What did you do yesterday before we got tacos? I feel like everything after Antarctica before the hottest shower I've ever taken in my life is just one big, frozen blur.
[ It's the middle of the day. Some people text, presumably, but Nathan's relationship with the neural network hasn't been something he likes to engage with. He doesn't give a shit about futuristic AIM messenger, is the thing.
So. Things have been clearing up, a fraction. The streets are easier to walk. Less corpses, just as much plant growth as before. Nathan doesn't have much on him, save a regular pair of jeans and a navy shirt and a flannel that might have been green, once. Nobody's picky about clothes, and he still has a backpack on him. Experience has taught that having a pair of gloves and a roll of bandages on you at all times isn't exactly overreacting to life here.
He knocks. Straight forward, tap-tap-tap. When the door opens, Nathan's first reaction is to stare, a little bit. ]
Hey.
[ Clipped. Sort of abrupt. Not the roommate he was looking for, honestly. His expression shutters from a frown into another frown, one strongly quizzical, if not outright surprised.
Wasn't entirely aware that Ian was here. Or lived here? Not fully, anyway.
He her boyfriend? ]
Edited (this thread will not pass the opposite of the bechdel test ama) 2020-08-14 03:53 (UTC)
[ If only Ian could read minds, if only that were his super power, he would absolutely love to know that Nathan's association is AIM messenger. It would be absolutely beyond phenomenal to roast the hell out of him for it despite the fact that they're not even remotely on that level. Or the fact that they've never actually a non-extremely-weird conversation.
On the other hand, opening the door and seeing that guy on the other side of it does a fantastic job making his brain stutter-stop, so maybe it wouldn't be a super effective roasting. Maybe like a light rotisserie situation.
There's, like, a three second pause before he gets his shit together enough to switch back into zen mode. ]
Hey, man.
[ Man who held my hand while I had a panic attack drunk off my ass at two in the morning.
It's cool, though. It's mostly fine, if he doesn't think about it at all even slightly. ]
I'm down for two boxes of samoas, but don't even try to peddle me that thin mint shit.
[ Because, you know. Girl scout cookies. Hilarious mental image, him in a badge-covered sash. ]
[ There's something that really doesn't sit right with him about it, and he's tired of his shit being aired across the network even if it's only at the expense of his admittedly terrible wardrobe. ]
you know i didn't do any of that so you'd owe me, right? you needed help
[Jon knows Ian in a vague sense, insofar as they have participated in several of the same tasks and insofar as Ian has turned up at Red Wings now and then, usually when Kyna is around, but he does not know Ian. Likely, he is recognizable mostly as one of the people who had killed a lot of monsters at the facility where Judas’s simulation had run: not the dragon, but her rider, a man who’s quiet until he isn’t.]
Clarke Griffin has sent me to ask after building material, to aid those who may seek shelter. You’re the man to ask?
Yeah, I can help. It depends on what you need. If you can collect scrap from the destruction around the city I can reshape it into usable material. Concrete, steel, metal, wood, anything. It's free, so you can't really beat it.
If you need help actually building it, I kind of have a queue situation
[He's decided to stay out of things, especially since Ian can clearly take care of himself, but he still feels like he should reach out in some way so--]
[ He's finally informed on some stuff, and he's beginning to wonder whether Kyna's sleepover at the Drake-and-Wilson residence has anything to do with it, but at the same time he really doesn't want to make assumptions. She deserves her privacy, at least, and interpersonal issues aren't something in which Nate likes to get involved unless they're exclusively his own fuck-ups.
Even then it's debatable. ]
so i caught up on the morningstar network's soaps and i'm not really a fan of the "angry debates" plot line right now
[ He spends a few minutes trying to think up a good joke, a witty rejoinder, something wry, but he's tired. It's been a long day or so, and he's had a few drinks. Nothing comes to mind easily enough before he gives up. ]
Lance got it worse than I did. He got a hotel room, I'm hanging out with him there.
[ Implying that's something measurable. They both got dragged pretty hard. He's better at pretending nothing happened right now, so he's basing his assessment off of that. ]
If you don't make either of us run at five a.m. you're welcome to stop by for a Tequila Sunnydelightrise
hey i'm going to be staying at the safehouse for a couple of days and i didn't want you to worry some of the new kids were really freaked out so i figured you know maybe i could help them freak out less with my sparkling personality or stunning good looks or whatever
[He's sent out a few of these messages, and like all the others he's not sure if this is one he wants a response to. It's not as though he wants Ian--or anyone else--to be stuck in the world Lance just left, but considering the situation that lead to Lance awakening, he's not sure if he should be hoping for anyone else to be back in New Amsterdam.
But he can't control any of that, and so even if the message may go unanswered and he's not sure if that would be for the best, he still sends it anyway.]
( It's sent back after staring at the text backdropped by his ceiling for a while, sprawled out on his bed, a nice neat new scar living on his chest.
The fact that it isn't 'hey, man' would probably alarm anyone who knows him well enough. Maybe or maybe not Lance, but definitely Kyna.
Or. Nate.
He's processing, sort of. Coming to terms, sort of. Maybe sort of feeling a whole bunch of nothing just yet, but with the unquestionable knowledge that when he does it's going to hit like a mack truck. )
[One second, Kyna is drowning in her own blood. The next, she's in the safehouse.
She spends a second just gasping, remembering what it is to breathe. A second more remembering who she is, who she really is. The rest of it barely registers—abandoned safehouse, same clothes she was wearing when she went to sleep, everything still as a tomb. Clawing panic overtakes all of it, and in the middle of her crying fit, she realizes that all she wants is Ian.
How much of that is her, and how much of that is borne from memories of growing up with him? She has no idea, and she doesn't care. For once, she's glad for the implant. There's no way she'd be able to fumble with a phone in this state.]
( Ian's there for days after Kyna-- after what happened. He's there in a fog, like he's sleepwalking through life, right up until the bombs go off. That woke him up for just long enough to echo Kyna's death -- drowning in his own blood, but in a hallway rather than a quarry.
He wakes up in New Amsterdam in numb shock, and he stayed that way for a while. Struggling to reconcile it, struggling to even get out of fucking bed, blurry.
Eventually the gears in his mind slot into place, they start to turn, and he pores over messages sent to his implant before he got back.
Never felt fucking relief in his life like how he feels when he sees her message. )
I'm coming over
( It's not a question. If she doesn't open the door he'll bend it himself. )
[ This is fine, this is being an adult or some approximation thereof. ]
i'm leaving for new tokyo with gene at 0600 tomorrow because he's a military masochist and thinks i could help with some crisis-handling, which is an offer than shows just how little he knows me.
thought we could grab some dinner or something, if you're free.
( Guess who drops a soldering iron and almost burns himself and has to juggle with it and now has a permanent mark on his chair in a really precarious location?
Alright, deep breaths here Fowler. Don't make it a big thing. It's definitely not. )
Hey, man. Yeah, like tonight? I can cancel water polo, sure.
[It's not immediately after Gene's post and the discussion on it that Lance sends Ian a message, but it's later that same day; he'd wanted to give him a little space, but still check in once he might've had a chance to process a bit.
But now that Lance is taking a break--a short one, but still--from the relief efforts, and has found a relatively safe and secluded alley to duck into, he sends a simple and to the point message.]
How are you doing?
[He means it in general, but also for the obvious reason.]
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