easy route out. Pretend we know exactly what got the man. Is that what you want from me, Mr. Donovan?

[He’s getting defensive. Figures. And if Quinn didn’t feel responsible in some way, he wouldn’t feel like Alex’s questions are an interrogation, but he’s acting as though they are. The cold, heavy look in his eyes as he holds Alex’s gaze before pushing away his plate like a dramatic sigh.

Followed by an actual dramatic sigh, and Alex’s empathy thins. Though yes, a part of him does understand that Quinn’s position is precarious, and tiring by nature, he does find himself wishing that Quinn would lose a bit of the petulance. You’d think after all this time in politics, he’d have gotten better at that.

Still, he’s going to meet Quinn in the middle, man to man, as equals—despite the fact that there is very little chance the Chancellor sees them as such. Alex holds the man’s gaze steady as he talks, and when he’s done, Donovan gives a slight but sharp shake of his head.]  

I’m not, actually. [A pause.] I understand your frustration, and the delicacy of the position you’re no doubt in, but forgive me for saying, I think you may be projecting a bit. I don’t want answers you don’t have—I want the ones you do have. That’s it. In my experience, a lack of transparency with stuff like this will only make things worse. And you have given me answers and I thank you for that—no one said they weren’t enough. I’d just like to know any details I can, so I can represent this Colony and this leadership as best as possible, by having whatever answers available when people come to me for them. Which they will—and they have.

[Leadership 101. He splays his hands simply, tilts his chin briefly. It’s not complicated, and he’d like Quinn to see that. In other words, stop turning this into something it isn’t, Dervilia. This isn’t an attack. It’s simply the side effects of being the one in charge: people look to you for answers. And frankly, it’d be in Quinn’s interest to get the fuck over that, if he plans on keeping this position.]

Of course I don’t want you to lie. And for what it’s worth, I think it’s pretty fucking unlikely that Bahr’s death is anything more than an untimely tragedy, out of anybody’s control. I doubt you’re too concerned about what I think, but I do want to be clear, this isn’t a cross-examination. I know you’re probably primed to be prepared for one from God knows who else or how many, but that’s not what I’m here for. I don’t envy the situation you’re in and I respect that you’re doing everything you can to handle it.

[Another pause, a simple, levelled look. He keeps his expression straight, his tone even. If Quinn is going to get worked up or defensive, it’s going to be his own doing, because Alex will not engage with it. He will not have anyone framing him as an instigator, because he’s nothing if not level headed and patient. Most days, anyway. 

cambieandrews​:

@alexander-donovan​

[Perhaps it comes from growing up in a landlocked little county, but the smell of the sea always makes Cambie feel like something is shifting in her. She loves being outdoors, but the sharp salt tang in the air makes her ache, particularly on a day like this. A week like this, rather. It’s the day after Kaiser’s funeral, and Cambie feels flat, and deflated, and there’s an awful weight of guilt that won’t let up.

But she’s busy, and that’s good. Cambie likes to be busy, because it distracts her from whatever else is going on. She’s been shadowing one of the AP trainers lately, guiding parts of some classes, and today she has offered to stay behind and tidy up. The class had been working on agility, and there’s plastic cones sprawled out in various formations around the rink. Once everyone has gone, Cambie sets about quietly and carefully picking them up in stacks. One on top of the other, with hollow little whooshes.

It’s a simple task but she’s absorbed in it, and so distracted by her thoughts, that she doesn’t hear Alex’s arrival until he’s just about in front of her.]

Hi, Alex. [Cambie straightens, adjusting the little stack of small plastic cones that she is holding, lining up their seams. She’s not really a fastidious person but when she feels someone is witnessing her in her own space, she feels obliged to tidy it up for them. It’s a habit she inherited from her mum, according to her dad – Cambie’s mum would apparently never sit down when there were guests, she would always be wiping down surfaces or polishing glasses. It’s just Alex, and it’s just the training rink, but it’s just habit.] How are you doing? I mean, really?

[He always keeps to himself so much, so it’s hard to know – although Cambie’s not sure if that’s just her own perception. She always had a vague inclination that he didn’t like her much, so she tries not to be too overbearing. Maybe he’s been talking to people, maybe he’s fine and has all the support he needs, but she can’t help but ask anyway, even if that’s the thing that’s off-putting about her. She knows she can be too much sometimes, but she had to push to get her career off the ground, and now she’s forgotten how to make herself small.]

[He doesn’t have any sessions today. The two that he’d had, had too many people in them who’d been excused due to the freshness of the funeral—a lot of Torrens in his training groups this week, apparently—and a couple from his own house, who’d surprised him by being more distraught over Bahr’s death than Alex had anticipated. Not that his death wasn’t sad, but he’d quickly gotten wind of Benítez ‘throwing a fit’ the day of the announcement (though these were words coming from disgruntled Elites and Reformists who’d had to clean up the mess that he’d left in an old classroom-turned-storage room). 

So in the end, today’s sessions had been cancelled. He supposed he could have adjusted the class plans for the day and accommodate for a smaller group, but if the majority of people were openly looking for more time to mourn, than there was a good chance the remainder might also need it, and just were too afraid to say so. Of course, he’d reminded everyone the rink was free for them to use in their own time, and they could even join in on other sessions still on going, if they felt they would benefit from the physical activity. 

It was certainly his plan to work out on his own, anyway. In a previous life, Alex had few other vices than working out, when it came to dealing with anything difficult or stressful. Some things in his life since D-Day really hadn’t changed all that much. 

Cambie adds the ‘I mean, really?’ as though she knows he’s liable to dismiss the question with little thought. She’s not wrong. He nods, once. Simple.]

Fine, mostly. [And he thinks it’s the truth, but he’s not sure. No one is great after someone’s death when everything happens in such close quarters, these days, but he’s more affected by the connotations of Kaiser Bahr’s death and about the morale of the community as a whole, than he is by the death itself.]

kip-whitmer​:​

[He’s not really left the dorm much in the last few days. Cambie had signed him off chores and training and classes – she’d gone to talk to him and evidently concluded that he wasn’t faking it, and he really felt like shit. The situation was bringing back too many painful memories. Louis, yes, but also D-Day. Developing Empatheia while everyone around you was panicking and suffering was crippling, and it was why Kip had struggled so much to stick with clans. He kept flipping out because he was so overwhelmed.

But he had to go to Kaiser’s funeral. He had to. Not just because it was Kaiser, but to prove to himself that he can. He’s not particularly worried about what he wears, because he imagines Kaiser wouldn’t give a single fuck what anyone wore to his funeral, so he just pulls on a grey hoodie and dark jeans, and that’s somber enough. More important is leaving late, because he doesn’t want to be there long. For a while that morning Kip lies in his bed fully dressed, staring at nothing and checking his PDD sporadically for the time.

A few minutes before the funeral is due to start, he heads down. The hallways are near empty, which is a brief reprieve quickly swallowed by the dread he feels as he leaves the building. It looks like fucking everyone turned up.

Try as he might, there’s only so much willpower in him. There’s no way he can block them all out. Hands balled into fists and shoved deep in his pockets, Kip approaches, and he gets… sort of close. Close enough to see the reverend getting ready to talk. But it’s like wading through a treacle thick ocean of misery and rage, and Kip can’t do it. He slows, and he stops, and for a brief second he really thinks he’s going to throw up.

Fuck. A few staggering steps backward, and he walks away as fast as he can without drawing attention to himself.] 

[He wants to sprint, and get the fuck out of this Colony, to get away from all that grief, but it’s so small. There’s nowhere to go. Kip comes to a halt outside the main building, hand over his stomach – he’s still not convinced he won’t throw up. Resting his forehead against the cool stone exterior of the building, back turned to the funeral as if that’ll be enough to block it out, Kip exhales. It’s a shaky sound, edged in unshed tears. He’s just so fucking tired. It feels as though he’s not even had the opportunity to figure out his own feelings about Kaiser’s death because he can’t escape everyone else’s.]

[When he’d woken up in the morning, the sky had looked ready to rain. Thankfully, it’d held off, but there was a strange sort of energy in the air that felt like the deferral would only last so long, like a storm was coming and there was an electric current tingling skin and raising fine hairs in their pores like invisible, static fingers. 

He’d noticed Kip’s absence from the funeral, in part because he’d looked for him, and in other part because he’d remembered, when he’d heard the news, what Kip had said about Kaiser that fateful day in his office, of all places. This would be a hard time for any Empaths at Colony 22, but for someone who also knew Bahr personally? Understandably worse. Plus, Kip has a... especially sensitive trauma with funerals, even against the backdrop of the End of the World. 

So in a way, he’s relieved to see the boy’s small frame making his way across the grounds in a reluctantly hasty stride, at first, hidden under his hood and moving as though if he gave himself a chance to think about it, he’d change his mind. But by the time Alex turns his head back to the reverend, he sees Kip from the corner of his eye, slowing and then—yes, turning around.

Alex watches him a moment, before looking to the ground. His weight shifts on his feet. He can’t leave now, it wouldn’t be appropriate, being that he’s here to attend the funeral, whether he knew Mr. Bahr personally or not. Besides, he doubts Caelan would want attention drawn to himself right now. But it’s difficult to simply ignore the struggle Kip is having at the moment. So after a few moments of trying to figure out the best approach, he carefully projects a few thoughts, silently reaching for Caelan across the grounds. ]

[ ‘Easy. Go easy on yourself.’ He looks over. It’s too far to really see, but he thinks he can detect the way Kip reacts to Alex’s voice in his head, maybe shoots a look over his shoulder. ‘Admirable for you to try. But he’d understand, you know.’ Speaking of Kaiser, obviously. And though he didn’t know the man, he doesn’t doubt it’s true—he’d stood for the plight of the Infected, the powers they had and the crosses they’d bore, both. He’d have understood. After all, Boyd isn’t here, either. 

kip-whitmer​:

Oh, well, pretty hard to outdo the apocalypse, I guess. [Kip deadpans in that low-energy way he has of making dry jokes without really meaning them. They just come out like any other breath at this point. They’re generally not terribly thought out, which is probably why he’d said the intimacy thing anyway – it’s obvious with a brief moment of consideration that he probably wasn’t the catalyst for much in terms of Alex’s personal development.

Although Alex doesn’t say as much, Kip’s probably not even the first person to have encountered this side of the man. He touched Kip with far too much confidence for it to be new, but he had also been so vocal about the reasons behind his hesitancy to even begin anything that he must have brought his issues up with partners before. It’s obviously not a thought Kip relishes, but it would be childish to think Alex hadn’t been with anyone else. Hypocritical, too.

The comment about being fond of Kip brings a small, knowing smile to his face. He had known. The Empatheia had given him more confidence in that conclusion, but even without it he’s pretty sure he would have figured it out. Subtle as he is, Alex is more expressive than people tend to think. You just have to look for it; the brief, fond smiles and the warmth in the eyes, the heavy brows that twitched in amusement or annoyance.

Kip nods slowly to confirm Alex’s question – he had talked about his mother before, and his tattoo. Not in exact terms, but he’d said her lies had driven a wedge between them that he couldn’t forgive even if her intentions had been good.] 

Genuinely not being flippant with this, but do you ever talk to a therapist? Because those are heavy emotions to be dealing with, even if you are moving forward. Not saying you’re due for an early midlife crisis involving a red convertible or whatever, but it’s hard processing things on your own. And it sounds like… I don’t know. There’s definitely stuff I regret not telling my parents, and I had a pretty good relationship with them. I can’t imagine how it must feel having something that big and knowing it’ll always be unresolved.

[That last comment is probably not entirely helpful; but it’s not like Alex has ever known Kip to be tactful. He’s blunt, and honest, and he really can’t imagine having lost his relationship with his mother, thinking there’d be time to resolve it later, only to have that thought shattered by D-Day. An open ended question doomed to be left unanswered. Sometimes in a grim way Kip is grateful for D-Day because it meant he didn’t have to deal with getting sacked from EB and whatever consequences would follow that; but for Alex it stole something he’d thought he would salvage. It’s easy to put things off till tomorrow when you think tomorrow will always come. Nobody had really been prepared for the eventuality of there being no more tomorrows.]

[Alex turns a quiet smile towards the window. It’s shadowed by the dim lighting of the chapel, and it lives only briefly on his lips, but there’s no argument that it’s there, even if he reserves it mostly for the chipping walls of brick and mortar. 

He’s a smart kid, Caelan—it comes as no surprise, of course, but God, if he weren’t already so forthright about this fondness they’d just discussed, he’d be found out by now, he’s sure. Probably a long time ago. After all, though he tends to operate as if it doesn’t matter because it’s not something he can control: there’s not much use hiding his true feelings from an Empath. Caelan will always know—and if Alex were to lie, there would be no sparing Kip from anything, because Kip would know, and would feel betrayed, and rightly so. 

Alex sighs. Looks down. His feet provide no real comfort for tackling the subject. Not like he expected otherwise.] I appreciate the concern. [It doesn’t answer Kip’s question. Had he ever spoken to a therapist? Of course not. Not about this, at least. And even then they’d only been department appointed psychiatrists in the aftermath of traumatic incidents. The real and true CISM. In fact, the implication of the CISM team here at Colony 22 had been Alex’s idea.] 

And knowing your mature outlook on therapy. Really, I do. But I’m... I’m through it, now. [Is it true? That he’s ‘over’ it? That he’s worked out his guilt and regret regarding his mother? Well, yes and no. The tattoo had been a symbol of his forgiveness: of his letting go. And if she could see him or sense him anywhere out there in the cosmos, she would know he’d given her the forgiveness she’d always wanted. And in most ways, he’d always understood her; at least, where her choices had been coming from. He’d just not been able to get over the deceit. The fact that he’d grown up believing in a fairy tale that she knew would never last. 

But he’d never really admitted that to himself, and more importantly, he’d never told that to her. Now, he’s forgiven her. Yes. He’d forgiven her a long time ago, made his peace with what happened. But now there was the issue of forgiving himself. For not having been man enough to do it right when she was alive. He will never be able to take that back. And sometimes it’s not as easy as he’d like, to convince himself that she knows how he feels now. That she knows his regret, his compassion.

But tonight isn’t about him. And Kip sneakily had made it so. Or tried to. He takes a breath, turns back towards him and steps closer.] Listen to me. [He levels him with a look, unblinking.] I recognize that this is not easy. And that you are young and just trying to enjoy this second chance at life we’ve been given. I don’t want you to think I don’t hear you. I do. But I also want you to be reasonable, and you must know by now that I’m invested in protecting you—and don’t argue with me, we’ve tired out that conversation by now, [a tiny flicker of a knowing grin, before he sobers again.] So if something like this comes up in the future, I want you to talk to me about it. Think it through, first of all—be smart about it—and talk to me. I know this entire Colony thinks I have a stick up my ass, which, alright, fair, I give them reason enough. But I’m not against you fudging a few mandate rules here and there. I’m against you being stupid about it and if you are going to do something risky, it would make me feel a lot better if I knew about it.

RUINA REX: HOWL Saturday, April 8th, approx. 3pm

quinn-dervilia​:

[[ Wheedling doesn’t suit Alex. Being called the boss does get an equally brief smile in return. Just sounds funny, especially so when it’s from someone who doesn’t want him to the boss. It would be a small victory if Quinn knew him asking to eat was met with such deep thought and contemplation. Not everything is a manipulation—but it is flattering that people think he’s capable of doing it 24/7. He dismisses the thanks and apology with a simple wave of his hand.

Taking his seat, Quinn places his meal back on the table. It’s a simple thing, rice and canned vegetables, spruced up best they can be. The greatest tragedy of him coming to 22 has definitely been the English’s lack of taste buds. Eating as they talk also gives him the added bonus of more time to think.

Alex‚ thank fuck, jumps straight into it.

Oh, Kaiser. Nothing but a pain in his ass even in death. The bastard would likely enjoy that sentiment, even if it’s only a mild annoyance more than anything. He takes a last mouthful before settling his fork down on the plate. This will likely be a short conversation, he thinks.

Chewing—both literally (the food) and metaphorically (the thought)—he finally speaks up. ]] The rumors are unfortunate and completely unfounded. [[ Quinn’s shoulders sag, he levels Alex with a look that is more tired man than prim and proper chancellor. This is an intentional effort to humanize himself. Also vaguely true. He is a tired man. And hungry. ]] That is the whole truth. I know that isn’t what you were hoping to hear. You wouldn’t be here if that was enough, would you?

[[ He doesn’t expect an answer, but he searches Alex’s expression nonetheless. ]] Mr. Bähr had an aneurysm during routine testing. We have an autopsy planned for Dr. Cuthbert to oversee and figure out if we can find any concrete reason for it to happen. [[ Quinn picks up his fork, turns over some of the rice. It’s the first time he’s truly grateful their head of Medical is not part of the Reformists. That, surely, must give some level of confidence to the perpetually skeptical? One of ‘theirs’ will be doing the cutting. ]] I know it’s not enough, it’s not enough for me yet either. But these things take time to do properly, and the last thing I want is to rush an autopsy. Everyone, particularly his son, deserves to get the full picture.

[[ Quinn has another mouthful, a sign he’s finished talking, for now. Let Alex say his piece. ]]

[Somehow Alex suspects he’s getting the same regurgitated hogwash everyone else has, all for ‘his benefit’ and for the benefit of the NWRF’s so-called perceived neutrality. ‘I know it’s not enough’, ‘everyone deserves the full picture’. Yes, all true. But Alex also knows that Diederick just so happened to find out about his father’s death the same way everyone else did—PDD message—and that Cambie had stormed in to give Quinn a piece of her ever-passionate and protective mind. So to him, the likelihood that Quinn truly means this is rather thin.

That said, he’s saying what any man would, in this situation. Perhaps all he can—assuming he’s being truthful, that is.

Alex nods, taking his time. He did not come here to start a fight and he has no intention of accusing Quinn of saying only what Alex wants to hear, because at the end of the day, that’s what Alex has come to expect from him. It’s pretty much right in the description of Quinn’s job as Chancellor to do exactly that. He is, after all, a puppet. Which makes Alex less angry than it does sad.]

Right. I didn’t expect the theories to have much validity, given how quickly they seemed to sprout up. They aren’t real theories if there’s no thought to them. [And he means it, for the most part. Though he understands why something like this might come about and be a concern, he’s also inclined to believe that people already see the NWRF as the enemy, and that’s all they need to come up with reasons to make them look guilty for all kinds of stuff. Like a suspect in a homicide case who already has a criminal record—even if the evidence is totally lacking, it’s easy to imagine them responsible, unless they have an explicit alibi. So what’s the NWRF’s alibi?]

isha-feinberg​:

[He laughs, which had not been Isha’s intention. Perhaps because she is so disinclined to socialise, she is often surprised by people’s responses – generally not in a positive way. People often find her less off-putting than she would like. And she always wonders if they would still find that if she was ugly. Is cold snark only amusing when it comes from a pretty mouth?

She supposes, in spite of herself, that Alex probably isn’t the sort of person that approaches life like that. He’s not trying to impress her. She’s heard the way people talk about him (it makes her sick) and she can say with certainty that of all the people that might talk to her with ulterior motives, Alex Donovan is probably the last. It doesn’t mean she trusts him, but she doesn’t feel like his laughter is delivered with any distinct purpose.] 

Do you really believe some cannot be rehabilitated? That is terribly fatalistic of you. If you accept that every person is formed by a combination of nature and nurture, which I think is commonly accepted now, then it must follow that everyone is changeable to some degree, surely. Even if a person’s nature cannot change, the nurture aspect always can. There must always be hope for rehabilitation, because without it people have no desire to better themselves. It is like when people say ‘boys will be boys’ instead of reprimanding the child for pulling a girl’s hair.

[There’s two strongly opposing sides to Isha. There’s the part of her that wants to be alone, and sit without observation or judgement. But there’s another part of her that loves to have her mind stimulated in a way that can only happen in conversation. It’s not, however, the least bit apparent that Isha is enjoying this conversation, because she sounds as blunt as ever, and because Alex is watching her so Isha is watching him back. She’ll never look away if people make eye contact, not even to gaze briefly out the window. She’ll stare them down, unblinking.

There is, of course, a great level of irony in Isha defending the right of every person to an attempt at rehabilitation, given her crusade. That hadn’t been forgiving of her. But Isha had never claimed to be a good person; she just did what she felt was necessary. And she is open minded; her opinions and feelings have shifted and expanded through the years in some small ways.]

[If he were a different kind of man, he might roll his eyes. She is definitely condescending, and from the way he’s seen her interact with other people—especially men—he’s confident that this is not an unusual stance for her. It’s not that she likes to flaunt her knowledge and intellect, per se, it’s that she believes herself to be much more intelligent, much more well read and knowledgable than most everyone else. She believes herself to be right, and everyone else to be wrong. 

But he’s been met with this sort of attitude a hundred times before and it doesn’t phase him anymore. He suspects if he did try to call her out on it, she’d only get defensive, and preachy.]

Well, don’t confuse the raising of children with rehabilitation. I agree with you, the ‘boys will be boys’ concept is a bunch of outdated bullshit. But that’s an issue of how we raise our boys, how we indeed nurture them. Children are impressionable, they are becoming who they are, and no matter what predisposition they might have, who they become is always dependent on what their influences are when they’re young. That isn’t rehabilitation. That’s foundation. 

kip-whitmer​:

[A weird, self-flagellating part of Kip is confused. He’s not really had this experience before, of fucking up and getting caught and then not getting his ass handed to him. Even if Alex is still angry, he can see that Kip feels bad so there’s no value in continuing to yell. It’s… new, and he feels unsteady without that familiarity, but it’s nice. It feels like respect. And it’s certainly a better way of ensuring he doesn’t repeat this mistake, because this isn’t something he feels the need to push back against.

There’s even a rare moment of honest, open reflection from Alex. Usually you have to ask pretty directly to get him to allude to his personal life, particularly from before. Maybe he’s too tired from his journey to have his usual walls up. Maybe he really is just starting to trust Kip. He kind of hopes it isn’t the latter, though, because it would make him feel too guilty, like his actions tonight have just proved why he doesn’t deserve that trust.] 

But don’t you ever think… I don’t know. You could’ve, would’ve, broken out of that workaholic cycle and done more for yourself at some point? Just because you weren’t doing much at the time, that doesn’t mean you never would have. You had a good job, that’s a good starting point for everything else. I don’t know if I would’ve achieved much anyway. It was all going belly up even before the asteroids. Maybe this is actually the best hand I was going to get dealt.

[He looks up at Alex, unsure if this is an appropriate moment for humour. It’s decidedly not, but Kip has always struggled to suppress his class clown instinct.] For what it’s worth, I’m sorry the hand you got dealt ended up with your intimacy issues getting confronted by an irascible twenty-something that pretty much bullied some fondness out of you.

[It does bother Kip, if he thinks about it. How forward he’d been. Had it ever made Alex uncomfortable? It doesn’t even really matter whether or not Alex was attracted to him – he’d been fending off Kip’s advances, and maybe Kip should’ve just let him. Too late for that now, but he does feel he pushed it too much.]

[Though he listens to Caelan’s interpretations with an even, stoic look, there’s a level of sobriety to his gaze. He doesn’t believe for a single second that Kip wouldn’t have accomplished much. In fact, he hasn’t a speck of doubt that Caelan is wrong, and that those ideas are coming from a naive and insecure place. A place Alex can maybe understand, but a naive one, nonetheless. He’s prepared to tell him that, also, but is momentarily distracted by the quip about Kip having ‘bullied affection’ out of him. 

He’s not surprised; he can’t be, because Caelan’s whole thing is using humour and sarcasm to keep himself from being too vulnerable, and Alex knows this by now. But still, the laugh comes on the hill of a breathy scoff. Despite having come to anticipate these kinds of comments from Kip, the young Delma still manages to find a way to say something unexpected. He may be predictable, in a way, but no one could ever accuse him of being boring. Alex wouldn’t even consider him a cliché, though he’s not sure Caelan would agree.

He chuckles a little, shakes his head, and then meets Kip’s gaze again.] I hate to break it to you, but you didn’t confront my intimacy issues—at least, you weren’t the first. The apocalypse was. [And then there was Chance, of course, but he’s not sure he’s ready to bring that up. He’s not sure he ever will be—will it ever even be appropriate?] And for the record, I was always fond of you. I’m surprised you couldn’t see that. [Not a scorn, but maybe a slightly playful dig. His assumption is that Caelan did see it. That he knew, in many ways, and it’s part of what motivated him to keep pushing, even when Alex had resisted being pushed.

He backtracks to his intimacy comment, since he’d left that mostly unexplained, and to Kip’s questions (read: assumptions) about Alex’s life, and what may have become of it.] And I don’t know... I’ve told you about my mother, haven’t I? The story behind the tattoo? [He doesn’t gesture to his back—he doesn’t have to. It’s massive, and it’s the only one he has; there’s no mistaking it. He doesn’t recall exactly how much he told Kip on the subject, but he knows he told him some of it. Possibly most of it. Possibly while skirting over the details. He can’t recall, but it seems like something he’d do. Especially back then.] 

Anyway, I think the reality is that D-Day shut a door for me that I think I’d been... relying on being left open. I’d told myself I was done with it, that I’d moved on. But I hadn’t. I’d just left it open and walked away. I wasn’t ready to deal with it. To face it. [He’d been a coward.] 

RUINA REX: HOWL Saturday, April 8th, approx. 3pm

quinn-dervilia​:

[[ Christ, he’s always hated it when people ask to ask him something. Build up the suspense, unnecessarily, and if he were more prone to anxiety it would certainly strike fear into his heart. Instead, it continues to be simple mild annoyance.

Quinn genuinely considers saying no, it’d be so easy. What would Alex do? What could he do? Quinn often has moments like that, quiet rebellions, the urge to do something he shouldn’t. No matter how trivial it is, Quinn finds he can never quite manage it. He’s always been a stickler for rules.

At the very least, Alexander is one of the more tolerable freaks of the Colony. They’d even had a pleasant conversation during that Awards Ceremony prep rubbish. ]] Of course, come in. [[ None of the annoyance comes through, one good thing about Quinn occasionally lapses into a fairly monotone, all business voice.

Quinn doesn’t sigh even though he wants to, stepping aside so Alex can come in. When he does, Quinn locks the door behind him. It’d be a good way to break in, he thinks, wait for Quinn to have a visitor then charge in as they’re talking. Late one night the thought occurred to him, so now he has to lock the door every time. ]]

Take a seat, please. Now, before you start, is this the sort of conversation where if I continue eating my lunch it’d be rude or…?

[Quinn has the sort of deliberate professionalism that reminds Alex of a politician. Which fits the bill, he supposes, given his position. Whether he’d been in politics before D-Day or not, he’s certainly well suited for it.

Of course, that makes trusting him difficult, but it’s always going to be difficult to trust a Reformist, especially one in charge. So being able to hold a civil conversation is at least a useful tradeoff. Alex doesn’t need to trust Quinn completely, because how could he? He just needs to be able to talk to him.

The question about lunch makes Alex lift his brows briefly in surprise, then frown, shaking his head.] God no—please, by all means. Even the boss has to eat. [He offers a simple, brief smile. Nothing too over the top; he doesn’t want it to seem put-on. And if the comment had been a manipulation, to make Alex feel guilty or to humanize the Chancellor, well—it works, in a way. Alex doesn’t feel guilty, but it does humanize Quinn, whether it’s intentional or not. Even if Alex is aware there’s a chance that he’s being manipulated.]

I’m sorry again for interrupting. And thank you for taking the time. [He sits down across from Quinn’s desk. Glances at the shiny gold placard on his desk with ‘Q. Dervilia’ inscribed into it. Wonders again about these ‘resources’ of the NWRF and how they’re spending them, but dismisses the thought.] 

To get to the point, I just wanted some clarification on what happened yesterday. I’m getting a lot of questions from confused and scared citizens and I have no answers for them. I’m also not thrilled about the rumours I’ve been hearing—people certainly don’t waste time filling in any blanks when left with them too long. I just need a clearer picture of what’s gone on, and I’d rather get it from you. If anyone has the closest thing to the truth that’s available, it’s you. 

isha-feinberg​:

[He sounds flat. Tired of the question. Maybe he gets it a lot; maybe it’s because it’s coming from her. Isha really couldn’t say. He is difficult to read, in a way that is both admirable and irritating. While Isha likes a challenge and a puzzle, she dislikes feeling as though she can’t understand things. It makes her want to tear him apart, in equal parts of revulsion and fascination.

Is he so neutral about everything?] 

Indeed. [His smile comes and goes; there’s something like a tilt to the corner of Isha’s mouth. On the whole she’s pretty against smiling around men, because a lifetime of ‘you look so much prettier when you smile’ left her feeling rather defensive of the matter, but she can certainly appreciate the irony.] 

These Colonies are quite similar to the system of many Nordic countries. Rather open, activities like training are done with the guards participating also, there are educational opportunities. In the UK prisons are far more oppressive. I suppose it depends on whether one values rehabilitation over retribution. Recidivism in Nordic countries was far lower than it was here, so I do think it’s interesting that there has been very little real crime in this Colony, which more closely mirrors a Nordic prison. As you say, there has been no severe threats here despite a rather large criminal population, and a culture outside of these walls that heavily seems to favour violence.

[Isha pauses, wondering if she’s being overly critical of a system that doesn’t belong to her.] Not that I mean to criticise the entirety of the British justice system. I cannot blame the British for being British.

[They’re very… calvinist. Not in faith but in behaviour. They have a natural affinity for shame and punishment, and maybe it’s something they would eventually have grown out of in a few more centuries, if D-Day hadn’t rather effectively torn things apart.]

[He finds he’s watching her more, the longer she speaks. Not because he’s trying to intimidate her, not because she’s beautiful, or because he’s judging—but because he’s interested in what she has to say, and he wants to see where it’s coming from. Clearly, she’s speaking from not just experience, but also knowledge, which he appreciates. Though he’s not surprised that a woman like her values the pursuit of knowledge. It’s the kind of thing that would give her power, control. The kind of thing she would wield as a weapon, and fairly so. Too many people severely underestimate the power of knowledge. Not just intellect, not academia, but the act and effort of knowing, of understanding. 

But when she back tracks on the British comment, Alex lets out a surprised laugh. His gaze falls to the table a moment, and he shakes his head. This time, the smile lingers.] Ah. Well said—if generous of you. [He slips her his smile, a brief nod, and he clears his throat.] 

I agree, though. It’s interesting. There were a select few prisons in the States that leaned more towards rehabilitation than others. Then again, you usually had to be somebody to get sent to those ones—or know somebody, or have money, or extremely good lawyers which required having money, et cetera, et cetera... 

RUINA REX: HOWL Saturday, April 8th, approx. 3pm @quinn-dervilia

quinn-dervilia​:​​

[[ Quinn’s having his lunch in his office. It reminds him of his school days. Sitting alone during lunch, inside the classroom holding a sandwich with two hands as his teacher stood in the doorway, looking out at all the kids outside having fun. Quinn liked it when he was alone in the classroom, listening to the shrieks and whoops from the other kids as he quietly ate. There was something strange about an empty school, in a good. A step removed, a spot Quinn seems to naturally fall into.

He misses empty spaces, he thinks as he chews on his lunch in the present day. The Colony is too small for many of those. His office and his room are about the only small spaces he can carve out for himself.

Until it’s not. A sharp knock on the door that says whoever is on the other side means business. Quinn exhales, heavily, putting down his fork, knowing full well he’s going to have to let this meal get cold so he can entertain whoever is there. Unless he’s lucked out and Clove has simply decided to start knocking and acting weird. Quinn wouldn’t put him past him.

He doesn’t answer straight away, instead he covers his food with a napkin, moves it out of sight to sit on a pile of boxes behind his desk.

Quinn has to get up and unlock the door, he wishes he could have an open door policy like so many others but… circumstances are difficult. Opening the door, to find none other than Alexander Donovan fills Quinn with… Nothing in particular, actually. The man’s all right. Infected, unfortunately. A decent guy, also unfortunate given the former detail. The fact he’s arrived unannounced after the Kaiser debacle feels foreboding. ]]

Alex. Afternoon. Can I help you with something? [[ Please say no, he thinks. ]]

[Quinn looks... surprised to see him, perhaps. Not surprising. He also looks distracted—and like the concern on his face is obligatory, not genuine. Also unsurprising. But Alex doesn’t visit often (see: never) and it’s unusual for him to show up at someone’s office unannounced, unless he knows them well, and their relationship dictates that sort of informality (there are few like this). 

So he doesn’t hold it against Quinn for looking a little... unprepared. Especially given yesterday and the current circumstances.

He nods at Quinn’s greeting: habitual.] Afternoon, Chancellor. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time—I need a word. 

kip-whitmer​:

[It’s not what Kip had expected, based on Alex’s feelings – and it’s a strong reminder of just why Kip likes him as much as he does. What Kip would expect from most authority figures (it’s debatable if that’s a descriptor he’d use for Alex these days, but it’s in the right ballpark) is a lecture about responsibility, maybe a pointed comment about Kip’s maturity, or how he’s smarter than this.

The sentiment of that is certainly in Alex’s words, but he’s not like that, he’s not rude or aggressive. He talks to Kip like an equal capable of reading between the lines. Kip’s actions tonight had been irresponsible and he is smarter than this, so it’s not like he thinks he doesn’t deserve some harsh words. He just likes the way Alex approaches it. It makes him acutely aware of just how he had missed the man while he was away. Kip wants to touch him, but knows now probably isn’t the right time for that.

Instead, he perches on the pew opposite where Alex leans, drawing one leg up to wrap his arms around it, and rests his chin on his knee – a posture that somehow doesn’t prevent him from nodding.] 

Yeah. You’re probably right. I just… can’t get used to living in Orwell’s personal hell, and I forget. Or, you know, am willfully and obstinately ignorant. It just didn’t feel like a big deal at the time, you know? It wasn’t ‘sneaking out’, we just wanted to go out, hang out somewhere that doesn’t feel like a middle school clubhouse. [He sighs, rubbing his flushed face] I don’t know how you do it. You actually had a real, full, independent life before and now we have the opportunity to start returning to normal and there’s still all these bullshit mandates holding us back. I’m just mad because of the things I imagine I’m missing. You actually know, and you still manage to be so calm all the time.

[His gaze flicks up to Alex’s; he knows Alex isn’t actually calm. Knows it far better than most. But the composure with which Alex conducts himself in spite of the fire that burns under his skin is really admirable. Kip could never be like that. Though he picks and chooses which emotions come out, when he’s worked up about something he has to let something spill out. It’s just that if it’s a more vulnerable emotion then he’ll shape it into anger or snark. Something always comes out, though.]

[Alex forgets too, sometimes. He forgets how young Caelan is—younger than his maturity suggests, younger than the way he speaks, than his perspective on life. And not just now, but before D-Day—he forgets sometimes how much Caelan may have missed out on, as he puts it. How many opportunities he never had—even if he did have more than some of the younger citizens here, purely by being an academic genius.

Still—kids like that, who grow up smarter than what’s expected of them, who skip grades and fly ahead of peers their age—they already miss out on things by nature, even without the apocalypse interrupting. They grow up faster than they need to, miss out on being young and foolish. As far as Kip has made Alex aware, he has had his fair share of foolishness, but it caught up to him in a time where the stakes were suddenly so much higher than the average 16 year old, and so he had so much further to fall. It hardly seems fair. 

He sighs as Kip reflects about Alex’s past, and how he manages to stay so calm.] ...I think I probably manage because I was already missing out on things, before D-Day. By my own doing, I was... missing things. My life was pretty one dimensional. I focused on work and that was pretty much it. I sacrificed a lot of other aspects of my life because I didn’t... [He falters, looks away.] I didn’t want to face the rest. Acknowledge where my intimacy issues were coming from.