DEAD KNOT

A BEGINNER’S GUIDE TO DESTROYING THE MOON.

[asravenous]

VIKRAM MEHTA ( DEV PATEL ) is a THIRTY year-old RESEARCH FELLOW in CAMBRIDGESHIRE, ENGLAND. They were brought under Richard’s care when they were only THIRTEEN. They are known as THE SCHOLAR because they are ASTUTE but also DOGMATIC.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name: Vikram Ajay Mehta

Nickname(s): He isn’t the biggest fan of nicknames, especially from people he’s not close to. Though, Mrs. Tristan does use pet names sometimes.

Date of Birth: January 9, 1975

Age: 30

Occupation: Research Fellow at University of Cambridge

Current Residence: A studio flat in Cambridge, with barely enough space to fit him. It suits him just fine considering he almost never has guests over.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Hair: Black, curly and longish. Doesn’t cut it until it bothers him.

Eyes: Brown

Height: 6’2”

Notable Features: Rarely seen without his glasses. Always wears a ring on his left pinky ever since he found out it’s much more comfortable to write with it. Has a scar under the side of his right eye the length of a fingernail.

PERSONALITY & BEHAVIOR

Strengths: Genuine, conscientious, well-read

Weaknesses: Disorganized, single-minded, opinionated

Quirks: Likes to jot down on his notebook with a ballpoint pen (the superior pen), which he always has with him. Only goes to the gym when he’s stressed. Always up to try things out at least once.

Vices: Practically inhales sweets like they’re nothing; they’re a quick way for him to gain energy and help him stay awake. Prefers hard candy over chewy ones, hates when they get stuck in his teeth. Did try smoking at one point but quickly gave up because he can’t smoke and write at the same time. Also has a thing for caffeine in all forms, which is always useful for those all-nighters. Guilty of barely sleeping then knocking out for days when he was a student. Sometimes he still does it. Forgets to eat at times.

HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER EMBODY THEIR LABEL?

Vikram is always passionate about pursuing knowledge, having once described it as an ever constant hunger; wanting to know the why and how of things. He enjoys the thrill of finding the answers to his questions. For him, the learning’s always in the journey rather than the destination; he’s truly embraced the art of learning from what went wrong. He has gone on to be a research fellow after getting his doctorate just so he could continue to satisfy that curiosity of his. Vikram's desire to learn is not limited to his field of study; he always keeps a notebook and pen on his person just so he can jot down whatever he’s learned — even if it’s just a housewife’s tip on how to really get the wrinkles out of his favorite shirt.

INTEREST & HOBBIES

Interests: Currently they’re world history (specifically early agriculture and how it shaped civilizations), the deep sea, poetry, lemons, the evolution theory versus religion

Hobbies: Reading, studying, origami, taking random classes/courses, crossword puzzles, primarily Go but chess if he’s in a bind

Special Skills/Talents: Can recite the first 100 digits of pi, surprisingly a good conversationalist, throwing darts blindfolded

BECOMING A WARD

While he was never a prodigy in the truest sense, he’s whip-smart and takes in information almost voraciously. It’s what got him adopted from India in the first place: he was the only orphan who could speak and understand any English. Adjusting to life in the United States was difficult and it was even harder when his adoptive parents eventually lost interest in him with the news of a baby on the way. One too many questions later added onto societal pressure, they eventually gave him up. They placed him into another orphanage, where Vikram never really settled in all that well.

Being bullied became a daily routine at the orphanage and at school. He was an easy target because of his small stature and was deemed too weird by the other kids. Name-calling and insults eventually escalated to physical violence. While he had no qualms telling an adult at first, that quickly stopped once he realized that it would just get worse. Vikram gritted his teeth and endured. His solace had been – and always will be – learning. He thrived in school in spite of the bullying and prejudice he faced, where the teachers fought to get him into various competitions. What was once an average no-name school, their name started becoming recognized because of Vikram. He managed to clinch the coveted first in competitions such as spelling bees, scrabble, and math olympiads.

All it took was for a nosy journalist and an orphanage staff looking to make a quick buck for his name to be printed in newspapers. It was a sensational and inspiring story, evoking sympathy among those who read it – Richard Woodrow, no less. Vikram was taken in a week after the story dropped.

LIFE AS A WARD

Completely withdrawn at first, even with the adults, due to his previous experiences. Spent most of his first week at Woodrow by himself before eventually warming up to Richard and Mrs. Tristan. Vikram absolutely loved talking to Richard whenever the older man had the time to entertain his myriad of questions and the little tangents he would go on, which slowly cemented his position in the house as one of the Four Favorites. His conversations with Mrs. Tristan were a little different, not so rooted in academics, but he enjoyed them just the same.

With the other wards, it was a little bit more of a mixed bag. He never quite bothered to endear himself to them or spend any unnecessary time with them, much preferring to stick his nose in a book and find the answers to whatever questions have been on his mind. It wasn’t so much that he disliked them as it was a preference to spend time by himself. That being said, he never rejected anyone who came for help or approached him just to spend time together.

AESTHETIC

Functionality over style – ALWAYS. Thankfully, it seems that being around Mrs. Tristan and Richard have rubbed off him so his style is less slovenly slob and more nice young gentleman next door. He does favor the simple combination of T-shirts and trousers in more informal settings, though he does have dress shirts and ties in the closet if the occasion calls for it. His hair is, at best, brushed before he goes out but he does make attempts to style it for more formal/serious events.

EDUCATION

Due to his experience in public school and the orphanage, Vikram much preferred receiving education on Woodrow grounds where he was able to learn at his own pace without anyone bothering him. Often stayed back after class ended just to ask any questions he had or to clarify any mistakes he made in tests and exams. Witnessing his enthusiasm, some of the teachers responded in kind and paid more attention to Vikram. If it was any other school, he absolutely would have graduated as valedictorian.

Although he considered Kingsbury College when choosing universities, Vikram ultimately chose to attend ETH Zurich in Switzerland where he double majored in Applied Physics and Quantum Mechanics with a minor in English. He then went on to complete his doctorate in Physics at the University of Cambridge in England, choosing to stay on after graduating to participate in research.

EXTRACURRICULARS

No doubt Debate Club solely because the guy can yap if given the opportunity, also after some encouragement on Richard’s part. He’s also taken part in Ceramics, Robotics, and Literature. Although he was asked if he wanted to start participating in competitions again, Vikram never found the need nor the interest now that he could spend his time freely without constantly looking over his shoulder.

THEIR LIFE NOW

He’s absolutely thriving in his own way. Work is good, he’s currently in a research team with likeminded people. He doesn’t regularly teach undergraduates but occasionally drops by lecture theaters when his colleagues ask him to speak on a topic. Any class Vikram teaches is popular due to his straightforward and succinct explanations, which help break down more difficult concepts for the students. When he goes back for the night, he greets a few of his neighbors with a simple nod. The mother of three on the floor above keeps trying to set him up with her youngest sister, to which he’s just laughed off and refused but she hasn’t given up yet.

What hasn’t changed is his preference for solitude, though he’s said yes to a few dinners here and there. The market is full of familiar faces since he’s been here a few years and some of the vendors greet him by name, excitedly telling him about a new trick they’ve picked up from their lifestyle magazines. Vikram listens patiently and responds in kind. Occasionally, Richard calls or emails him to come back to Woodrow, and he complies. The last time had been this May to celebrate his birthday.

His life’s nice now. The thing Vikram likes most is how easygoing it all is, with his difficult past so far behind him.

[franklycharmed]

Frankie wiggled in her seat, pleased, as Vikram rose to the challenge. Something warm tickled her chest, a glimmer of that satisfied, warm feeling that came from the comfort of settling into a familiar rhythm.

"Duh, of course not." She propped her chin onto her fist and winked. "That would be telling." Then, with an innocent air, "My move first, right?"

She cast her eyes over the board, studying Vikram intermittently from under her lashes. He looked well enough, all cleaned up for the show. But he had never been an obvious sort of person. Not so much withdrawn as...it was like there was so much happening inside his head, there wasn't sufficient energy left over for it to be expressed outwardly. Someone had to tease it out.

"So." Her hand hovered over one white pawn then drifted over to another. "Nat told me I missed a scavenger hunt. What else did I miss?"

She settled on the knight, shifting up the board ahead of the pawns. "Saw you outside running this morning."

[asravenous]

If you asked him, he much preferred having the conditions all laid out. Knowing what they were playing for made him more keen on winning. Frankie, on the other hand, loved surprises.

“You already set it up so you’d have first move,” he jabbed playfully, a few chuckles slipping through as his eyes narrowed. He expected as much after his first glimpse of the board. When they were younger, she liked to pull the same move sometimes. Years later, he still found himself uttering the same word, “Cheater.”

God, Vikram couldn’t remember the last time they spent time together like this. But it was easy to slip back into the familiar groove of their friendship, everything seemingly unchanged. Though hearing that name, admittedly, gave him pause. That definitely changed.

“Family dinner, the greenhouse cleanup…” he answered, thinking back to this week. His recollection went a few days back further. To the funeral, then the wake; bleak and dreary as they were. Maybe those could’ve been improved with Frankie’s presence. Most things usually were. “Just to name a few.” Blinking back his thoughts, his lips pursed as he focused on the board in front of him, watching as she chose and placed her piece.

Knight right out of the gate. Huh, interesting. Leaning forward, elbows on knees, Vikram considered his options.

“Any thoughts you’d like to share on that? Celia certainly did yesterday.” Not without reason, you could argue. It’s that stereotypical, one look and I get what you are schtick he was accustomed to. Placing him into a neat category. Or maybe he was being too cynical about the whole thing. Either way, he didn’t care how he was perceived by most people. 

(Which begged the question: was a pseudo-sibling ‘most people’?)

Vikram hummed lightly, thinking of various counters he could do with a knight opening move. Then, his finger finally pushed one of the black pawns forward, making the decision to play it safe for now. There was still time for riskier moves.

[asravenous]

slice of pi

task: write a self-para of your character presenting their talent. evening (sometime between 6–8pm), the spare room september 7th 2005 with mrs. tristan & the rest of the wards

The whole thing was outrageously absurd. He couldn’t even begin to comprehend how Mrs. Tristan had come to the conclusion that a talent show in the middle of the week would be the perfect way to raise their spirits. To take their minds off grief? Vikram shifted uneasily in his seat as Celia and Angus performed a cello and violin duet. All the announcement had given him today was even more grief — once he came to terms with the miserable reality of being asked to perform at a “family” talent show at thirty — the irritation slowly simmering under the surface, like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

He still had half a mind to sit out of this one. Being sentenced to wash dishes didn’t sound completely awful. Tiring and laborious, sure. But awful? That was yet to be determined. Given that the threat of menial labor came after their day at the greenhouse, however… He was sure the rest would choose to stand in the center of the room, subjected to 16 pairs of eyes.

Joining in the discordant applause, Vikram looked on as Mrs. Tristan pulled out the next name out of her head. Alison. Not him, which meant he could still sit in the shadows and continue mulling over his decision. He stared at the table in front of him, zoning out as he played with his food.

“Vikram dear, are you participating?”

Without his knowledge, his name had been drawn out of the hat. That either meant Alison finished her performance and he missed it in its entirety or she had withdrawn. How long did he not pay attention, anyway? He took a moment to compose himself, looking up from his plate and meeting Mrs. Tristan’s eyes.

“Yeah,” he mumbled dumbly, not immune to her expectant gaze. It was always hard to say no to Mrs. Tristan, having relied on her all those years he spent in Woodrow. Clearing his throat, he nodded his head in assent.

“Yes,” loud and clear this time, “sorry, I’ll make my way there now.”

“Perfect!” She clapped her hands, equal parts relieved and delighted that he didn’t refuse. You could never be too sure with Vikram, in spite of his apparent predictability at times. “Come now, sweetheart, I can’t wait to watch what you’ve prepared.”

Unfortunately, Vikram thought sullenly as he walked over to the makeshift stage, I haven’t prepared anything. He didn’t share the same musical talents as Reece, Celia or Angus. River as well, odd as his performance was. As far as talent shows went, the acts presented thus far were pretty much standard fare. Celebration of Richard’s love of the arts, indeed. Too bad he couldn’t just pluck any of the pieces he made in Ceramics Club as a teen and showcase them here. By this point, everyone had already seen those.

Finally taking center stage, standing in front of people who were simultaneously familiar and strange, all Vikram could feel was his own heartbeat thudding in his ribcage. Awkwardness and a general unease encompassed his lanky body, as much as he tried to present himself otherwise. The confrontation with Talia that night aside, he hadn’t felt this way in years. Not even when he first started giving lectures in front of hundreds of students. 

“Well…” he started off, stalling a little for time as he quickly racked his brain for something he could do on the spot. “I can’t say I can hold a tune like some of us, even though I might have pestered you guys to teach me when we were younger.”

There’s a wry laugh at that — his own. If anyone else had reacted, Vikram couldn’t hear while he balanced being in his head and being present. Always a toss-up. He couldn’t have both without giving up one thing or another. 

“It’s a shame I didn’t keep up with any arts or crafts. Watching the lot of you performing while having dinner was an amazing experience. Honestly, they deserve another round of applause,” he paused for a bit, clapping as well. His posture straightened, confidence growing the more he spoke. “I can’t wait to watch what the rest have lined up as I finish my dinner.”

Knowing his own tendency for going down a rabbit hole every now and then, he had picked up a few too many things over the years. At best, they were mildly useful and at worst? They served no purpose, shelved away to the back of his mind. Maybe it was time to blow the dust off at least one of them. 

“It got me thinking: the dinner we had together on Monday featured some of his favorite dishes. Dessert was apple pie à la mode,” Vikram squinted a bit then, the spotlight suddenly feeling a little too bright; the segue into what he wanted to do a little too forced for his liking. Being put on the spot really tested the limits of his creativity. Perhaps he should’ve done an introductory class on How to Bullshit instead of Physics, with the way this was going.

“So here’s my favorite slice of pi. Just one hundred digits of it.” Light work, really. But boring them with anything more than that would be overkill, wouldn’t it? “Three point one four one five nine two six five three five…”

“…eight nine seven nine three two three eight four six two six…”

“… four three three eight three two seven nine five zero two eight…”

“…eight four one nine seven one six nine three nine nine three…”

“…seven five one zero five eight two zero nine seven four nine…”

“…four four five nine two three zero seven eight one six four…”

“…zero six two eight six two zero eight nine nine eight six…”

“…two eight zero three four eight two five three four two one…”

“…one seven zero six seven,” he finished, slightly bowing his head in thanks before using those long legs of his to walk briskly back to his seat.

[franklycharmed]

Location: Game Room

DATE: Just after 5pm | September 7, 2005  

Closed starter for @asravenous

Chess, Frankie had been told, was a game of longterm strategy. You thought about what you wanted to do, what you could do, what you shouldn't do, what you thought your opponent would do, and so on, until you gave yourself a headache and realized you probably should have just played Uno and been done with it.

Bit bogus, she thought, settling back into her plush velvet chair to chew on a martini olive. She rolled a gold cocktail pick between her fingers, restless. She had texted him twenty-odd minutes ago. Another olive pierced, Frankie swapped the pick for her cellphone, retrieving it from where it had been wedged between the cushion and arm of the chair. Her thumbs were quick in pulling up her recent messages–

TO: VIK

mmit game room? :-)

A huffed sigh, echoed by a growl in her stomach. She let the phone join the double rocks glass of olives and chessboard she had set on the tea table next to her chair.

Frankie could only play one way: follow your gut. You couldn't get to the tenth move if you were too caught up thinking about the first. She tucked up her feet under her legs, fussing with the skirt of Natalia's gifted dress to keep it from snagging on itself. Her eyes alighted on the nearby bar cart with its multi-colored bottles clustered around a single monogramed decanter. RW.

If you thought too much you'd get lost in it, unable to find your way out.

One of the large double doors to the room creaked open. Frankie straightened, expression brightening. "Oh thank god, I was starting to think you were going to stand me up."

Better to follow your gut. You could still be playing for the big picture.

Frankie gestured at the chair opposite her. "Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is one, and I mean it, Vik, one game of chess. All or nothing. Winner gets to demand a prize from the loser."

[asravenous]

Vikram noisily rummaged around his childhood bedroom. The surprise that it remained as he had left it (perhaps even more orderly) quickly wore off as the days passed, with it slowly reverting back to the usual state of his rooms. Unkempt, with books and papers strewn across the tables and nightstands. A horrific scene to anyone else but him.

His face brightened when he finally found what he had been looking for — a cardboard box piled to the brim with his old notebooks. Ducking under his bed to grab it, the man jumped when startled by the sudden loud vibration accompanied by a shrill tone, hitting his head on the bed base in the process. “Fuck,” he muttered softly, pulling the box out before rubbing the sore spot. Then leaning back on the balls of his feet, Vikram stretched out to grab his phone, which had ended up at the edge of the table during all the vibrating.

It was the alarm he set this morning, right after Mrs. Tristan’s shocking announcement. The talent show was in an hour from now, but he had yet to think about what to do.

With the press of a few buttons, he managed to stop the alarm. Out of habit, Vikram checked the message inbox and just as always, nothing except for… Frankie? How did he miss that? Figuring it would take a while, he made the decision to change and get ready for the talent show before popping into the Game Room.

“Stand you up? Of all people?” Vikram scoffed without any real heat, making a beeline to where Frankie sat. “I’ll never hear the end of it.” He quickly settled into the chair she gestured to, making himself comfortable. His gaze fell onto the chessboard beside her before looking up at her in surprise once she introduced her conditions. A game of chess. Just like old times. Nothing new really, but right now the stakes were uncertain. 

“We aren’t revealing what we want from each other until we win, I assume?”

[natcliachen]

"Yes," Natalia's voice cracked, betraying the flood of emotions she was trying to hold back after learning that the thought of getting her address and visiting her in Paris unprompted cross his mind. She just wanted him to try. To do something differently from how how he'd always done. To make a goddamn effort for her to show he cared.

Just... what? Just what? She found this was always the thing with Vikram. He had this innate capability of leaving her wanting. Always enough to pull her in but never enough to satisfy her. Unraveling her when she was so good at keeping herself together with everyone else. Sometimes, she wondered if he enjoyed it. Wasn't his intellect enough of an upper hand? Did he have to toy with her feelings too?

The vulnerability from Vikram nearly knocked her off of her feet, physically blinking, almost having to take a step back by how stunned she was with his honesty and introspection. While he never struggled with being honest, introspection was another matter.

Trust Natalia, she understood wanting things right and perfect better than anyone. But with Vikram, it was always right even if it wasn't. Their dynamic had never been the most traditional. It was imbalanced and probably strange to an outsider's eyes, but it was perfectly enjoyable to her. He was perfectly enjoyable to her, eccentricities and all. Was. Was perfectly enjoyable.

"You became nothing anyway." The pain of their current reality seeped into her exasperated voice. What else would you call the last ten years? The total radio silence. He went from one of the most important people in her life to someone she didn't want to be in the same room with.

"You didn't think I was scared? To... admit what I did to you. I just..."

She sighed, quickly growing frustrated with herself falling into this, for revisiting an exchange that was nearly a decade old. She was better than this. But maybe this conversation needed to be had once and for all. For his sake and hers. So they could leave things dead and buried where it should be.

"I just wanted you to try for me like I always try for you. It didn't have to be perfect. You could have just... made an attempt to show you care about I feel at all." That was the long and short of it. More vulnerability than he deserved... again.

[asravenous]

Yes. That single word of confirmation was all it took for his worldview to shatter. He could have gone, he could have tried, he could have done quite possibly anything but be trapped in his mind, stuck in a bog of what-ifs. And wasn’t that the eternal dilemma, really, to choose between listening to your head or your heart. Vikram’s choice was never a surprise to anyone, but he had wavered when it came to this. Wavered for too long, in fact, that fate (metaphorically speaking) made the choice for him.

He had never been the best at expressing his emotions except the select few – namely anger, frustration, irritation – choosing instead to show it in ways that weren’t completely obvious. When Talia had mentioned something about art of the baroque variety, he exhausted Woodrow’s extensive library of books that even just so mentioned it. The same went for all her interests. However in hindsight, when measured up to all she did for him, maybe it was never enough.

Vikram hated himself for that. When it came to her, he could never be enough or choose the right thing. He couldn’t help but feel like a dunce even though he was supposedly the smarter one.

At her bold statement, it felt as if those fragments of something that shattered broke further into smaller pieces. His eyes widened imperceptibly, staring at her. Became nothing. Swallowing uncomfortably, he did all he could to push back the argument that he wasn’t totally nothing if she was still affected by him, yet to be wholly indifferent.

That was all he clung to, the hope that he could use that tiny bit of feeling she still had for him to someday turn their relationship back around. Not to where it was – it was far too late for that – but to a level where they could at least talk cordially.

(Perhaps even that was wishful thinking on his part.)

But even so… It hurt to hear, even as a direct consequence of his own inaction. His just desserts. He remained silent, lips pursed as she continued on. This whole thing wouldn’t have been blown out of proportion if he hadn’t been so adamant like he always was. Matters of the heart have to be handled with delicate hands, he knew that now. He could have— No, he should have relented then.

Now they were left tiptoeing around remnants of their friendship that crashed and burned, and the unrealized possibility of something that had been forcefully uprooted before it had the chance to actually sprout.

“Mustering up the courage for that must have been difficult,” he acknowledged. It took him eight years and their guardian’s death forcing them all back to where it started to even stand in front of Talia like this, what’s more a nineteen year old girl spilling her guts of her own volition? They couldn’t be compared in the slightest. Helplessness permeated his next words, “I wanted to do the same but I… Couldn’t.”

Vikram paused, realizing how pathetic he sounded now. Couldn’t or wouldn’t? When the reality was that he hadn’t done anything but think and write and hope for the best. His eyes shifted from Talia to the ground, guilt setting in late like a bad stomach ache. This was really selfish of him, taking advantage of her generosity like this; just like all the other times. But if all went well, maybe this would be the last. He’d do his utmost to make it so.

“Can’t I try now?”

[lookclike]

the suggestion was enough to make her freeze. leave. she had tried to, at one point. private school, college, moving away. and yet, she never found the courage to go beyond the state borders, like a ghost attached to their house, faded to spend eternity haunting one singular place. she had gone on vacations, traveled aboard and to other states, but nowhere ever brought her the same feeling of belonging the walls of woodrow did. perhaps vikram was right. perhaps she should stop pretending that she would one day be able to walk away from this house without feeling utterly heartbroken.

"yes. new york is just an hour away, really." an hour that sometimes felt entirely too close or entirely too far away. it depended on her mood, really. "i was born there, you know? when i first moved to manhattan i thought i would find myself or have this cosmic connection to it, but..." she shrugged. "i just felt really homesick. and i kind of hated myself for it." perhaps that would be hard to admit some time ago, especially to someone like vikram. but the past few days had been such whirlwind eliza hardly cared about exposing her bleeding heart anymore. it couldn't be more hurt than it already was.

[asravenous]

They’re similar in a way Vikram never quite considered before: orphaned, given up and eventually taken in by Richard. It’s the usual story you hear with the other wards, how unlucky they all were before stepping foot into the expansive halls of the house. Yet with Eliza, who spent much of her childhood here, he had never spared much thought to her before. Before all of this, before being loved by a man who refused to be called father even though he chased glimpses of his dead daughter in her, before Woodrow.

(Was there ever a need? How much do you really remember before the age of five?)

Hearing her talk, his opinion of her shifted. Not by much, but enough to make him pause his work for a while. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, eyes shifting to gaze at her momentarily before they returned on the shears. “Because… you couldn’t separate yourself from Woodrow,” he came to conclude, hands slowly moving again. “Even if you wanted to.” Separating yourself from what you knew, before coming to realize how much you had relied on it and loathing yourself for it. Vikram would never admit it, but it was a feeling he had grown intimately familiar with. He made it a point not to bring up Winifred, perhaps the biggest reason as to why Eliza felt the need to leave in the first place — no point in rubbing salt in wounds that have clearly festered.

Making quick work of what remained of the branch, Vikram scooped up all the debris and dumped them into the bag she was holding open. “I think that’s all. You can give the bag to me, I’ll dispose of it with the rest of them.” He gestured to the full bags sitting around the greenhouse with his thumb.

[natcliachen]

What about you? The gall on Vikram. Since when do you care! Natalia wanted to yell. God, he was the most confusing person ever. She was clearly delusional to think she understood him at one point in her life. It was all so clear to her now that it was the fantasy of a naive idiot.

He set his jaw and she mirrored it, not wanting to give him an inch when it came to looking like the angriest person in this room. Hearing him make excuses over trying to find the right time to apologize, Natalia just frowned at him. "Then you should have tried harder," she said.

When it came to the both of them, she had always tried. To understand him. To accommodate his eccentricities. To keep their friendship trucking along through the years. It was far too telling that the moment she stopped trying, they fell apart.

It was more than he deserved, but she explained her side to him anyway. She had always given more when Vikram hadn't given enough. One last time wouldn't hurt.

"Of course I was angry at you for what happened," she said, her voice level. "But you were my best friend. What made you think I didn't want you to apologize? For us to get over..." Her mind sent her back to that night. How she told him. How he didn't know what to say. "...what I said."

How can someone so smart be such a fucking idiot? There were concepts upon concepts in Applied Physics and Quantum Mechanics that Vikram understood that Natalia had a hard time wrapping her head around, but how he failed to understand something so simple was beyond her. It was like he was wired to only comprehend things that came from mind-numbing books that were 5-inches thick.

[asravenous]

“I—”

It was almost a reflex, to reply and rebut but Vikram managed to catch himself before he continued that train of thought. What was he doing here? Falling back onto familiar defense mechanisms, insisting on his side of the story, failing to take into account Talia’s feelings in the process of everything. Even after she had given him a chance. Again, and again.

What was it that his therapist said? That he had to allow himself to be vulnerable? That reconciliation only happened if both parties were open to communicate and honest. And, well, there really wasn’t any honesty in taking the easy way out, was there? No matter how much he tried to justify it. While he had the chance right now, he could try to afford himself some vulnerability. At least with Talia.

“How could I have tried harder?” There was no venom, no bite in the question. It wasn’t meant to be facetious either. Just a plain desire to know and understand. Vikram took a big inhale and sighed, his hands scrubbing his face before he looked Talia in the eye again. “Should I have asked for your address in Paris and visited you unprompted? It’s not like– like I’ve never thought of it, you know. But I just…” He trailed off, trying to organize his jumble of thoughts.

Eyebrows furrowing, he struggled to come up with something suitable to say. If it had been the Vikram of 10 years ago, their current situation probably would have been laughable. He never had to mind his words around Talia. Yet now, with their relationship so strained and taut it could snap at any moment, he couldn’t say the same. Every word mattered in the way it didn’t back then.

“I guess I was scared,” he finally settled on what to say, the admission of his feelings uttered so lowly you could barely hear it. “That if anything wasn’t right in any way, we would be over. You’d be— I’d be nothing to you.”

[lookclike]

she jumped in surprise at the snapping branch, heart fluttering in her chest like a hummingbird. eliza was not a very jumpy person, but she had been on edge for the past couple of days, and vikram’s presence was not exactly soothing. as a kid, she had learned to keep her distance from him, which wasn’t exactly difficult when he was 15 and she was 10. but there was always the anxious need to be liked, to make sure they were all a family, and that she belonged there. those things were hard to let go of. “it’s okay.” she said, softly. she almost wanted to apologise, though she wasn’t sure what for. her general existence, perhaps.

“oh, yes. it was a lot of fun. me and a couple of friends saw camelot, and mary poppins and a bunch of shakespeare. the folks at the globe theatre probably knew our names by the end of the month.” the memories of last year’s summer came in fits and starts to eliza, lovely warm days and bright nights alongside her theatre friends. their fallout just a couple of months after is something she liked to ignore. “but i don’t think i could live so far away from home.” her heart squeezed at the thought. what even was home anymore? woodrow and its ghosts? new york with its sharp teeth and mysteries?

[asravenous]

How juvenile really, to be holding onto this one intense dislike at the grand old age of thirty; which started over something as petty as Richard’s attention. And as much as he was loath to admit it, Vikram was nothing if not desperate for exactly that as a young teen. It was the sort of attention he was denied in his childhood; warm and kindly. As he raised his head, he caught the expression on her face, recognizing it all too well. Vikram pursed his lips, eyebrows furrowing as he consciously reminded himself to tone it down. Whatever gripes he had about Eliza would quickly be forgotten as soon as he left Woodrow.

“That’s nice,” said almost perfunctorily. It wasn’t his idea of fun, but the same could be said about the little adventures Will dragged him on. The last of the cuttings went into the garbage bag, and he immediately returned to his job. There wasn’t much left now. Vikram’s lips twitched at her last sentence. Home. What a funny word to describe it; but this at least, the attachment she had to Woodrow, he understood.

“You don’t have to, you know.” A noncommittal hum. It was the most open he had been with her, for what it’s worth. “Leave. Go to another country. Being near Woodrow suits you. Isn’t Broadway nearby?”

[hjarta-deactivated20260124]

good morning dev patel nation

[natcliachen]

Natalia shouldn't have been surprised that the proposal of a truce came before an apology. It was so... Vikram. Practical, not emotional. She used to like that about him until it burned her. Her fault for thinking she held an iota of importance in his life. You'd think all the years they spent being by each other's side warranted a little more consideration than he'd give most, but no, Natalia was all the same as unimportant as everyone else. He'd likely give her more consideration if she was a leather-bound book than a person with a heartbeat. Perhaps another eight years had to pass for him to realize an apology came after admitting you were wrong.

"Well, you've always loved answering questions. Answer them if they come," she told him, a challenge in her tone. "Tell them exactly why I don't want to talk to you. Why I don't want anything to do with you. Maybe by the time you get to the last ward, you'll have gone over the situation enough times to understand it will never be the same and asking me to pretend so that you won't have to deal with prying questions is about as fucked up as not apologizing to me after letting me down in the worst way eight years ago."

[asravenous]

Her words hung in the air, heavy, as his mind processed them as quickly as he could. “……you think I care about fielding their questions,” he realized after a beat or two, eyebrows furrowing as her words got picked apart and analyzed like literary prose. “And that I don’t want to fend them off like it’s some kind of… Like this is some messed-up PR situation that needs to be handled? I don’t care about that, Natalia. I– What about you? You—” He cut himself off before he could say anything he regretted, his reply a knee-jerk reaction more than anything. Some frustration from the desperation boiling over. He took a deep inhale, composing himself, lips pursed in a tight line.

Her pride… Vikram knew of people who never liked it but personally, he had always found it admirable. How much she took pleasure in her achievements and the way she carried herself. It defined who she was. Somewhere in him sought to protect it, even if he happened to be the worst offender to this day. 

And he truly hated this; having to explain his thought process. That ‘I didn’t want to discuss our relationship without you’ and ‘I didn’t want them to look at you any differently for something I did’? Wouldn’t she take offense to that? Even though those were the main reasons why he never told anyone what happened at length; not Richard, not William, not even his therapist. Out of some semblance of consideration. Or something resembling it, anyway — not everyone had the time to properly digest the concept as they grew up.

“You’re right,” he admitted with his jaw set, still trying to tamp down any unnecessary emotions from spilling out. Cool your head, Vikram. He had to be rational here; it wouldn’t be conducive to the discussion if he let his emotions get the better of him. “I should have apologized sooner, that was my fault. The day after, the year after… But I didn’t. You were just so–” Distraught? Hurt? Upset? What word would be suitable to use here? “–angry, I thought to give you some space. I tried to apologize after that, but you never... Never gave me the time of day so I’m sorry for being under the impression that you didn’t want me to apologize.”

[soracities]

Dunya Mikhail, from Diary of a wave outside the sea (trans. Elizabeth Winslow and Dunya Mikhail) [ID'd]

[lookclike]

"you research physics right?" she looked around for a moment, before finding the gardening shears and passing them to vikram. "i always think about going back to university, you know. i even talked to richard about getting my phd a couple weeks back, but. well..." she cut herself off, keeping her hands busy with unfolding a new garbage bag for the branch. "i guess it would be silly to do that now that my career is actually going somewhere." eliza had always loved school, a little sponge for any and all knowledge. still, she knew there was something fundamentally different about the way she and vikram approached academics. for one, eliza didn't need it. she could have just gone to new york straight out of high school, found a job in any myriad of things, perhaps even live a bit as william did. kingsbury had simply been the easiest thing to do, the thing everyone expected of her. if nothing else, eliza was really good at following expectations. "but england must be fun! i adore london from the couple times i've been there."

[asravenous]

“Yes.” A single terse word was said, the man remaining silent after that. Hand stretched out as she passed the gardening shears to him. Vikram listened as she chattered on, making quick work of the branch. Snip, snip, snip. With every word, his grip got tighter as he’s reminded of the reason why he didn’t like her in the first place. That breezy tone, the little shrug of the shoulder as she had everything handed to her. Right — because getting a PhD was easy and every Tom, Dick and Harry down the block could decide to enroll into the programme on a fucking whim. No doubt due to Richard’s influence.

His grip relaxed once he realized he was squeezing the gardening shears too tightly; the offshoot snapping off with a loud noise and landing a few feet away from them. “My bad,” he offered curtly, putting down the shears to stretch out for the part that fell. It’s deposited into the garbage bag she held open, along with the rest of the branch that he had cut off. “I’m glad you had fun in London, those must have been nice holidays.”

[angylbedisa]

It seemed juvenile, waking up early from excitement. It felt like a Christmas they showed in movies, where the children run to their parents' room and jostle them awake exclaiming that Santa had arrived before they barrelled down the stairs to open presents. The feeling was there from her younger years, behind a scab that would soon seal into a permanent scar. But it hadn't sealed over quite yet. And so she found herself, fresh cup of tea in her hand, making her way from the kitchen to the Great Room to enjoy the morning sunrise.

She was taken aback, if only for a second, by the sight of Vikram. The house rarely stirred so early in the morning. "Hi Vikram," Celia greeted with a smile, waiting for the caffeine to kick in. She gave him a glance, never thinking of Vikram as the athletic type. If he would have mentioned that when he responded to her letters, maybe she wouldn't look so surprised. "How was your run?"

[asravenous]

At her reply, Vikram nodded with a smile that didn’t seem to reach his eyes. Hollow but still polite enough to keep up appearances. He wasn’t in much of a mood to make conversation despite the adrenaline from this morning’s run, his energy drained both physically and mentally. A little sleep deprivation will do that to you.

“It was fine,” he shrugged, taking note of the look on her face at his mussed hair and sweat-stained shirt. Part of him felt slightly miffed, eyes narrowing as he looked down at himself. Was it really that unbelievable that he took up exercising? Vikram looked back up at her with furrowed brows, so much more easily irritable without his caffeine fix and the sweet, sweet rush of energy that came with it. “I just went for a run, you don’t have to look like I grew three heads.”

[themickey]

closed starter for @asravenous when: september 6th, close to quitting time, 5pm ish where: the lawn

mickey did not enjoy spending the day cleaning out the greenhouse. it was dirty and sweaty and she would much rather spend the day doing almost anything else. she'd even take cleaning out any other part of the house than this place. what she did enjoy however was the prospect of being able to have a bonfire and burn up all the old rotting wood they pulled out of the greenhouse throughout the day. there was something so fun about fires that mickey loved. she had moved a large majority of the wood they cleaned out over to where they were going to have the bonfire and was sorting the bigger pieces from smaller ones to use as kindling. she wanted to have a good base but was having trouble getting it set up. looking up to see vikram was close by, she stopped what she was doing and called out to him. "hey vikram!" she called out. "do you do log cabin style or teepee?" she gestured to the pile of sticks in the fire pit. "i'm partial to teepee but i can't get it to stand up right."

[asravenous]

At the sound of his name, his head turned. Eyes squinting out of habit as he searched for the source of the voice, raising his hand in greeting once he located Mickey. He walked over, having finished most of his responsibilities for the day. “They’re all the same to me,” he answered, shrugging, not having a real preference for how campfires looked. Did it matter if it all burned anyway? Still, he looked over the sad pile of sticks and got to thinking. If she wanted to do a teepee style campfire, then it would only make sense for him to help. Vikram squatted beside her, rearranging the sticks. “You need a solid base first, I think, then you can try leaning the sticks against it. Do we have any kindling?”

[rcubens-a]

Gloves were gloves. He knew there existed a distinction between them and mittens— fingers, mostly. But…gloves were gloves, and forks were forks and ballpoints and fountainpoints all accomplished the same task. Maybe the real allergy was stupidity.

He chews the inside of his cheek as the word poison is repeatedly drilled into his head. At one point in time, he had been a Boy Scout troop leader. He and a friend from prep school had done it in hopes of sprucing up their college applications— both being mediocre students. He knew what poison ivy looked like, what mushrooms were inedible, that you were supposed to walk 40 paces from your campsite to dig a cathole. He refused to believe that he would’ve just grabbed poison oak willy nilly.

Reuben whines uneasily as Vik inspected his arms. “Why would I have to pull them all up? What if it kills me?” He protests. He turns on his heel, feeling like a sailor being asked to walk the plank. Out of spite he wishes to touch everything but, listens to the instructions given. “This is not an emergency room visit, right?”

[asravenous]

Raising an eyebrow, he questioned, “You would die from physical labor?” Vikram knew that wasn’t what Reuben was getting at, but the chance of death by poison ivy was low. And it wasn’t as if he or anyone else wouldn’t prioritize safety above all else, so he really had nothing to worry about. He hadn’t been wholly serious anyhow, knowing Davis would be called to handle the situation if there truly was an infestation. Though, Reuben’s dramatics had always been mildly entertaining, and playing along wasn’t all that difficult.

His hands gripped the younger man’s shoulders, guiding (read: pushing) him toward the sinks. He released his hold as soon as they arrived, turning on the tap and leaving the water running as he gestured for Reuben to rinse his arms of any plant sap and oils. “Would you prefer that?” Crossing his arms, Vikram leaned against the counter and regarded the other ward with a level gaze. “I was just going to get you to wash your hands with soap and apply some cream on the affected area. Maybe some Benadryl if the itch is that bad.”

[natcliachen]

One would argue that eight years was far too long to be remotely impressed that Vikram finally came to that conclusion. But Natalia couldn't deny that she was felt some satisfaction that he at least understood his fault. She broke her gaze from his for a moment, looking to the floor briefly as she considered her next move.

"You have the floor. I'm not saying for how long, but you have it."

If he wanted to talk so badly, he better have had something good to say. She had the power here. She could walk away whenever she wanted if he started spouting nonsense. Raising her chin, Natalia let her eyes settle on him again, a silent challenge in her gaze.

[asravenous]

“Thank you,” he breathed a sigh of relief, not knowing he’d been holding it in the first place. But thank God, whichever it was. He knew his propensity for going on tangents. While that might have been fine years ago, before the fight, Vikram had to remind himself to rein in it. What kind of patience could someone who was wronged have towards the culprit? Furthermore, knowing Talia, and growing up with her made him understand that the patience and gentleness she afforded him were things that came by rarely for others. Yet she indulged him immensely. And he had ruined their relationship without even lifting a finger.

There was no doubt in his mind that for her, his existence was something that actively drained her goodwill now. Her even willing to hear him out was a privilege, considering everything.

Vikram carefully considered what he wanted to say as he wet his lips. Approaching her had been an impulse decision born out of desperation. She had been ignoring his emails, her number had changed… Hell, he didn’t even know she had been working in Paris for the past two years until Richard mentioned it in passing this May. All this time, Talia had just been a train ride away. (It crushed him to learn that. Really.) However, he was no romantic comedy hero with a predetermined redemption arc, the golden time to apologize had passed, and everything that was once soft had hardened with time. Even if he had somehow found out her address, there was no way he wouldn’t be immediately thrown to the curb.

“How about a truce?” The man proposed, eyes imploring. He had some selfish intentions, sure, but, “Just for this week. We don’t have to go back to how we were. I– I’m not saying this to pull a fast one on you. It’s just—” Vikram swallowed, knowing this all hinged on her decision. He didn’t think he had been this nervous even when he was submitting his dissertation. “After we arrived, we haven’t spoken at all and it’s… Different. The rest are going to ask questions if this continues.”

[asravenous]

plangere

task: how does your character react to learning of richard’s passing? vikram’s block in cambridge, the communal mailroom september 2nd 2005, friday in the evening (7.49PM)

“Are you quite sure you aren’t keen on meeting my sister? She’s a very pretty girl, and she’s interested in you.”

The mail room was never this noisy at night, though he already chalked it up to the ambush just now. He had found Mrs. Singh, ever the enthusiastic matchmaker, milling about outside of the mail room as he made his way there. Her face had lit up as soon as she locked eyes with him, not unlike a predator finding its prey. Vikram’s weekly routine didn’t take much sleuthing to figure out when he barely left the security of his flat, except for work and the occasional errand. In the communal mailroom every Tuesday and Friday? Target locked and loaded.

“Interested? I don’t believe we’ve met,” he mused absentmindedly, resigned to the same, tired conversation. He inserted the key to his mailbox and turned it, pulling the door open before reaching in to grab his small stack of letters. The mailbox was promptly shut and locked again.

“She was visiting and mentioned seeing you in the lift, so I thought why not set the two of you up! Oh, you two would make such a cute couple. Don’t you…” Shuffling through the letters, Mrs. Singh’s fervent pitch was slowly tuned out as he sorted the letters into urgent and unimportant (or as he liked to put it: things he could reply to whenever he was free, which was few and far in between). A familiar looping cursive gave him pause, the creamy texture and color of the envelope confirming his suspicions. Return address: Woodrow House. This was a level higher than urgent. Vikram ripped the envelope open with a faint sense of dread, pulling the letter free.

Dear Vikram, It is with a heavy heart that I write to you today…

The creeping dread set in immediately, gloom weighing down the air in the room. It was almost suffocating, as he struggled to take a steady breath in. Some part of him wished this was an elaborate setup of someone’s sick and twisted idea of a joke. Yet the handwriting was unmistakably Mrs. Tristan’s, and she was never one to tread lightly around such matters. His hand gripped at the letter firmly, skimming through the contents of the letter as his jaw clenched tighter with every word read. Just how… He couldn’t wrap his head around it.

“Dr. Mehta? Are you alright? You look like someone just—” Died. The word was never said, left to hang at the tip of her tongue as she was on the receiving end of his hateful glare. Taken aback, the woman watched quietly as he scrubbed his face in exasperation, seemingly much more haggard and exhausted than he had been a couple minutes ago, and sighed. What a pitiful man… All lonely too. If she had scrutinized him a little closer, she would’ve noticed the tremor in his hands. 

“Sorry. I need to go.” 

Vikram wasn’t really all that sorry, but the importance of courtesy was ingrained in him whether he liked it or not. She was left sputtering as he swiftly exited the mailroom; walking briskly at first before progressing into a jog, then fully leaping over steps as he made his way up to his flat. His hands shook as he tried to unlock the door, the key missing the keyhole a few times. “Fuckfuckfuck…” was the newfound mantra of a man who had trouble believing in the truth even though the facts were laid out bare for him. When the door finally unlocked, Vikram quickly entered and slammed the door shut, breathing hard. In, out, in out… 

The letter’s crushed up and thrown to the side as he made a few calls. The lead researcher, the colleague who asked him to give an introductory course on Quantum Mechanics, that one person who asked to get dinner together… No, that could just be a text. Then, how to get there; a one and half hour train ride to London and an eight hour flight from London to New York. At the earliest, probably tomorrow. The amount of tasks to do just kept growing.

You busy yourself the only way you know how: work. Grief is a strange thing to process when you have yet to accept the dying. It doesn’t feel real unless the dead body’s right in front of your eyes as proof; kind of like Schrödinger’s cat. Richard is still alive in your mind. If you don’t go back to New York, to Woodrow, he could possibly be just a call away. The thought briefly sat in his head, lingering as he threw items into the suitcase haphazardly. It’s such a dangerous thought to entertain. To have hope, only to be crushed by reality. Out of an inane need for confirmation, he picked up the letter from the floor all balled-up. Unfurled it and smoothing out the wrinkles, then read it word for word once again. (For all his hoping, they remained unchanged.)

…our dear Richard has passed away… …bid him farewell…

The sensation of disconnect was just as overwhelming the second time, threatening to swallow the very ground he stood on. It was just for a few minutes but it felt like hours had passed. Vikram had never personally dealt with the complexities of death before, only ever hearing about it from people or discussed in books, and he never had people to grieve for. When he had thought to search for his biological parents in India, he found out they had passed away years ago. All it took was a few phone calls. How do you grieve for people who were essentially strangers? This was truly the first time. Even after death, it seemed Richard was intent on giving him a lesson.

His very last.