singillatim | Party Talk

Entry tags:

Party Talk

Who: Levi and ???
What: Daily routine sort of things ~~free to be bothered by others~~
When: Later in the month, days and non-event nights
Where: Community Hall

Content Warnings: Child soldiers, child abuse and mental illness (PTSD/Depression). Will note anything others in subjects!

#1: Maybe I will pick up piano once more... ((OTA))

It was late, but Levi was awake and didn't think he'd be going back to bed soon. Too many dreams. So he takes the time to (quietly!) explore the Community Hall and ends up at the piano. A piano...well, he was feeling melancholy already.

Long, long ago his mother used to play. She had tried to teach him some...but that was a lifetime ago. Before the war, before even the orphanage. The memories he has of his mother were some of--perhaps the only--good memories he had. And yet, despite that, he could barely remember her face. Just how nice she had been, the times they sat down together and she'd read to him or try to teach him the piano. How his father hadn't deserved someone like her...and That Night.

He sighs deeply and presses a few keys. Back in Prehevil he'd proven he didn't really remember any songs. Still, late in the night and alone in the dark he wishes he did. Maybe there was someone here...no. No, he didn't need to burden them with his issues. He should just forget it. He wasn't fit for piano anyway.

Another few taps and he turns to leave, but it seemed he wasn't alone after all. "Ah...hi. Sorry to disturb you...I-I didn't mean to."

#2: For so long I've been nothing but a scope behind a rifle... ((OTA))

Not long after dawn, Levi had claimed a table to do weapon maintenance. He'd eaten, and he'd go scouting soon but first he wanted to make sure everything was working. As he did every day, but it was in a way meditative. Something to focus on, though he could do it in his sleep.

The boy's rifle is laid out on the table before him, currently disassembled, as he wiped down the barrel with a rag he'd picked up somewhere in town. He doesn't seem to notice if anyone approaches, but if they stayed for a bit or said something he would.

#3: Just looking for the next moving target... ((OTA, free bullets to good home))

After returning from scouting (read: wandering through town and looting what little is left in the unclaimed houses), the boy in the army coveralls claims a quiet corner. Any ammo, of any sort, he found he'd claimed and stuffed in his satchel, and by now he'd amassed an okay amount. So he was sitting there, sorting them by type. His rifle took .303 rounds, so any of those went right back in the satchel sitting next to his rifle. The rest, though, he was organizing into little piles.

He wasn't really sure what to do with it all. While he had claimed a handgun for back up, he didn't really see the need to take any other guns. So he's not really sure what he'll do with all the ammo he couldn't use, or the excess ammo for his revolver (he didn't plan to use it much). Find somewhere to leave it for people? But letting just anyone take them might not be wise. There was at least one ~~person who looked like a~~ kid here, and he'd never let another child hold a gun. There had been too many, and there were enough adults here that they could handle the wolves and whatever else.

If anyone approaches he'll look up, but hesitate to speak.

#4: I don't want to go back to that. ((Open, but one only please))

Levi never slept well. In the Community Hall, in the company of other people, he slept better than he had in the houses and stores. Since he was young he'd slept with others. The orphanage only had large rooms where one had to claim their own bed...or sleep on the floor. It was rare that there weren't enough people to fill all the beds. Just when someone got too old and was kicked out. Or, more likely but still thankfully rare, when someone disappeared.

In the army, in the barracks, the trenches, or wherever they stopped on missions, he'd been with at least one squad. At least then there were enough cots or bedrolls for everyone. Even after he'd returned to his home town he'd mostly slept with others near by. Only two nights, but save a couple naps here and there throughout the town, the other contestants had been near by.

But almost every time he slept, he had nightmares. There were so many things in his past that haunted him. That his brain wouldn't let him forget. Most nights he'd just toss and turn then wake after a few hours. Sometimes he'd get back to sleep, other times he'd be awake for the day. Some nights... some nights the dreams were worse. He'd toss and turn like normal, sometimes talking or crying in his sleep. The worst nights he'd awake with a start, with a gasp or even crying out for someone or something.

He tried to sleep apart from the others as not to bother them. But he still slept nearby, close enough to anyone else that he might wake up someone else. During one of his worst nightmares he awakens with a start and a cry of "No!"

#? Wildcard! ((OTA, feel free to make up your own))
Levi's spending most of the nights--except wolf nights--a good part of the evenings and some mornings in the Community Hall these days. It was safe, especially now that Methuselah was gone (there was no way that guy could be trusted), and it was warm. Warm enough to tide him over for awhile, at least. He keeps to himself mostly, rarely talking to the others unless spoken to first. But he wouldn't completely shun company.

((i default to prose but will match style))

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Edward has a difficult time sleeping, himself — and when he does slip to it, typically from exhaustion after too many hours spent awake, it's plagued with nightmare. Memories, already terrible on their own, spun into warped horrors. If he could, he would never sleep. Though lately, being awake offers little solace, with the whispers of some strangeness that knows all of the worst things he has ever done.

Lately, most nights, he does a second round of patrolling. Something to keep his mind focused, remind himself of the purpose he has, here. From the outskirts of the town where his little cabin is, on into Milton itself, making certain that all of the homes are quiet and nothing is amiss. He often visits the community hall, to see that Kate Marsh is well (or as well as can be, given every sorrow that haunts the poor girl).

He makes his way inside, quietly, knowing it's rather late — heavy boots moving slowly so as not to make as much sound. As always, the lieutenant is in uniform, and he keeps his shotgun with him, strapped to his back. It's as he's making his rounds that he hears.... music? Nothing long enough to be a melody, but a few notes. He knows Kate plays violin, he is a frequent enjoyer of it, but this is something else. Edward makes his way towards that direction, quietly approaching the person sitting there. A young man, and when he turns and takes notice of him, Edward's lifting a gloved hand, head giving a soft shake.

"You haven't. I was only looking around to make certain that everything was all right, here."

He pauses, looking the young man over.

"Trouble sleeping?"

"That's good." He didn't want to be any trouble, figuring he was enough of a burden already.

"...yeah. I don't sleep all that much. Is it the same with you?"

Edward's mouth forms a soft, albeit grim expression. Not quite a smile or a frown, but something inbetween. He shifts his stance a little, relaxing his posture as he stands, touching a hand to the strap securing his gun to his back.

"It is, regrettably. This place makes it difficult for the mind to find peace... and sleep, as a result."

Though there's much irony to the fact that he is safer here, in nearly all aspects, compared to where he was before. Edward pauses again, before his head tips in gesture of the piano.

"Do you play?"

"Yeah..." Though being here had no effect on his nightmares so far.

He looks back to the piano, pressing a key. "No...I-i don't. My mother did...but I don't remember anything she played."

Ah.... the boy's mother. Edward feels a little flutter of quiet sorrow within his chest. He's clearly young, perhaps no older than the ships' boys. To be in this place on his own... Sympathy tugs the corners of his mouth a bit tighter.

"She played when you were very young?"

"...yeah. Really young."

He wonders if he'd have tried to keep up at it if the orphanage had a piano. He can't imagine they'd let the kids do anything like that, though.

Ahh. There are... inferences that could be made, although he would not presume to know for certain. Either way, there's a tightness in his chest, eyes softening a bit as he watches the young man.

"I see."

A pause, before the man continues.

"Music can be a balm to a restless mind. I find that to be true for myself." He casts a look around the dark quiet; most everyone is asleep now, so he keeps his voice hushed.

"Do you stay here? If so, you may know a young woman by the name of Kate Marsh? She often plays her violin."

"...I'm not fit for it. For making music." It was too delicate for someone like him.

"Yeah. I sleep here at least." When he was able to. "...um, maybe."

The name sounded familiar...was she the girl who'd been shopping for toiletries early on? He'd seen her around the hall, but he'd never approached her. Or anyone, really.

Edward almost smiles, a little.

"That makes two of us. I am much more adept at listening to it than creating."

He has no true skill with playing it, but oh, how he loves to listen.

"I enjoy providing her an audience, from time to time. I'm certain she would not mind if you ever wish to listen, as well. It is... nice, that someone plays an instrument, here."

He nods. "I've heard her play. Its nice."

And it was nice to have something to listen to other than people shuffling around or his thoughts getting dark.

"Do you think she found it here?" He hadn't noticed any instruments, but it wasn't really a thing he was keeping an eye out for.

Ah — he's glad to hear that. If others could find similar reprieve in such moments.... Especially someone so young as this boy.

"It came from her home." Edward gives another faint smile, more the ghost of a thing. He knows that Kate's home was not necessarily... the happiest of places for her. But even so, she must miss it terribly.

"As impossible as it all seems, that our personal items could appear here with us.... Have any of yours?"

"The only things I brought here I had on me. But I don't have....anything, really. My rifle's the only thing that matters."

Well, he still had that weird rat statue Marina had made him keep...but there wasn't really a point to it. He just couldn't let it go.

"Did yours?"

Rifle? Edward's brows lift slightly at that as he looks the young man over again.

"Some of my clothing.... my other uniform," he replies quietly. His tailcoated one and the epaulettes to attach at his shoulders, for dress. Finding those golden tassels here was... a surprise. He had not worn them in a very long time.

"...And my own gun. Might I ask, is yours for recreation, or service?"

He'd never gone very far from his rifle in this place, so it was currently leaning against a wall near the piano. "Service. I was in the army back home. You...look like you were too?"

He can't name what Edward's uniform is from, but its obvious its a uniform of some sort.

Ah — a solider. Edward gives another polite nod, and steps forwards, gently removing one of his gloves before offering his hand out to the younger man with formality, but a smile lingering in his eye.

"Edward Little, of Her Majesty's Royal Navy. It is a pleasure."

He shakes the offered hand. His grip isn't very strong. "Levi Jořdán. Formerly of the Eastern Union's army. Likewise."

Rorschach had meant to make his way back to one of the safehouses he'd established. He didn't trust anyone here for all that he'd fought alongside or protected some of them. It was nothing personal. Just his natural paranoia at work, the kind that saw shadows around every corner and found conspiracies in imaginary patterns. But the snow had started this day and the wind was bitterly cold. So he found himself in the Community Hall with all the rest of the Interlopers.

He had trouble sleeping at all times of the day but especially at night. He'd patrolled the streets of NYC night after night, usually starting just after dark and not returning back to his apartment until just before dawn. So right now he was wide awake. He curled up in a corner and pulled out his journal, scribbling softly in it.

When he heard someone tossing and turning, he didn't think much of it at first. But the sounds of restless sleep continued and so he got up to see who it was. He remembered Levi from the few times they'd met. He loomed over him, wondering if it was better to wake him up or let him sleep. Then he woke up on his own.

Levi would find the black-and-white masked face staring down at him without saying anything at first.

The sight of Rorschach's masked face causes him to scramble off the cot, away from the other man. But his brain catches up to being awake by the time he's on his feet and he recognizes him. Probably not (currently?) a threat (he's still not sure if Rorschach is human or not though). He shouldn't need the rifle under his bed.

He swallows, "S-sorry...You startled me."

Yes, he's the one apologizing here.

Anyone with a slightly higher level of social skills would have said there was no need to apologize or tried to comfort Levi. Rorschach being Rorschach, he didn't even consider either of those ideas. He had empathy for the fact the boy clearly had been having bad dreams, stunted as it was, but it was hard for him to express it.

"Nightmare?" was all he asked.

"Y-yeah..." He says, somewhat sheepishly and looking away from the other man.

"That's normal, though."

Alternatively, Edward's grip is firm — not aggressive, but assured. After a shake of the young man's hand, he lets go, re-adjusting his posture.

"The Eastern Union... what country does that belong to, if you don't mind my asking?"

Oh, this again. "That is the country." More or less. "Um, it may not be a thing where you come from."

Or...something. But Edward isn't the first person to have never heard of it. It seemed like this place might be a whole other world, or at least time period, and he really doesn't know what to make of that. Just that thinking about it made his head hurt.

"I see." Or— he doesn't, exactly, but he understands the overarching concept of it. "It seems so many of us come from lands that are unfamiliar to one another." Like parts of different people's dreams all drawn together. None of it should be possible.

"Is your world very different from this one?"

"I don't know. A lot about this place looks like it could be back where I came from, but there are things that aren't anything close to what I know. Like the, um....computers, or whatever those are."

Ah—! That word! Edward gives a doe-eyed blink, brows lifting with recognition.

"The devices with the eee mails?" He draws out the 'e' a bit too long when he says it....

"They are unfamiliar to my world as well, although someone explained to me their purpose. I suppose they make communication much swifter, but I must admit that they fill me with a sort of dread..."

He nods, "Yeah those. We didn't really have anything like that where I came from...well, not in many places at least."

A sense of dread? They reminded him of those weird machines, but he'd never gotten a feeling of dread from either the ones in Prehevil or the ones here. Never got much of a feeling beyond 'this is over my head,' really.

"I think they're probably safe? People act like they know them. And they don't really work anyway."

"Hurm." The strange sound that was neither really a growl or a grunt but a unique sound all its own was the only acknowledgement that came forth at first of what Levi had said. He was actively trying to figure out what he should say next. He finally figured it out.

"What about?" Was that a personal question that he probably shouldn't have asked? Maybe? He honestly didn't know anymore what social niceties looked like and so had no idea if this was something he should have said.

"Uh." Oh boy that sure was, but Levi's not too used to social niceties either. Instead he worries about bothering Rorschach with his issues. He fidgets, scratching an arm idly. "J-just...you know. Bad things."

His life.

Edward frowns in thought, uncertain how to truly convey the feeling in his heart. "Anxiety" isn't necessarily a concept that's well-defined, much less well-discussed, in his time.

But he feels... uneasy, thinking about such a thing. These instant methods of communication, for everything they may improve, also make his chest feel tight, his head a bit odd — almost like a case of the vapours...

"I suppose they make me feel rather uneasy because they are so... swift. I prefer having much time to sort out my thoughts." The process of receiving and sending letters in the mail is a lenghty one, and instant communication is a very nerve-racking thought to him... People can just send you messages whenever, apparently?? He'd seen an email inbox and how full it was...

He hadn't really seen the email or communications systems. Did people use them to share whatever notes they put down? Maybe it was like a really fancy telegraph or something.

"I hadn't really thought of that. I wasn't gonna use them...I guess since we can't most of the time it doesn't matter. Most of the weird stuff here I think we can ignore."

Unless the power came back on for more than a night at a time, he guesses.

Bad things huh. Rorschach wondered exactly what had happened to this kid before coming here. Whatever it was, it had caused him to learn how to use a gun at a young age, so clearly it hadn't been an easy life.

Rorschach could have left the subject there but he was a detective and liked to figure out puzzles, especially when they were right in front of him. "Like what?" He had no idea if the kid would even answer him but he could at least ask.

"Well, um, I've been to war...and, um, yeah."

It's a good point. Edward tends to... worry about everything.... but yes, it's true, these bizarre items seem to be easily ignored, for the most part.

"Well, if there should be any trouble... it's a fine thing that you're here to keep order."

He does mean it; the boy is military-trained and has a weapon, which is a relief. Edward worries about the community center potentially becoming the hub of trouble, so it's nice that someone who stays here has a weapon and clearly the know-how to use it.

"But if there should ever be a problem you could use assistance with, I hope you will call upon me."

"I'm not sure I can do all that much." He didn't have much trouble with the wolves, but he's generally unsure of how useful he is.

"I do patrols most days, but I'm usually here overnight. I only started staying here about a week or two ago, but its been peaceful since then. But if that changes I'd appreciate the help."

Rorschach nodded in a thoughtful manner, hand coming up to rest underneath his chin. That made sense. They'd only just really begun to understand how war affected mental health in the last five years or so in his own world.

"Can relate." He said. For Rorschach, the war he fought was one of his own making, the war against evil that he'd never be able to stop fighting.

"Yeah so...I dream about that a lot. Its never good."

"Want to talk more about it?" If nothing else, being so quiet meant the vigilante was a great listener. He never just sat there half-listening, just waiting for his own turn to say whatever it was on his mind. No, Rorschach gave his full attention when people spoke.

Did he want to talk about it? Normally the answer would be no, just let me try and forget about it. But in the dead of night, where most everyone is asleep so he's essentially alone with someone he considers a fellow soldier...he lets his tounge slip a little. He sits back down in the bed and fixes his gaze firmly on the floor.

"I spent most of the war in the trenches. It would start out with a bunch of us, practicly shoulder to shoulder sometimes, filling them and waiting for the enemy to do something. As time went on there were less and less people...living ones at least. I lived, but so many people didn't make it." He puts his head in his hands, voice breaking but never quite crying. "So many boys didn't make it. I'd watch someone poke his head out and have it get blown away. Grenades thrown in just far enough away to spare me, but not everyone. Once an artillary round landed right on where our wounded were being kept. And just...more. More people wounded, killed. I didn't come out unscratched, but they never got me. I was just lucky, it never should have been me who survived. There were so many that I just...I couldn't save. I'd fire a second too late, shift the baracade just the wrong way, step away at just the wrong moment. And somebody I knew would die. No matter how hard I tried, I could never save them."

Rorschach had never been a soldier. He'd been old enough to serve in Vietnam but his draft number had never come up. Sometimes he wondered if he should have volunteered, that perhaps that would have better than becoming a masked vigilante. But there was no undoing the past. He'd chosen his path in life and there was no changing that.

But he could understand that sense of being unable to save people. Of being stuck in a war that never seemed to end. His own personal one against evil, something that would never, ever end no matter what he did. So he nodded slowly. His body language became a little less closed off as he tried to do his best to empathize with Levi. "Understand that. A little. Remember the ones you don't save more than the ones you do."

"I'm not sure if I ever saved anyone..." He's wrong, of course, but Rorschach is right. It's much easier to remember the ones you failed.

Though, he had saved some in Prehevil, hadn't he? He wasn't sure he believed that but someone there had said that to him more than once.

"...maybe I can do better here."

"Good idea. Try not to look back," Rorschach counseled. "Move forward. Do better when you can." If he'd been a more eloquent sort, he would have been able to tell Levi about his own struggles with doing just that, how he dwelt on the past and how it had shaped him into who he was today. How he'd learned never to compromise as a way to be able to continue to function instead of breaking completely down.

But he'd always had trouble with expressing himself verbally for all that he could write eloquently for pages when he scribbled down in his journal. The few stunted phrases were all that he could manage to get out.

"I...I try." He rarely feels like he does, though. And when he does he doesn't think it makes up for all those he's failed. "Moving forward...that's all I can do. I don't want to lay down and die."

He hadn't even been able to do that when the Voice urged him to. He didn't deserve a peaceful end like that, though that wasn't quite the same as the survival instinct drilled into him his whole life.

"Death is for the weak." At least in a place like this it was. The dangers here provided by the weather and environment were just as bad as the ones that appeared to be supernatural in nature. If you were strong, you survived. If not, you perished. Of course, he said that, and yet was still dedicated to keeping people safe. Such was one of the many paradoxes held within Rorschach's mind he was unable to fully reconcile.

"Don't think you are weak." A rare compliment from the vigilante. He didn't give them out lightly and only spoke the truth when he did.

"I don't know...I've seen strong men die. Sometimes it all happens so suddenly...but strong people don't give up. As long as they're alive they're fighting."

There's a tiny smile at the compliment, even if he's not sure he agrees with it. "Thanks."

He blinked in surprise at seeing the small smile on Levi's face, the "expression" on his face made up of the moving spots splitting off and quickly moving to the farthest reaches they could go. He wasn't one much for interacting with people even just to make small talk, let alone providing comfort to someone. Yet here he was doing just that.

Rorschach nodded. "Fighting. Yes. Needed to survive place like this."

He's not used to being complimented at all, or comforted. But he thinks its nice that someone thinks he's strong. He tries to be, at least.

He nods a bit, "I've been fighting all my life. I'm not going to stop now."

"Good." That was all that Rorschach said. He felt he'd done enough in his own peculiar way to help out Levi. This was as much comfort as he was able to provide thanks to the way his emotions were stunted. He started to move away from the bed, back into the gloom of the room.

"Yeah...thanks."

He watches Rorschach move away for a moment then looks to his bed. How likely was sleep if he tried? Hm.

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Party Talk

#1!

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#4

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cw: kids being sent to war

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cw: war, death, children being sent to war and dying

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