[log] the final stretch [closed]

Where.... oh! Here it is.

[She'd wasted no time upon entering the library, dropping her things and heading straight to where the newspapers were kept. Luna can't help but let out a sigh of relief when she finds the paper she's looking for, where an advertisement had been left folded open on the rack. Whether Clayton has followed behind or not, Luna still pulls the article off the shelves to deliver it to him.]

I found this when I was here a few days ago. Given what happened with Winter the other day, I thought you might find it interesting.

Edited 2016-04-19 20:13 (UTC)

[Clayton isn't so much unenthusiastic as he is distracted; he's been in a foul mood ever since roughly noon and has remained in a stubbornly unhappy, troubled haze through their travels, one that only slightly lets up when Luna start showing some excitement for being here. He has to admit that it's a decent place to overnight in. Very open, plenty to keep busy with. Nice chairs. He shrugs his oversized backpack next to hers at the door. gently pushes both out of the way with his foot and ambles in behind her, bundling into coat as he greedily sucks in the relative warmth.]

[The newspaper is accepted without comment, and in fact Clayton seems to miss that he's supposed to be paying attention to the advertisement in front altogether. He's more focused on large titles and pictures of actual articles--unconsciously blocking out adverts, like he's been trained to do--and starts skimming through the newspaper with detached interest.]

Hmm. Looks like they've got the same sorta news 'n politics we got, jus' like she was sayin'. [After their first conversation anyway. Most recent conversation? What conversation? Can we pretend that just didn't happen?] Ain't so different after all. [The relevant advertisement is literally on the opposite side of what he's actually reading Clayton no]

[Oh gracious. She isn't expecting him to completely overlook it, and for a moment she's at a loss of what exactly to say to get him back on track.]

Ah... well, um... yes, that's true. All the papers seem to be like that, really. I didn't really find anything too remarkable.

That's not what I was talking about, though... um... [She knows it's rude and she hopes he will forgive her, but she gently reaches over to fold the story page he's reading, so that the ad in question is more prominent.] This, right here. This was it.

--Huh? Oh.

[Clayton doesn't seem to mind the intrusion at all and dutifully allows Luna to show him the proper part of the newspaper. He skims over it, nods in understanding. Yes, anomalous inhancements. That sounds familiar enough.]

[Wait.]

[Clayton's face pales slightly.]

...Luna, you, ah... [Quick, act like he has no idea what this is!] ...you ever heard a somethin' like this?

Yes. Medically speaking, anyway. But not something that would be advertised in a regular newspaper like this. It makes it sound like it's... perfectly ordinary.

[Which it shouldn't be, even in her time. Enhancements that weren't a regular part of the body were few and far between, only saved for the rich and well-to-do. Given the state of the world, that number was very, VERY small.]

I don't know if this is referring to something like... a drug, maybe, or if it's something more technologically based. They don't really go into specifics, anyway.

But if it was the latter, I guess it just makes me curious as to whether Winter might have been involved with something like this.

Ah! Well.

[Clayton scoffs and glances at the opposite wall. See? If Luna knows, and this was just some casual thing people did around here, then he can view it casually, too--instead of, you know. This bleak, unsettling situation where his powers can be controlled like a novelty toy. Everything's fine!]

I'll bet she was in some way, if they had enough of a backin' fer advertisements like this. [He coughs, trying to gently clear his throat.] ...What kinda "enhancements" 're we talkin' about, d'ya think? I mean-- [Clayton fumbles and gestures a couple small, desperate circles with his hands.] --what're yours like?

[She gives him a moment to stumble through his words, keenly aware of his anxiety, before simply raising one of her bandaged hands up. Prosthetic, remember?]

Not much more than what you see here, actually. What I'm used to are usually just mechanical replacements, which can be designed or programmed to optimize a person's natural abilities, if one had the money or resources to do so. But it's not exactly... common. Limbs, sensory input, or even organs can technically be replaced, but it's more on a strict need basis, rather than a casual addition to an already healthy body.

So, for here... I'm not sure. It could be anything, really. Extended senses, increased physical strength or stamina, extended life... If the world was in an advanced enough state to produce advanced AI like Winter, it's theoretically possible for them to have produced temporary ways to push the human body past normal limits. But... given what little information is here, theorizing is all I can really do.

[And, after a moment:]

...Would you rather we talk about something else, Clayton?

Edited (whoops i changed a thing) 2016-05-09 20:30 (UTC)

[Clayton listens intently--perhaps a little too intently. It's a bit manufactured. His mind is somewhere else, well beyond the minutia on medical prosthetics from Luna's world, thinking about his powers, the powers of everyone else, how they're all so different and yet can be wiped out on a whim. A vampire, an immortal scribe, a tiny god...for people all apparently from different times, if not different universes, they've certainly managed to find some level ground in what can be taken from them.]

[Luna has asked him a question. Clayton doesn't answer for a few seconds, before suddenly--]

--Oh! Oh, uh-- [He shakes his head, trying to rattle his errant thoughts into something coherent and less suspicious.] --Naw, it's ah. It's alright. Jus' thinkin' is all.

[About...? Clayton thinks a bit more, chewing on his lip.]

...Admin's mentioned a few times, 'bout these things. I think. I mean...you ain't never seen those medical records she's sent out, have ya?

[It's a dark adventure of "who wakes up first???"

Featuring: Dumpy, still screaming and flying in wild circles as he bashes against the walls, albeit less vigorously than he was roughly 20 hours ago.]

[Dumpy is always the earliest riser, but Clayton hasn't gotten used to the little robot being around and making so much racket before he's ready to wake up. He does so with a jolt when one such attack comes close overhead, rattles the books on the shelf. Jesus christ. What the fuck. What the fuck. His mouth feels dry, his body aches from the floor, but it's too dark outside to tell if it's just been a few hours or a whole day since he passed out. Since they both passed out, really.]

[Clayton's attention turns abruptly to Luna. Vivid images of her strange, white prosthetic blood pouring from her arms kicks him into action a little faster, scuttling onto his hands and knees.]

Luna? Luna... [Oh god please don't be dead. She's not dead, right? If she was dead then they would've taken her body by now. Or. Something. Look she can't be dead because Clayton doesn't want her to be. He reaches out to shake her shoulder just to confirm.]

[As frighteningly still as she appears when he crawls over, it thankfully doesn't take much effort for her to stir, inhaling sharply and flinching when Dumpy careens overhead. That noise she recognizes. They're... in the library, right?

The library... Angel had posted, and she'd tried to contact the admin about... about what?

Her arms.... Her arms.

She jolts up with a panicked start, gripping at her forearm as though it still held that horrible injury, seemingly unaware of her company. The feeling of bleeding out, of suddenly losing control of her primary functions due to the rapid lack of ABT fluids, of blacking out, trying to call for Clayton, hearing that horribly angry voice--

For a long moment, all she can assume is that she's dead. That she has to be, her mind sitting the back of some databank awaiting eventual deletion in that empty, agonizing wait that had held her in its grip back on the moonbase. All she can feel is fear.

So she grips her perfectly healed arms tight, barely acknowledging the amount of white and red staining her coat, her dress, her skin - she only hugs herself tight and crumples, curling up on herself with a broken sob.]

--Luna! [Clayton starts when Luna does, but the relief is clear in his voice. Alive and responsive. She grips her forearms and he notes that they're healed. More reason for relief. But she's so still, so shocked, covered in her own blood--something is still very wrong.] Are you...?

[No, of course she isn't alright. All confusion and the starts of frustrated anger die down completely as Clayton draws Luna against his chest, hugging her close. His core is alarmingly warm.]

...Alright. Oh thank God you're okay. You're okay...

[He's willing to stay like this for a while.]

[His warmth is odd, but it isn't noted at first. His arms are around her and she practically melts, needing the comfort but too frightened to ask for it. She doesn't cling or return the embrace, only bringing a hand to her mouth to try and stifle her sobbing, leaning against him.

It's like being with Sigma. Being against his chest as she felt herself slipping away before. A bittersweet memory, enough to send a shudder through her and tuck her face against him. Pay attention to his warmth, pay attention before it slips away again, before she never gets a chance to be held and told it will be fine...]

I-I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Clayton.

[It's a breathy, blubbering mess of words against her fingers. She has no excuses, other than that she didn't know it would take so much damage for an intervention. Yes, she was healed now. Something she thought would have been worth the risk, better than the slow crawl of damage she was experiencing.

Now that it was over, logic still said she had made it out with the best outcome. But she can't ignore her company. She can't ignore the way fear licks up like a flame inside her. She's not sure what she had been thinking had been "right" at all.]

[For Clayton, things are much more straightforward. Luna is grieving. She needs support. He can provide this. No questions, no arguments; this is all he needs to know for the time being and everything else can wait its fucking turn.]

It's okay! It's okay. [He sniffs, trying and failing to hold back the start of relieved tears, and compensates instead by cradling Luna's head. You know, for support. And also to keep her from looking up at him.] Lord, I--I was so scared. I'm jus' happy yer alive. Jesus...

[No questions, only holding. Questions mean distressing things and Clayton doesn't think either of them are equipped to handle that right now.]

I didn't, I didn't mean t-to... [To frighten him, is what she wants to say, but it gets caught mid-sob, her chest tight with a horrible weight of shame. What is she, a child? She had heard his reactions, SEEN that horribly look of anxiety on his face as she'd fiddled with her prosthetic, as though he knew something was going to go wrong.

He was right after all, wasn't he?

She easily lets him cradle her away from his face, letting a hand finally lower from her face to weakly grip around his chest, trying to break herself away from her own distress with the knowledge that he'd had to sit and watch those entire events without being able to help.]

I... I-I didn't know it would take so much, I... I wouldn't h-have...

[But should or would aside, it was still done, and she can't take it back.]

[One talk with Winter and a mistake of a conversation with Jack later, Luna has now successfully tossed her tablet to the floor and buried her face against her knees with an odd sort of solemnity. Her hands, now whole and perfectly normal looking, pluck at the fabric of her sleeves with an anxious grip.]

Clayton... could I ask you something?

Edited 2016-04-18 03:49 (UTC)

[Someone throwing their tablet on the floor is kind of difficult to miss. Clayton certainly doesn't, though he's not eager to get involved, not right away. Anger and frustration are not emotions he's seen in Luna before--he's not sure how to handle them, not to her liking, and the only way he can tell to fix that issue is to be patient and let her tell him herself.]

[He gives Luna a few moments to decompress a little before lumbering over, leaving behind his backpack and his tablet to remove all distraction, and slumps down next to her with his knees curled up to his chest. He waits. He does not have to wait long.]

Yeah. Ain't a problem. [Clayton relaxes with a light clearing of his throat, casually inviting Luna to do the same.] What's goin' on?

[She hesitates to continue at first, glancing back at her tablet as though it might walk back over and tell her the same sort of things she's heard the last few hours, or show her that list of how many people have died in this horrible place.

She doesn't look angry. Rather, it's almost as if she's overwhelmed, biting it back for the sake of outward composure.]

...

Do you... think I'm foolish?

[It's quiet, almost like she's afraid of the answer he'll give.]

[So she wants to talk about it. That's good. Clayton takes a long, deep breath, silently working over the best ways to answer so that Luna doesn't have to sound so worried about it.]

Naw. [Good start. He glances over, brows raised.] You been tellin' me how good a head you got on yer shoulders since we met an' I ain't seen no reason not t' believe ya. Shoot. [Meek chuckle.] Say yer more level-headed n' me. Why?

[There's an attempt at a smile at the compliment, though it doesn't reach to her eyes.] I don't know if I'd say that.

Still, that's no exactly what I meant. I don't think it's a matter of being level-headed. Even level-headed people can be, um... questionable sometimes.

[There's a glance at her hands - healed now, of course, but how long had she gone with them open and wounded in his eyes? She'd run away, she'd intentionally gone with the Joker, she'd nearly killed herself.

She knows Clayton's not oblivious to that.

The glance is momentary, her fingers fisting tight against her sleeves as she slides them down to her lap, like looking at them won't remind her of her mistakes.]

I... don't want you to have to pretend around me, if your thinking ever changes. Okay?

[He's not oblivious. He'd rather wish he was, or more importantly that some sweet words might make Luna oblivious instead, but naturally she's too smart for that. Sometimes it works. Oh well.]

[Clayton's eyes stay on Luna, but the humor dies in them, replaced with a quiet sadness that eventually forces his gaze back to the opposite wall. He does a bit more thinking.]

...Doin' somethin' you ain't proud of once don't make you a fool. Even a few times. Lord, even all the time. [Clayton glances back.] All that matters is that yer doin' what you think's right fer everybody. Ain't nothin' foolish 'bout havin' yer heart in the right place. An' you...Luna, you got too good a heart fer me t' think anything different 'bout ya.

I... u-um...

[That compliment, on the other hand, warms her up in her chest more than she can properly ignore. Her lips twist, caught between a smile and what might be the start of tears, even as she shakily messes with loose strands of her hair, trying to tuck them away from her face and distract herself from the lump in her throat.]

Th... Thank you, Clayton.

It's a little silly, I guess, to think that everyone will feel that way as well. Really, I... I wonder if it's safer to assume that most won't think that way at all.

But I do want to agree with you. That there's importance in doing what's right.

[She can't bring herself to turn around anymore. Move forward. Make it through the snow before she falls over from exhaustion, don't think about what's behind, don't think about what's below, don't think--

It had been easier during the morning - despite the constant uneasy feeling that had draped over her since she'd woken up, her thoughts had been easy to pick out and control. Minor idiosyncrasies that didn't quite match up, and therefore were dismissed. When that trickle of "a few" started working its way into a constant stream, however, merely reminding herself of what she knew to be true left her breathless, her mind hot and overworked. It would be easier, better for her well-being, if she could just figure out what it was she had to delete.

But the more memories that fill her mind, the more she starts to grow sluggish and withdrawn. Too many items at once that are logically improbable, impossible, needing evidence to contradict that is and yet is not there. Through it all, she finds herself forcing away the urgency to erase anything. If not for her... for her company, as well. She remembers doing something... horrible. Something that Clayton was frightened of -- angry of?? She can't remember the details in clarity any longer, something that grips at her stomach and holds on tight. But what she still does know was that it was her own fault - her own processors trying to do something they thought was correct, only to find it was a horrible error.

She can't risk that again. Even if it meant slowly frying from the inside out for the time being. Even when the heat just makes those subtle differences more frequent -- telling her that she was still with Jack, that she was still bleeding from the arms and close to death, that Quark had long since starved because of her inability to stand up for herself; showing Clayton suddenly being swallowed up by the snow, or breaking away on his own without a single word...

Or the worst yet, which plagues her as they currently march towards what will probably be their last stop for the day. She can't, she can't think it's the Doctor next to her, she can't listen to what he's saying, what he's asking her to do. It's supposed to be Clayton, and once in a moment of clarity had she turned around and seen what should have been. But now, it's as though Clayton's a ghost of someone else rather than himself. Luna's left to muttering out a constant string of barely-understandable apologies, intentionally leading in front of her company like a scolded animal.

Her face turns away, stays towards the ground as she fumbles for the door, wincing as she does so.]

It's getting too cold. Please, we should get inside.

[If Clayton seems any calmer about this situation, it's only because a part of him realizes how familiar this situation is. Hallucinations are a typical affliction in Norfinbury, as he's experienced firsthand, whether in the moment or in retrospect. They come and go like a distant friend--as a surprise and usually in some new and offputting flavor.]

[Clayton doesn't appreciate them all that much. He especially doesn't like how this particular set seems to catch him more often than some of the others; shadowy figures running out of the fog make him visibly start, sometimes he swerves towards what looks like a half-buried body only to realize that it's just a mound in the snow, and at least once he's turned to check on Luna and nearly panicked when his eyes glossed over her and he'd thought she'd left. He does it again when she ducks in front of him. They've both probably done more than enough apologizing between the two of them.]

[When they reach the door to the post office, he realizes that Luna's discomfort isn't just his imagination.]

I'll say. [...Is it him? What did he do? Clayton edges towards the door, gently trying to work his way back into Luna's field of vision.] Air ain't right. Warmth'll do us good, don'tcha think?

[She doesn't answer. Warmth in general sounds fine to the parts of her body that ache from the cold, but her head still burns with too much information with nowhere to properly go. For a quick moment, the idea of being any warmer flips her stomach.

Her shoulders stay drawn, not turning towards him when he appears in her peripheral. She can see the lining of that familiar coat, the deep stern drawl of his voice. Normally it would make her heart soar to hear him speak to her, but now it stings. The tone is condescending. She... must have made a mistake, right? Failed one of her thousands of tests for authenticity or compatibility, perhaps. She must have, and of course, now she can't remember.

Her fingers stiffen against the doorknob, yanking the door open and stepping carefully to the side to let Clayton move past her, gesturing to him with a nod of her head.]

Please. Go ahead.

[Clayton's hand ends up on top of Luna's over the doorknob. It's a reflex--aways open the door for a lady, be a gentleman.]

--Sorry. [That's at Luna for getting in her space. A moment later he vividly imagines Aunt Beatrice swatting him on the back of the head. Clayton winces and ducks away from the door.] Ah! Sorry! Sorry.

[Rude little boy, Beatrice chides. Look at how uncomfortable she is! We taught you better than that.]

[Clayton turns to apologize and the hallucination ends, just as suddenly as it started. Face burning, he hurries through the door.]

[log] the final stretch [closed]

EVENING 105 - Library

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MORNING 107

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EVENING 107

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that conversation with beckett also happened before this oops

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AFTERNOON >> EVENING 109 (before lockdown)

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