Part Four: The Encounter

[lestercraft]

Who: Arthur Lester and PEOPLE
When: April/May catch-all
Where: All over Sweetwater!
Open/Closed: OPEN
Applicable Warnings: Discussion of torture and missing persons, general malaise and paranoia.


Solo
It's been... difficult in a way Arthur can't quite elaborate on.

Or, well. He can. It fucking sucks. But it's something he doesn't, because he doesn't want anyone pitying him more than he already has to fucking deal with. Because he knows (feels incredibly strongly) that everyone already sees him as useless - or worse, helpless. And he can fucking take care of himself, he managed it before Parker decided to hitch his cart onto this dead fucking horse.

Washing and drying his clothes, he can manage: he and Helly had to learn how to use the machines together to begin with. Ironing, he can't - he's not even going to pretend he won't burn himself, or set something on fire somehow.

Sorting is right out. So the meticulously matched suits of months past are gone completely; Arthur's new look, as May stretches on, are completely mismatched. At least to some degree his suits are still fine; all of his suit colours work together, so instead he just looks visibly rumpled, his tie is slightly but visibly uneven - at least he can shave and style his hair alone, but it's a rather disparate and unbecoming image, especially with the whispers he keeps leaving in his wake, about being constantly arrested and kidnapping that poor driver and maybe he's faking that he's blind--

It's difficult to keep up a foul mood all month, but by God is this place making him want to try. At least the other Book Club members (or whatever the fuck they're calling themselves) at least know that he's still up for a conversation if they find him in the diner, or the library trying to keep up studying Braille. Or even just on the street, having finally mastered his cane by sheer brute force.


With John

...and then he's not alone.

Because there's a teenager with him pretty much constantly from then on. A golden-haired youth with brown eyes that hangs out nearly exclusively on his left side, talking incessantly. It's not like it's a one-sided discussion, Arthur is clearly engaged and listening, replying even, but most of the time it's just the teenager talking at him about - pretty much everything, but a casual listener will definitely notice that it's mostly about the things around them, describing what he's seeing for Arthur.

And it's not subtle how John is staring down anyone who tries approaching them, to the point of glaring when people get too close, but there's the definite impression that if anyone wants to talk to Arthur in private - yeah, that's not happening. The child is coming too.

Comments

[wwrench]

There is no part of him that thinks he has anything worthwhile to teach. When Wrench looks at himself, he doesn't see a man with skills or knowledge or the capacity to pass any amount of that onto someone else. The abilities that he has seem mostly the burdensome kind, and he's not as eager to impart them onto someone else as the man who gave them to him was in teaching him how to kill. So, he doesn't consider himself much of an instructor. Doesn't really think that Arthur would be interested in learning from him. But when the man repeats that sign almost like it's a secret delight, there are about a million things Wrench wants to say to him simultaneously.

He can't, of course, but when his mind gets ahead of his hands he grips the other man by both arms, like he's got to impart his giddy energy onto Arthur somehow. Then he takes his hands back and nods both fists into the other man's to show that yes, that's indeed the sign. He'd like to explain the particulars of why; the rather demonstrative and visceral nature of that open circle and what it represents, but he lets it pass for now.

Now that he knows Arthur knows the alphabet, Wrench is happy to use that instead. It feels clearer than writing letter by letter with his index finger, and he hopes it feels that way to the other man too.

Your handwriting too.
He refused to say much. Said he needed your permission.

[lestercraft]

It's a mercy that he's been so steadfastly trying to memorise letters, so he can keep up with Wrench literally spelling things out for him in ASL, but he's rapidly running up against the limits of his own vocabulary so far. So he gives a nod in understanding, and pulls his notepad back out from under his arm, tucked for more convenient ease of use than his pocket right now.

John is

He pauses, tapping his pen as he thinks of the best words, and ends up making a list of dot points.

- not a child
- not human
- part of eldritch god King in Yellow
- my eyes. he describes everything so i can "see" it
- anything you tell me you can tell him. assume we tell each other.

He makes a face, a sudden terse frustration, and adds beneath it:

no one fucking told me bucky only has 1 arm

[wwrench]

For all the patience he knows this method of communication demands from Arthur, Wrench has little of his own when it comes to reading those handwritten messages. He doesn't wait for the full text to reveal itself; instead, he stands close and watches as the other man forms the letters on the page, much like the way the letters come together between the two of them. By the time Arthur is done writing, Wrench is usually ready to respond again immediately.

Only he doesn't know what to make of any of that. The words aren't wholly unfamiliar, but they have no context in his version of reality. Eldritch gods and cursed stories he's never read. It would all be a little harder to wrap his mind around if they weren't currently standing in the middle of the 1960s in a town he's never even heard of.

Wrench doesn't know what to make of all of that, so he takes the easy route.

Bucky and I haven't spoken. Haven't spoken to many people. You can guess why.

He shrugs, mostly to himself. Wrench wouldn't have thought to tell Arthur even if he did know Bucky any better, assuming the man would've already known. But he can see where that's an unfair assumption. He knows how little he knows compared to how much people talk, because of the ways they tend to talk around him too.

He said he took your sight. But you're not mad at him?

[lestercraft]

He can't say he's surprised by Bucky's lacking ability to cooperate with others enough to make the effort with Wrench, but he's aware he might be being somewhat ungenerous thanks to his frustration.

'But you're not mad at him', though. That gets a rather unkind little smirk.

Bigger things to worry about. Don't worry, Wrench, he's still mad. He just can't do anything about it, and right now working together is more important than being rightfully furious about his agency being taken from him carrying over to this hellhole.

Next time we try something, he's with me.

[wwrench]

O-K. He signs the letters into Arthur's palm. If he's truthful with himself, Wrench is no more eager for a 'next time' than he was for the first. He'd gone along with the plan to gather more evidence, happy to bide his time with Numbers watching the coming and going of the delivery trucks. And when they'd all decided it was time to take action, he'd been right there with the other two men. But there's a part of him that had always feared what might have happened if they'd managed to get past the barrier and break the spell. Would he have found himself thrown right back into the middle of his old life, where Numbers is dead and he's still on the run?

If that's what's waiting for him on the other side of town, Wrench isn't in any real hurry to get back there.

Some people have left. John just arrived. There must be ways in and out we aren't thinking of.

[lestercraft]

Too many options. Still don't know if this is science or magic. None of this should be possible - and he underlines it aggressively, passing through it on one stroke - + we still don't even know why we're here.

It was difficult to try and create a hypothesis about anything - there were simply too many missing pieces. The memories they were receiving seemed to speak of people who had once been happy, in a normal, mundane way, who had had something happen to them - but the opportunity to learn anything about them at all was too limited, especially for him. Perhaps with John now that might change a bit, but as it stood there was just- too many gaps, too large to bridge just yet.

There must be somewhere obvious we haven't searched yet.