Orson de la Mort

Orson Hurst. 21. Brink. Deluded "I can't see you, anymore."

[bear-little-loss]

picnic pow wow | kipson

kip-whitmer​:

[Kip doesn’t mind the depressing topics, honestly. Not with Orson. In a way it’s sort of nice to be morbid without worrying about whether you’re being too depressing. Life has been… not even a mixed bag lately. It’s just been awful. With Orson, it’s easier to acknowledge that. Kip can just be himself around him.

There are still fleeting, awkward moments. They’re not really decreasing. But they are feeling more natural, like they’re reaching a point where they’ve just accepted that things will always be a little bit weird between the two of them.]

I mean yeah, but to be fair, it’s not like there’s an abundance of non-depressing topics available to us. Like, the job market? Non-existent. Universities? Gone. Politics? Somehow worse than first-past-the-post two party systems. But hey, sometimes you can see the milky way thanks to decreased light pollution, so I guess we’ve got that going for us.

[What Kip actually wants to say is an enquiry about the other depressing thing Orson wants to talk to him about, but he’s not sure if Orson actually wants to talk about it yet, so he leaves it open and tries not to feel too fretful about what depressing topic Orson could be building up to. It can’t be any worse than him breaking Kip’s heart, so that’s a comfort.]

[Orson chuckles, then sighs. Then looks up at the sky—because yeah, Kip’s right, and he supposes it’s worth acknowledging because... count your blessings, right? They do have the skies and the oceans and what’s left of the trees, and maybe it’s not a lot, but it’s something, and they have a greenhouse now, and they’re rebuilding and there’s people like Anaya and Andreya who build things and grow things and Pax, whose mind keeps thinking beyond his time, and then there’s Kip. Kip counts as a blessing in and of himself, for Orson. And a reminder that there are things to count. Because after all this, there are still people, still relationships to be had, and it keeps the world turning, doesn’t it. Without it, where would they be? Where would any of them be? 

And it’s this, this reminder of connection and intimacy and touch, that gives Orson the resolve to grit his teeth and bulldoze forward into the unknown. 

It comes out like an exhale, a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.] 

I have this theory. It’s not a very... good theory. Like, there isn’t really any science to it, or anything. But I’ve been thinking a lot about... the other Deluded. And what happens when I touch them. And I told you that nothing happened when Roy touched my arm, that I didn’t see anything. And we sort of thought that had something to do with his specific Delusion. Or infection or whatever. Like his... connection to death, was maybe interrupting my visions or... I couldn’t see his death because death was him or something... [he shakes his head, eyes flicking across the textures in the stone beneath his feet, processing all of this as he goes, trying to collect the pieces with every word, assemble them so they make sense, so they would represent something Kip could look at and recognize and unpack once in his hands. But it’s difficult, because they were untidy ideas when they formed in Orson’s head, and they’re pretty much as untidy when as they’re leaving.] 

But then there’s Marcel—he touched me a really long time ago and I saw... I saw his fictionalized death. [He looks to Kip.] Like, his death on the stage. The death of Hamlet, which is part of his reality since his Infection. It wasn’t real. It didn’t look that fake but it felt like a play. There was no fear, no threat... [he sighs again, takes a new breath.] And then when the parasite thing happened, and the Infections stopped working, I tested it on Annie before... [before coming to you. Before touching you. He doesn’t go there. He skips the track.] But then, like... my visions were already gone so. So I don’t know what I would have seen with her. Maybe I would have seen nothing. Or maybe I would have seen something to do with her Delusion... 

I don’t know. But I’ve been thinking about this a long time, and I don’t have enough examples to really guess, it could all be fluke. But I have a feeling my visions work differently with the Deluded. 

[What that all means? He’s not too sure, really. It could mean the Deluded are his ticket to training his infection with Mr. Douglas. Or it could mean there’s a link there that would tell him more about how his visions work—or more about what it really means to be one of the quote, unquote ‘Deluded’. He’s not sure, because it’s hard to think straight. But he’s hoping that saying all this out loud might help him to... organize. Maybe Kip will see something Orson doesn’t.] 

[bear-little-loss]

Practice makes perfect // Orson & Dot

dot-speckter​:

[Oh god, that really did make her sound bad. She considered apologizing again, until he spoke once more.]

I just… I ramble sometimes. It can be a bit off putting for some people. [She shrugged, tucking a strand of soft hair behind her ear. The thought of a haircut briefly crossed her mind. Dot couldn’t help it. From her parents, to the clan she’d travelled with, each had told her to stay quiet. It kept her safer. Not that she was doing much of it at the moment.] It’s far better in here than anywhere else, and please, I insist. I need to get back to it anyway.

[As she gently tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, Orson has a hard time imagining her as being ‘off putting’ to anybody. But he supposes he can understand that insecurity about rambling. Not that Orson would say he’s a rambler himself, exactly (if anything, it’s a bit of a strain to get him to say more than a handful of words—at least, according to his therapists), but of the few friends that he has, he’d say that most of them probably feel they fall under that category at least in some way. Rambling, vaguely socially awkward—and rambling because they feel socially awkward—wether other people see it that way or not. 

He shrugs, gives a little shake of his head.]  Don’t worry about it. Doesn’t bother me. And besides... with the way things are going around here, I feel like ‘a bit rambly’ doesn’t make the cut off for ‘off putting’ the way it might have before. There are so many worse things to be these days, than... talkative or verbose.

[She insists about the gloves, and all he can do is smile his gratitude and nod.] Well, they would definitely not go unappreciated if you did. Thank you. 

[bear-little-loss]

I’M TIRED || Atlas + Orson

Saturday, April 15th, 2163, 3:06AM

[The dream began the way it always does, with Arthur Easte coming home. It begins the way it always does, with Atlantis bounding down the stairs of her childhood home, each step creaking beneath her socked feet. It begins the way it always does, with Arthur Easte standing in a pool of his own blood.

His head is intact, his head is broken into a million pieces on the floor, his head is intact. His arms are outstretched towards Atlantis, his hands are empty, his hands hold her birthday cake—sage green frosting with 15 white candles brightly lit. “Make a wish, Lany.” She stares at the candles, watching the wax melt onto the frosting in thick white drops. Atlantis shakes her head, knowing full well her wishes never come true. “Lany.” She takes a step towards her father, her white socks staining red as she walks into the pool of blood. Arthur smiles as he holds the cake in his left hand, his right hand coming around to rest on her waist. Something ugly like anger twists in her chest. “Make a wish, Lany. It’s almost over, I promise.” She looks up at her father, streaks of blood spill from the top of his head, cracks slowly spread over his face like glass. Grief overcomes her, painting the room blue with her sadness. Atlantis shuts her eyes, leans forward and makes her wish.

Please be alive when I wake up.

She wakes in the middle of the courtyard, or at least she’s pretty sure it’s the courtyard. It’s been awhile since she last sleptwalked, but her birthday had a way of making the habit resurface. Her mind is still foggy from lack of rest, it struggles to take in any information presented to her, much less process what her father told her. She’s lost in her dream, lost in the memory of her father’s arms wrapped tight around her. She feels as if someone has taken an ice cream scoop to her chest and carved out what little was left of her and her soul.

Atlas places a hand over her chest, fingers curling over the soft fabric of her sweater. Her heart hammers beneath her hand, violent and wild as it always has. She lets out a shaky sigh, whether from relief or disappointment remains unclear. She’s standing under the moonlight like a wraith, gently swaying back and forth trying to self-soothe when she notices the courtyard growing darker. Atlas glances towards Torren Tower and frowns as a familiar black fog unfurls from beneath it’s doors. The darkness rolls down the halls before spilling into the courtyard, a flash flood of inky black water and with it the scent of rotting fruit.

If Miles were here, he’d tell her it wasn’t real. But he wasn’t here to reassure her, he was gone, buried six feet under in a country she will never set foot in again. Her vision blurs with fat tears as the black ink inches closer to the toes of her sneakers. Every step back feels like she’s trudging against cement, each step rattles the floor beneath her. It’s too much energy to spend on a life she isn’t certain is worth fighting for. She’s just so fucking tired. She glances up towards the moon, her light casting over Atlas like a desperate saint calling out for one last miracle.

And maybe she gets it. A door creaks open, although from which dormitory is unclear. The black fog consumes sound and light and all sense of reality with it. She shudders as the ink stains her sneakers, like a snake made entirely of liquid.] Hello? Is someone there?

[Please, let someone be there.]

[This is a death he hadn’t predicted. 

And does it feel better? Not having known? Not really. He doesn’t—hadn’t—even known Kaiser—and yet Death finds a way to haunt him like it’s personal, anyway. Whether he knows or doesn’t, whether he’d seen it coming, or not. 

He’s not sure how he feels about the so called mystery behind the Torren’s death. He feels almost as though he’s supposed to feel something—to think something, to have an opinion. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t feel anything because he’s not sure he can compute another conspiracy. 

He’s still not finished computing the that one. Or the one before that. 

Sleep eludes him, which isn’t abnormal. He can basically get up and sign out of his dorm on autopilot by now, and he’s beginning to think maybe the guards don’t question the lies he taps in because they feel sorry for him. They know he’s not going to go anywhere. He’s got nowhere to go. There’s no running from this Infection, and really, it’s the only thing left that scares him.

The courtyard is a nice compromise when it’s not too cold out, because it’s a place to get some fresh air, to look up and see the sky and feel a little less trapped, without his having to go out the front doors. It would raise a lot more questions. Some nights, it’s not even possible. Some nights, they lock them in, even from the grounds. (He hasn’t figured out why that is, why it’s only sometimes, and he hasn’t asked. He also hasn’t told anyone he’s noticed. Figures it’s best not to.)

He doesn’t recognize the voice—and it startles him at first, but only for a second, because he hears her, before he sees her.] 

Yeah, um—[he clears his throat, unnecessarily.]  It’s, um—Orson. [It sounds lame to his ears, because she probably doesn’t know who Orson is. Or maybe she does.] Sorry, hope I didn’t scare you. 

[bear-little-loss]

picnic pow wow | kipson

kip-whitmer​:

Yeah, bad joke. [Kip winces, glad Orson just moves on. He hadn’t really meant anything with the comment, and it’s obviously not the kind of thing he should joke about anyway. Kip’s response to uncomfortable or serious situations is so often comedy, and it’s an instinct he struggles to suppress even when he knows better.

It’s why he didn’t make the next joke that occurs to him, about Orson being like Timmy down the well awaiting his rescue by Lassie. It’s not funny. The situation Orson describes could genuinely have killed him – he wasn’t exaggerating saying that Pax had saved his life. He was lucky someone had showed up before some Looters found him or something, though Kip’s not convinced there’s many of them on the island, small as it is.

He also has the grim realisation that that situation probably couldn’t happen again, because now they’ve all got VIPEs in their necks. Kip’s not keen to think anything good of any of the NWRF’s measures, but on that one occasion a VIPE might actually have been a useful thing. He won’t say that, though, because he doesn’t want to plant the idea that Orson’s situation might have been a contributing factor to them being deemed necessary. The VIPEs are, after all, allegedly a safety feature so the argument could be made.

The way Orson talks about the raid suggests it had been somewhat worse than getting stuck in a hole in the ground. He trails off, presumably not wanting to get into it. Kip hadn’t exactly enjoyed the raid, but he’d been on janitorial at the time and was fortunately placed to dart right back into the supply closet he’d just emerged from. Not his most heroic moment, but Kip never claimed to be a hero. Orson never talked about his experiences with it – not to Kip, anyway – and it’s weird to realise that something so big had happened to Orson without Kip knowing anything about it. That’d been months before they ever really spoke, back when Kip’s only thoughts on Orson had been a fleeting ‘he’s hot but way too quiet’.]

Oh. Shit, sorry, I shouldn’t have made light. [Kip shifts, adjusting the blanket over his legs and smoothing it out more as a guilty tic than any actual need to have the warm material straightened.] People never really talk about the raid any more. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how fucked up it was. Guess I should write Pax a thank you note then, for being so devoted to making sure we can keep you around. 

[Kip smiles gently, nudging the edge of Orson’s shoe with the toe of his. It’s awful to think about, actually. If Pax hadn’t been there, and something had happened to Orson, Kip would’ve never even talked to him. There would have just been a funeral for some guy Kip passed in the corridors a few times. The idea of it makes him feel hollow.]

[It’s not because he doesn’t trust Kip, that Orson doesn’t want to get into it. It’s nothing like that at all, actually. Kip is one of the few people Orson really does trust around here, and one of the even fewer he’s quite thoroughly honest with. 

It’s just that not only is the subject of the raid a depressing one, but what had happened to Orson, with the vision, with the blood on his face, the way he froze like a deer in the headlights, waiting for the car to come, waiting to be trampled or worse, too stunned and terrorized by his own mind to save himself—it’s all of that he doesn’t especially want to get into. That’s depressing in a whole other can of worms sort of way, and it doesn’t help that reminding Kip that Orson has visions of Death and so he can’t touch people because he’s like a broken, nightmarish sci-fi toy... yeah, he’d just rather avoid it. 

Of course, the whole reason he’d asked Kip up here in the first place, is to talk about his Delusion, isn’t it? His dilemma with Annie and whether or not he should test his theory—a theory that’s been built on exactly one other person. Well, two, actually.

It’s really not a very good theory. Should he abandon all this before he even begins? 

But he thinks of the hopeful look on Mitch’s face in his office that day and Orson sighs.

He smiles weakly at Kip’s nudge, and his hesitant attempt at a(nother) lighthearted quip.] I’m sure he’d love that... [he drawls back, somewhat half hearted.] 

Um. Anyway. Remind me to... tell you about the raid thing another time maybe... when I don’t have other depressing things to talk to you about. Because I know this is the apocalypse, but there’s only so much depressing a bloke can take, you know? 

[bear-little-loss]

A LIVING DEATH || enoch & orson

rev-enoch-lynch​:

[[ He’s polite in declining the offer. Something Enoch is grateful for. He doesn’t mind a difficult patient or two: but its always appreciated to have a baseline level of respect or at minimum, be cordial. Delusions feel like a particularly tricky issue to tackle, both not seen as an illness yet clearly detrimental to the person’s quality of life. It’s beginning to feel like that is the best they can hope for, improved quality of life. ]] That would be a good start, reclaim the stables for yourself.

No pets. [[ Enoch won’t often indulge too much in talking about himself, but in the early stages and at certain points, it’s good to let the clients now something about himself. Humanise himself enough that they can be comfortable talking to him, but not to the point where they will worry about telling him too much. ]] I grew up on a farm, though. I did most of the work. Lots of time with animals. No horses, though, kept chickens and pigs mostly. [[ Seeing as he reared them and was more often than not the one to slaughter them, he could hardly call them ‘pets’. ]] Did you? Have pets before?

[He’s grateful that the therapist elaborates, actually. By the short answer of ‘no [pets’, Orson very briefly worries that those two words will be all he gets, like a rejection. And it’s not that Orson feels attached to knowing anything specific about Dr. Lynch, exactly. It’s just that the therapists who are extremely closed off and expect Orson to open up and yet have no idea who he’s opening up to, really leave a bad taste in his mouth. 

After all this time in the Colony and as a Deluded, he doesn’t expect to be treated equally, really—which is a pretty sad truth—but he does want to be humoured, at the very least.

Something about the vague, and very general details about the farm, which really don’t give too much away, still make him smile softly, and to himself. Picturing Dr. Lynch with a pig. Telling it ‘that’ll do’ in a northern accent or something.

He frowns gently as he processes the question, somehow having not prepared for it. Weirdly do.] Uh—my brother had a hamster growing up. And we had a family cat, Pixie. She was sweet, actually. No pets I would have really considered mine, but um. I liked having Pixie around. 

[bear-little-loss]

famous last words || draco + orson

draco--pavlovic​:

There is nothing wrong with predictability as long as you yourself do not limit what you can experience. It is big shame to miss out on things and people because you have set way of life. Sometimes taking big leap into unknown is best thing that ever happens to person. If we do not have chance for change, then what is point of living?

{Draco shrugs, idly twiddling the cue around in his hands. It isn’t hard to imagine what Orson’s experience in the Wastes was like. He does like the guy but thinks he’s just lacking some… backbone? Spontaneity? Lust for life outside the regular and mundane? It’s really not Draco’s cup of tea but he can accept that Orson’s delusion is significantly adding to his general misery.

Of course, if Draco had his way, Orson wouldn’t be this afraid of his power. He wouldn’t be afraid at all. He’d feel powerful, in control, superior to any and everyone who tries to put him down for it.

People would be the one’s afraid of Orson.}

Do not worry much, past does not matter anymore. Next time you are in Wastes we go together and I show you that is not bad. It is freedom. No rules, whole world ready to be taken. Does not sound like paradise?

[Draco always seems to know what to say. He’s like a motivational poster, but one that evolves with the current situation. God, how much money would something like that have made in offices all over the world? 

Back when there were offices to work in and money to be made. 

And then he’s shrugging and telling Orson not to sweat it, moving forward, thinking about the future, even if it’s sprinkled with some hypotheticals that Orson doesn’t necessarily see happening. Sure, the idea of adventures and freedom with someone like Draco sounds appealing as hell, against the landscape of his current life. But back in the wastes? God, just the fleeting thought of being back out there makes him want to shiver. Besides, people have to fight for their lives out there every day, they have to fight for food, steal it from others or scavenge whatever their might be around to scavenge. How can someone forget something like that? 

Still, he can’t help the small smile. Despite the uncertain hypotheticals and the fantasy that doesn’t align with Orson’s reality, he feels a little better. It’s Draco’s way. Making him feel better by inspiring him to think more positively, and to acknowledge his own power and autonomy. In a way, it’s dangerous. That’s Draco’s power, maybe even more so than his telekinesis.]

[He nods, fiddling with the chalk cube meant for the cue.] Yeah. Alright. Next time you can show me. 

[bear-little-loss]

make me an island | roy + orson

roy--walters​:

[Roy shrugs because what is there to say at first.] He kinda is. Definitely has more blood on his hands than any one person should. And he seems, like, proud of it? [Roy has to take a sip of his beer, thinking about that heavy sense of death around Kaiser. Shadows that followed him like lost souls he had to carry. But he wears them like banners of honor. Not like the heavy weight Roy feels when he thinks of all the lives lost because of him.] I never really went out of my way to talk to him. The first time was an accident. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He kept… [Roy glances around and then gets a little quieter.] He wanted me to actually be a part of the Radicals. But it was mostly because of, well, [he glances at his wrist, the tattoo. It swims in him, the things Kaiser had said to him. How he could be more if he just tried.] I think he wanted to use me? To help him, y’know, take people out? [Roy shakes his head, taking another swig of his drink. 

It’s strange to think that some people looked at the Delusions and thought they were something useful. Thought they could be good. Roy never saw his as good. He saw it as just destruction. Death. but that’s what Kaiser wanted, so he knew why he’d want him to be a part of the radicals. He knew why he thought he’d be important to them. And he hates it.] He can be kinda encouraging, in a weird way. A lot of talk about being yourself and embracing what you can do which in a different light would be nice. But… I dunno. It’s weird to be wanted for something like that. Especially when it’s like the last thing you want to be wanted for.

[He’s quiet again. The conversation had grown heavy again. he didn’t mean for it to. He can’t seem to think too negatively about Kaiser, though. Because despite that, Roy had gone so long without anyone really looking out for him. And then Kaiser came along and was there. he tried to encourage him and help him. And even if that was just because he thought of Roy almost like a human nuke for the NWRF if used right, it still was nice in a weird way.] He’s not my ideal company, but he’s not the worst person I’ve ever interacted with? Not the best, and I don’t think he’s like a good person, but he’s not… [Roy shakes his head, not really knowing what he’s trying to say anymore.] Sometimes it’s nice to be wanted but I don’t want to be wanted like that, I guess.

[Roy shrugs, looking at Orson with a bit of a dark grin.] I did that thing again where I make the conversation depressing, didn’t I? You should just shut me up whenever that starts to happen. 

[Proud of the blood on his hands. Well... definitely not a cute look, that’s for sure. Which, it strikes Orson briefly, sounds like an expression he definitely got from Kip, and he’s grateful for the thought because it distracts him from the images of blood on his own hands from the nightmares, the blood spray from his visions, the blood he can smell in the air, both awake and dreaming. 

Kaiser trying to recruit Roy into the radicals is mildly surprising, but nothing earth shattering, but the information about him maybe wanting to use Roy to quote, unquote, ‘take people out’... Orson frowns deeply.] Excuse me? Use you? As in... as in use your Infection? Doesn’t that sound a lot like the NWRF wanting to use the Infected as weapons? Isn’t that super hypocritical for a radical? 

[To be fair, the Reformists wanting to use the Infections as weapons isn’t exactly proven. It’s mostly hearsay, he supposes, or... theory. But he’s pretty sure most people are of the position that it’s justified theory.]

He shakes his head—almost like a habit now—as Roy starts to apologize.] No you didn’t. Not your fault. Someone just died, Roy. And this is the apocalypse. There’s just a lot of depressing stuff to talk about on the regular. You really can’t take the blame for that. [He cracks a small, reassuring grin.] 

Anyway, I know what you mean. The Radical thing is... [he feels guilty for wanting to say ‘tempting’. And maybe he’s not been tempted for the same reasons as Roy but he’s felt drawn to it nonetheless. At least, drawn to the picture Draco’s painted for him. A picture of confidence and self worth and fighting for what’s right.] I don’t know, I guess it just seems like there’s more to it than I thought. The.... radicals are supposedly the ones who are responsible for the decoy raid and... [and for everything that happened to Orson during it, for the death he witnessed more than once,] and the kidnappings. But I don’t know, I’m starting to think that even if I don’t agree with everything they apparently stand for, that maybe the NWRF are like, intentionally painting them as worse than they are. It’s not like that would be surprising. That’s sort of their M.O.

[bear-little-loss]

picnic pow wow | kipson

kip-whitmer​:

[It’s sort of difficult to identify Orson’s feelings in response to Kip’s comment. And for a second Kip finds himself going hazy, trying to focus on it, like looking for a shape in the mist that you know is there, you just don’t know where.

But the moment he becomes aware that he’s doing it, he stops. It feels invasive enough that he is always aware what people are feeling; it’s worse when he deliberately concentrates on it. He just does it sometimes with Orson by some sort of instinct or mistake, because Orson holds a lot back. It’s also because Kip actually cares what Orson is feeling, far more than he does for most people. But yeah, he could stop being a weirdo about it and just ask if he wants to know so badly.

It’s just that that’s always so fucking awkward. He knows he won’t. He doesn’t.] 

Sounds like he wants to get in your pants.

[’Eurgh. Fuck. Shut up, brain’. Kip clears his throat, visibly regretting that one. It’s like the more he knows he shouldn’t, the more his mouth just ploughs on without him. People always think Kip’s authority issues begin and end with the authority figures in his life, but it really begins a lot closer to home, when his brain politely asks his mouth to say something sensible and his mouth disobeys and just blurts out the dumbest thing imaginable.] 

Anyway. Uh. Twice? I didn’t even know he saved your life once. You mean like seriously you were dangling off a cliff’s edge, or saved your life like supplied you with illicit booze when you needed it most?

[That sounds a bit more sensible, but Kip really wishes he could stop being so fucking weird around Orson for five goddamn minutes.]

[ ‘Sounds like he wants to get in your pants.’ 

That comment feels really out of left field, and it has his eyes cutting up to Kip, confused, to find Kip not really looking at him. Orson’s not sure if it’d been meant to be an intentional jibe, or if it’s something that had just slipped out in a failed attempt to be funny. And Kip’s expression isn’t really clearing things up.] 

Uh... according to who? That’s some... weird ideas of wooing techniques you got there, if you really think that’s true. [He pauses, shakes his head, moves on.] It’s not like that. At all. We’re just friends. And to be honest—both times it was sort of circumstantial. No cliff’s edges, but... the first time I wandered off too far from the group during ground sweeping one time, and I fell into a trap hole. Hit my head, couldn’t climb out, because, well, they’re designed so that you can’t. The Colony sent Pax to come looking for me because they actually thought I’d made a break for it. But I was down there pretty much all night. So, okay, maybe not life or death, but I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t found me. 

And uh, the second time was—it was during the, uh, raid. [He falters. It’s not exactly his favourite memory, and he can’t remember how much he’d told Kip about what happened that day, if at all. He doesn’t talk about it much—if at all.] The decoy raid, [as officials had coined it, after the fact.] 

[bear-little-loss]

A LIVING DEATH || enoch & orson

rev-enoch-lynch​:

[[ Frustrating isn’t quite the word, perhaps it’s simple impatience, but when Enoch sees a client that clearly thinks more than they let on he wants more. He can see the cogs turning in his mind. So much left unspoken in his answers.

Enoch knows he can’t push, but it does have him thinking that perhaps his other therapists were impatient. Or, Orson is simply always like this. For the young man’s sake, he hopes not. ]] 

Animals have been used in therapy for centuries for a reason. It won’t ‘fix’— [[ he throws up air quotes, because ‘fix’ implies he’s broken ]]—the issue but animals can often be much better company.

Is getting back to the stables something you think you could do on your own or would you like some support with that? [[ The idea of having a session in the stables does appeal. Sitting in a therapist office clearly isn’t where Orson wants to be, why not it let it feel like he’s at least getting something that in his mind, may be more valuable? ]] We can always go down during a session, which will have the added bonus of getting to control who else could be there and prevent any repeats of what they remind you of. [[ If Orson wants to explain more, Enoch will gladly listen, but he thinks he’s getting close to Orson’s threshold for pestering. ]]

[At first, he doesn’t know what Dr. Lynch even means by ‘support’, though the offer, he supposes, is kind. And though the clarification makes sense, Orson isn’t sure he’s comfortable with it—he doesn’t think it’s necessary, anyway. He can manage to go down there alone, he’s sure. Besides, he’d probably prefer it. If there’s... something he’s hiding from down there, he’d rather face it alone, when he doesn’t have to... respond to anyone, be ‘on’ for anyone.

His brows buckle a little, and he shakes his head.] Oh—no, that’s okay. I mean, thank you for the offer, I appreciate it. But I don’t think... it’ll be a problem, or anything. I think I can manage going there, you know, before our next session or whatever. 

[He’s thinking again about the ‘they can often be much better company comment’ and he doesn’t know why, but he asks a question.] Did you ever have.. pets, or anything? 

[bear-little-loss]

Practice makes perfect // Orson & Dot

dot-speckter​:

[She ran through her memories quickly, something on the tip of her tongue that couldn’t quite return to the surface. Her heart began to race, would he be mad knowing she barely remembered?] I’m sorry… I think I forgot. [Dot felt awful, what a way to meet someone again, but it didn’t really seem important to her at the time.] I can still make you some gloves? It’s been a while, but I’d love to practice.

I guess so. Personally I enjoy the rain, and the library. [Dot kept her smile, beginning to let her excitement get the better of her.] The library here isn’t great, but it’s extensive enough to keep one occupied, you know? I could suggest multiple differe- ah. Sorry. [A bright blush spread across her cheeks, head down. God, why was she like this with every person she spoke to?]

.

[He shakes his head with a slight wrinkle of his brow.] Oh, seriously, don’t worry. There’s a lot of people here, and I’ve never considered myself particularly memorable, anyway. [The comment may be self-deprecating, but his grin is playful. He’s really not even being sarcastic. Being not-memorable is sort of the dream, anyway. Around here, the thing that makes him stand out the most is his Infection. And so... honestly, being forgotten about once or twice is sort of the lesser of two evils.] And you really don’t have to, [he continues.]  I can always find some in the Hub. 

[She sort of lights up, as the subject of the library comes up, and she starts to talk faster, until suddenly, she’s flushing and cutting herself off. Orson frowns once more.] What are you apologizing for? I like it here too. Trust me, I probably spend more time here than I do my dorm. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. 

[bear-little-loss]

make me an island | roy + orson

roy--walters​:

[Orson’s laughter makes him smile. Because it feels nice to make him laugh. He’s also got a really nice laugh and there’s something so deeply genuine in his laughter that Roy really can’t help but smile. And there’s something so nice and reaffirming about being able to sit here with Orson, cracking jokes, actually able to make him laugh. It feels almost normal. That’s something he really likes about being around Orson. He makes him feel almost normal. Not in like a comparative way or anything like that, but if feels like a friendship he could’ve had before the End. Before he got all fucked up–before they all got fucked up. Hanging out with Orson just feels like he’s hanging out with a friend without the looming knowledge that the world has ended hanging over their heads. He makes him feel more like a person.

He grins a bit at Orson’s “Ditto”, glad he seemed to get what Roy was saying, glad he felt the same. Roy takes another sip of his drink as Orson starts talking about some Torren guy he’d met. The name is one Roy’s heard but he’s never met the guy.] I haven’t met him, but it sounds a lot like what Kaiser– y’know, the big, scary German guy?– tried to tell me. And I totally get what you’re saying. It’s just… a lot. I would like to think that I’d want to help, or I’d want to, y’know, be a part of things. But we tried that. And it went poorly. And for so long after that there was just so much taken out of me that I don’t think I could be a full time rebel. [They did get serious for a minute, and Roy doesn’t want things to shift too much. But he’s just sharing off of what Orson had said. Relating to him. But Orson did explain to Roy what he often felt– it would be exhausting. And he’s already got enough shit in his own head that keeps him awake at night that he doesn’t need that too. 

And it seems that was Orson’s take on it too. Which was nice. It made him feel like a little bit less of an asshole.]

No, they really don’t get it that sometimes it’s nice to be boring, [Roy jokes along.] I think they think more people will like them if they aren’t boring, but sometimes it just makes the happily boring people stressed out by their constant… loudness [to quote how Orson had described Draco.] Yeah, [he nods in agreement about the nightmares.] God, I hate when I’m accidentally interesting. Wish we could both just go be boring forever. We’d get such good sleep. Which… kinda sucks that that’s the biggest upside to being boring but it sounds totally worth it. [He chuckles a little dryly as he takes another sip of his drink.]

[For a moment, Orson hears the conversation as if outside of himself; from a bird’s eye view, an out of body experience, and it sounds ridiculous. And nearly nonsensical. There’s so much repetition about boredom and being boring and losing sleep and getting sleep and it’s just... something worth chuckling at, to be honest. Orson isn’t sure if it’s the beer hitting him already (or Roy, for that matter) or if they’re just... really tired. Their constant, never-ending state of really fucking tired. Tired of life, tired of politics, tired of nightmares, tired of delusions, tired of telling people you’re not crazy but feeling pretty crazy, most of the time. 

And all at once, Orson is so grateful he has people like Roy and Annie in his life. Because as much as he loves Kip and Mouse and Elsa... he’s not convinced they can relate to him in the exact same way, much as they try. They’re supportive, of course, but sharing something like this with people who are actually like you in this way is just... different.] 

Yeah, I literally don’t think I’ve... ever spoken to Kaiser. He’s looked at me once or twice, and each time was terrifying, but... never talked to him or anything. Is he as scary as he looks? [If he’s being honest, he’s a little surprised Roy talked to Kaiser. Doesn’t seem like the kind of person Roy would seek out, unless he was being cornered. Then again, Orson admittedly wouldn’t know how to describe the kind of company Roy keeps, because apart from himself, he weirdly doesn’t know who Roy’s friends are. Roy makes a point of being pretty private, obviously.] 

[bear-little-loss]

famous last words || draco + orson

draco--pavlovic​:

I think being restless and frustrated is even worse than being bored. If you are restless is because your mind knows you should be doing something to change situation you are in. Not specifically situation with Reformists, even if that is now the big problem, but any situation. That is natural instinct of human, no? When something stays same and we know is wrong, we get frustrated and restless until is changed. If you would said you are bored then I would be more worried. I think is normal to feel like you do- no, is important to feel like you do. Because you know something is bad and you want to change. Is not your fault that you do not yet know how.

{‘Oppression is exhausting’. Draco has to laugh. That it most certainly is. It’d been a whirlwind change for him; coming from the top of the pyramid with the whole world at his feet, only to end up at the very bottom with someone else’s foot on his neck. And that’s exactly why he refuses to shut up about this. He’d grown up with the taste of effortless victory and he wants it back. The NWRF just happen to be the single largest target blocking his path.

They’ve sort of slipped out of the game and back into having a different kind of conversation, but he doesn’t mind. If anything he’s glad Orson’s the one prompting this kind of talk, even if Draco had promised to save the lecture for another day. It’s also for that reason that he silently reminds himself to at least try and keep it light. He doesn’t want to scare Orson off with too heavy a mood, but forwards progress is vital.

Bit by bit, step by step. Draco isn’t usually this patient but that’s exactly what had caused him to crash headfirst into a wall at Col4. He needs to be more tactful this time ‘round.}

Not very long. And yes, it was first Colony. I arrived not much longer before Reformists came. I think it was less than one month before first Reps showed up. Very bad timing for me. {Game momentarily forgotten, Draco easily mirrors Orson’s grin.} I was in Wastes for long time, yes. But was not what you think. Was not all bad and struggle. I met many good people and had many good adventures. I did not even want to move into Colony, but they did not ask very nicely and we did not have enough weapons to fight back. If I could go back there now I would. Maybe I will once Reformists are gone. Is not so bad to be there.

[Orson nods. Yes, he can definitely agree that his restlessness and frustration comes from knowing something is wrong, but being unable to fix it. He can count the ways and reasons in which he feels like this. His lack of control of his visions being a big part of that. And the looming shadow of his potential training with Mitch, a path still yet to be taken, is another big one.

By the sounds of it, Draco had a very different experience in the wastes than Orson did—which, considering Orson’s Infection, is sort of to be expected. Still, it makes him wonder how things might have been different, had he not had his visions back then. Or, if his clan had never found out. Could he have kept it a secret? Would a secret that big and lonely have eaten him alive, without the structure of the Colony to expose him to other people like him, or teach him that, as different as he is, that he’s not entirely alone? Obviously, being treated like he’s crazy is a set back. But the Colony is also where he’d learned that he wasn’t the only one experiencing ‘Delusions’. It’s where he’d been reunited with connection, even if it wasn’t in a physical way. 

He smiles gently as he imagines Draco in the scenarios he describes: adventure and camaraderie, freedom and wilful community.]

[He shakes his head a little.] Wow. Yeah, we definitely didn’t have the same wasteland experiences. I spent most of it alone, actually. I was lucky I was still alive by the time they found me. But... when you talk about it like that—adventure and friendship and all that. It sounds not so bad. Though, I’m not sure I’d do as well with all the anxiety and uncertainty. [He grins a little.] I’ve never been all that adventurous. I like a little predictability in my life. 

[bear-little-loss]

picnic pow wow | kipson

kip-whitmer​:

[Kip thinks, not for the first time, about the strange, fluid dichotomy between the two of them. To all appearances Kip is the outgoing one, loud and brash and unashamed while Orson is far more reticent. But in fact the truth is that Orson is the more confident one, and it shows in moments like this where Kip flinches but Orson laughs it off. 

He exhales a soft laugh, because obviously it’s bullshit. Orson doesn’t know any more about romance than Kip does – it’s pretty much the status quo for everyone their age. They all saw the movies when they were young, and then just as they were getting old enough for their own romances, D-Day happened. Does this moment feel romantic? With the hazy nighttime dimness and the blankets and the memory of a kiss – yeah, it does. But the certainty with which it can’t go anywhere stops it from being weird. Actually, Orson’s attitude stops it from being weird. If Kip were in charge of the night’s mood, it would be considerably weirder.

So although he’s amused by the joke, he does also slide a grateful smile Orson’s way. He really is a good friend. Sitting down next to him, leaving enough space between their bodies to be comfortable, Kip curls up cross legged and pulls the blanket over his knees.

The little flask makes him laugh, because it’s so… well, Kip doesn’t know. It just makes him laugh.] 

You’re such a bad boy these days. Suits you. [Grinning, he accepts the flask and takes a sip – and has to suppress a spluttery cough. It’s been a long time since he had proper, full strength spirits, and he’s very aware of the burn. Wiping the back of his mouth across his hand, Kip hands the flask back quickly. Orson might need Dutch courage for whatever he wants to talk about, but Kip probably won’t drink much. He isn’t much of a fan of hard liquor. It’s invariably like drinking gasoline.] God, I don’t even wanna know what you had to do to get actual alcohol.

[’Suits you.’ God... does it? Does it ‘suit him’ being a ‘bad boy’? Can he even say—or think—the words ‘bad boy’ about himself, with a straight face? It feels like something he’s supposed to laugh at. Something a part of him does laugh at. Something Joel would have laughed at, even if it’d been with love. 

Orson certainly doesn’t feel like a ‘bad boy’. He feels like a sad, desperate boy.

But Kip is grinning, and probably flirting a little bit, which is... normal, for them, and Orson willfully decides not to let it make him sad. Not to think about the ‘what ifs’ or the ‘could be’s and just... enjoy it, no context, no strings. Compartmentalize. Maybe he’ll start thinking more like Annie—it’s all a dream, a figment of fantasy, this ‘could be’ with Kip, and so he’ll just enjoy the flutter of it, without worrying about the ‘what ifs’ because the ‘what ifs’ simply aren’t real. They don’t exist. This thing with Kip outside their friendship is just a fantasy. The kiss had been a day dream.] 

A bad boy, hey? [A quiet grin.] I don’t know. I don’t feel like one. But to be honest, I didn’t have to do much. Pros of being friends with Pax, I guess. And by friends, I mean he saved my life twice, and if anything, I owe him, but he just keeps... acting like he’s the one who owes me. 

[He shrugs, and he’s grinning when he says it, but the truth is, he’s pretty sure he knows the reason, and he’s pretty sure it’s because Pax feels sorry for him. He’d witnessed Orson’s second witnessing. He’d witnessed what his ‘Delusion’ does to him. It’s probably compassion mixed with pity.] 

[bear-little-loss]

[bear-little-loss]

make me an island | roy + orson

roy--walters​:

You’re probably right on that, [Roy agrees. But he doesn’t think he himself is more interesting when he’s not sober. From what he remembers, he was less in his own head. He was just having fun, he wasn’t worried about what might happen and he wasn’t hearing things. He was just being as normal of a person as he could. But he shouldn’t think about it like that. That he needs alcohol to be interesting–to be normal. That… he knows it wouldn’t end well.

Roy’s smile grows, nodding along as Orson explains himself. He’d known what he meant since he said it but it was endearing how he went on. Honestly, one of them was bound to say something embarrassing at some point, Roy’s just impressed it wasn’t him first.] I don’t think I was drunk either, but you see, my dear friend, if I had said “The last time we got loose together was pretty interesting”… [He lets it sit for a moment as he takes a sip of his drink,] Just imagine the implications. [He grins.]

Yeah, I don’t think it’s a bad thing that we won’t be that interesting either. Honestly it sounds kind of exhausting, trying to be that… devil-may-care all the time. Though, I can imagine it– not because it suits you or feels right, but because it’s a fun mental image. [He teases, lightly nudging his arm with his. Roy takes a moment with his drink, thinking. He turns slightly more serious, but still lighthearted,] You’re the right amount of interesting. Wait– that doesn’t sound nice. I just meant, like… I like hanging out with you; you’re fun to hang out with. And no offence to him,[he says in the same way Orson had, like he could hear them talking about him–or for the other to know they aren’t too mean when unprompted–] but I’d much rather hang out with you any day of the week. 

[ ‘But you see, my dear friend, if I had said “The last time we got loose together was pretty interesting...’

Orson bursts out laughing in a way he doesn’t often do. Usually, his unexpected laughter is more like a giggle, or a scoff and squeak of some kind. But this time it’s a guffaw—bright an uninhibited and, well, loose. Pun intended. Maybe it’s because he can safely say he hadn’t seen that crack coming. Maybe also because he’d walked right into it and he probably should have. 

Maybe also because it’s Roy who’s saying it.]

[It makes Orson wonder—a little, and not for the first time—what Roy had been like before the End. If he’d been more of... this. Dark, almost caustic sarcasm, confident and drawling and apathetic. In certain lights, Orson can see it, and he’s not sure if the thought of that makes him happy or sad. It’s nice, in a way, that he can get a glimpse of what might’ve been a past life version of Roy, like a peek into a looking glass, a preview of a dream—but it’s almost sad, too, because Roy doesn’t seem to be that person, anymore. Not really. Or, well—it’s there, but it’s faded. Bleached out by the sun and turned soft. An echo of lost colour, once deliberate patterns now only a suggestion of them. 

But who is he to talk, really? He sometimes thinks if Joel walked through those doors right now, he wouldn’t even recognize Orson, for all he’s changed. 

He snorts a little at Roy’s compliment-slash-apology and grins.] Thanks. Ditto. [He takes a sip of his drink, and in his mind, the alcohol twists around the muscles in his throat and the lining of his stomach and seeps into his bloodstream like a facsimile of courage.] Y’know, speaking of interesting people—I recently met this Torren... Draco? Have you met him yet? He’s... loud, I guess. And loudly handsome. But he was talking to me about... just, rebel politics or whatever. Not letting people silence you, standing up to the NWRF, all that... and I couldn’t figure out how to explain to him that like, the idea of being like that—like him—appealing as it was, just sounded so... exhausting. Even if a part of me wanted that for myself... I just don’t think he got it. 

[He cracks a grin. It’s meant to be an amusing anecdote, it’s meant to be lighthearted. But he realizes he’s not sure if it came out that way or not. He decidedly doesn’t want to ruin the mood of tonight, because they’re here to have fun, and relax, so he tries to fix it before it breaks.] Interesting people don’t get the appeal in being boring. But being boring means I probably get more sleep at night. [Well...] Okay, other than the nightmares. But those come from when I’m accidentally interesting. [If traumatic events classify as ‘interesting’.] Hence why I would love to just stop being interesting entirely.

[bear-little-loss]

A LIVING DEATH || enoch & orson

rev-enoch-lynch​:

Okay. I do think it could be a good idea to get back into the stables. [[ He’s vague and avoids giving a clear answer to Enoch. He assumes there is a real reason for it but one he’s not prepared to share. There is the potential for harm if he keeps pushing an already reluctant client to talk more, but it is a chance to reaffirm the fact that Orson can tell him as much as he wants and feels comfortable with. ]]

If there’s ever anything you don’t feel comfortable talking about, you can tell me and we can move past it. For the moment. Obviously at some point, I’d like to circle back to the difficult things.

[[ Enoch pauses, smiles at the young man. ]] That’s what therapy’s all about, isn’t it?

[Lynch thinks he should go back to the stables. Because of the horses? Orson supposes that makes sense. Not that being able to touch animals replaces the need for human connection, but... he supposes he gets the idea. The heat, the warmth, the heartbeat. 

By that logic he should be physical with Roy more often, probably. But how would that be fair? He can’t just rely on Roy as a coping mechanism, because he has no other means for human physicality. Sure, Roy is his friend, and would definitely be supportive, but Orson is worried there might be... feelings there. And Orson doesn’t know if he could return them or not—not because of Roy, but because he’s a long way away from being over Kip. How do you go about getting over someone you never even had a chance with? Something that was over before it started.

Dr. Lynch isn’t pushy—he’s respectful, but he’s clear that he wants more, eventually. Expects more. Orson looks up at him. He’d not really been intentionally evasive. It’s just... how he is.]

[He shrugs at the question.] Yeah, I gu—I know. [A beat. He’s evasive, because talking about these things hurt, because he feels there are no solutions to any of his problems, because his problems aren’t of the natural world that they know of. And so talking about them often just feels like a hopeless circle jerk of misery.

But he has had these things on his mind a while, and he does feel he has no one to really talk to about Kip. Roy is the person he talks to the most, but talking to him about this... it just doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t even know if Roy feels that way, but he’s always suspected. Maybe because he feels it too, a little—but he can’t be that person for him right now, and so making him listen to his maudlin broken heart about Kip just feels selfish.] 

I guess I... I mean, I didn’t really stop on purpose, that’s true. But maybe it’s partly because it... it just reminds me of something I’d rather not think about, so... maybe subconsciously I’m just not as comfortable there now. It’s not even a big deal. You’re probably right, I should probably spend more time there. I never really thought about the animal connection thing. 

[bear-little-loss]

AIRPORT AU  | caelan + orson

kip-whitmer​:

[Orson throws him a handful of chocolates, and Caelan watches, unmoving, as they patter to the ground at his feet. Was he meant to catch those? When you’ve got two hands, and about five bits of chocolate coming your way, the maths is pretty self explanatory.

Stooping to scoop them up, he sets about making the coffee and occupying himself with chocolate while it brews. He’s still not sure exactly how festive the chocolates are, but they’re good anyway.] Huh, you fold easy.

[Not that it’s particularly difficult to peer pressure people into coffee. If he actually thought Orson felt pressured, he’d retract the offer. As it is, he walks over with two cups of coffee and hands one to Orson, grinning at his question.]

Why? You planning the wedding already? Jeez, you’re the clingy type. One night in a hotel room and our whole lives are planned out. I guess Orson Whitmer does have a nice ring to it. [Returning to his bed, Caelan sits cross-legged on it and fishes around in the box for another few chocolates. He should probably stop teasing the guy at some point, since Orson’s been so nice to him. But something about English guys just really invites teasing, in a way Caelan can’t fully explain.] 

[‘Huh, you fold easy.’ Orson nods, lower lip jutted out briefly.] Sure do. How else do you think a guy like me even got onto the leadership council in high school? I said yes to make everyone shut up. [Then three years later, he was Student President. Whoops and double whoops. Not that he regrets it, obviously. It’d been what transformed his high school experience from miserable, to memorable. It’d transformed him.

Several hours ago, he might’ve gone four shades of red, after a comment like that. But it’s late, he’s exhausted, and he’s starting to get used to this dry and drawling sense of humour from Caelan, and so the dig about the wedding stuff doesn’t horrify him like it might’ve. Could’ve. 

Instead, he rolls his eyes—he probably still blushes a little, because he did just meet this bloke, but to be fair, Caelan’s the one making all the wry jokes and innuendos; if anyone is being ‘clingy’, or at least over the top, it’s him, not Orson.

Not that he minds. It’s definitely helping to pass the time, and to make his abandoned holiday in an airport and lonely hotel, feeling much less lonely. And much less abandoned. He smirks up at Caelan, shaking his head, and focusing very hard on his chocolate to override any embarrassment he might feel.] Wow, you really like to lay it on thick, don’t you? I guess it’s hard to argue with that kind of confidence, but blimey... 

You’re that kid who got everything you ever wanted, aren’t you? [He grins.]