andyougoleft | |: 007. Video : The Long Drive Home is Taking Its Toll :|

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the last voyages

|: 007. Video : The Long Drive Home is Taking Its Toll :|

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     [Slevin is back in his cabin; he looks... vaguely threatened, but only because he found this in his closet. It blinks white and blue and green and red reflecting off his face even when he lowers it to address the network.]

     Biological terrorist attack, word salad, and cruel and unusual wardrobe punishment aside - and I'm not wearing this, by the way, ever - there's supposed to be a religious aspect to this time of year. I'm not even going to pick one, I just haven't seen that part of it addressed.

     Is anyone planning on holding any kind of service?  Doesn't matter what denomination or even religion, really. Can anyone?

    [ Private : Cassel Sharpe ]

    Do they have Christmas where you're from?


    [ Private : The Admiral ]

    [Slevin's list comes both in text and with bullet points. Deal with it. That's what you get for ~compelling~ him.]

Chris D'Amico: cologne and hair gel. nicer than his brand.
Cassel Sharpe: a cat palace.
Harvey Dent: cuff links - mismatched.
Iris Wildthyme: a leg lamp.
Kara Zor-El: a new dress, in that style she really likes. a nice one.
Abigail Hobbs: a penlight.
Erik Lensherr: itching powder - not in his clothes.
Kevin Prentiss: better friends
Marquis de Carabas: a bungee cord
Hannibal Lecter: cyanide. in his morning coffee.

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[Which is, of course, Cassel's major weak point other than his own self-destructive tendencies. Everything sharp, mean, suspicious about him goes soft and concerned; he even almost smiles, but not quite, he's still got that much control over himself. What Chris wants, what Chris needs but won't ask for, those are things that it's up to Cassel to provide if he can.]

He'd admit it.

[Soft and a little distracted. He's already planning, in some small corner of his mind. Not that he wasn't thinking about it before, but - now it's concrete.]

He'd whine about it. Can't have that.

What do you want? Nothing?

Nothing viable.

[This with the appropriate dry twist to it. Of course there are things he wants. There's not much anyone here can do about granting any of them, though.

But he shrugs, watching the suspicion bleed into something else. He nods to himself, mostly, seeing that Cassel will take it from here. That much of the entire thing, anyway, is sound.

Of course it is.]

I want my warden to whine as little as possible.

I can make that happen for you. Or I can try, anyway. You do realize not having his family around is going to fuck him up, Mass or no Mass.

[Which, well, Cassel knew that already. It comes around periodically, like a wave, Chris missing his family - Cassel missing his, in his own, quieter, more shrunken-in way. But their families were pretty monstrous, all things considered. Slevin's wasn't.]

[Plus, Slevin's have been dead for longer. It's not comparable.]

[It's been much longer, of course, and in some ways that's easier. It's easier here and now. He's learned to operate around it, for the most part, at least as much as someone that's been planning since the day he really understood it to take down everyone that even touched his parents' murder can. That doesn't mean he misses them any less.

That doesn't mean he misses Goodkat any less, and maybe he isn't dead, but Slevin certainly is at this point. Not that any of that comes through, not that there's even any outward sign that any of it exists. Slevin rolls his eyes.

They're all dead or orphans or both.]

It had occurred to me. Oh wait, that's what I've been saying.

I told him it's never going to be the same, so he can either try something new or take it as it is anyway. I don't know which he'll do, but the point stands.

Yeah, I hear you.

[That's the weird thing about Slevin. He's oddly practical, for someone who'd probably be glad to kill both of them. His practicality stretches out even to people he doesn't give half a shit about, and Cassel certainly doesn't think Slevin gives a shit about him. Why would he? It wouldn't make sense.]

[It's worth noting that he's kept his hands out of frame this whole time, gloves notwithstanding.]

The point stands, and you're right. I'll do what I can.

Thanks. I mean. I know you don't care, but thanks anyway. It still means something.

[He's noticed, in that way that he notices everything, but it's hardly surprising. Cassel has been withdrawn as well, horrified by his mirror self, ashamed anew of the things he did with his hands.

He's right: Slevin doesn't care. It would be too much to try to convince Cassel that he does, at least in the way most people mean it when they use the word care. So instead he just watches for several long moments before, finally:]

He said they went to St. Peters specifically, as in the one in New York I imagine. If that's useful to you.

[Sure, Slevin doesn't care, but Cassel is already pretty enamored with this idea, and it's apparent in the way his face lights up at the mention of St. Peters. That's so much better than just any old cathedral.]

Super useful. Thanks, man.

. . . Do you think the Admiral's gonna just steal it, because that would be so cool.

Probably not, with the hard on he has for good behavior. Also, I think if he showed up amongst the inmate population, it would be worse than a child molester in the maximum security sector.

[His attention isn't on what he's saying, that much is obvious. It's on something sharper, deeper. Something that doesn't warrant a label such as "so cool." The same muscley intensity Cassel had been wary of when he began this conversation, focused entirely now on the warden on the other end of the line.

Then, decisively and firmly:] What do you need to hear to be okay?

He has a hard-on for other people's good behavior, he doesn't care about his own. Get with it.

[He's watching Slevin shrewdly the whole time. Distracted Slevin is not necessarily good Slevin, and he's wary as anything right now. This whole conversation has just been bizarre. Net worth of good, but still bizarre.]

[As far as "be okay" - well, that's never been a phrase he's liked much. What the hell is okay, anyway? He blanches slightly at the question and shrugs.]

Dunno. I'm fine.

[Two answers that directly and clumsily contradict each other. He's too weirdest out to finesse this.]

[Here is the side that few enough get to see: normally Slevin is the charming confidence man, spinning clever words and smiling with charismatic ease. But now the paleness is as good as the quarry flushed from cover and though Cassel feints and ducks through the space between, Slevin is more than a pretty face. He is a predator, hot on the trail, unshaken for the time being.]

You're not.

No one really is, but everyone else is faking it better. You need to either tell me why not, or figure it out. Sooner or later someone else is going to notice if you don't, and they'll be more insistent about getting an answer.

[Whatever this is meant to be, it works. If it's a threat, Cassel is threatened; if it's a promise, he hears it. If it's just a statement meant to be ambiguous enough to spook, rough and dangerous enough to push Cassel out into the open where monsters can find him, well, it does that too.]

[He shuts down, eyes shuttered, fingers clenched.]

Just because you're not insistent now doesn't mean you won't be later.

[He can be a nice boy. He can make friends. But when he's pushed he reverts. He is a scared child, lashing out in desperate hope of grabbing someone's ankle and being able to hold on.]

[Everyone has their claws in me. Everyone. Not anymore. Most of the time, he even believes it.]

[For people like them, it's the sweetspot: a moment of truth, if not the foundation of all the other constructed lies struck. It's a moment of throat, not shown but glimpsed, open for the killing blow or showing those who know how to look where to aim for when it comes around again. Chinks in armor always do, in a long enough struggle.

Slevin does not push forward, but neither does he retreat.]

Then don't give me a reason to be, later. Answer me now: you saw yourself there, and you don't like it.

You're afraid it will follow you home, or that you didn't leave it far enough behind when you left yours.

[He knows what it is. Has known. Just because he's better doesn't mean, necessarily, that he's good; neutral at best, capable of great good and great evil. He will never make up for what he's done, nor will he dwell on it if he can help it (and sometimes he just can't), but he knows what he grew on, what he learned, what he became, what he is still unraveling from himself.]

[One string of himself is wedged in the fan blades of Slevin's whole being, because in Slevin is part of him. Empathy doesn't suit him, no matter how it's couched, just as Cassel is unfamiliar with it and has to skirt around it many days, like it's a feral animal. What do you need to hear, he asked, and all Cassel heard was a snarl. Reminded him of the time Sam broke the news, no, you're not as good at hiding as you think you are. You're a wild animal all locked up, your mask is gauze, you are broken.]

[Slevin is broken.]

[They're such little shits.]

[I don't have a home. He doesn't say it.]

I see myself everywhere. Doesn't mean much. I'm just a vain son of a bitch.

Stop.

[Firm, harsh; Slevin is comfortable with the softer emotions, but empathy doesn't sit well on Henry, not unless he wants it to sit well, the perfect accessory for every costume. The sell is in the details, the hook in the conviction. He doesn't bother with it now, at least not the fragile, bastard cousin of whatever it is he commands that most people are familiar with in each other.

For now, Slevin is not a gentle man. He is closer to Henry than he's been without bleeding, and he is not a gentle man, but neither has he ever been cruel.]

It's not on you to carry guilt if your victims don't blame you.

Oh my god, fuck you, Slevin, you don't know shit.

[Just like that it's gone: every shred of control thrown to the wind, because fuck it, seriously, he doesn't need this, Slevin isn't his inmate, he doesn't need to be smart. He's been smart for longer now than he ever has been before and it's fucking exhausting when all he wants some days is to go away. Hide and lock the door until it and his cabin and he all disappear.]

[There are good reasons not to. Chris, Zane, Daneca, everybody - really good reasons not to - but Cassel has always had good reasons to do good. Never meant he did it. He's supposed to be better now - is better. Has impulse control. Most of the time.]

[Nobody's perfect.]

You don't know jack shit about my victims.

[He could push; there's the chink, the flash of throat, the foundation of everything open for him to destroy at will. He's more than clever enough, more than capable of following the track that his marks weave ahead of him through the brambles, and Cassel is flagging prey. Random and without direction, without a plan, without intent.

He waits, dark eyes steady and cold and deep, arms folded. He does not flinch, does not react, does not acknowledge the accusation. It slides off, and in its wake, Slevin's voice is low.]

No?

That's what I fucking said. I fucking said no.

[Jesus. Why is he still talking? He's being baited. This is idiotic.]

[He tightens his shoulders, pushes them back until something cracks, then relaxes.]

You know shit about me. You know my tells, you know when I'm lying just by looking at me. But you don't know my past and you don't know my people, and you don't get to pass judgment or take it away. You don't get to try to do whatever the hell it is you're trying to do. Not now, not like this.

[He feels, in a weird way, betrayed. This is not what Kon promised him. In another way, he feels righteous. But it still feels like shit.]

Well. My mistake.

[It isn't his mistake. It isn't his mistake at all and they both know it. Nothing about his tone suggests he believes for a moment the words he's saying. They are a concession, a step back and a raise of open, empty palms. Not harmless, not a retreat, but an acknowledgement.

Just not an acknowledgement of error.

Slevin leans forward slightly, filling the screen of his communicator.]

Hide it better. Or fix it. Or have a better answer for the next person that asks.

Next person who asks better not be you.

[This is, oddly enough, not a threat. More a statement of desire: he hopes, wishes even, that the next person who asks is someone Cassel can align more clearly as friend or enemy. Slevin isn't either. He lives in the nebulous valley between them and seems comfortable and happy digging himself in there, being inscrutable and mean, making Cassel edgy by his very presence.]

[Breathing deliberately, Cassel shrugs.]

Thanks for the tip. [Referring to Chris's wish or Cassel's flaws, it's hard to say.] You leave me alone for a while, I think that's best.

[And he cuts the feed, cursing himself for being too vulnerable, too weak, an easy mark. This is what his redemption is.]

[It's times like this he questions it.]

[The valley in between is the only place he fits.

Slevin watches, waits, and he is not surprised by anything he hears or sees. He doesn't try to respond, either aloud or otherwise, doesn't promise not to come near Cassel and doesn't threaten to do the same.

Neither does he try to re-open the feed, sitting with the communicator in his hand, unsmiling.

He stops, after that; stops showing up where Cassel is, stops meeting his eyes across a crowd, stops lingering in the hallway doing anything at all but waiting or watching. It's not because he thinks Cassel was threatening him.

He doesn't give a reason at all.]

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|: 007. Video : The Long Drive Home is Taking Its Toll :|

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