maskormenacelogs | Fancy meeting you here ( arrival / closed )

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Fancy meeting you here ( arrival / closed )

WHO: A Midnighter and an Apollo, albeit not the right ones
WHERE: Midnighter's apartment
WHEN: Early evening, 3rd January
WHAT: Apollos and Midnighters can’t avoid each other for long, it’s fate or something
WARNINGS: none

[ Another alternate reality, another day. A man of Apollo's experiences has nothing to fear from alternate dimensions; he has lived in the Bleed, the knife edge between realities, for the better part of ten years and there's yet to be a problem that he couldn't punch his way out of. (Albeit this new world seems to be suspiciously lacking in targets ripe for punching – but it's early days, Apollo supposes. Give it time and a bastard in need of punching will turn up somewhere.)

Even in civilian clothing Apollo stands out like a sore thumb in this world. The streets of Nonah in the early evening are filled with commuters heading home and Apollo, dressed in jeans and a shirt despite the chill in the air, is definitely not a commuter. He stands head and shoulders – literally – above the rest as he explores. Crowded streets part for him as he moves, walking upstream against a steady current of commuters, to let the haloed superhero past.

He moves with purpose, not that Apollo has anywhere in particular to go. Exploring at ground level is what Midnighter would do, he thinks to himself, and it’s what he does now: walking, not flying, like a normal person. Noticing and thinking and seeing what this world and its weirdly lingering Cold War actually looks like from the perspective of the people who actually lived here.

And besides – he’s looking for something. Something important. There’s yet to be a reality where the Authority were not present in some way, even in badly drawn comic books. Apollo can’t help but try to summon door after door, calling out across the eerily silent radiotelepathy channel for people he knows can’t hear him. It’s second nature to think of the word Door and think of home and - -

He stops short at the rippling orange rectangle that blossoms before him in the middle of the street. It looks like a Door, a real shiftship Door, dazzling and fluid with ripples of bright transdimensional energy. Apollo steps through eagerly, without so much as a second thought.

What’s on the other side of the door is nothing like what he’s expecting. There are no familiar silver curves of the Carrier’s Junction Room, no team mates ready to give him hell for winding up in an alternate dimension without them. There's just... an apartment. Unfamiliar, perfectly normal. Nice even. A place that clearly this Door considered ‘home’, whatever or wherever it might be. ]

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[It is indeed an apartment, one neatly kept with lots of modern touches. The focal point of the large, open room is definitely the entertainment center against one of the walls, consisting of a large TV that hasn't looked used in a while surrounded by bookshelves filled with pictures and seemingly random stuffed animals. It's framed by two black couches and a coffee table.

On the opposite corner is the kitchen space, separated from the living room with by a long kitchen island. Next to the kitchen is a floating staircase leading to the second floor loft space.

Before Apollo can get a good look around, he feels something small ram up against him several times. It's clear that whatever it is is trying its best to harm the intruder, but when you're a foot long shrimp robot, there's only so much you can do. The bright red shrimp clicks angrily at the newcomer, though they seem to pause, confusion etched on their face upon getting a better look at the man who's shins they're ramming into.

It isn't just the shrimp that seems interested in Apollo's sudden entrance; moments later a loud roar comes from the top of the stairs, where an an unnaturally colored tiger sits, leering down from her spot on the staircase. She watches the newcomer intently, her tail swaying violently from side-to-side.]

Easy, Fubuki. I'm a big boy. I can fight my own battles.

[M's voice, lighthearted and yet still clearly tense, rings out from the upstairs loft not long after the tiger's call for attention. There were only two people in the world that should have been able to access his apartment without his permission, Archie and Lester, but according to his implants neither one of them used their key and there was clearly someone downstairs getting the welcome treatment from Dragprawn.

Rather than take the stairs, M jumps easily over the railing surrounding his second floor from his first, flipping in mid-air and landing as gracefully as a gymnast on the ground below. His hair sits flat on his head, damp from an interrupted shower. He's wearing nothing except a pair of sweatpants, and judging from the color scheme of white and yellow... not his.

Even with the computer brain it takes him several seconds to process exactly what he's seeing. It's Andrew, and it's not, two contradictory facts determined to battle it out. The jaw, the eyes, the nose, the build... It was like staring at Andrew 20 years from now. Yet, for reasons he couldn't explain, reasons the computer brain couldn't explain, he knew they weren't the same person. This wasn't his Apollo.

Several more seconds pass before he can manage to pick his jaw up from the floor, and get his stupefied expression under control. Several seconds where he thinks--he hopes--something falls into place.]

...You must be the other guy's Apollo.

Edited 2019-01-05 02:34 (UTC)

[ Between the prawn (robot?) attacking his shin and the tiger (mutant?) roaring their displeasure, the figure who drops gracefully down from the upper level isn’t even the weirdest thing in the room. And yet Apollo can’t help but stare, just as he always ends up staring a little at alternate Midnighters. Each one is unique in their own way and for all the dozens he’s met, there’s still that little tendril of quiet curiosity upon finding a new one; Apollo’s gaze lingers, noting the dozens of small (and not so small) differences. Younger. Athletic. More agile, if that somersault proved anything.

But he has a Midnighter’s eyes. That’s one detail that Apollo definitely can’t miss, even standing on the other side of the room from him. He’d know those eyes anywhere. ]

I might be. [ He concedes with a knowing nod. ] There are a few of us...

[ The other guy, he said. It doesn’t take a fight computer brain to work out who this new Midnighter is referring to. Apollo knits his brow; the idea of his husband being dragged in to this universe as well is as worrying as it is painful. It’s not like they had been on the best of terms lately. ]

He’s here?

[ The question is level enough but even Apollo can’t hide the wariness in his voice. There are so many Midnighters, so many Apollos. And not all of them are particularly nice. ]

Right... the poker game.

[A statement that M still isn't sure is true or complete bullshit, because he knows himself and how if he were the one to say it, it'd be a 50/50 guess as to whether he was being a jackass too.

At the other Andrew's question, he simply shakes his head before looking around for where he left his communicator.]

The porter only allows one person per name, apparently. I replaced him three years ago last month.

[It isn't long before he finds the communicator charging next to the fridge, and he pulls it up to something he must have bookmarked, judging by the speed in which he finds it.]

Here.

[He hands the alternate Andrew the device, the other Midnighter's sole post queued up for him. That task complete, he scoops up D and drapes them over his shoulders. Petting the shrimp is familiar... and keeps his mind off of what's happening right now.

He'd always been under the impression that the other Midnighter hadn't fucked things up with his Andrew. That, unlike him, he'd made better choices and had actually married him instead of pushing him away. They had a child, a thought that still baffles him even now. It made him... well, it made him jealous if he was being honest with himself. The other guy was a reminder that he fucked up and if he hadn't, well... that could have been him.

Some day.

It took just two words and a look to crumble that notion into tiny pieces. M isn't sure if he likes the idea of him and the other him having more in common than he'd always thought.]

[ ‘One person per name’ is the most ridiculous thing Apollo’s ever heard; he opens his mouth to complain as much before he realises what the other Midnighter is fetching.

A communicator. Apollo involuntarily touches his jeans pocket before realising with a twinge of annoyance that he’s left his in his new home; carrying around a phone hadn’t exactly been necessary back in his world. He takes the device gingerly, turning away slightly as it it affords him any kind of privacy to watch the video.

The sight of his husband’s masked face leaves him both dry mouthed with longing and faintly annoyed. The speech he’s giving to the video feed is more than Apollo has heard of him in three long, lonely years. As much as Apollo misses and deeply loves his husband, despite whatever reasoning is behind the mystery of his departure, he can’t help the dull simmering resentment in the pit of his stomach.

Three years. Was this where he’d gone when he walked away from the Authority? Apollo pushes the communicator back towards the other Midnighter with a stony expression. ]

Well, he’s not wrong. [ Which is even worse somehow. Apollo cants his head at Midnighter, brows knitted in thought. And maybe sympathy too. ] You’ve been here three years?

[M knows the post by heart, and so he steals looks at the other Andrew's expression while he watches. If he hadn't been sure before he started watching, he's sure now--the other guy definitely fucked up too.

He fucked up bad.

When he responds, his voice is soft. Guilty. Like he was the one who screwed up. This is just dredging up bad memories... and thoughts that he's had from the moment his Andrew left.]

No, he's not.

[A short nod.] As of last month. The other guy was only here 6 months--June to December.

Well. [ Apollo doesn't look or sound particularly thrilled about it all, but he gestures to the device now safely back in Midnighter's hands. ] Yeah, I would say it looks like that other guy definitely belongs to me.

[ For richer, for poorer, until death do us part. Or so he'd thought. Apollo heaves a sigh and drags his gaze away and around the apartment. ]

I haven't replaced your Apollo, have I? [ He glances pointedly down at those sweatpants. Yeah, he can tell where - or who - they're from. ] Don't tell me this universe operates on a 'one in, one out' basis...

[M shakes his head, moving towards the bookcase to find a particular picture. It's easier than looking at this Andrew right now, easier than feeling guilty for something he didn't even do.

After a few moments he picks up one of the frames, runs his fingers down the glass before returning to the older Apollo and hands it to him. It's from a date some time last year, after they started seeing each other again.]

You're fine. Andrew--my Andrew--left back in August. You didn't replace him.

[ Apollo grips the picture and stares. The face looking back at him is him in a way. Sure, the details are off - short hair, really? Apollo couldn't cut his hair even if he wanted to - but the overall shape, the dimensions of him, are the same. But the young man staring back at him is painfully young and fresh-faced, unmarked by the lines of age and stress. God, it made Apollo feel old. ]

Wait -- Andrew?

[ Apollo glances up in confusion. ]

His name was Andrew?

[At the interjection, M arches an eyebrow. Just because he had a computer brain didn't mean that he was clairvoyant.

And even without the computer brain, he could guess what caused the outburst.]

Andrew Pulaski. From Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania.

I'm going to take a wild stab in the dark and guess you're more like me, and don't have the luxury of knowing your past.

[ Momentarily speechless, Apollo can only shake his head. Unlike his better half Apollo had never felt that itch to find out what it was that Bendix had purged from their memories. It was Midnighter who wondered, mourning for a life that he couldn't remember. Apollo looked ahead, resolute and unwavering. The past didn't matter, who they were before didn't matter, what they had left behind didn't matter - all that mattered was what lay ahead of them. ]

Andrew Pulaski...

[ He repeats the name, trying it out as he lets his gaze fall back to the photo in his hand. Suddenly the Apollo looking back at him feels like an entirely different person. ]

No, I don't think I'm an Andrew. [ He hands the photo back to Midnighter, his fingers lingering ruefully on the frame. ] How is that he regained his memories but you didn't?

[For the first time in a long time, he thinks about what Matt took from him. What Bendix and the Gardener took from him. For a brief moment it was possible to have a real name like Andrew, a past like Andrew. For a brief moment he thought he wanted it.

Before Matt made him choose between his past and his principles. As if there was even a choice.

Now all he has is a picture of a boy who may or may not have been him, before... before all this.

And, strangely enough, he's all right with that.]

Because only one of our tragic backstories came with the deluxe memory wiping package. Henry Bendix is a bit of an asshole like that.

[ Bendix. Apollo grimaces at the name, remembering what it was that he'd been dragged away from shortly before arriving. He massages his temple briefly, then pushes a hand through his hair. ]

Henry fucking Bendix. A man I was deeply looking forward to setting on fire just before I arrived.

[ He shoots Midnighter an expectant look. ]

I can't imagine he was any less of a murderous, psychopathic son of a bitch in your world, was he?

You've had the pleasure of meeting my "father", then.

[There's something to be said about the one constant in the universe being that Henry Bendix is the world's biggest bastard.]

And in a fun coincidence, I was also looking forward to setting him on fire. It's only fair after he had me blown up.

Does that answer your question about murderous, psychopathic sons of bitches?

Father?

[ Apollo's expression collapses in to one of horror as he stares at the shirtless man in front of him. Perhaps this is the one big difference between Midnighter's world and Apollo's. The thought turns his stomach cold with a sickening dread and he shakes his head pleadingly. ]

God, please tell me that's a joke.

I don't consider anyone who would blow me up a parent, Apollo.

[...That felt really weird to say. ("Apollo", not trash talking Henry Bendix. That part came real easy.)]

He's my father only in the sense that he made me the asshole you see today, and only then in the most basic of surgical sense.

[ Apollo doesn't even need to ask such normal, basic questions like 'why was Bendix trying to blow you up'. The answer is obvious: because he's Henry fucking Bendix. ]

Jesus Christ, I thought for a moment...

[ He doesn't even want to finish. Having Bendix as a father in law would be a dealbreaker for any marriage. ]

Doesn't matter. When we get out of here he'll be dead again, as he fucking should be, in two universes. That's good enough for me.

I've learned that most people talk about families and backstories and expect you to have one too. They quickly learn that my life is pretty different than theirs.

Yeah, well...

[ Apollo raises his eyebrows at at the other man, nodding his head towards the strange creature he has draped around his shoulders. ]

Not having a backstory isn't the weirdest thing about you right now, Midnighter.

[ You're wearing a prawn, not!husband. ]

Friends get to call me M.

[...Are they even at that stage? He decides to not worry about that for the time being, instead reaching up to stroke the Dragprawn across his shoulders.]

Are you referring to my increasingly large petting zoo, Apollo?

[D stares at him from M's shoulders, wary.]

This here is D, the Dragprawn. AI robot shrimp from a swear in years past.

[He motions with a thumb over his shoulder to the tiger watching them from the stairs.]

That's Fubuki, a Blickablake from the same swear-in. Her original owner modified her code a bit, but she's still relatively harmless. Her last owner just ported out, so she's still settling in.

[Moving towards his dining room, he gestures to the giant rat cage against the wall.]

My mischief, courtesy of another departed friend. 15 rats in all. If they're not in the cage they're in one of those tubes you see draped around the apartment.

[He glances around the floor for something else.]

Pancho's somewhere around here. I can never find that damn chinchilla unless he wants to be found. A gift from the same departed friend as the mischief, albeit after another mutual friend of ours had him first.

[A side effect of being here 3 years--people leave you their things.]

[ Midnighter lists off the animals but all Apollo can hear is a long string of people who have left. Departed friends, porting out, and Midnighter picking up the pieces. He reaches out a curious hand towards the prawn on the other man's shoulders, fingers extended hesitantly. ]

Sounds like people leave this world pretty regularly...

[D headbutts the fingers, albeit more gently than when Apollo first arrived, before allowing him to pet them.]

You have no idea.

[With that, he gestures towards the bookshelf where he took the picture frame from. There's at least a dozen frames there, most pictures of M with someone, some of just the person. Between or behind the photos are multiple stuffed animals--a robin, a chihuahua, a dinosaur, a squirrel, a shark, an eevee--or something like a replica axe or a horned helmet. There are multiple sun tchotkes scattered throughout, as well as larger ones hung above the TV and in the kitchen.

It's a shrine to the people in M's life, and most of them are gone.]

[ His curiosity caught, Apollo drifts where Midnighter gestures. The collection of photos and sentimental objects arranged on the bookshelf speak volumes - more than Midnighter ever would need to say.

Is this what's in store for Apollo too? Will this be him in three years time, left behind in this weird little world with its kleptomaniac Porters while friends and loved ones disappear around him? For a world that has a constant flood of new people in, it sure seems lonely. Apollo frowns, touching another photo of M and Andrew, and asks without turning round: ]

Doesn't it make you angry?

[ Being stuck here, watching people leave, all of it. ]

Of course it does. Only there's nothing to punch, so what's the point of holding on to it.

[He turns his anger elsewhere, to people who deserve it. It makes him feel better... for a little while.]

Yo--[No, probably not the right word.]--The other Midnighter... Did he have friends?

[M feels foolish for asking that the moment it comes out of his mouth. Sure, he's curious, but all it did was make him sound pathetic.]

[ Apollo turns back at the question. Surely the answer to that should be obvious for any Midnighter. The fact that it isn't obvious is worrying. ]

Well, he had us. His family, the team. [ 'Had' being the operative word. He pauses, realising that judging by his question, Midnighter probably has no idea what team he's talking about. ] The Authority.

[M shakes his head. "The Authority" sure sounds like a lofty name for a team. Frankly, he's not sure if he'd want to commit to something with the kinds of ideals that surely come with calling yourselves something like that.]

Andrew and I joined a team called Stormwatch. It's where we met. It gave me a purpose... but it also consumed me.

[Being a part of the team, having a purpose in the framework of that team... for a long time it was all he cared about.]

I also wouldn't call any of them family--to me or to each other. [They all barely tolerated each other on a good day, it felt like.]

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