doesitanyway | [ MEADOWLARK ] IC Inbox

[ Trevor steps inside, smiling back. He's dressed in jeans and a loose shirt, a secondhand backpack over one shoulder as it's gotten too warm for the coat he bought to hide the Morning Star. The bag clinks softly as he reaches to clasp Ephemera's shoulder in greeting. ]

Same -- it's been awhile. I did try to message you but when it bounced I assumed you were trapped in the simulation. Are you alright after all that? I admit I still don't understand how it worked.

Still alive, still in one piece. Any fight you can walk away from, right?

[ The simulation bothered him in ways he doesn't care to think about too deeply. The scale of it worries him, along with his new understand of exactly what AI around these parts are capable of. And while he only got fucked up a little, in the expected ways, other people didn't shake it so easily.

That worries him. The escalation. The prospect that whatever comes next might be worse. ]

Drank a lot of moonshine in there, or I thought I did. Whiskey, though, that's real. I'll get glasses.

[ Like civilized people. Look at them. ]

[ Drinking moonshine isn't the type of activity that went on in the sim that Trevor was worried about, but if it's what Ephemera wants to focus on... well. He can bring it up again once they've had a few and see what happens.

He nods, dropping his hand and heading for the couch -- his bag does actually clink much more distinctly as he drops it to the floor beside where he sits. ]

So, in the midst of all this technological fuckery... you want to ask me about magic?

[ Ephemera returns with the bottle and two glasses, then joins Trevor on the couch. ]

I don't even know if it's magic or not. But it's weird fuckery, and I don't have anyone else to ask.

[ Not without spilling a whole lot to a stranger, and he's not in the mood for that.

He pours out two glasses. Offers one out to Trevor. ]

So. Know how people get pulled here from different places?

[ Well even if he can't help, Trevor will listen. He nods his understanding and takes the glass, swirling the liquid in it and sipping rather than downing the whole thing like the alcoholic he's turning back into. Control, be civilized. ]

Of course. Different times, different places, likely different worlds entirely. I've heard people say it's a question of other dimensions, where we've all come here from.

Yeah. Well, apparently shit like this happened before. People getting sucked into one place from all over.

[ He takes his glass. Drinks. The whiskey burns exactly like he knew it would. ]

Somebody here lived through that. And they knew me. Or a version of me, anyway.

That's not surprising. Now that we know such a thing is possible, to think that this is the only time it's ever happened -- well, it's kind of silly.

[ He doesn't seem shocked by the fact that someone Ephemera knows has lived through it before, either... but then Trevor's eyes do widen slightly. ]

Sorry, they knew a different version of you? [ That's kind of nuts and not something that had occurred to Trevor before. That these other worlds might be so close as to have "versions" of them in them. ] How do you feel about that?

It didn't happen to me, so. Yeah. Different version.

[ Lacking better words, that's what he's going with. That Ephemera wasn't him, that Ephemera walked down a different path. Made different choices. Better, maybe. That Ephemera fought alongside the Freelancers and gave out his shield for Drake to carry. That Ephemera—

He drinks. Tips his head back and lets it burn. ]

I don't know. I know it happened, with the memory share and all that shit.

[ He's quiet for a moment. ]

That other version. He was happy.

[ Trevor parses it slowly, processing and putting it together. This other person shared their memories to prove it and Ephemera seems convinced. Trevor decides it's not his place to question it even if he's disturbed by the implications.

He draws a breath to ask something else, but Ephemera speaks again first. ]

Good for him. But the way you say that makes it sound like you don't believe you can be.

[ Yeah. That.

Ephemera rubs his thumb along the rim of his glass, fighting the urge to just down the entire thing in one go. Pour another and keep going, empty his mind. But that's not the point of this, is it? ]

I don't know. I used to think that was. That was for other people.

[ It was enough to have a mission. There hadn't been room in him for anything else. ]

I don't know.

That's a lot of not knowing. How you're feeling about it, if you'd be capable... what was it about that version's life that made him happy, do you think? Just how similar were the two of you?

[ He's perfectly ready to write his friend's life off as shittier than his double's, if that's the case, but... ]

I know that thought, though. That happiness is for other people. That you're too damaged for it.

That's the thing. Think we started out from the same place. Got dragged in from Chorus.

[ Ephemera touches his knuckles to his mouth. Exhales. ]

He forgave them. The people who killed my family. He let it go.

[ There's more. There's always more, but that's the part that keeps tripping him up. ]

Hell. He was gonna get married, if you can believe it.

'Let it go' is... well, you'd know better than me, but speaking from experience you can move past a thing without it lessening the impact it had on you. Because forgiveness is about understanding as much as anything else. Yourself and those who wronged you.

[ Trevor shrugs. ]

I'd believe it.

[ That sits between them for a little while. Ephemera rubs his thumb along the edge of the glass and watches Trevor, wondering. Trevor's family was killed too. That sort of thing sits with you. Once, Ephemera would have said it killed him, or at least the man he was. That he would never go back to who he was, that he would die fighting against an enemy he hated because there was no room for anything else in him. That rage kept him going. It pushed down everything else. The grief would have been too much otherwise. It would have broken him like it broke the captain. ]

I don't know if I can do that. I got used to being angry. I think that's all I was, for a long time.

[ He drinks again. ]

But there's a version of me that loved somebody. And I don't know how to settle that.

Anger's part of grief, but it's not insurmountable. I think yours was more focused than mine, though. When you try to hate everybody, it sort of burns out for having too broad a target. Leaves you more numb, or maybe that was just the liquor.

[ He also drinks again, stares at the remaining liquid and reminds himself again to have some control. Then he looks back up at his friend. ]

Why's it so strange? Right person... I don't think it's so odd to fall in love despite yourself.

[ Anger, grief, and liquor. Ephemera breathes out. He's almost done with his glass. He didn't intend to go through it so quickly. ]

Guess I don't see how I was ever the right person for somebody.

[ It's not hard to see how that other version of him fell in love with Drake. He's—kind, and steady. There's a sincerity in him that Ephemera rarely sees in other people. Even when they first met, even in the dream, there was a part of Ephemera that trusted Drake. It was simple in a way very little in his life has been in a very long time.

No. It wouldn't be hard to fall in love with him. ]

We are our own harshest critics, isn't it said?

[ Trevor drains his glass and cradles it in his hands, thoughtful. ]

You realize this line of conversation has nothing to do with magic. And I've never had a relationship so I'm probably ill prepared to give advice there. But you're certainly capable of feeling things besides that anger. And if you did move past it? Would likely be a wonderful partner.

[ Ephemera snorts. ]

I was going to ask you questions. Sorry.

[ It got away from him, though. The only other person he could think to talk this over with is Godric. Trevor knows magic, though, and Ephemera thinks they're friends. He doesn't have many of those.

He tips his head back and drinks his glass. ]

It's just. A lot. And he's so nice about it.

Nothing to apologize for.

[ Trevor waves a hand -- he's willing to listen no matter what the subject, he just doesn't know how much help he could be. ]

Nice about what, exactly, and why do you find that strange?

[ He hasn't quite put it together that this person is the same one who was engaged to the other Ephemera. ]

[ Ephemera winces. ]

Yeah. So. Person who told me's the same one who. You know.

[ So that's a thing. ]

Didn't figure it out right away. But I asked, and he showed me.

Oh.

[ In retrospect that should have been obvious, hm? Trevor's even more confused now, though. ]

Wouldn't that make him more likely to be nice to you? Or I suppose he could be upset, but it's not as if being someone else is your fault.

And you still have no idea how you feel about any of this?

[ Ephemera groans, dragging a hand down his face. It occurs to him then that he's not used to people being nice to him in general, and that's a thought he isn't entirely sure how to process. Everyone here has been so fucking understanding about everything, giving him chance after chance. Even the Freelancers. ]

He's—

Fuck.

[ Ephemera drops his hand. Eyes the whiskey and then just sighs. ]

I don't know. I don't have those memories. I didn't live that life. But he's. Steady. Kind. And I get it. I get why someone would fall in love with him.

Getting it doesn't mean it'll happen to you. Our experiences do play a part in who we are and yours are different.

[ He hums, then puts his empty glass on the table. ]

Alright, give me your hand.

[ Ephemera blinks at Trevor. He hesitates for a moment, then exhales. Sets his glass down and then offers out his hand.

There was a time he would have fought that. Touching another person unless it got him an advantage somehow. He still flinches from time to time. But it doesn't feel like it's going to kill him anymore.

It's a small change. But maybe a telling one.

The prevailing feeling is confusion. So much has changed and Ephemera used to be so sure of everything. The world, his place within it. His mission. And now that's changed in a way that cannot be ignored. He doesn't know what he wants, or what he's supposed to do. Below that is the deeper grief, the feeling that he's betraying his family in some way by feeling something other than the blinding rage. He was supposed to avenge them, but he hasn't.

And maybe they wouldn't want him to. Maybe they would want something else for him.

Then there's Drake, who is kind and steady, a solid presence, and Ephemera trusted him almost too easily from the first. But it felt natural, easy, and so little has been easy in his life. So little feels easy now, in this place. But he's not the person that Drake loved, that Drake gave a ring to, and how is he supposed to work with that? How is he supposed to know what it feels like to sit next to Drake and watch him fall asleep while Ephemera sketches, and not be that person? How is that fair?

He wants to be fair, and he likes how it feels just to sit next to Drake, and it's tangled all together. ]

Edited 2020-06-30 03:16 (UTC)

[ Trevor typically views the bond as a practical thing, a tool in this instance as well. He's thinking maybe he can assist in sorting through things since he won't be in denial of the feelings... hopefully. This is the man who was so sad for so long he forgot what it was like not to be and assumed he wasn't. But he's gotten a better handle on that now, he thinks.

Now he knows he's miserable. It's a blessing, truly, this awareness.

Ephemera holds out his hand and Trevor takes it, trying to break down the rush of feelings he gets from the other man. Hmm. ]

Wow. You are confused. But is that... guilt? You have nothing to feel guilty about, Ephemera.

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