abraxaslogs | A Happening [ closed ]

Entry tags:

A Happening [ closed ]

Who: John Blake & Co.
When: May(ish)
Where: Free Cities
What: After acting like a shut-in, Blake finds it in himself to complete a couple of things that he's been meaning to check off his "to-do" list.
Warnings: mentions of depression likely, potentially some bullying

Maybe the way that today looks the same
Happy and gray I can taste yesterday.
My mind goes,
And goes where it goes,
Waiting around on my fear out of sights.
What beats of mine in this bittersweet fight,
Can we know?
What can we know?

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[ The first order of business when Blake lifts his head from the sand is to collect Hilda and make good on the date they've been meaning to take. They had promised so many times, each in a more desperate feeling situation than the last, and with the dark clouds of the pit stretching long and far past his escape, he knows he needs the break. And Hilda's not going to be far behind on that, is she?

It's not just the lingering trauma from the pit, either. Something else has been bothering Blake since their recent dinner and every moment since he's been trying to figure out what to tell Hilda (and ultimately whether he ought to say anything at all). Crane, who had crashed the dinner in question (while still somehow having an invite) had set Blake on edge again and so he figures it was that guy they have to thank for this holiday coming now, but it doesn't make him happy to have to address it so directly. He'd hoped to keep that association fairly under lock and key.

He's found himself some casual clothes and he's got Hilda on his arm while they meander through the fashion district. A while back Hilda had told Blake she knew some people in Aquila who could help Blake with one of his set-aside projects, but he can't seem to focus on that intent with so much on his mind. ]

Sorry, I've been so— [ He puffs some air, a hand scrubbing through his shaggy hair. He needs a haircut and a shave for his half-past-five-o'clock shadow. ] You know. Blah. Just— I-I've had a lot on my mind since... that dinner.

[ For what it's worth, Hilda also hasn't been the most present friend. Between trying to prepare to take on a job for the first time in her life, moving into a new loft while it was being renovated, on top of her fight with Claude it had been easy to chalk up Blake's absence to any number of things.

Busy social calendar, coming to terms with everything that had happened in the pit, and simply trying to get settled back into life in Abraxas. After all, it isn't as if he'd had much time to do any of that upon arrival. Being kidnapped by some fanatic cultists had thrown a gigantic wrench in that. Only the most insecure parts of herself worried that it had been something she had done or said during that mysteriously tense and odd dinner with Crane. The longer hair, the stubble - all of it doesn't go unnoticed.

Hilda casts a glance up towards him from under the brim of her sun hat. She hadn't wanted to bring it up first in case that dinner had been the setting for the reason behind his absence so she feels a little relieved when he brings it up first. Her lips quirk teasingly at him. ]

And here I thought you were just avoiding me. [ The teasing smile is half-hearted at best before she casts her gaze downwards for a brief moment before flitting back up to him. ] I should be apologizing too - I've been just as absent. I thought that the dinner might have had something to do with it though. Is everything okay?

Ah, well—

[ He begins with the awkwardness of a man who doesn't quite know how to handle feelings. (True.) There's no part of him that believes Hilda's been absent because he knows he has been avoiding her. Whether on purpose while hiding in his depressive hole, or via a set of very complicated missed connections, it's been too much time between visits and chatter and he's hoping to solve that over this holiday.

Blake clears his throat. He can do this. He needs to do this. If he doesn't cough up this ball of black tar in his throat that is disappointment and fear and concern and upset he won't be able to say anything at all. ]

Crane. He's... You know he's from where I'm from. The stuff he does for work puts him in close contact with a whole lotta dangerous folks. Diff'rent from how I am. He's in their heads.

[ This is suitably terrifying to Blake on its own, but add in the fact that he's dealing with some of the most dangerous criminals in Gotham City and it sends chills down his spine. ]

And I think they're in his.

[ He hates to say it. It sounds like he should be pitying this man, but he doesn't. He only feels recrimination which makes Blake question himself that much harder. (Crane hasn't done anything yet, he reminds himself, but it's only a matter of time. It's coming, he can almost feel it.) Blake finds himself looking over his shoulder even as they walk, expecting him to be there. ]

[ She'd have to be absolutely, social oblivious not to suspect that it might have had something to do with Crane. That doesn't serve to make her feel any better about the situation however because no matter way she cut it, she had been the one who had invited both men to dinner. There hadn't been reason for her to doubt that Crane had any sort of ill intent towards Blake; after all he had been pleasant and had familiarity with her dear friend.

The moment Blake begins speaking though, Hilda knows that there's far more to their relationship than she could have ever guessed. Immediately she reaches for his hand, patient as he searches for an answer to her question. Patience doesn't create understanding however and his answer causes her to frown as she tries to unpack it. Unfortunately the only answer she can come up with leaves her feeling fairly stumped. ]

You mean they can speak to one another? Like telepathically?

No, I don't mean—

[ His eyes lower and ping around at the ground trying to find a way to tell Hilda what he needs to say without damning a man who hasn't technically done much of anything wrong. He might have threatened Blake here and there, but it's not like Blake hasn't threatened back in his own way. ]

I mean that sometimes the patients might take suggestions, or make suggestions. The line between doctor and patient versus victim and aggressor— it's not so separate. And influencing someone to do your bidding or think the way you think, or allowing someone to influence you in that way is pretty much the opposite of what a doctor like that's s'posed to be doin'.

[ Does any of this make sense? He feels like he's rambling. He is rambling. ]

He's settin' himself up to have greater access to people's worst fears. That's not somethin' anyone here wants.

[ There isn't a part of Hilda that thinks Blake is rambling; she's so focused on trying to understand what he's saying that the thought doesn't cross her mind. She needs a moment to unpack it in her mind because there isn't a part of her that takes this lightly. After a moment she gently takes his hand, leading him just off to the side of the street so they weren't blocking anyone's way. ]

I thought that was part of his job.

[ And from what what Crane had explained to her, people's fears were things he was meant to help them understand and overcome - unless she had been mistaken? Her brow furrows. ]

Blake, did he do something awful to you? Because if he did I — I'm sorry I ever brought him to dinner in the first place.

[ Hilda isn't entirely wrong in her interpretation, but Blake knows well enough that such misinterpretations when it comes to that man specifically had allowed Crane the position of power in Gotham that led to a whole hell of a lot of destruction and grief.

He sighs and finds them a place nearby to sit in the shade. Blake, agitated by the topic, is urged towards fidgeting, but luckily Hilda's presence stalls his hands for the time being. She'd done work to make his hands nice at the hospital and he doesn't forget the kindness even during the worst of his distress. ]

No. Yes. Maybe. I—it's hard to explain. He's... manipulative. Cunning, but not in a good way. He hasn't done anything yet, but—

[ Blake frowns and lowers his gaze. Innocent until proven guilty means a whole hell of a lot, but these aren't common circumstances. He glances around and then lowers his voice. ]

I've got good reason to believe he might act in ways that aren't ethical. Or safe.

[ Those descriptors on their own probably wouldn't have done much to worry her because she knew a handful of people who could easily be described like that depending on who you were speaking to. But this was Blake and the amount of respect and trust she had in him felt boundless.

Something clicks in her brain the moment he utters, 'He hasn't done anything wrong yet', and her eyes flutter wide in surprise. ]

You're from a different point in time than he is, aren't you? [ An all too familiar scenario that she's currently found herself in when it comes to her friends. ] If he's going to do something awful we have to tell someone.

[ He's glad that Hilda catches on before he has to say anything. It sounds crazy enough even in a world full of magic and plenty of chaos. Still, Blake feels no real relief because he knows it doesn't buy them much of anything. ]

What kind of stuff are we gonna tell people when we don't have any evidence? It's his word against mine. Not sure why anyone would believe me over him. It's only 'cause you know me that you do.

[ Timelines and key moments playing out in different ways still feels slightly unhinged for Hilda to think about for long periods of time. A master of distraction, she had finally been able to avoid thinking about her unfortunate end in Petra's timeline, but even she slipped up from time to time.

She doesn't allow herself to acknowledge the cold clamminess that tries to creep in as a reminder of her fate in a reality that isn't her own, focusing instead on Blake. ]

I don't just believe you because I know you.

[ Although there was something to be said about how trusting she was until someone proved themselves otherwise. Hilda does see however that Blake has a point.

Running around saying something without proof would only reduce whatever they were saying to mere gossip. And if her innocent question to Crane about whether or not he knew something about why Blake had acted the way he did at dinner was any indication, he was just as good at acting innocent. ]

I hate to say that we'll just have to wait, but I think that's what we'll have to do. [ 'We' because she's already decided that she'll support Blake in whatever way he needs it. ] He said all his work is usually private and with a client, but it's not like we can just send someone we trust in there to get more proof.

Blackness, near pitch surrounds him. Damp. Dank.

Drip, drip, drip...

Echoing moans carry down long corridors. Wails of despair slowly seep, leaking from the walls and gathering below. They've filled the floor, pooling around the ankles, sloshing and swirling in a murky mire that never seems to catch the light.

Whispers and rumbling stomachs chitter over the surface of the river of despair and as he stumbles along, all Blake can think about is getting out. Bodies lay everywhere underfoot. It's like a battlefield, but nothing of the sort. No one is dead. Alive with desperation, made entirely too vital with never-ending pain. Minutes into hours into days into weeks into months into years into a lifetime—

Drip, drip, drip...

A sliver of light beckons, a tall and thin tower in the distance. Moving towards it feels unnaturally efficient as if one step takes him two. Blake feels his anxiety spike and as his pace quickens, so does the light, each rushing toward the other like a uniting family until it becomes obvious what he's seeing (even if some part of him already knows).

A door handle glistens in borrowed light, a faceted crystal splintering rainbows in a halo. On the other side, through the crack between the door and the frame, sunlight pours out, blinding in its intensity.

All at once, as if a cat springing to catch a mouse, he reaches, both hands closing around the doorknob. And he pulls it closed. Holding on so tight. Holding on with everything he's got. Tears flow, eyes stinging, and if not for the determined grimace on his face, he'd almost look like he was trying to get out.

Feet scrabbling against pebbled earth and thick mud, he pulls and pulls and the door shudders against the frame, fighting back until—

A pop. Like a balloon. And Blake's hands pull off the handle as if seared, the light now refracting red, red, red. And now there's something on the other side. A noise that he cants his head to catch, eyes cast downward in grief.

Drip, drip, drip...

He doubles over, but it's only dry heaves. There's nothing left to be rid of. Not a single damn thing left anywhere inside.

Sabine finds herself pulled through the miasma of noise that is all the thoughts and dreams that proliferate the night to a single place. A sucking, sinking feeling. So familiar and so much in need. Where she finds herself is too similar to the dreams of what K'ron wanted to do to the Earth. Bodies desperate, moaning in pain, but not given the relief of death. Writhing shadows in the darkness.

She floats, more presence than girl,
between them toward the man fighting with the door

(with the darkness, with the light).

As one could predict, he falls, but the ground doesn't swallow him up. The silhouette of red drapes him off the doorway as he hunches, as he wretches more metaphorically than anything else, and she pulls herself slowly, more and more, to this place where Blake is—a nightmare wrapped strangling tight.

'Breathe,' is a soft whisper, weaving through the sounds from beyond the threshold.

Folded in half by his misery and hiccoughing his upset, Blake cowers from the doorway as if a monster is threatening to come through. A second passes, then two, and when nothing shoves in but a whispering voice, he leans his head to listen again. A familiar tendril keeps him still, a voice that he's heard but can't place.

The wails begin to fade, turned to tinny sounds that still harrow him from a distance. Blake follows the whisper instead, instinct leading him toward its promise.

Breathe.

He listens. He tries. It's halting to start, rattling and wet, but as he collapses to sit, the sense of imminent death begins to recede, taking with it the edge. Blake presses his ear to the door, cool against his cheek. His ears stretch to sense more of that peaceful command, longing for relief and finding permission in it.

B r e a t h e.

Blake takes one breath after another like a child getting the hang of riding a bike, and it helps until it doesn't, because when the water begins running under the door, those breaths turn to panting gasps and his tight inaction turns to scuttling limbs.

Things start to fade slightly, and Sabine takes shape at the far edges. She doesn't have to, but she chooses it anyway, even though it's the smallest percentage of her, spread across the terror and the grief. No more or less than the door, the dark, and the changing light. More solid than all of it, and yet thin as a wisp simultaneously.

She doesn't know the name of his terror, but the spool of it is like a noose, releasing a touch only to bring itself back even tighter. The closed door, through which it begins to pour, as though proof keeping it closed can't keep whatever is on the other side from coming through. Around the edges, under the bottom. Cold and dank.

'It can't hurt you.' Her words are still a slice of a whisper, but they're starting to echo a little more,
firm up into and through the sound of the water and the darkness around them.

It can't hurt you.

Clinging to this promise, wanting so desperately to believe, he feels the words as much as he hears them. They wash over his head, like the dump of warm water which he imagines fragrant with powdery soap. The cold water rushing under the door begins to slow as if someone's turning off that particular tap.

"It has," he admits unsteadily, miserable and too thick for his throat. "It does."

Blake turns towards the warmth, hardly moving but reaching for relief from his nightmares. He's beginning to wonder if it's a spray of sunlight and not actually water at all. It's preferable to anything else at the moment and he unburdens as if this is his only chance to say so.

"It still hurts."

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A Happening [ closed ]

For Hilda—

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For Sabine—

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