singillatim | prelude

prelude

January 1st 2015

Do you remember yesterday? What is tomorrow?
How will you face this quiet apocalypse?
— Raphael van Lierop.

As the old year falls and the new year begins, the skies fill with light. An Aurora comes on the last day of December, and with it the usual signs of it: the ethereal noise, the cracks and pops in the air, the stuttering of electrics as they struggle to power on and then blare and flicker. It is, as Interlopers have come to know, business as usual — in terms of the Auroras within this world. However, something a little different happens this time.

Interlopers will fall asleep all over the town of Milton. Even the ones who fight sleep and try to stay up into the small hours of the night will find themselves drifting off for a short while — as if their eyes just feel too heavy to keep open, and their minds slip into a deep kind of quiet darkness without their realising. And at first, there is nothing — nothing but the quiet dark. Something peaceful, almost.

A dream comes.

The first thing you notice is blood in your mouth, the cold in your bones, the deafening din in your ears — as if you are caught in static and the sound of howling winds through pine trees. You are afraid. At first, you do not know why. You find yourself on your knees in the snow. The skies are filled with green light, the air is thick with smoke. And then the realisation comes:

This is the ending of all things.

You look up, to the sight before you: a huge, shapeless shadow. Towering above you, over you. A head peers down at you: a cluster of three wolf skulls, eye-sockets glowing green and terrible, and their three open maws, dripping with more green. The sound it makes is unnatural, you cannot put it into words. The darkness draws in, you are so cold, so tired.

This is the ending of all things.

It is so hungry. You are so tired. The world falls away, you cannot see the stars, the dark hiding them from view. Were they even there to begin with? Or did they go out? You have forgotten. And you know, you know—

This is the ending of all things.

The skies glimmer, licks of strange, colourful wisps curl above — a voice screams out your name, from the static and winds. Through the noise. A woman’s voice. You have heard this voice before, in the lights and noise. Do you see? What could be? What you could become?

Can you hold on? Please. A hand grips your shoulder, but as you turn — the dream ends.

For some, they snap into waking with a shout or cry. Some will shudder awake to find tears in their eyes. All over Milton, the Interlopers wake: shaken, unsure, afraid. They will awaken to the dark: the Aurora is gone — slowly fading from the night skies into an otherwise calm and clear night.

It is a new year.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ It does sicken him — it is revolting. There's no other word for it, this entity that.... possesses him, inhabits him. Anyone may wonder how Konstantin was able to keep going at all in the beginning, how he couldn't lose himself to the horror of it. Reveal that he knew the truth to his captors, plead for them to remove it from him, to find some way to give him mercy from its clutches.

.....But he knew there was none. Not in that facility, anyway. Not quickly enough. If it could be removed from him, it would have to be in a true hospital, but they were never going to allow him to be transferred. They wanted it to stay inside of him in the end. Wanted it to keep living, so it could be used by them. There was no escape from it. He had to keep going, and so he swallowed down the horror, the disgust and revulsion. He did everything he could to keep himself sane as every day he relived the convulsive exits from his body, and the sensation of it slithering down his throat afterwards as it returned to the nest of his belly.

But in this moment, it's something for him to push his own discomforts onto, reporting on the status of the creature. It's okay can become I'm okay even if he isn't really, even if the ancient whisper of this impossible dream keeps echoing in his mind. And if it's doing that to him, then..... surely also to Vasiliy, who has somehow shared this experience with him. Konstantin pauses, brow still knit, before he slowly leans forwards a little, into the line of the other man's vision. Now he's the one who lifts a hand, lets his palm find Vasiliy's shoulder — narrower than his own, but firm, in shape, muscles toned. ]

Are you sure you're all right? Can I bring you some water?

[ There's an immediate rush of warmth and... shyness, almost, when the warm weight of the cosmonaut's broad hand comes to rest on his shoulder. It's anchoring, soothing—though the comfort it gives is largely eclipsed by his awareness of the fact that this is the first time Konstantin has reached out and touched him.

It doesn't mean anything, at least not in the way he rather delusionally wishes it would—Konstantin is a good person, and he's offering comfort in what ways he can in a difficult time, nothing more. Vasiliy knows this, and yet his heart still beats a little faster regardless. ]

I'll be okay—I can get it. [ Because he actually is thirsty, come to mention it, on account of having just woken up. Granted, he'd still rather just stay here for the rest of time, resting under his deliberate touch. ] Do you think you can keep water down right now?

[ He's meant to do this — and it's been such a rare thing since he arrived in this place, bleeding against the snow. Everything has been a whirlwind of sickness and strangeness and adjustment, and he's been helpless through most of it. Vasiliy has been taking care of him by necessity, but this.... is a rare chance for some of who Konstantin really is to come through again.

(Who he really was...? No. No, he is still that man. The one who can protect others, who can lift their spirits, care for them.) It seems like such a simple gesture, uneventful, but in this moment it means a great deal to him. His fingers squeeze the younger man's shoulder, gently, warmly. His words sound like praise; they are. ]

You're so resilient, Vasiliy.

[ He hopes it comes across like the compliment he means it to be, and gives a little smile to the question. ]

I think I should be able to. I'll drink slowly.

[ He could truly bask in this moment forever—wants to. The individual attention from someone like that, the squeeze of his shoulder, the warmth, the dark eyes meeting his own and crinkling at their corners with a smile meant only for him. He's almost giddy with it, the reprieve from the vague, cold sickness he awoke with. 'You're so resilient, Vasiliy.' ]

Alright.

[ He gets out of bed and leaves the warmth of their shared body heat under the blanket, the cold of the air around them a jarring and uncomfortable contrast. The wood is colder on the soles of his bare feet as he walks to the kitchen and pours two glasses of water from a pot set to the side: he boils it, daily. There's no telling what could be in this water.

He holds one of them out to Konstantin before he climbs back into bed, rather sheepishly aware that now that he's feeling better than he had been this evening (at least physically) there's no real reason for him not to go back to the couch. But he wants the company, and he wouldn't feel right leaving Konstantin alone with how visibly shaken he is—so he stays, and hopes he doesn't think too hard about it. ]

Here. [ Quietly, with a trace of irony: ] Happy New Year.

Edited 2024-01-08 14:48 (UTC)

[ He smiles again, watching the other man leave — and then taking the few moments that Vasiliy's gone to gather himself a bit more. Everything's strange, there's still a lump somewhere in his throat, an odd awareness of his own upset following the bizarre dream, and the subsequent learning that Vasiliy apparently shared it. Is it really possible...? Why the both of them?

(Surely it isn't some side-effect of the creature, is it? Could it be casting thought into his mind again? Able to reach him now that it's had some time to rest and heal? Could it be affecting Vasiliy somehow, too....? He said that things like this can happen in this place, but....)

A new uneasiness creeps in, a tension that he tries to ease through by adjusting his position, sitting up straighter, tucking the blankets over his lap.

When the other returns, a smile finds his way back onto his face as he takes the cup. There's no question in his mind as to whether Vasiliy should rejoin him in the bed; in this moment, it's the only option that feels right, he doesn't even think twice about it. ]

Happy New Year.

[ Konstantin doesn't take a sip yet, holds it in his palms for the moment. When he asks, it's conversationally, not meant to be invasive. ]

Did you celebrate with family, before here?

[ It's a completely normal question, coming from another Russian—and yet, it still stings, if only for a moment. Somehow it's different, being asked that by someone from the Russia he knew.

He glances down at his glass, smiles a little wistfully. ]

No. My parents were in Leningrad and I was in Moscow.

[ He should have made a point of being with them. On the New Year, on May Day. There's a desperate, irrational part of his mind that insists that it was possible, that he didn't want to leave Staraya Square or the Lubyanka.

He tries to focus on the current moment, on the man who's with him in the flesh right now: it's a small joy, addressing his home by what it should be called under the guise of using the terms his audience knows, even if he's momentarily acutely aware of his own loneliness. He can breathe around Konstantin. His words, perfectly explainable for a man ostensibly born in 1985, also aren't a lie. That's refreshing, too. He doesn't want to lie to this man when he doesn't have to. ]

Mostly just friends. You?

[ Konstantin feels it too — a particular type of relief even just to hear the names of cities he's familiar with. It's something to connect to, in this place that's so far away from where he's from, what he's known. ]

I would try to see my mother. She lives in Moscow, too.

[ There's a quiet ache, and he rubs the edge of his glass with the pad of his thumb, slowly. ]

But not much family, apart from her. It was just the two of us for as long as I can remember.

[ —He thinks of Aleksei, of course, with a spike that pushes the quiet ache into something more insistent, but he can't talk about his son. Not yet. ....Perhaps even now, he's ashamed to reveal such a thing to another man from his country. Someone who knows what he is, his standing. He focuses on other things, pushes the focus back to Vasiliy, but with a smile that looks natural when he gives it — brows lifting, and tilting his glass purposefully at the other man as he grins at him, almost playfully. ]

So no beautiful wife awaiting your return back home...? I have trouble believing it.

[ No father—and still he made so much of himself. He truly is the ideal Soviet man. That's as far as the thought goes, however, before Vasiliy's breaking eye contact, smiling a little self-effacingly at the compliment, warmth fluttering in his chest. Konstantin is so complimentary, so good at throwing him off-balance. He's commenting on face—Vasiliy knows, of course, that to a Russian eye, to a Soviet eye, he's very handsome—but it feels different, coming from him, because Vasiliy wants it to be different. ]

No, no, I never married. Just girlfriends, but nobody right now. America. My mother always asked me when I was going to settle down. I guess she had a point.

[ And boyfriends, and less-than-boyfriends, but he doesn't mention them. He knows what the atmosphere was like in the 1980s, in some ways more unyielding and less permissive than it was in his own time, at least within a government bureau run by a man like himself, more promiscuous with other men than himself. He doesn't want to estrange this man, or... scare him away. Or take away the source of mutual comfort they've both found in this frozen, inhuman place. ]

You? A wife and kids waiting for their space hero to come home, I assume?

[ He asks it casually, playfully, but it doesn't escape him, the way nervousness wells in his belly, the slight internal tension as he waits for the answer he knows is coming. ]

[ Konstantin keeps smiling as he listens — despite what's so recently transpired, and the fact he knows neither of them have forgotten about it, for the moment there's a brief reprieve from having to entertain the idea of impossible dreams and monsters looming through a green glow. For the moment, he's enjoying the conversation — something quiet, contained, intimate in its way. It feels like speaking to a friend back home, sharing a drink (of water, in this case; consuming alcohol may be an activity he can no longer partake in... He'll process that upset sometime later!)

There's a thoughtful purse of his mouth, eyes bright, attention focused on the other man like he truly enjoys listening to him speak. There's only a slight hiccup in his ease when the question is reciprocated — and carried a little further — but Konstantin thinks he covers it well enough, because he's lifting his cup to his mouth finally to take a slow, cautious sip. He lets it sit in his mouth for a moment, warming the water before he swallows it down. By now he's learned that the creature has an aversion to the cold. Back in the facility, everything was controlled, the temperature, his food; here, he is free, but the cost is that everything is a learning process, and often times one with consequence. There have been so many upsets along the way. ]

I've never married, [ he answers with a fresh smile when he lowers the cup from his mouth. It's the truth, and he lets that truth cover up any other ones with the implication of it — 'never married' means 'doesn't have kids', right. (Oh, he never married, but he has a child, and even if he only recently found out about the boy, he knows deep-down that he'd always feared settling down and becoming a husband, becoming a father. He'd run away from those concepts no matter what. Maybe if he hadn't, if he'd... stayed, let someone into his heart beyond just some silly, safe, surface attachment that was too easy to break, he would have been a husband and a father all this time.) ]

No, it's just me. [ He gives a soft, though good-natured, laugh, before he's studying Vasiliy's face again, with that same interest. ]

What brought you to America?

[ 'It's just me', as in, he's single. Not... available, not to someone like himself, but he can't help but to be pleased by the answer he gets, knowing how utterly hopeless he'd feel if the response had been the more predictable Yes, with a beautiful wife and three children he was anticipating. Not even a girlfriend, at least from the sound of things. It almost seems hard to believe that a cosmonaut, a Hero of the Soviet Union, a very attractive man in his prime wouldn't have someone—if he were interested in women, surely there would be one, Vasiliy begins to think, only to cut himself short with stern inward reprimand. This has passed from the realm of wishful thinking into borderline delusion. He's not attracted to men. He probably recently broke up with whatever woman was lucky enough to be with him. That's the very obvious, very likely explanation.

Then Konstantin asks about what brought him to America, well-meaning and genuine in his interest, and Vasiliy has to lie. It's more likely that I'd be found and executed a second time for being a part of state terror isn't an acceptable answer, or a believable one, but... he's never pretended not to be Communist around this man, and he doesn't want to. What business, then, would a Communist have living in a country like that? Why would anyone want to leave Russia? He hadn't. ]

...I don't know. I guess I wanted to explore. I trained as an EMT and got a work visa and just...went there, to Chicago. ...I miss it.

[ It being their shared homeland—but he knows he doesn't have to specify. ]

I'm surprised there's not at least one woman our age waiting for you. You're the ideal Soviet man. [ A quiet, self-effacing laugh. ] If you're single, what hope do the rest of us have?

Exploring is a good reason. [ He smiles again, meaning it. ] Sometimes, perhaps, a person just needs to see a different view for a while.

[ He'd always needed to keep moving, to find something new to see. Though he'd never had any draw to actually leave Russia, and the idea is an odd one in itself — not anything he sees as suspicious in the other man, only adding more to the fact that Vasiliy continues to surprise him, the more he gets to know the EMT.

He misses it, too. His home, as complicated as it may be for him there now. ....Does he even have a place there anymore? If (...when) he returns, would he have to go into hiding? Could he even see his mother? Get to Aleksei at all?

He can't think about that, either. Not now. Instead, he keeps thinking about Vasiliy, and what he's saying, and there's a spark to his eye that he can't quite hide (nor does he really try to) when the other man says that — 'You're the ideal Soviet man.' Konstantin's clearly pleased by the praise, warmed, body language opening itself right up again, shoulders relaxing and posture comfortable. ]

Ahhh, I don't know. I'm starting to grey. I think it's your time to shine, Comrade.

[ He winks at the other man, giving a good-natured smile that's only a little teasing, mostly playful. ]

There's quite a few people here in this place — surely you've found some fun?

[ Konstantin winks at him, smiles, and his heart betrays him, fluttering in his chest. It's kind of pathetic and certainly embarrassing, the pull this man has over him, a grown man in his thirties. He's acting like a schoolgirl even if only he sees it, and it's unbecoming.

Konstantin also has far more faith in his abilities or appeal than is necessarily warranted. ]

Not really. I've been busy, and there's nobody here who really... I'm too picky, I think.

[ There was nobody here... ]

[ The thought of romance or anything adjacent is probably ridiculously comical here, considering everything — but then again, who said being trapped in an isolated town lacking electricity and a steady food supply had to mean a person couldn't have some fun?

(Joking, mostly... And this is a lot more fun to think about than the alternative — the reason they're both awake right now talking at all.)

There's another laugh as the other man says he's too picky, and Konstantin slouches back comfortably against the pillow behind him, cupping his water in both hands, the pads of his fingers giving soft taps against it, thoughtful. ]

This place does narrow down the pool a lot. [ There's what, less than a hundred people here? ] I bet soon enough you'll be bringing home a lovely young woman, and I'll have to find myself a new room somewhere.

....Actually, maybe I shouldn't put that thought out into the universe. I don't want to lose my comfortable bed.

[ He smiles again, broader, amused. The joke is, to him, that he knows he won't be here much longer. It's not his bed, and he's teasing by calling it by that way. (Never mind that it feels like his now, after these weeks spent living with the other man.) ]

[ Vasiliy lets out the quiet huff of a mostly soundless laugh. Part of the humor is undoubtedly lost on his guest: how could anyone here possibly be a more appealing party to share a bed with than a cosmonaut, a Hero of the Soviet Union, and, most importantly, this cosmonaut, specifically—there's nobody here that comes close to being as attractive or charismatic as Konstantin Veshnyakov, and he imagines that's been the case wherever the man's found himself for most of his life.

It's an impossible standard to live up to, which is unfortunate, if you're Vasiliy. The bar has been set impossibly high by someone who is close but completely unattainable. ]

I wouldn't exile you. We'd turn it into a kommunalka. And then she would leave me for the handsome cosmonaut in the other room and I'd have to find a new room. It would never work.

[ Compared to Vasiliy's almost-silent laugh, Konstantin's is louder, not quite boisterous so much as simply unfiltered, betraying genuine amusement. He lets his head fall back for a moment against the headrest of the bed, tickled. ]

Then I suppose to keep us both safe, we'll have to subdue our masculine charms as much as possible... I know it won't be easy, but it's for the greater good.

[ Another playful smile, quirked at the corners. ]

Besides, who else would put up with all your smoking?

[ It's so dangerous, letting him joke like that—like they're married or something. Like they're together. His chest aches a bit, but he smiles anyway. It's been so long since he's felt this comfortable around anyone, since he's been able to let his guard down and joke outside of the context of rehashing grotesque and absurd stories about patients with the guys at the station. ]

Many Russians. [ It had been an absolute cultureshock, arriving in the "modern" world, and then arriving in America, a progressive gradient of his vice of choice (it wasn't even a vice, in his time, just something you did) becoming less and less accepted. ] Be careful, a beautiful Russian woman comes and she smokes too...

So you would both smoke me out of house and home... I see how it is. [ He grins again, perpetually playful and teasing and amused. He holds onto it as long as he can. ]

It may only be a matter of time until a beautiful Russian woman who smokes shows up here.... My days are numbered.

No answers on the personal ad yet. I don't think they're interested.

[ He doesn't comment on the fact that until Konstantin's arrival there were no fellow Russians here, period, or even anyone from any Slavic country. He'd rather bask in the company of the moment, in the simple joy of not being alone, than to focus on everything preceding this.

Or even just the dream. He doesn't want to linger in the feeling of knowing everything is going to end. He's lived it twice now, after tonight. ]

I think you're safe for now. But don't get comfortable.

[ Up until now, there have been less opportunities to see this more playful side to the other man — he's generally a fair bit more serious than Konstantin tends to be. It's fun, it's nice, getting to see this sort of side to Vasiliy revealing itself more, at times. It feels like they're friends. ]

Ahhhh, then I have bad news for you, Vasiliy. I'm already very comfortable, here.

[ And he makes a show of sprawling out a bit more, long legs spreading to take up more room in the bed, arms stretching up over his head before he settles back into his spot with a contented sigh. ]

We'll just have to stay a packaged deal.

[ Someday he will leave, he knows; he should get his own cabin here. There are plenty of unclaimed ones. Vasiliy deserves to have his space back. (But until then.... yes, he's quite comfortable in the other man's bed! It's fine...) ]

[ He really has no idea how attractive he is, stretching out, well-muscled arms drawing the fabric over them tight. Hell, Vasiliy's never been attracted to a man taller than himself before—just Konstantin, just in this past month or so. It's always been profoundly unattractive, a point of eternal fission between himself and Yuri, who had only stood a couple of centimeters taller than himself, but had committed the deadly crime of doing so while wearing the uniform of the Red Army—a sore point in that particular ill-fated relationship. This is all new, very new—the intensity of the fixation he's unfortunately found himself with, the target of it.

And then he says that, again (mercifully) clueless as to what it does, how it toys with his heart. God, he'd love nothing more than that. He hopes Konstantin is comfortable, that he stays as long as he wants and then some. It's so comforting, living with a person who understands him, who speaks his language and takes his shoes off when he comes inside and drinks tea instead of coffee and only smiles when he means it. He could lose himself in the company of this man.

Vasiliy grins. ]

I wouldn't mind that. But I'm not the Hero of the Soviet Union. I'm getting the better side of the deal.

[ Those words are a brush of warm fingers over his heart, something familiar enough by now, and yet never any less meaningful to him. That Vasiliy holds his position in such high regards — the Hero of the Soviet Union he says, and he knows what it means, and Konstantin enjoys hearing him say it every time. ]

You're going to give me a big head, you know. [ But his expression couldn't be more delighted as he grins; please, don't stop, Vasiliy. ]

I think anyone would be lucky to have a very capable and selfless EMT at their side.

[ Speaking of toying with his heart. The cosmonaut grins at the compliment, boyish and charming, visibly glowing at the recognition. He supposes it would make sense that such a person would be drawn to a field in which the eyes (and praise) of the nation would be on him. He's larger than life, as are his accomplishments.

That makes it all the more meaningful to be acknowledged by such a man—people had expressed their gratitude for first responders as a class from time to time in America, but he'd largely been invisible. He wasn't a handsome all-American firefighter, he was an EMT making 14$ an hour far from home, speaking a language in which he wasn't fluent.

Capable and selfless, he says—high compliments, if one is a communist born in 1910. The highest. His smile never fades. ]

It's nothing. This is the job description. ...You deserve to have a big head. You earned it.

[ And, on a pragmatic level... he's been beaten down, quite a bit. Treated like a traitor, just like those soldiers who returned home after being encircled by the enemy and were given a homecoming by the NKVD—something he'd read about, not experienced (he'd been in Common Grave Number One in the Donskoye Cemetery at the time), but unsurprising to him. It's not how someone horribly maimed in the line of duty should be treated, and he wouldn't be, if the wounds were external. ]

[ Konstantin's smile softens again, eyes glancing downwards to the the water in his hand, carefully taking a little sip. It gives him a naturally quiet moment to consider his thoughts.

He'd thought he earned it. He'd worked as hard as was required, put in the effort and time, spent years of his life shaping himself into something that others could be proud of. That his country could be proud of. He thought of himself that way. But.... in one instant, with one accident, everything changed. And now.. if (when) he returns back home, he'll be treated as a criminal. Or even worse. Who knows what lies the public have been told about him? ]

It's part of my job description, too. This "Hero" business. I just followed the guidebook for it all. [ Another light-hearted laugh, all of the worse things kept tucked away for now. He doesn't want to ruin the mood. ]

But— really. You can help people here. You helped me. You can provide a lot for this community, Comrade. [ A wry smile as he taps his fingers against his glass. ] While we're here.

While we're here [, he repeats, a faint smile at his lips yet not quite reaching his eyes—because this is temporary. Truth be told, even with the dangers and eternal winter... it occurs to him that now, with the singular addition of this man into his life here, he wouldn't choose to go back to modernity and its complete and utter solitude if he had a choice.

It's selfish, wanting to stay and to wish for something to keep everyone else trapped here too, but he's only human, and he's been so starved of human company for so long. So he allows him the one secret, unBolshevik indulgence of hoping they won't leave any time soon, or that—somehow they can leave together, to some third destination where both of them are safe. ]

Thank you. [ Quiet, genuine. ] I try. It was how we were raised, no? To contribute to the greater whole. ...I just wish there was more I could do. I've been studying what books I can find, and I have a book on drug information from the pharmacy for prescribing, but I was not a doctor or paramedic back home. I had only been in practice for a year.

[ Konstantin smiles again, taking another careful sip of his water before answering. ]

Well, you'll probably get lots of practice on me. Being your guinea pig would be a lot nicer than being theirs.

[ A laugh, quiet and soft but no less amused. "Theirs" — the research facility, something he can allude to with humour even though it's all a particular horror. He's... terrified to be brought back there, or more likely transferred to a new, secret area. He knows this time there would be no escape. And little surface mercies offered; he'd be treated directly like the prisoner he always was. Who knows what they'd do to him, and the creature? ]

But I can imagine it would be a lot, with suddenly being in a place like this. The kinds of injuries people may get here... [ It's a wonder Vasiliy holds it together as well as he does. Most anyone would get overwhelmed with such a thing, a responsibility as daunting as that. ]

Have you had to deal with anything very severe, so far? Apart from me.

[ There's a genuine curiosity as he watches him, attention fixed on. The subject matter may be a little harrowing — as is the cause of this whole night being interrupted in the first place — but he's still conversational about it, and there's something very nice to that. He's happy to lie in bed beside the other man and listen to him speak. ]

prelude

cw: gross alien parasite descriptions

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THE WAY THIS SUDDENLY TURNED INTO 'ARE YOU SINGLE'... I SCREAM... THE TWISTS!!!

what if we shared a horrific nightmare and then questioned each other's relationship statuses!!

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POSSIBLY a good wrap point here or soon?? w them keeping company & chatting all night...

def soon..a lil Meaningful Admission to send them off with...

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