Head in the clouds

Friend of a Friend | Saoirse & Adrian

Fiancée. So they’d almost married. Almost devoted their entire lives to each other. Saoirse wondered how they’d separated–had Adrian lost all his memories at once? Had they lost each other when he wandered too far? Why hadn’t she searched for him, if his name was still Adrian Moore, if he was still living in London, close enough to take a taxi to his flat? His name had shown up in the papers multiple times during the cases he’d worked with the police. It didn’t add up.

She could sense Adrian look at her from the corner of her eye, but she steadily refused to meet his. She didn’t want him to know how awful she felt, and how suddenly angry she was, listening to Bo talk about her. Summer clearly hadn’t loved him enough to search for him. For Adrian, the kindest, softest person Saoirse had ever met. The only person she’d give up everything for if it meant that he could be happy.

It was despicable.

Bo was already shaking her head at everything Adrian explained. It seemed like she was in a kind of denial, especially at the amnesia, and skeptical at best. “You two dated for three years. You proposed to her three months before you…disappeared.” Bo’s voice cracked on the word disappeared, as if it had caused her a lot of pain, a lot more pain than she would have liked to admit. “I was going to be your best man, actually.” She smiled bitterly at that one, like it had been an inside joke between her and the Adrian she’d known, one that she definitely couldn’t laugh at anymore. “We grew up together. You don’t remember me either?”

It was on the tip of Saoirse’s tongue to ask Bo where Summer was, but the vulnerability of Bo’s question made her press her lips together. She simply looked at the ground and waited for Adrian to respond on his own.

#p #saoirse #friend of a friend #i didnt read this after i wrote it #so it might be a mess

The way Saoirse avoided his eyes made him, if possible, even more tense. He’d known coming out here would cause more strife than it would solve. He crossed his arms over his chest, almost hugging himself, as if cold. His eyes drifted off distractedly towards the painting, and he wondered over how to fix the mess he’d made.

There was a sense of familiarity when he looked at Bo again, and he knew there were memories there. They’re just drops of water in an endless ocean. Finding a certain one would take years of searching... or a little guidance. “I don’t even remember my own parents,” he tried to convince her, eyes pleading. He may not have known her, but he hated seeing that look in anyone’s eyes-- especially knowing that he caused it.

“You must have thought I was dead,” he realized, breathing in deeply. He knew that feeling. In fact, as an often painful side effect to his power, he knew most feelings. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I would never do that to you, never on purpose. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” It’s guilt now, bubbling up in the pit of his stomach and clenching his heart into a fist. Maybe he’d been a different person before, but he knew now that the thought of hurting such a close friend in that way jolted him.

What had happened to him that made him so suddenly forget? Would it happen again, with Saoirse and the Van Allen? The thought lurked in the front of his mind as he snuck a glance at Saoirse once again.

crookedshaw-blog

His choice of words struck her as odd. “Afraid you might forget about this place?” She echoed, furrowing her brow. “Don’t tell me you have early onset dementia.”

Shaw had treated enough terminally ill patients to know it was all downhill from there. Thank fuck she had switched over to trauma. She couldn’t stand all the weepy families. Adrian looked about as sad and as lost as a man who learned his mind was no longer his to control.

“No-- why do people always think it’s dementia?” He laughs a bit, but it’s more sad than humorous. “It’s the memories. Before about... four years ago I couldn’t really control it. I think instead of making my own memories my head just filled up with everyone else’s. I don’t really know though. There are probably some real memories in there.” He doesn’t mention the one thing he does remember, primarily because questions about her are difficult to answer-- not to mention it always ends up moving the conversation down a more personal path.

#c #shaw

it isn’t until adrian makes a face that shows more caution than acceptance and flirtation does cliff realize what he’s done. he walks the line of friend and foe so often that sometimes he forgets just how easy it is to make someone uncomfortable. his expression softens, hand rising to create a safety barrier between them, his open palm a sign that no weapon resides on his person. “hey, listen, i’m sorry. i heard this is the van allen, my name is clifford torrence, i’m the new recruit.” he looks around, leaning in to whisper, “i hear that we’re robbing a bank, i just don’t want to be late, y’know?”

The caution isn’t quick to leave. Adrian stares him down a moment longer, dark eyes unmoving, before letting out a short sigh. “You should be more careful around here. Most of the rest don’t have the patience I do,” he warns, knowing well the irony, seeing as he hadn’t been so patient himself. He opens the door wider, stepping out the way and unclenching his fingers where they’d pressed too hard against the wood. “Adrian Moore. You haven’t missed much.”

#c #cliff

thought it’s become apparent that this person isn’t as dense as he seems, cliff decides not to change his approach. there’s always something to be learned when flirting with someone, and he’s absolutely ready to find out. “but people can do things with their brains here, right?” he asks, slipping in a little further to try and intimidate the man. it’s worked a thousand times before, so hopefully he can get something out of him. “see, i can make people do what i want whenever i want them to, pretty cool, right?”

#c #cliff #i almost write droffilc every time because i scroll up to remember who i'm talking to

The man gets closer, and instead of retreating this time Adrian holds his ground. He isn’t sure exactly what’s going on, but he knows that backing down is rarely a good move. The stranger’s next comment forces his near-blank expression away though, caution once again taking over. The idea of being forced-- no, manipulated into doing anything makes him feel something between fear and nausea. He’d relived too many memories he’d been unable escape to not cringe away at the thought of being out of control. “What do you want? Get to the point,” he snaps. He’s not overly angry, but certainly defensive, and he steps back from the door, opening it wider so he isn’t hiding behind it anymore.

lonnie-solomon-blog

“If there are aliens…then, yeah, we’re aliens to them.” Lonnie knit his brow at that, having seemingly managed to mystify himself. Still, he grinned broadly only a moment later. “As long as they don’t keep us in there too.” That was a somewhat unsettling but no less amusing thought. “Jail break time.” He did not think he would like the heat should they actually be imprisoned in Area 51; London’s fog was enough of an adjustment.

“’Different’ usually does, though. Unfortunate.” He spoke that with a peculiar degree of earnest heaviness because whether or not something ought to have connotations, it often did. Still, he returned to his lighter self after only a moment. “But we have cool powers…and the nay-sayer’s don’t.” So they can keep saying nay. “That must be…a challenge sometimes, right? But I guess where you go is…something. No matter where you’re from. Here we both are.” The sentiment was an attempt at sympathy without probing, an effort to take what Adrian said and leave it for what it was unless the man felt it proper to reveal more. You should write Hallmark cards, Lonnie. He caught his mouth when he looked up again. “Always. It’s…America but not.” He furrowed his brow. “I had to stop in…Iceland on the way here.”

“It’s not impossible,” he responded. “The jail break, I mean. It wouldn’t be hard to get caught. It would be hard to keep any of us behind bars, though.” Adrian couldn’t escape on his own, but he knew if he was ever stuck in a bad situation the others, or Saoirse at the very least, would get him out of it. That was the level of trust he wanted to have within the group, but he had a feeling it would be tricky to cultivate.

Nodding, he met Lonnie’s eyes with a look of understanding. They were all outcasts here. “It’s easy to wish I’d been born without it,” he says, but smiles genuinely at the sentiment. “That’s true. Without it I wouldn’t be where I am today.”

Trying to lighten up, he raises his eyebrows. “I’ve never been to Iceland, as far as I know. I guess you probably didn’t see much but the airport though, probably.”

#c #lonnie

crookedshaw-blog

…Amazing. The man was the living embodiment of capturing the human experience through his art and powers, and yet he seemed so reluctant to experience it himself, shying away from others. Shaw had to shake her head at the irony. While she struggled to form any meaningful bonds with people, Adrian literally walked in their shoes whether he wanted to or not.

“So…Exactly how far back can you see?” She raised an eyebrow as her stance relaxed. “Hypothetically speaking, if I brought you a piece of Abraham’s Ark, would you be able to see if there really was an apocalyptic flood? Because that’d be pretty fucking cool.”

The shake of her head puzzled him, and he paused for a moment to think about it, looking back to the mask on the ground. It was possible she disapproved of the way he reacted to the memory. He bristled at the thought, trying not to appear so defensive as he felt.

“It depends...” He paused, glancing at the mask. “People leave memories attached to things, and then newer ones usually cover up the old ones. Sometimes, if the emotions are strong enough, I’ll get a pretty old one. This theatre seems to have the oldest though. I’d go somewhere less travelled and see what I find but I’m afraid I might forget this place.” He reached for a crate propped up against the wall and pulled it out, brushing the dust off of it and sitting down with his back against the wall. Light from above filtered through the boards above them, and he admired the lines of warmth they cast across the walls and Shaw’s face, momentarily distracted.

#c #shaw

Friend of a Friend | Saoirse & Adrian

Saoirse cleared her throat as Bo just stared at him incredulously, like she couldn’t believe that this was his excuse for neglecting to talk to her for years. Saoirse hadn’t expected such an emotional outburst. Maybe the two of them had been closer than she thought.

She was surprised to feel the jealousy bloom in her chest. Logically, she knew it was normal. They’d pretty much been all each other had for two years, and to find out he had a whole life that didn’t include her, a life where he didn’t need her–well. It was jarring. “He doesn’t remember anything from before two years ago,” Saoirse explained. “I swear, he’s–”

Bo cut Saoirse off quickly and harshly. “I don’t really care,” she told her, but it sounded like it was directed towards Adrian. “You’re sorry? I must have called you a million times asking where you were. I don’t even believe you. How the fuck does a twenty-nine year old get dementia?” She shook her head, putting one hand to her temple as if she was trying to rub out the worry lines.

She paused as Adrian asked about the woman and the pictures, looking down at the sketches and back up at him. She grabbed the sketchbook from his hands, rifling through them urgently and insistently, looking almost….surprised. For only a moment. “Summer,” she said, quieter than Saoirse had heard her ever speak before. “This is Summer. Your fiancée.” She looked up from the sketchbook, staring at him intently. “Do you really not remember her?”

#p #saoirse #friend of a friend

Fiancée. It shouldn’t have surprised him. He knew in his heart that he’d loved her more than anyone else. But it still hit him hard, and he turned his eyes downward, suddenly becoming very interested in the blue paint still clinging to his fingers. It seemed stupid to be so upset, but he felt choked up for some reason, and he had to take a deep, shaky breath to calm himself down.

He looked over at Saoirse, hoping she understood that he was thankful she defended him. He probably shouldn’t have felt so self-centered in the moment. Saoirse was probably feeling awkward here, seeing his old life and, most jarringly, knowing she wasn’t included in it. He wanted to tell her how important she was to him, but it was a distant thought compared to the storm that followed Bo’s statement.

“I didn’t even know we were engaged.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I didn’t even know her name. Summer.” Her name even felt familiar on his lips, like he’d become used to it in another life.

Through the feeling of loss came curiosity, and he finally looked up, eyes still sad but with a newfound determination. “Is she still around here?” It had been two years, but there was a chance. He thought he might be satisfied by finding new information, but instead it just made him eager for more. He wanted to find her.

claraxxlarson-blog

Art Hoe Recon II Clara & Adrian

claraxxlarson-blog

“I don’t even know what could be considered special for this kind of thing. I have not made it a habit to do this kind of thing really. Did you know, I’d never ever even stolen a stick of gum before? Nothing.” Despite her less than criminal past, Clara didn’t feel nervous at all. Of course, they were just going to go stake out and well she could disappear if she needed to unlike poor Adrian. But his sentiment backed that he wouldn’t leave her behind, so she wouldn’t do that to him either.

Clara patted at her pockets and small bag just to make sure the little things she had deemed worthy were still all in their correct spots and secure. She hadn’t brought much really, her sketchbook so she could draw out the scene of the bank she felt was a little less suspicious than her handwriting notes to herself. A camera would catch that and think thief, a sketch on the other hand just spelled out bored art student. She dipped down to tighten her boot laces, before helping herself up with a bounce in her step. This was going to either be fun or a disaster but at least it got her out of the house. “Ready as I’ll ever be Boss, lead the way.”

“I stole a pack of pencils from an art store once. I felt kind of bad about that though, actually. But, you know... starving artist.” It occurred to him then that it was ironic he’d stolen pencils and not food. His priorities were certainly skewed. Feeling the need to explain himself, he continued, “I don’t feel so bad stealing from people who do no good for the world. I’ve seen enough through the eyes of those with less... pure intentions to know that we aren’t hurting anyone who doesn’t deserve it.” He almost cringes at his own words then, but holds the reaction back. The leader of a heist group probably shouldn’t feel guilty about stealing.

He was almost glad to hear that Clara hadn’t had so much experience in crime as he had. She’d probably understand his hesitance. “I worked for the police, actually. I was a sketch artist.” He didn’t hand out that information entirely freely around the Van Allen, but he didn’t go out of his way to hide it either. He just assumed it wouldn’t go over so well with a group of thieves.

Pushing his hands into his pockets, he tried to warm his fingers despite their perpetual cold, turning to head towards the train station and glancing back to make sure Clara would follow.

#p #clara #art hoe recon

cliff leans against the door, sliding his sly and arrogant demeanor all the way through the door and aimed right at adrian. this guy looked like the kind that could be manipulated without his powers, and cliff is always willing to try. “nah, man, like moving stuff with your brain.” he whispers, moving in as close as he can without the door actually coming between them. “you wouldn’t have to worry about that sort of thing though, huh? i bet people do whatever you want them to, with a cute face like that.” cliff smiles, pressing his finger to the cold wood of the door frame between them. “maybe you can help me, cutie pie. ever heard of van allen?”

Adrian raises his eyebrows, blinking in surprise at his forwardness. He’s not exactly naive (despite coming off that way), but he’s a romantic for sure, and easily charmed. “Um...” He clears his throat, glancing back towards the theatre as if to ask for some sort of guidance from its stoic walls. “I don’t... Yes. I mean, this is it. The Van Allen.” He leans away from the door slightly, hoping to get a few more inches between his and the stranger’s face. If Saoirse were here, she’d probably slam the door into the guy’s face, but Adrian could never imagine himself doing something like that. “No one here moves anything with their brain, as far as I know.”

#c #cliff

lonnie-solomon-blog

“Yeah. You would think…um, life would be more interesting for us mutants.” He smiled briefly, if somewhat uncertainly, the other man’s notions on creation seemingly having gone mostly over his head. All the same, Lonnie latched onto the alien talk, happy to have found more common ground. “Lots of people imagine little gray men. Like those…true encounter shows. They hang out in corn fields.” He cocked his head to one side, offering a small smirk that made it difficult to discern just how seriously he was taking this. “No, it’s okay. I think we should break into Area 51 one of these days.” Not a joke. He laughed. “Alaska isn’t exciting. It’s cold. And…there’s moose.” Goddamn moose. Still, he laughed genuinely at Adrian’s forgetting quip.

“I wouldn’t know. I’m Jewish. And French. Isn’t that weird?” He shrugged, signing it along deliberately. “And it’s not odd. It’s colorful. Folk..folk-sy?” He struggled a bit with the word, but eventually satisfied himself with something that sounded close enough. He grinned. “Were you born here? London? It’s cool…this was right here waiting the whole time.” He vaguely motioned at the theater.

His mind could drift out into the universe and come back with the strangest ideas, most of which understandably didn’t communicate well. Aliens, however, were always fun to speculate on. “Maybe we’re the aliens,” he suggested, grinning. “That’s not a bad idea. We could recruit whoever-- or whatever-- is in there.” He was joking for the most part, but he was actually convinced that humans weren’t alone in the universe. The cynical part of him hoped there was something better out there.

“Odd doesn’t have to have bad connotations,” he shrugged, mostly in agreement. Was he born here? Normally he just answered yes, to do away with the lengthy explanation. He’d given Saoirse the long answer, so he’d most likely do the same with the rest of their group of strays. “I don’t really know. I’d assume so, since I have the accent and slang and such but... I have a lot of memories from America too, and some that I think are French, but before about five years ago, it’s kind of muddled. Hard to tell which memories are mine.” He loses himself in thoughts for a moment then, looking down at the stage before reminding himself that he’s in a conversation. “Did you always live in Alaska?”

#c #lonnie

Friend of a Friend | Saoirse & Adrian

Saoirse saw Adrian smiling at her, which gave her some hope that he wouldn’t panic or back out. She knew he wasn’t one to make a scene, either way, and the last thing she wanted to do was to scare off Bo. As they entered the cafe, she saw his eyes light up with a memory as he looked at the painting. She knew it’d been his, but it relaxed her, knowing that she hadn’t dragged them all the way down here for nothing.

“You’ll be fine,” Saoirse repeated, for her own sake rather than his. She was worried about him. She didn’t want him to learn anything he couldn’t…unlearn. She didn’t want him to find out that the mystery girl was dead, or had broken his heart, or didn’t love him anymore. Maybe he’d been a truly awful person before he’d lost all his memories. Maybe Bo hated him.

“I hope so,” she told him, quietly, wondering if her opposing stress was coming through in her voice. She couldn’t help how protective over him she was, knowing that she’d been the one to watch over him for two years. That kind of instinct didn’t just go away, and it certainly wouldn’t now that he had more friends, that he was finding the past he thought he’d lost.

She rung the tiny bell on the counter. “Bo? Bo Cheng?” she called out, her gloved fingers tapping nervously on the coffee bar. Bo emerged seconds later, looking skeptical until the moment her eyes landed on Adrian. Like she was seeing a ghost for the first time, her entire body froze, her hand clenching the dirty rag in her hand like she needed to hold onto something.

Bo’s hand went to her hair, grabbing at the roots as if she was just as anxious as the two of them. “Jesus Christ, Adrian,” she said, angry, like she was on the verge of tears. Okay, so there was definitely some resentment to work through. “Where the fuck have you been?”

#p #saoirse #friend of a friend

The sound of the bell was jarring in the near-empty café, and Saoirse’s stress was palpable enough that Adrian’s returned, a dull pain in the pit of his stomach. He held his hands together in front of him, pressing on his knuckles in a nervous habit.

Recognition wasn’t the first thing that came to mind when Bo Cheng first came out. Instead, he froze along with her, jaw tensing in apprehension. First, she seemed nervous, and he was relieved for a moment. He could understand that. But next came the anger, obvious in the crease of her brow and the intensity of her voice.

Adrian’s mouth pressed into a worried line, eyes going wide with sudden vulnerability. “I...” What was he supposed to say? He had no idea what happened. “That’s... why I’m here. I have no idea. I don’t remember anything. I’m sorry. I’m really... sorry.” His regret is clear in his tone. He really, really does wish that he remembered her. He wished he could remember anything.

He glances around the café, pausing on Saoirse, before taking a breath and trying to pick out the easiest parts of his life to explain. “I just remember a woman. I don’t know her name, or who she was to me... She looks like this,” he speaks quickly now, emotions making the words hard to stop. He pulls out his sketchbook and flips through the pictures, pausing to show her when he finds one where her face isn’t entirely hidden.

cliff shoves his hands in his pockets, nose turned upward at the sight of the old building. he’d made it, arrived at the van allen after a couple months of trying to get their attention. could this be the turn of events he’d been waiting for? probably not, but hey, it’s always fun to try. he knocks on the heavy wooden door, eyes narrowed and turned toward the dark clouds that hang overhead. thing number two hundred and forty seven he hates about england, never any damn sun. “hey,” he whispers as the door opens, drawing his attention to the person behind it. “i’m looking for a bunch of assholes who rob people and do brain shit, heard of ‘em?”

#c #cliff #adrian is one of those boxes that says 'handle with care'#so we will see how this goes

The Van Allen isn’t exactly a high-traffic location. People walk past by chance, but never come in-- and few people ever knock-- so when the noise echoes out from the entrance, Adrian’s immediate reaction is caution.

He approaches the door slowly, hand hovering over the handle as if it’ll bite him when he touches it. Someone just got locked out, he convinced himself, finally opening the door and peering out at who was behind it. “Brain shit?” He narrowed his eyes slightly, but decided that joking in return was the only way to go, until he knew more. “Like lobotomies?”

Friend of a Friend | Saoirse & Adrian

“She said the artist was a friend of hers. A friend who vanished years ago,” Saoirse insisted. “And that girl in the painting was her. There’s no way there’s another Adrian out there with your signature who vanished into thin air and loved someone who looks exactly like the girl from your dreams. It’s you. You made that painting and you used to know the owner of that cafe. I can feel it.”

Saoirse felt a sudden rush of energy, crossing her arms in front of her chest. The train had stopped and they were now approaching the cafe–she could tell Adrian was walking slower than he usually would, most likely to delay the inevitable. “I’ve been watching you paint for two years, I know what your paintings look like.” They were all over their apartment, painted with the same vivid blues and greens the painting on the wall had been drenched in. If Saoirse knew anything, it was Adrian’s style, which couldn’t have vanished from memory loss. That kind of thing didn’t just go away.

She put her hand on the doorknob. Luckily, there didn’t seem to be anyone inside yet (besides the waitress), so they could take as long as they wanted to deal with Adrian’s clear anxiety.

“Tell her who you are now,’’ Saoirse suggested. “If you’re good friends, she’ll forgive you for forgetting. Ask her questions. Become her friend again.” Her teeth chattered slightly as another gust of wind blew past them. “Yeah?”