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Hello confusion, I know you well
Who: Sam Seaborn and Sarah Wenham
Where: Various
When: April 1st - 11th
What: Catch-all
Warnings: Will edit as necessary
[Open]
April 2nd
Sam starts walking on the road out of town while the sun is still high, determined to find the spot where this accident happened. As big as it was, as many people as there were involved, it has to have entailed a certain amount of large-scale destruction. Right? Right.
So there has to be some sign of it, somewhere, and he hasn't seen it anywhere else in town.
He can find it and stop wondering. He can find it and set aside the uneasiness that pricked him through the night. (Three accidents, three months, same symptoms each time, the odds of that can't be high, can't even be measurable.)
The first time he reaches the curve of the road, he doesn't notice. The sun is almost directly above him, and the trees are so tall that looking for landmarks is nigh-impossible.
But then there's the town's greeting sign, and he turns around and starts walking the other direction, this time making a point of watching the position of the sun.
When it starts to turn, well. He'll just have to head into the woods.
April 4th
It turns out that lunch meat and bread in a house with a teenage boy is not enough to keep everyone fed.
Which is why Sam is poking around the grocery store, completely unsure of what to get. Fruits and vegetables, probably. More lunch meat. Peanut butter? Jelly? Frozen pizza. He's zigzagging haphazardly through the store, retracing his steps as some other item occurs to him, stopping to stare at things he doesn't actually need for disproportionate amounts of time.
These instances are his brain catching up to him. Wanting to know what he's doing, why he's doing it, when it isn't necessary. He has to keep fighting that instinct. That this isn't necessary. He barely eats at his apartment anyway--
Except he doesn't have an apartment, he has a house. A house, and a teenage boy.
April 6th
He needs to get out of the house. Away from the signs of a teenage boy living in his space, away from the fresh waves of memory and the anxiety that comes with them.
(None of this is right/I don't know that boy/I don't have a/sister/sister/sister)
That word matches his gait as he jogs through the early-morning light. Sis-ter, sis-ter, sis-ter.
He's hung up on it, circling that one word until he's hypnotized by it, and pieces start falling into place again. Their parents disowning her after she got pregnant. Her marrying the scumbag who fathered Chase. The scumbag leaving when Chase was a baby. Chase and Theresa moving in with Sam himself while he was at Harvard.
(Sis-ter, sis-ter-- I didn't go to Harvard.)
He trips, catches himself, stumbles forward a few steps and then lands hard on his knees in someone's front yard.
"I went to Princeton," he says, outrage in his voice.
It's his Secret Service code name and everything.
April 8th
Sam feels like he's losing his mind.
If he smoked, he would be smoking. If he felt comfortable keeping alcohol in the house with Chase around, he would be drinking. Since he doesn't do one and won't do the other near his nephew (nephew?) he's stuck instead wandering around his back yard talking to himself.
At the moment it's an argument about guilt, grief, and responsibility. Responsibility to Chase vs responsibility for his own health, his own experienced grief vs his right to express it when Chase is (must be) going through the same or worse, the guilt of forgetting vs the resentment of being yoked to this kid vs guilt for feeling that way vs the ghostly thought that he doesn't belong here like this at all--
He's talking quietly, sure, but it's not impossible to overhear.
Where: Various
When: April 1st - 11th
What: Catch-all
Warnings: Will edit as necessary
[Open]
April 2nd
Sam starts walking on the road out of town while the sun is still high, determined to find the spot where this accident happened. As big as it was, as many people as there were involved, it has to have entailed a certain amount of large-scale destruction. Right? Right.
So there has to be some sign of it, somewhere, and he hasn't seen it anywhere else in town.
He can find it and stop wondering. He can find it and set aside the uneasiness that pricked him through the night. (Three accidents, three months, same symptoms each time, the odds of that can't be high, can't even be measurable.)
The first time he reaches the curve of the road, he doesn't notice. The sun is almost directly above him, and the trees are so tall that looking for landmarks is nigh-impossible.
But then there's the town's greeting sign, and he turns around and starts walking the other direction, this time making a point of watching the position of the sun.
When it starts to turn, well. He'll just have to head into the woods.
April 4th
It turns out that lunch meat and bread in a house with a teenage boy is not enough to keep everyone fed.
Which is why Sam is poking around the grocery store, completely unsure of what to get. Fruits and vegetables, probably. More lunch meat. Peanut butter? Jelly? Frozen pizza. He's zigzagging haphazardly through the store, retracing his steps as some other item occurs to him, stopping to stare at things he doesn't actually need for disproportionate amounts of time.
These instances are his brain catching up to him. Wanting to know what he's doing, why he's doing it, when it isn't necessary. He has to keep fighting that instinct. That this isn't necessary. He barely eats at his apartment anyway--
Except he doesn't have an apartment, he has a house. A house, and a teenage boy.
April 6th
He needs to get out of the house. Away from the signs of a teenage boy living in his space, away from the fresh waves of memory and the anxiety that comes with them.
(None of this is right/I don't know that boy/I don't have a/sister/sister/sister)
That word matches his gait as he jogs through the early-morning light. Sis-ter, sis-ter, sis-ter.
He's hung up on it, circling that one word until he's hypnotized by it, and pieces start falling into place again. Their parents disowning her after she got pregnant. Her marrying the scumbag who fathered Chase. The scumbag leaving when Chase was a baby. Chase and Theresa moving in with Sam himself while he was at Harvard.
(Sis-ter, sis-ter-- I didn't go to Harvard.)
He trips, catches himself, stumbles forward a few steps and then lands hard on his knees in someone's front yard.
"I went to Princeton," he says, outrage in his voice.
It's his Secret Service code name and everything.
April 8th
Sam feels like he's losing his mind.
If he smoked, he would be smoking. If he felt comfortable keeping alcohol in the house with Chase around, he would be drinking. Since he doesn't do one and won't do the other near his nephew (nephew?) he's stuck instead wandering around his back yard talking to himself.
At the moment it's an argument about guilt, grief, and responsibility. Responsibility to Chase vs responsibility for his own health, his own experienced grief vs his right to express it when Chase is (must be) going through the same or worse, the guilt of forgetting vs the resentment of being yoked to this kid vs guilt for feeling that way vs the ghostly thought that he doesn't belong here like this at all--
He's talking quietly, sure, but it's not impossible to overhear.
6th april / Sam
So have that, Sam. The elder half-brother of Pietro, head tilted and eyebrows furrowed, looking at you like you might be a liability. (Besides, being somewhat used to the stance of armed men, Sam might notice that Cassian is definitely armed underneath that jacket.)
Though he makes no move to reach for his weapon so that's...probably a good thing. Right?
"Did you now."
It's not a question, somehow, but it's followed by: "Do you want some juice, or something?"
no subject
Be clueless, essentially.
"I did. It was my code name." As soon as the words are in the air, they sound stupid. But they're not, he insists that to himself, they're not stupid, he's not crazy, it's true.
It just happens to not match anything in his experience here.
"...Juice? Is that a local thing, someone falls on your lawn, you offer them juice?"
no subject
Of course, he can't, because what good would it do? It would only open him up to questions he can't deflect from and won't answer, so instead of allowing himself to visibly react to it Cassian just gives a nod.
"I didn't grow up here, so I don't know if it's a local thing." Still. He makes a gesture towards the door.
no subject
He should get up.
He does, dusting off his knees and checking to make sure he didn't... dent the lawn? He feels like this is a thing he could possibly have done.
When he's close enough to do so, Sam offers Cassian a hand. "Sam. Seaborn."
no subject
He kind of hates the way that this memory altering tech, whatever in the hell it is, creates long-term memories out of a name and a face. Still. Context is worth something and besides that, it'll be harder on whomever is listening to sort out the 'dangerous' topics from the safe ones, if they're constantly intermingled.
"Pietro is my brother." Cassian shrugs, almost an apology. "I also have tea. And coffee." Though he, personally, doesn't like drinking the former nearly as much, or the latter after exercising.
no subject
He remembers that. He remembers Pietro also being a little weird, but passionate! And passion is a good thing when it comes to civic engagement. "Water even would be great, thank you."
Probably a better idea than coffee, even if Sam gets the impression that he drinks a lot of coffee. A lot of it. "It's just the two of you?"
no subject
"I don't know them very well, the roommate." He grabs a glass, and bottled water from the fridge. Someone is still wary about the water supply.
no subject
Sam takes note of the water bottle, wondering if Cassian is like his parents, preferring not to taint their lips with the water of the hoi polloi. Still, he's not going to be rude enough to ask.
"When did you move here?"
no subject
Either way, he hands Sam the glass and the water bottle, and gives a little shake of his head. "Ten years ago, maybe. I don't know."
no subject
no subject
Mostly the latter; the details were probably deemed unimportant or maybe they simply didn't make it, I don't know.
Look at the light up there. Then look, oh, two degrees left. What do you see?
no subject
Sam looks, still holding the bottle poised to pour.
How much is a degree? A pinch, a twitch, a fraction?
--But there, what's that. A lens. A--] Camera. That's a camera.
[ He finally remembers what's in his hands and finishes pouring his glass of water. He sets the bottle down with a murmured thanks and takes a sip, not entirely sure why Cassian would point out something that seems like a private security feature.] I'm not going to steal the good silver if that's what you're worried about.
no subject
[ Not the camera, the entire situation. ]
That camera is in every house. Every single one. And it isn't the only one there.
This isn't about me. This is about the signs in the windows and the way people cringe when you break the rules.
i am so sorry about him
Holds up a finger, a wait, just wait a second gesture.
And then he walks out of Cassian's house and jogs back to his own.
He sees the cameras now. The more obvious ones at least. And he knows, knows that he didn't put them there. He wouldn't want surveillance inside his own home, whether it was for security or not.
Sam makes a rude gesture at the camera in the kitchen before he leaves again, heading back for Cassian's front door. ]
i laughed and keep laughing.
Well, he watches Sam leave the house and then Cassian decides he has not had enough coffee for all of this, whatever this is, so. Time to make some. It's even ready by the time Sam reaches the door again, which Cassian opens with a cocked eyebrow. ]
It's not just the houses; I don't think I need to say that but perhaps I do.
[ Come back in, Sam. ]
no subject
He glares up at the spot in the kitchen that Cassian pointed out, speaking to the camera even though he's technically addressing his neighbor. ] This constitutes an illegal search. It's a violation of the Constitution. Of this country's Constitution, the federal laws under which all States are subject. The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.
[ A half-breath of a pause. ] How do I know that.
no subject
Why this? Why him? Ibaraki blew up a cop car and Cassian helped smuggle a body across town and this is probably what's going to get him busted. ]
Because you're a politician. That is my guess. [ Cassian pinches the bridge of his nose and goes to make coffee. ] From Earth, supposedly, which...hate to tell you, but you're assuming quite a lot if you're assuming we're still there. I mean, it's possible. But it's possible that we aren't, and I'd rather skip the 'are you sure's and padded room suggestions, if you're quite done.
Something to consider, anyway.
no subject
Uh??
Pls hold, because he didn't fully parse what you just said.
Rather, he did, but he really doesn't want to.
It takes him a few tries to get anything out. ] What. Why would you say that?
[ Because it does seem crazy. Entirely crazy. Completely.
Crazier than a town in the US completely closed off from the outside world, as best as he can tell?
No, it's impossible. Sam feels more unbalanced just for considering the idea.] Do you have evidence?
no subject
Evidence?
[ He does. Kind of, but he's also not...keen on the idea of just showing Sam his weapon and saying ~it's from outer space~. ]
The moment I see a ship I recognize I'll point it out to you.
no subject
The question he asks, he asks the camera, before turning to Cassian and repeating it. ]
Why are you surveilling us? Why are they surveilling us? What...
[ He looks at the camera again.
He's a school teacher. What possible... What possible......
Unless he isn't a school teacher. Unless he does work for the President. Unless. Unless. Unless something is wrong with his head?
Unless they did something to his head. ]
Oh, God. [ He needs to sit.
He'll compromise by leaning against the counter. ] This is crazy.
no subject
[ He does, however, take up Sam's previously forgotten bottle of water and nudge the other man's hands with it. Don't have a breakdown while dehydrated, it does no one any good. ]
Only theories, and they aren't terribly substantiated based on the chronic memory issues with this town.
sure thought i replied to this
April 8th
Hi, Sam. Did you know that Jefferson's your neighbor? In fact, your backyard shares a fence with his. Well, not his, exactly. It's Brock and Kenzi's house; he just rents a room there. In any case, Jefferson was merely enjoying an afternoon in the backyard, stretched out on a lounge chair to read a book, when, once again, he found himself interrupted by another Sam Seaborn soliloquy.
Hence: his loud observation.
no subject
"Not particularly, no. I just-- I was-- It doesn't matter."
That's about when Sam genuinely, genuinely takes note of Jefferson. And, whether he's put out at being caught discussing personal matters or because he finds Jefferson generally annoying, he can't stop the barb this time. "What did your closet ever do to you?"
no subject
He pushes his sunglasses up into his hair, just so Sam can get the full force of his wide-eyed, totally sincere stare from across the white picket fence separating their backyards.
"It begged me never to fill it with denim, flannel, or polyester. I obliged."
no subject
That said, he still comes closer, trying to spot the title of Jefferson's book. He raises his eyebrows. "'The Once and Future King.' You must love the ant transformation. Everything not forbidden is compulsory."
no subject
"And what gave you the impression I'd love that?"
Look, just because he doesn't make a big scene whenever possible, it doesn't mean he blindly follows the rules. He just has a little something called self preservation.
no subject
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At least here, they can speak more freely.
"I never had the pleasure of meeting him when I visited Camelot." And maybe it's a comment that can be easily written off as flippant sarcasm, but Jefferson's certainly speaking from either experience or delusion here. It's just a bit easier to talk like this when away from the cameras and the townies.
The fact that Jefferson's even making a joking reference to his past (one of his pasts?) is sign of some progress. Or, at least, a sign that he's resigned himself to his madness, rather than continue to wail and lash out against it.
no subject
"That isn't the point." Regardless of whether or not Jefferson has, hasn't, or imagines he has been to Camelot.
no subject
"And I'm sure you'll take the time now to tell me your point. At length."
You just seem like that kind of guy, Sam Seaborn.
no subject
Okay, he is. He's that predictable. He doesn't care.
"The point is that silence in the face of injustice is the same as participation. You do what they say without question and you're culpable, you're responsible for reinforcing a status quo that has no basis in legal or moral reason."
no subject
"So, I should stand up, and then what? Get locked up?" Again, a voice in his head supplies, and though it's unspoken, the way he says it might clue Sam in. He's been a prisoner before, in a house, in a dungeon, left to nothing but his own festering madness.
"Give me a reason to stick my neck out for you." You know, the neck he constantly keeps covered for some reason.
no subject
Maybe that's why he teaches.
"It's not for me. It's not even really for you. It's for everyone. It's for the people who live here, the kids who live here. We stay silent, we do nothing, and we raise up a generation of bystanders. We shepherd them into a world where the wrong thought, the wrong action, not even the morally wrong one but those decreed to be wrong in violation of civil liberty, is reason enough for punishment. Changing the present moment isn't just for the present moment, it's for the future."
no subject
Loss. That's all he can feel, down into his bones. He might've had a daughter once, he thinks, or perhaps he only dreamed one up. The nurse said it was a byproduct of his accident, his imagination acting up and filling his head with fantasies.
As it does. As it always has. (You can't trust your mind, Jefferson, was the implication.)
He takes a long, steadying breath, and looks across the backyard again, at Sam.
"Save it for somebody with any ties to a future."
no subject
So for a moment he fumbles, then says, "What about yourself? You can't... want to live in a place like this. Can you?"
no subject
"Of course not. But I don't belong anywhere. At least here, I'm not the only one." He scoffs bitterly. "Welcome to the Island of Misfit Toys."