consoler of the lonely

mouse quinley | d.m.c. 

Mouse didn’t have to put in a lot of effort when it came to costume—being a pirate is all in the swagger, after all. He found an old linen shirt, chopped it up and tied a lace through the collar, wrapped a sash around his waist, and got some leather straps for cheap at the Hub, which he added to his boots to make them more pirate-y. 

His real treasure, though, was the dinged-up old cutlass he managed to find and haggle away from a sailor on the docks at the last minute. It’s barely got an edge to it, but was still promptly confiscated at the door. 

So, in the spirit of true piracy (and just a touch of sweet revenge), and with a move that should surprise abso-fucking-lutely no one, Mouse has since been embracing the night’s theme not only in terms of costume, but also behaviour. He’s spent a fair amount of the evening picking NWRF pockets to see how many of their doubloons he can get his paws on, then selling them back to people under the table for a couple of cred a pop. 

roy--walters​:

[Roy had been trying to be better lately about doing things that made him feel like himself or whatever the fuck it was that Angel had said to him. So he’d been walking more. It was… fine. He had a lot of time to clear his mind and just sort of think about things. Sometimes it was too quiet though, and he hated that. It was much better when something at least a little interesting happened, like he saw a weird stick or something. 

But as he walks by the dock, he notices a familiar figure shoving off into the water. His brow furrows and he hears someone yelling at him not to swim. So with lack of anything else interesting going on, Roy made his way over to the dock, sitting down cross-legged next to Mouse’s discarded clothes, waiting for the other to surface again. He chuckles a bit at his comment when he does.] Oh, sure, yeah. Perfect, truly. Almost makes me want to join you, but unfortunately, I’ve got this thing with like, not wanting to get hypothermia. You seem to be enjoying yourself enough for the both of us so I’ll just watch from here. [Roy rests his elbows on his knees and leans his head on his hands.] But I am curious, what made you think that this beautiful mid-winter day was a good time to go for a swim.

.

[Mouse scoffs.] It’s barely midwinter. More like early-spring eve, or somethin’. [He contradicts cheerily, after he leverages his body back up onto the dock. The wind stings his skin, turning his fingers unnaturally rosy. There’s some sense to what Roy said about hypothermia, but Mouse will take doing what he pleases over doing what’s, strictly speaking, the smart thing any day of the week.]

Besides, there’s plenty of places where they do this all the time. Polar dip, or what have you. [He shields his eyes as a shadow falls over them both, and peers up into the face of a very disgruntled guard.] Hullo, officer!

[“You’ve been told before not to swim out here, Quinley.” The man makes a grab for Mouse, and almost catches him by the wrist, but he pulls away too quick, and promptly falls backwards off the dock again with a splash. When he surfaces he pushes wet hair from his face and looks up with wide, shocked eyes.] Hey now, no call to push me in! [He does his utmost to sound utterly betrayed.] We’re not even allowed to swim out here, you know? Could catch my death! [He extends a hand to Roy.] Give us a hand up, mate, would ya? Can you believe that? Tried to fuckin’ drown me, you saw him. Guards these days... [He can see a vein twitch in the security officer’s forehead and thinks... this is about to get real fun.]

call-corbin​:

✯  ✯  ✯

[It’s strange to admit, but Corbin feels a surprising surge of relief when Mouse accepts, tense, but relatively calm nonetheless—which is, of course, quickly followed by a new wave of anxiety. Alright, that part’s done with but now he actually has to say things. His chest is tight, and he blows a breath out his lips, drags fingers through his hair. ‘Cor, he’s real shit at this stuff. 

With Mouse dressed, they start walking slowly down the docks—he’s not sure who’d actually prompted it, but Corbin finds he’s grateful for it now. Having to put one foot in front of the other helps ground him a little, and keeps him from feeling too in-the-spotlight. Bit ironic, considering his reliable love for it, in most cases but… well, this isn’t most cases.] 

Look, er… [He huffs. Mentally reprimands himself for being too much of a twat to get the words out. When he tries again, he speaks in a bit of a rush; if he stalls too long, he’ll chicken out again.] Shit. Look, things got… real outta hand, before. And I… I really don’t dig things bein’ like this. You know I ain’t one fer drama and… [He sighs, and he can’t meet Mouse’s gaze so he just keeps looking at his feet. He probably clears his throat one too many times.] And I reckon I probably over reacted, yeah? You got people yer tryin’ to look out for, and they’re yer priority and I get that, mate. Hell, I respect it. You gotta put you first. I’m the same fuckin’ way, really. So… so, I dunno. Yer still a mate—the way I see it, at least. And I shouldn’ta…. [he falters, gestures vaguely. Shakes his head.] I dunno. Sorry, I reckon is what I’m tryin’ ta say. 

.

[He ignores the chill from his damp clothes, which are beginning to partially dry in the wind, and listens carefully. After a moment, he nods.] Okay. Apology accepted. [It comes easier than he’d expected, to forgive and admit to his own fault in what’d happened. He shouldn’t have let himself become defensive the way he had, should’ve been more sensitive and less quick to snap back.] And I’m sorry, too. For my part.

[Mouse pauses, then, and weighs the wisdom in asking at all, but he does feel like he needs a bit more information, to keep himself from repeating this whole mess over again.] Wish you could maybe explain a bit what the fuck happened, that day, ‘cause I still don’t really understand how it got so bad, so fast. 

I know I was too blunt, maybe, but… Never really seen you lose it like that. [Corbin’s thick skin might be a front, but as fronts go, it’s always been pretty dependable, a well-built shield that doesn’t let things through except on certain occasions, apparently. Mouse scoops up a stone that looks like it’ll skip, and tries it. Three splashes across the water, not bad. He adds, with a glance at Corbin.] ‘Specially if you actually do understand, which it sounds like you do. 

[His brothers, that responsibility, it kept him going—kept him from giving up, kept him living. They are his life, essentially, his reason for waking up in the morning for the past five years. Even if some part of him wants to care just as much about his new friends here, he doesn’t really know who he’d be anymore if he did. It‘s that fundamental to who he is now.] 

bear-little-loss​:

♣

[He’s really only half listening about the Trig thing, because, well, when someone starts a sentence with ‘if anything happens to me’, does anyone really hear the rest of it? 

Orson stares at Mouse, his hands lowering in a bit of a drop, clovers forgotten.] 

I’m sorry—if anything happens to you? First of all, do you always talk like that? Secondly, why? What are you planning? You know you’re not allowed to scare me like that, right? You basically forced your way into my life and now I care about you and it’s all your fault, so. Take responsibility and explain yourself, please. 

[He’s grinning a little, and the sarcasm is to lighten the mood, sure—but he’s also half serious. He doesn’t know if he has the stomach to handle losing Mouse. Actually, he knows he doesn’t. And asking someone to look out for their adopted family members sounds like a very final type thing.] 

.

[Mouse gave Orson a very dry look, and decided to match levity for levity. The attitude was fair considering how Mouse had just dumped it on him with no warning. Orson had probably deserved more of a lead in.] First of all, of course I don’t. But it’s National Talk Frankly About Worst Case Scenarios Day, and I intend to honour it. 

And secondly, I’m plannin’ loads of stuff. And basically all the plans I have are gonna seriously annoy people with more power than I've got. [His grin softened a touch.] In all honesty, I’ve gotten pretty used to things never goin’ exactly the way I want them to. I’m not gonna hide away from the possibility of somethin’ bad happenin’, y’know? The world’s never held back on me just ‘cause I hoped it would.

[He reckons that’s about as blunt as he can stomach being, and offers Orson a way out, folding his arms behind his head.] Or, I mean, if that’s too much to deal with, we can chat ‘bout like, assignments, or the Games, or how dreamy Kip’s eyes are... or his arse... whatever you want. [He blinked placidly, hoping it was okay to tease about the last one.] I can handle it. Pun absolutely intended. You’re welcome. 

call-corbin​:

[He’d heard the commotion and the muttering from a ways away—he’d spent all morning on the docks (though if he skips anymore classes he’s probably going to get an earful from Cambie, or someone, but hey, he’s trying to do a good thing by getting coffee for Annie and ink for Koda and a few other unmentionables for a few other unmentionable folk). Eventually, the grumbling Marine Merchant sidles by Corbin, still gesturing irritably, and Corbin lifts a brow at him.] What’s got yer knickers in a twist, Ry-Guy? Touched another fish? You really oughta get over that—[ ‘Ry-Guy’, known to anyone other than Corbin, as ‘Riann’, explains that some ‘lanky twerp’ took a dive off the docks and is out there swimming ‘like a bloody lunatic’. 

Well. Corbin doesn’t know who it is, but he has a few ideas. The regular suspects, mostly. His curiosity has him checking it out by the time the culprit comes back. And as Mouse shakes out his hair like a Labrador on the beach, greeting Riann cheerfully, Corbin slips up behind the Merchant and puts a hand on his shoulder.] Oi—[he offers the merchant a smoke from behind his ear.] Go unclench, mate. On me. 

[As Riann walks away, Corbin turns to Mouse again, expression uncomfortable. He tries to grin, but it’s a little forced, and his gaze finds the wet dock more often than Mouse’s face. They haven’t spoken since just before the Games, and though Corbin’s still… a little vexed, he hates the tension between them. Leaving things like this is not his style.] Hey, water weasel, [he starts, trying for another grin.] You, er, got a sec, mate?

.

[Riann’s always a bit... much. It’s reliably entertaining to get a rise out of him. But Mouse is at least prepared to deal with something along those lines. It’s when Corbin’s tattoo’d arm comes into view that he withdraws the grin, slightly. His face doesn't entirely close off, but he’s guarded as he nods cautiously in reply.] 

[Pulling his shirt on, ignoring the sticky contrast of dry cloth on wet skin, Mouse tries to think of anything to say, keeps himself from wincing at ‘water-weasel’ but it strikes him as a forced, too-soft phrase, incongruous given how they left things. ] Sure. What’s up? [He should be able to do better than that, really. It’s just that… It’s rare that he fucks up and it’s not dealt with immediately? A verbal slap on the wrist, someone tells him off, and he snaps back, and one way or another that shit gets resolved.] 

[He’s not used to having a cooling-off period like this, more accustomed to being in close quarters with anyone he rubs the wrong way. But Corbin had snapped at him, stormed off, and then just… kept to himself, somehow. Truly impressive, given the size of this Colony. And Mouse has avoided him right back. It wasn’t Mouse’s preference, but maybe it’d worked for the Delma, who knew? Maybe he was about to find out just that.]

cambieandrews​:

[She recognises his response, a reflection of dozens of Delmas over the years. Cambie knows she’s fussy, to the point of overbearing. It’s her response to everything, the mask she hides behind. It’s different to the way most of the people in her house are: it’s not Corbin’s swaggering cockiness or Elly’s dry sarcasm. But it is still unquestionably her stress response, and in the end it can be just as aggravating as anyone else’s.

It’s gotten worse lately, as things with the NWRF only seem to get worse. Cambie feels increasingly powerless, and she takes it out on feckless Delmas (and now even passing Torrens, apparently), fussing and mothering and gathering accusations of being patronising and meddling. Mouse doesn’t outright tell her off, but it’s written in his body language and the hard set of his tone. Suitably chastened, as she always is when she realises she’s crossed a boundary, Cambie lowers the towel and folds it first one way, then another. She never knows what to do with her hands when she’s inclined to fuss but deprived of an outlet, so the now-soggy towel becomes that outlet.

As Mouse explains, she completely understands why he’d been bothered by her. He needs some sort of freedom. She does still think it would have been prudent if he’d brought a friend with him, but has the sense to recognise now isn’t the time to push that particular point.] 

I’m sorry. [Cambie says with a soft sigh; she’s not always the best with boundaries, but she’s always quick to apologise for crossing them.] I know the last few months have been… tough. And I know you can handle yourself, I just worry. You know the NWRF haven’t exactly been forgiving of troublemakers lately. [She’d barely slept after the reinking incident a few months prior, knowing how many people were locked up.] Although I should probably thank you for just swimming, as opposed to picking a fight with a guard or something. Has something happened? Or is it just, everything? [Cambie’s pretty ready to go to bat at this point, increasingly frustrated by the NWRF.]

.

[As he’d hoped, Cambie recognizes her mistake and apologizes, freeing Mouse up to wave it off and make it not such a big deal. It’s not, it’s just a reaction he kicks back against out of habit, the mothering. It’ll be easier for both of them if she holds off on it.]

[Some of his restlessness got left behind in the waves, but when she mentions the NWRF and their particular punishments, he feels his lip curl in distaste before he can hide it.] At this point, I’d almost hope they wouldn’t forgive it, you know? Don’t know how long I can sit still and play nice just ‘cause it’s easier on everyone else. [Saying this aloud is pretty illustrative of that fact. He’s growing bolder each day, driven by impatience, exhausted by the endless talk that swirls around while nothing really changes. Sure, he has plans. But waiting on them to come to anything isn’t something he’s naturally given to. He’s never been good at letting other people lead the charge.] 

[He shrugs, and almost grins when she talks about fighting guards.] Don’t think I haven’t considered that, too. [It’s cheeky, and probably does nothing to reassure her.] But you’re welcome. 

[Cambie’s question makes him pause, though. Which answer would be quicker to calm her fears? He considers lying, saying that it was a one-time thing. But he has too much respect for her to quite manage it.] Everything, more like. I don’t know.... what else to do, what I’ll do next time I feel like this. [He admits, shifting his shirt against his damp skin uncomfortably.] It’ll build up again soon enough, but I doubt I’ll get away with swimming for much longer before they really do tell me to knock it off, or else... 

lissy-mccall​:

[[ Lissy likes to wander and a walk down by the docks wasn’t the worst thing to help clear her head. Especially when it was cold. The sea air and brisk breeze was a surefire way to wake her up. One thing possibly better than the sea air would be Mouse.

When Lissy says she has no friends outside of the CalGals, or her own house, it’s a bit of an exaggeration. There is Mouse. Besides the girls, he’s the oldest friend she has, now. He’s a good friend to have. Fun but also… not serious. She doesn’t quite know the word for it beyond the fact he’s very much a ‘leader’ type of person. Confident and level headed. 

Mouse climbs up out the water. Shaking water off like a dog. She smiles, then laughs at his comment. ]] Sure is, if you’re an idiot.

[[ She shoves him back, both palms squarely pressed into his chest. She jumps back with a peel of laughter to avoid the splash. In a hurry, she scoops up the pair of trousers he’d left on the dock. ]] 

.

[Really should’ve seen that coming, he thinks, right as he topples back into the surf. Lissy’s always been a little too similar to him. Their humour shares a daring streak. He’s known this for a long time, and always appreciated it.]

[Mouse comes back up quickly, wipes water off his face and calls out a warning to her, because he’s a good sport.] Dangerous game to play at while you’re still on dry land, love. [He sends a wave of cold water spraying up onto the dock with a broad swing of his arm.] Nowhere to go but down...

[Just to make it all the more menacing and clearer that retaliation is most definitely on its way to her, he sinks below the water’s surface, and kicks to be under the dock itself. He peers up through the boards, about a foot below, and watches the shadow of her feet. Judging the distance from where she’s standing, he quietly drifts to the side, his nose just above the water. At the last possible second, he swings himself up behind her on the dock, grinning.]

bear-little-loss​:

[Mouse is a face he’s always happy to see. They don’t exactly seek each other out frequently, but they haven’t really needed to. He’s found that he’s fallen into Mouse’s orbit pretty effortlessly, and he hadn’t had to make a conscious effort to do so, which for Orson, is saying something. He can think of a number of times Mouse had reached out to him—in support, in kindness, in an effort to just be a listening ear. But the time he figures is the one mostly responsible for how close he feels to Mouse now, is the time they spent together in isolation just after Halloween. 

Mouse had offered him an olive branch at a place at his table with his other extended family, well before that. But that night is the night that it really took. 

So he grins gently as Mouse flops into the grass beside him—and even though he has things he actually has been meaning to talk to Mouse about, he doesn’t even have it in him to focus on the anxiety of it, because Mouse is so relaxed—and yet huffy—in the grass at Orson’s feet that he can’t help but be cheered by it. He chuckles a little.]

Morning. What’s up? You look like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. 

.

[Mouse shrugs. The gesture might lose some of its original impact, horizontal and buried in the grass like this.] Not the whole world. Maybe just this corner of it. [His arms cross behind his head. The sky above them is an unclouded periwinkle blue, sunny and bright. It doesn’t match his mood.]

[His enemies’ motives won’t become clearer with the speculation of two outsiders, so as is his way, Mouse searches for something more within his control—and Orson’s. One day soon, this shit’s going to boil over. He intends to be at the centre of it, and even though the others have assured him that they’re gonna handle the potential fallout later, he loves a good contingency plan.]

[Mouse breaks what has turned into a brief but tense silence.] Hey, d’you think you can try an’ do somethin’ for me? [He continues, so that Orson’s obvious question of what it’d be doesn’t need to be voiced.] Anythin’ happens to me, can you check in with Trig sometimes? I mean, he’s got a good head on his shoulders, but... he second-guesses himself more than he should. Needs someone who can nod and tell him he’s right, which he generally is. [Mouse glances at Orson.] Wouldn’t be a huge job on your part. He already respects you.

cambieandrews​:

[With the weather turning warmer – relative to the frosty chill of winter, at least – Cambie has occasionally been dancing outside. Nothing too strenuous, because grass and earth are dangerous terrains for dance, but she likes the excuse to feel the sun on her skin and get some fresh air.

This morning, something more pressing demands her attention. Mouse leaping off the docks, namely. Cambie runs the last few steps to the slippery wood and tries to call out for him, but he either can’t hear her, or chooses not to. Twenty minutes pass, during which Cambie stands fretfully on the edge of the dock, watching for a dark blond head to emerge. Despite her best attempts to tell herself he’ll be fine, and people swim in the ocean all the time, she just has a foreboding sense that enough has gone wrong lately and it would be just this Colony’s luck if someone drowned.]

Oh thank god! [He emerges, and Cambie presses her hand to her chest in a breath of relief. With the small sports towel she’d brought with her (clean and unused, thanks to Mouse’s dive distracting her) she immediately begins mopping at his dripping hair.] Mouse, I thought you were going to drown. The sea is dangerous, you need to bring someone with you if you’re going swimming, okay? God, you’re going to catch your death; didn’t you bring a towel?

.

[Mouse’s jaw sets stubbornly, but other than that he stays relaxed and lets her press a towel to his hair. Objectively speaking, Cambie doesn’t deserve the harsh attitude he feels in response to the fussing---and the combination of that reaction and her genuine worry curdles in his stomach like milk and lemon, nauseating.] [He’s not her kid, though. He’s not even in her House, and she’s overstepping all of his mental and physical boundaries right now. His hope is that by standing here impassively, she’ll come to that realization on her own, and he can skip to the part where she treats him like an equal and not a witless incompetent.] I’ve been swimmin’ in the ocean since I could walk, Cambie. [He tells her, his tone firm but gentle.] Survived the apocalypse, too—might sound arrogant, I know, but I think I can handle ten minutes in wet clothes. 

[He pauses, and takes a half step back from her. At the very least he can give her some explanation, to help her see where he’s coming from. That he feels like he’s caged in here, day after day, and it’s only getting worse.] I just needed to do one thing that wasn’t... [He searches out the words.] Someone else’s idea of what I should, y’know? [He shrugs.] If I didn’t do this, I’d’ve done somethin’ proper idiotic, ‘stead of somethin’ I spent my whole life gettin’ practice at.

—in the Dining Hall, when the Pup met Lorenzo & Sofia for the first time, with Mouse. 

( ooc: often I’ll have a plot point in mind that doesn’t necessarily flow with what actually happens during a convo, so I’ll save it and sometimes work it in later. this one got derailed for reasons, but it was pretty complete, so... this was how I originally intended to get the Pup out of that conversation, when the time was right. enjoy!! ) ( injury tw )

[For lack of anything more meaningful to do, Mouse had filled the past week with petty disobedience. He’d climbed the outer wall until he was told off, littered more tables and chairs with surreptitious anti-NWRF sentiments, and one day he’d even been so desperately bored that he’d snuck into the kitchen and prepped most of lunch by himself.]

[Really, he thought as he shucked off his shirt and jeans, this was just... a natural progression. And something he’d been wanting to do for a good long while.] 

[He dove off the dock, surfacing to gasp as the icy water knocked the wind from him. He heard someone shouting what sounded like a warning that he wasn’t allowed to swim out here, and ignored it, diving again and letting the water block out their squawking. Twenty minutes later and fully chilled, he hoisted himself back up onto the dock, seawater slicking the worn wooden planks beneath his hands. Someone was already there, waiting. He shook his head vigorously, scattering saltwater everywhere, and grinned up at them as he pulled his clothes back on.] 

Lovely day for a swim, yeah?

dot-speckter​:

[The shock was shrugged off without a second thought. She had no reason to feel unsafe or on edge with Mouse, and so in response to his comment, Dot laughed.] I thought you’d love it, considering you’re so mouthy. 

[She hums thoughtfully, studying his face.] I don’t know… Our noses are pretty similar… Don’t know which parent it would’ve been though. [A lie. It probably would’ve been her mother. Her parents were a topic that plagued her mind on this sort of occasion, wondering if there was any chance of them still being around, and if so did they ever think of her? Her heart ached thinking about it.] If you can convince the kitchen to let us in and use supplies to bake a cake, I think chocolate would be a nice flavour. 

[His jaw drops in feigned offense.] Mouthy ith ath mouthy doeth. [If that doesn’t get an eyeroll, he’ll genuinely worry he’s lost his edge.]

[He rubs his nose thoughtfully, squinting at hers. The speculation makes no sense from the minute he says it, ‘cause being born a day apart would not make them twins---in fact, probably indicates there’s no possibility of them being siblings at all. But logic’s not really necessary or welcome, here.] Prob’ly busted outta some god’s forehead like a Greek myth. Explains why we’re both so clever an’ good at things. [He tugs on the end of her knitting.]

[Has to agree on the chocolate.] No need to convince anyone---mastered the ‘I belong in here’ look in the summer, when I got put on kitchen rotation like three times in a row? People usually just assume I’m supposed to be there, now. [He stands and extends a hand.] C’mon, this’ll be an experiment. [His grin is sharp in anticipation.] Let’s go mess up a cake.

bear-little-loss​:

[The sun’s out today, and given Orson’s recent mood, and the hazy smog of disquiet hovering over the Colony ever since that weird HQ visit (that no one actually knows anything but everyone pretends that they do), he takes advantage of his spare hour after breakfast to sit outside on a patch of grass that’s surprisingly not-brown. The breeze is soothing, the quiet chatter of the Hub waking up a couple dozen yards away a welcome distraction from his monkeying mind, and as he picks at the grass he thinks about making daisy chains with his younger sister in the front yard. Now, there aren’t any daisies, but there are a few clovers that Orson pulls at, though he feels a little guilty for doing it, considering the way they had to fight to survive in the current state of things. 

He looks up, squinting towards the sun. It’s actually getting warm under it’s rays, maybe because the wind is pretty mild right now, and he thinks about taking off his sweater, but he’s wearing short sleeves underneath, and though no one is around him now, he remembers what happened with Lorenzo the other day and he shudders uncomfortably.

He turns his head in the direction of approaching footsteps.] Oh—morning. 

[Mouse’s curiosity is killing him. There’s gotta be some way to find out more. He wishes that he and Corbin were still on speaking terms, ‘cause he could definitely use his ears in this instance, but he hasn’t really seen anything of the man lately, and has to assume he’s still as pissed off as he was when they last spoke. So, no super hearing at his disposal, unfortunately.]

[Nothing he could solve by climbing, either---he speculates he wouldn't get in via a window unless it was opened from the inside. Arms crossed, he glares up at the one he knows leads to the Chancellor’s office. Would there even be any clues in there, if he could get in? Rumour had it that the newcomer tore him a new one, that’s not usually something that gets written down.] Dear Diary, today I made mummy mad, an’ continued to be a wanker... [Mouse mutters under his breath.]

[He turns the corner and picks up on a familiar set of emotions. Might as well see what Orson’s up to, he figures, since he’s losing his mind trying to think on his own. Wandering over he invites himself to sit and collapses on the ground near Orson’s feet, comfortably.] Mornin’. [He returns. Just the other boy’s presence is already somewhat soothing to him. He lets his head drop onto the grass, shuts his eyes against the midmorning sun, and sighs like an old man surrendering to death.]