arkham

❛ jeez, louise— ❜ he hisses under his breath, slips into a seat with head low, his words breezing past clenched teeth with a restrained quietude. standing lasted all of thirty seconds, he is ashamed to admit. ❛ you want to keep your materials to yourself instead of the whole class ? i'm risking my butt out here. ❜ he's already had enough of the speeches, the never satiated questions and microphones and requests to go on televised shows and offer a cover article for science magazines. a café offers at least some semblance of reprieve, if only he is permitted it. ❛ and do you always believe everything you see on the internet ? no, wait. who am i kidding, of course you do. ❜ it is stated matter - of - fact rather than any pointed jab, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache slowly coming to nudge at his brain.

i need a coffee, maybe something stronger. i'm going to kill stratt. this is the last time i'm doing this, so they better make it count and get all their measly last drops of information, because i. am. done.

"if it's really as simple as that, your boss wouldn't have come to me." he raises his hand at the bar, getting the attention of the waitress behind it. "uh, black coffee, please. and whatever he wants. you can put it on the same tab." he looks to ryland and shrugs. "it's your boss. she paid me for the... expenses. honestly it feels more like an allowance, but only if this became a regular thing..."

let's not put the cart before the horse, rex reminds himself, seeing as he's barely gotten ryland to talk. he waits patiently for ryland to make his order, scratching a little burnt mark on his wrist from when he tried to make scrambled eggs for wendy. she's just turned fourteen, and only started to feel comfortable asking rex for the things she wants.

She pulls Dradeel closer to her; water drips from her face when she tilts it to speak sharply and only to him. "Did you know about this?!" He would have told her. She has to believe he would have, and yet seeks the confirmation anyway. Too much has been shaken up by this storm.

Kara meets Caesar's bulging eyes without flinching. They've grown as accustomed to this sight as can be perhaps, though never as endeared as they are to the captain's human beauty. The warning makes them shift their weight, all the waiting tension in their body moving from readiness to fight to the expectation they will be leaving soon. They've lost much time already. "We better go, Cae." It's the first time they've spoken, and the rain almost swallows their alto voice. "Get back 'fore they show up. We're losin' time."

caesar snarls. but dradeel doesn't seem to notice. his entire attention now fixed on the tall brunette. "i didn't know anything! please, brynn, i swear... i would've told you if i did—"

words become drown out in the pouring rain. caesar growls in acknowledgement to kara's warning. they are right. as much as caesar would like to get to the bottom of this link between dradeel and the deep ones, they would not like to be here when the fish folk come to claim the streets.

he has the same number and rex's texts had drowned amidst a sea of other attempts at contact from the same era, circles of would - be friends and associates left behind to fade. rex had reached out the longest. it hadn't changed anything. ❛ business. right. my apologies, mr. murphy, how could i forget. ❜ it is not laced with the poison vial of spite, instead an irony coating his words like liquor around ice in a glass, rattling and lively. ❛ so, you're telling me she twisted the narrative to get you on board. good to know. ❜

the situation itself is a horror, but not in the way i know rex craves and pursues, evidently so much so as to bypass — or exploit ? — whatever historical situation we had going on once upon a time. he looks different. i imagine we both do, but he looks good. i can't say the same for myself, raggedy teacher now worn down by lab work and the pressure of a world dying. this isn't helping.

he knows stratt well enough, knows that like a dog with a bone, she won't let go. her teeth are hooked barbs, already latched into the meat of his leg — ryland was facing his fate long before entering this place, far sooner than spotting rex across the room. a begrudging sigh leaves him, hand planted on the table for support, the untaken seat like a resignation he refuses to accept and chooses to stand instead. he is still stubborn despite the years.

"she's not wrong." he starts to sit down, albeit tentatively, and hopes that ryland would follow. the man isn't exactly being friendly, but if rex knows anything about ryland grace is that he has things to say. even if he tries to suppress them or speak in jest as a defense mechanism, there is a glimpse of his honest thought. if rex could keep him talking...

"what's happening—the discovery of alien life—is as about as extraordinary as they come. and unexpected. i suppose people have been a little limited in our imagination of what life would look like from outer space. and technically it didn't make contact with us... we sort of went out and... grabbed it. is my understanding." or rex could keep talking, and hope ryland would listen. "we made contact with it. our government did anyway. and that's... several layers deep on the paranormal 'iceberg,' as they call it on the internet."

he shuffles the paper around (organizing them back into order, mostly), pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as they begin to slide.

snuggle. receiver snuggles into sender's side. — @rkhum (rex).

he can't blame the crisp hiemal chill for his shuffle closer : while the air certainly carries a breathy coolness to it, his cheeks are warm. they sit atop a blanket in the clearing, the view of the stars truly something serene to witness out here with less light pollution. he can't even blame the diminishing space on an attempt at balance, their arms overlapping as he stretches to point out constellations — everyone talks about orion's belt, but actually if you look closely, see, there's all of orion — and he certainly can't blame rex for it when it is ryland that has moved pressed palms until they plant in the blanketed ground behind rex's back instead of his own.

it was subconscious to an extent : i hadn't really realised how close i was until it was done, but i'm not exactly pulling away or rectifying the issue. i don't even know if i'd be so hasty to call it an issue. i wonder if it's as noticeable as i'm making it in my head, or if this is a socially acceptable distance to share between friends that rex isn't even thinking twice about. i need to learn how to keep my cool.

❛ the belt actually points all the way down to sirius, too. the brightest star in our sky. ❜ he rambles in an attempt to distract from something between them that maybe he is the only perceiver of, but equally simply because he rambles. it is what he does, when not assessing his words like a chessboard, when speaking of things he is passionate about, to people he is passionate about. he wonders how close their hands are, wonders if should he make a wrong move he might find fingers that are not his, get a static shock. he's always been a curious person, and right now it is damning, a curse.

i feel strangely stared at, and for once it isn't just my imagination. even the barista is peering over while making a flat white, two sugars, and i'm left between standing on business and possibly causing more of a mess, or relenting to at least clean up the havoc that, need i remind, i wasn't the one to create.

rex stumbles a small step back from losing his grip, making just enough room for ryland to blow past him. at least it is toward the inside of the cafe this time.

"look i..." he turns to follow, picking up the loose leaves of paper on the ground as he does. "i thought you knew. i thought your boss...—the woman. stratt? very assertive, by the way. authoritative—i thought she would've told you. i did consider sending you a message, but i didn't know if..." he pauses, holding onto the back of the chair to balance himself as he peels the sticky note off his shoe. he looks at it. a string of numbers scribbled across the center of the paper. a phone number. "...i asked her for your number," he sticks the note to the corner of the table, not looking up from it. "just in case you changed it, or something. but uh... no. it's the same."

which means ryland has been purposefully ignoring his message. the realization has stung, left him with a hollow confusion. (wendy had asked. he seemed distracted on the days leading up to the meeting, turning on his phone screen and turning it off again without doing anything with it. she's smart enough not to press, but rex knows her watchful eyes.)

it'll be good for morale, stratt said. you're the most personable in the team, stratt said. i'm not really giving you a choice here, stratt said. i don't know exactly when my life became so dictated by the astrophage crisis — no, that's a lie, i recall the precise day on which stratt sauntered into my classroom with that gosh darn paper, but i'm not sure when i became about three other roles on top of leading astrophage expert. time to add pr spokesperson to my resume.

ryland won't do public speeches or presentations, that much became clear after one particularly unexpected board meeting, but those desperate enough for a scoop might have private discussions in which he can elucidate some very tightly controlled details about the project. it is well on the way now, and he can speak with confidence on the progress they're making and the scientific backing behind the mission. when he heads to designated meet - up spot today however ( it's always a quiet greasy spoon diner or tucked away coffee shop, a level of seclusion ryland appreciates ) he is barely through the door before stopping short. he's in the habit of scouting out his company, typically easy to spot even without a description — journalists just have a type about them — and when eyes land on equally matched gaze, ryland's face sinks.

he should've asked more questions. the answer had, at the time, seemed... not reasonable but unquestionable. like a perfect come-back. clever too, in hindsight. REX would be hard pressed to take seriously anyone who considers him even a d-list science communicator, but he could believe his name making the short list of credible paranormal investigators. it stopped him from asking more questions. his first count of negligence. the second came when he saw the name of the scientist he's supposed to interview.

—he doesn't want to talk to me. —he doesn't have a choice.

that should've been a red flag the color of a firetruck. but it wasn't surprising. he's expected that out of corporations and government entities by this point. it's just his luck. he could never tell where it would take him. so when he opened and closed the text thread (the last message left on read) and elected not to give the other a heads up... it was perhaps less negligence and more opportunistic. he wanted to see where this goes. this time.

"HEY—!" following up on an unfinished story would be easier if the subject wouldn't run away from him like he's the paparazzi. it's not the first time he has to chase down someone for an interview (but usually he's more prepared because usually he hasn't been promised an interview and usually it isn't someone he's... —whatever. time for that later)... rex jumps up from his seat, bumping into the corner of the table and knocking the ceramic cup over. dark coffee spills over the deck of documents and notebook (screw him for trying to study up before the meeting). "ah, fuck— dammit...!" he fumbles to right the cup in the coffee-flooded saucer, looking up to see the other man just out the door. "wait—" rex rushes to follow, hearing and having no time to care for the papers falling off the table and scattering on the floor behind him. "dr. grace! dr. ... —RYLAND!"

A brief flicker of doubt courses through her. What has Dradeel kept quiet? Its breeze isn't strong enough to topple the wall of trust she has built for the anxious barkeep, but it sways ever so briefly. Now is not the time, Brynn thinks, not now, when the icy rain whips their faces, and the scaly creature before them seems only to grow angrier, foaming like waves. Caesar's companion's face glints in the lantern light. The blond—by their stance and attire, Brynn assumes them to be a sailor too—hovers over a nasty looking knife in their belt, as if awaiting permission, or simply some reason to escalate into violence.

She suddenly wonders... Would her bullets even pierce those scales?

It's an acid truth in her gut: she doesn't like their odds were this to escalate. She could only hope to hold them off long enough for Dradeel to run to safety. It brings with it a fear the likes of which she hasn't felt in a long time—not for her own life, but for his, which has grown so precious to her.

"the fish folk under the sea—" they spit out those words with the rain water running into their mouth. "THE DEEP ONES. they were waiting in the storm... hell. let's not kid—they caused the storm. ... they talked to you, didn't they? or... perhaps you talked to them—"

"NO—!!" dradeel shrieks, almost lurching out but held back by his own grip on brynn's shirt sleeve. "i didn't... i don't! i swear. i saw... it just came to me. i didn't do anything before and i didn't... i don't know what you're talking about... fish... fish people? like sirens?"

❦ ﹕ @spellheld accepting.

it didn't take long for the rumours to reach young'un ears. even less so for parents hushing their children from speaking wild things. the forests and their leaves will hear .. the halla will grunt and become restless because words have power. yet their keeper is quick to remain with facts than wild stories.

ilerien was picking a cluster of herbs for his mother when the sound of something harsh was rustling through the grass and dried leaves. untrained, heavy, and the boy gasped in surprise to see an unknown face tumble beside him. ren barely able to grasp the now-crumpled roots, scrambling to the nearest, safest body. caesar. the heavy-footed elf? .. panting as he stares at the pair of dalish children. ren, smaller, more frightened, quivering. caesar, the proud and ever curious.

it wasn't long before a couple of dalish hunters burst from the meadow's treeline, alerted to ren's cry, and brandishing their bows towards the stranger. :: my name's .. tarin .. i-i heard there was a clan here. i ran .. the humans, shem! i ran away from them. ::

he doesn't know what happened after that. caesar and ren were shooed away, back towards the clan where more of their elders rushed to interrogate the lost city elf. eventually, tarin slowly began integrating with them. eating at their circles, joining their stories. their timidness melted away to confidence and words spilled from their lips started rough at first, now flowed and easily understood.

ren, of course, kept their distance, merely observing mannerisms before they became one of them. yet they were still there, in a sense, the way their eyes flickered, their tongue occasionally slipped. one particular thing he noticed was the way he offered to help. with the halla, the keeper's minor duties, to sweating the summer days under the weaponmaster. and where ren was, caesar was ahead. asking questions, begging for more details of life outside the tirashan forest.

it was like this for many weeks. and ren, sitting beside caesar, fiddling with a branch, freezes the words come out of his companion.

i want adventure in the great wide somewhere!

the dusk of fire and gold is whisked away as ren eyes caesar from the corner of his gaze. shoulders cautiously droop, as they always do, the boy would suddenly flinch when a broken piece pokes him enough to leave a sliver in his palm.

" but that would mean leaving.. " :: " .. leaving. "

There just needed to be a lead in the first place.

❛ I already tried the police, but they don't listen to me. She went missing two weeks ago, they promised me they would search the mountain trails, but they never did. I know for a fact they didn't lift a finger and now they're telling me she's dead, ❜ Nithya explained in a rush, voice quiet and taking only one breath as she stepped closer to him. A plea carved into her features.

She wasn't too sure it was Umbrella, a shot in the dark to pique interest due to the area it all happened in, but she was sure that there was foul play to be had when not even the police made an attempt at searching. They didn't even try just to look good in the eyes of the worried public. Instead, there had only been one news report and then it was covered completely by a deluge of breakthroughs Umbrella suddenly had as if there were no missing people. As if her sister never existed and Nithya was supposed to move on.

"hmmm. that's quite a tale," he concedes. "do you have any proof? six people vanishing, even if quietly, has got to leave some evidence. friends and family that are looking for them, a job they never returned to... people are gonna need to see a little more than your words to believe you. i would've mentioned that if i had a show where i would talk about this stuff."

all odds is a pirate radio station that he runs out of his rundown apartment, with a junkyard transmitter and caffeinated optimism. or perhaps it's stubbornness. if no reputable press would publish his findings, he would find his own way to get the word out. what's more, radio is an ephemeral medium, which is an advantage as rex has come to appreciate the danger in poking the largest predator in raccoon city. if he put his words down on paper and ink, he could be sued for libel. radio talk, where the poor audio quality works to mask his voice, and the frequency disposable and relatively untraceable, makes for a more secure method of disseminating information. the only problem being that he's unlicensed (registering with the government would defeat the whole purpose), and would do well not admitting to running such an operation out in the open.

And it isn't the tug of a hand grasping for support that makes her stumble, but her own horrified surprise. She takes an involuntary step back, reaching behind herself to hold onto Dradeel's forearm—to keep him upright and in place. All the while she looks on to the transformation taking place right in front of them. As if a true form had burst out behind a skin-suit, freed at last by the downpour. Was it a mask washed away? It would explain how they survived, would it not?

Movement draws her attention, and she had almost forgotten the ... creature's companion. The smaller figure has taken a few steps to the side, stepping over the seaweed-like hair, slowly moving with the water that runs and runs, into overflowing sewage. They seem rather unimpressed with it all, more curious to get a peek at the man behind Brynn's back. She grasps his arm tighter.

"—mine? HA, so he's got you fooled too!" they hear themself screech, the terrible sound of wood crashing against sharp rocks or the weight of the water slamming down from every direction. a nearby cart splinters from the whipping of their tale. the MONSTER shakes their gills loose in the rain and looks their eyes on the red haired wretch. "what, dradeel? don't tell me you found someone else to hide behind? didn't you tell your friend nothin'? are you surprised to see me alive?" the amphibian beast croaks, pacing from side to side. their spiny tail sweeps across the wet cobblestone, whipping up curtains of water in the rain. "i wondered how you knew the storm was comin'... there was no signs of it in the sky or water. no. you knew it through other means. did they speak to you? better question... —how did you live? i know what it took me to come back from that storm... but you—what did you sacrifice?"

She wished it was only for that reason alone she sought him out, like a crazy stalker ex showing up at his place of work. But well ... desperate times call for desperate measures and Nithya wasn't going to give up on her sister and believe she was dead like the police wanted her to do.

Pulling out a folded up ten dollar bill from her jeans when he finished the tour, she waited patiently for the group to stop talking to him and break away, before approaching. There was a chance he could simply be making up a lot of what he talked about on his show, but they felt far too close to home of what she was stepping in looking for her sister. She had to try. For Maari, she must. ❛ You ever wonder if the people who take your tours retain the information you're telling them? ❜ She asked, holding out the money as a tip but she kept a firm grip on her side so that when he went to grab the bill, she held fast. Her voice quieted as she spoke again: ❛ Listen, I'm desperate and I need your help. No one will listen to me, but I think my sister has been taken by Umbrella and I don't know where to start. You spoke of them before, you know of their dealings— ❜

the young woman's voice puts his thoughts into words, giving rex a pause and causing him to momentarily forget about being annoyed by her hold on the ten dollar bill. some people do that. like a conversation is something he needed to be baited into, some strange ritual of power dynamic usually with other men, or the occasional disgruntled customers lodging a complaint. this young lady, however, does not fit into any of the archetypes in rex's mind as he tries to figure out what she could've wanted.

he doesn't have to wonder long before she leans in with her whisper. ah. so she belongs to the other, less common, kind of folk. it's rare, but someone occasionally takes him, or at least what he says, seriously. rex pauses, stilling his racing heart. he reminds himself that there are two other possibilities: one, she's one of the conspiracy whack jobs that would soon be ranting about chlorine in their water, and he would have to find a way to artfully extract himself. two, she doesn't actually take him seriously and is simply putting on a ploy so she could mock him. both of which are, sadly, more likely than what he hopes is the case. he's about to give her his fake smile and standard business card with a phone number he barely answers, but something stops him.

—she's south asian (or so he's fairly certain). not that this stranger should know what that means to him; it's unlikely that she could look into his past and see the raven dark of his mother's hair, and her light brown eyes that often oscillated between pensive and irritable (rex much preferred the former). he's ambiguous enough, through his irish father and english grandfather he never met, that he's not often recognized for his mother in him. there is an uncertain ennui in wondering what he could've learned about her if she had lived longer or he was thoughtful enough a boy to ask. but that boy's curiosity had always looked outwards, as though he's afraid of finding what's behind the closed doors in his own house. and now that boy digs around racoon city, like the city's namesake, finding other people's haunting.