maskormenacelogs | Bowl-O-Rama Time

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Bowl-O-Rama Time

WHO: Utena, Lucina, and YOU
WHERE: Kingpin Lanes, a bowling alley in Heropa
WHEN: Friday, March 8th
WHAT: The owners of Kingpin Lanes ~~screwed up their alcohol order~~ are offering massive discounts for anyone 18 and under! And they've kindly requested that Utena and Lucina spread the word to their friends. Why don't you come join them?
WARNINGS: Potential underage hooliganism. Otherwise, nothing so far.
OOC NOTE: Later on today Lucina will be posting on the network letting other characters know about this, with a link to the log. The log is just going up a little early because of our OOC schedules.

Hey, so your got Lucina's invite! Great! Or maybe they found out bout Kingpin Lane's generous deals (discounts on games with groups of six or more! free drinks with every order of atomic nachos! and so on and so forth). Or maybe they literally had nothing better to do. Either way, the lack of beer and the higher than usual concentration of youths have chased off the bowling alley's older regulars, leaving plenty of alleys free.

THE BOWLING LANES

Even with the lack of cheap beer, at least a couple of the lanes will be taken up by bowling teams playing their scheduled games. Around 10 PM, though, they'll shuffle out as the regular lights dim and the blacklights flip on, illuminating everything in a garish neon glow. Grab your friends, a pair of bright white shoes, and a neon ball, and knock down those technicolor bowling pins! If you forgot the score card, don't sweat it - the monitors up above will keep score for you. Assuming they don't malfunction, that is. Wait, did the screen just flicker? Eh, don't worry about it.

THE ARCADE

Is bowling not your thing? No problem! There's a mini arcade just to the side for customers to waste both time and quarters. There's pinball machines and ski-ball for anyone with more old fashioned taste, and a couple different crane machines for people who just love to throw money away. If that's not enticing enough, there's an electronic basketball game, the hit arcade shoot 'em up Burger Blasters, the light gun shooter Duckpocalypse Now, the driving game Krafty Karts, and a little mechanical horsey for the young and young at heart.

THE PARKING LOT

Sometimes you just need to breathe in some fresh air. Or bum a smoke. Or partake in other less than wholesome, possibly illicit substances where underpaid nacho slingers can't see you. As long as you don't get caught, there's no problem. The parking lot is a no judgement zone! As well as a "I don't get paid enough to keep track of every jerk here" zone.

OTHER

Start a brutal feud over the last pair of size six shoes! Make snide, passive aggressive comments as someone picks the bowling ball you wanted! Weep bitter tears as the change machine eats your twenty! Or be brave and daring and find out what makes the Atomic Nacho Platter so atomic (spoiler: it's just extra jalapenos and some tabasco sauce). If it can take place in or around a bowling alley, you can do it.

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We're different people, [ Jaime protests, mostly for the sake of it. ] I wouldn't get to play anything without just getting an automatic ace if he always got involved.

[ ... ]

You know, kind of like you.

[ It's different for Ruka on account of the fact that she probably doesn't have someone heckling her every time she played a video game. Not that Ruka plays many of those, despite everything.

Even though he was talking, though, he had been paying closer attention to the ball that time. ]

Seriously, how are you doing that? [ He knows about the empathy, and he knows about the lion... is she vaguely telekinetic too? ]

[ Kind of like you puts a scrunch on her face, but the accusation of cheating doesn't do any real damage. She knows she's cheating at this game, but it's different than when she plays with Khaji, or other types of games. These kinds of sports aren't for her, normally, and there's no real sense of strategy or personal touch to it. What does it matter who wins?

But the smugness and the play-acting pride fade off when his curiosity turns less accusative and more genuine. Her brows scrunch. ] You don't know?

[ She says it like that, but the question isn't really directed at Jaime — she's talking to herself, a quiet moment of surprise. Have they really gone this long without her explaining it? But she knows she's used it around him. Right? Or was it only in little ways like this? Turning locks from the other side of the door, lessening the weight of something being carried, moving things beneath the surface... the confusion in her face clears up. ] Or... no. You haven't seen it.

[ The ball kicks back out of the return; Ruka turns her head at the sound, then looks at Jaime, and then—much more critically—looks around at the other lanes, the other people bowling, or lingering around. The only person she absolutely does not want to see this isn't anywhere she can see, so... it's fine, right? With her lips still pursed, she goes to retrieve the ball, which does jump the last couple of inches to her palms.

She walks back to Jaime, offering the ball. ] Here.

[ Once he takes it, though, even once it leaves her hands, it puts no weight in his hands. Not like a balloon, or something only a shell around air, but like grabbing hold of a statue, or the bottom rung of a suspended ladder: the weight isn't gone, but it's borne by something else. Her head tilts, silent invitation, and she moves over to the bench near the score-control console. ]

Whoa. [ Jaime looks down at the ball, weighing it in his hands. That's downright eerie. It's not even like his superstrength when he's in costume, where he's just carrying it carelessly; this is the real deal. ] We haven't really talked about any of your powers that aren't empathy - much, anyway.

[ There was the whole lion incident, but Ruka knows as well as he does that neither of them could forget that if they could. What a mess that had been. He follows her gaze and nods, walking over to throw the ball in a neat arc towards the middle of the lane. ]

...telekinesis?

You weren't supposed to get rid of it.

[ It's said with a look, a little disparaging, but there's no true venom. With no gesture, or visible effort on her part, the ball immediately rolls backwards, out of the lane and towards them, stopping gently at her feet. She bends to retrieve the ball, setting it in her lap.

Once more, she looks around the lane for anyone watching them. Still no sign of that guy... she takes a breath, turning to focus on Jaime again. ]

Not real telekinesis. Here... [ The answer emerges as a small, glowing bead of light, no bigger than a golf ball. It's a translucent red — a shade that should be becoming familiar to him by now. ] ... This is my "shield."

[ As he watches, the little bead swells in size, doubling, quartering, in pulses as steady as a dimming switch. Even if Jaime doesn't remember seeing her shield, Khaji certainly will — it looks just like the one she used at that awful Swear-In, all those years ago, when he first spoke to her. Just in miniature. When she speaks, her voice is quiet. ]

It's something I have because of the Dragon's Mark. We all have it. Naturally, this power will come to life on its own if I'm in danger, or the people around me are. I don't have to know about the danger at all; I don't even have to be awake.

[ She doesn't say how it drains her; she sure as hell doesn't mention the reflective transference, that it might protect her from injury, but that she's still aware of the damage it takes. That the stress of maintaining it could be what knocks her unconscious, or worse.

Instead, she touches his wrist, gloved fingers guiding his hand upward. ]

But when I left that world, I was young, and the place I was brought to was very dangerous. I thought... sometimes, that wouldn't be enough. So, I learned how I could control it. To summon it, whenever I wanted... to send it away from me, when I needed to... to change it...

[ As she says this, the light, intangible, passes through the flesh of his palm and out the other side, and back. At most, there is heat, like a flashlight pressed to the skin, and the tingle of magical energy not quite like fire. When it presses to his hand the next time, it's a solid mass; something his fingers can curl around and hold. It's warm to the touch. ]

I can move it pretty fast, too, even between all these states. [ Her arms fold together, left arm over right.

Her voice gets softer. ]

There's... only one person, I ever had to hurt that way. ... [ ... ] ... Mostly I just use it to unlock doors, or lift stuff that's too heavy for me.

And cheat at bowling, I guess.

Oh. Whoops. [ Jaime grins sheepishly at Ruka, but obediently follows her instructions thereafter, letting her guide him in what she wants him to do so she can best demonstrate her powers. Hers have always been more complicated than his, as much as that seems like that couldn't possibly be the case when he's got an ancient alien being living underneath his skin. But that's all science, all technology. Hers is fraught with lore and emotion, and they mean a great deal more to her. They're wrapped up in who she is, not just what she is.

That's never been the case for Jaime. The powers came to him, and he didn't go to them, and the only connection they have is a horribly grim one used for things beyond most people's reckoning. He wouldn't feel himself without his powers, true enough, but the only thing that really matters is Khaji. ]

Cool, [ he says first, which is probably a little underwhelming, but not inaccurate. He curls his fingers around the bead, feeling it as an extension of her. ] I'm glad you've got it. Something that can actually protect you, I mean. [ Not just things that hurt her, like the rest of them seem to. ] So the power's connected to something bigger, right?

[ Her arms uncross, and recross; she can feel the pressure of his grip on the bead as though it were the bare skin of her right arm he was grasping, fingertips against the burn of her mark. It doesn't hurt at all; it's warm, and it's a little strange. She hopes he doesn't notice. ]

Mmm. [ Affirmative. ] From the god I told you about before. It manifests through my birthmark. It's not meant to protect just me, really, but... you can't do much good from the grave, you know?

You gotta take care of you first. They got that right, at least. [ He lets go of the bead, letting it slide across his fingers as he pulls away, just as fascinated as before. It kind of tingles in a way that it won't for anyone else - it smells too, a little like slightly damp wood on a campfire, a greater power that hasn't yet been awakened. ]

I'm surprised I've never seen you use it, after everything. I've always known you're magic, but you're always, like - a little magic.

[ It's in her. It never quite goes away. ]

[ A little shiver runs up her spine. Once he's released the bead completely, she lets the shield dissolve, its hard edges blurring into a shimmering red dust before disappearing completely. I've always known you're magic, that's nothing to get hung up on, but at the same time, it's a strange thing to be told. As though those gifts, that power, as if that had anything to do with her, instead of it being the presence of something else filtering into her veins. The Porter changes things, and the nanites change things, but in the strictest sense, it's not Ruka that's magical, that's powerful. She's only the vessel for it — a brittle glass vial.

She wants to say it: that's not me. She wants to tell him about the close calls: that she'd had to hold her shield back, that day on the beach. How quick it came to hand during that disaster in De Chima, how the burn of it had saved her from the Negotiator's scheming. That they so rarely cross paths at times like those, her always too taken up in her own selfish pursuits and defenses.

They're the natural things to say, but she can feel the mood he's in. The little cheer, the interest, the fascination — that little spark of awe, that seemingly-fragile little sense of respect. A little magic. If she says those things, she'll snuff out those delusions in an instant, and she knows that's the right thing to do, but... ]

What's so surprising about it? [ She's always been too selfish for her own good. ] You always want to protect me. If you're there, what do I need a shield for?

I dunno how much I've actually done that. I don't think making sure you don't get crud in your eye when we go flying counts, [ Jaime says lightly. It's true. Every time there's something big, they're torn in opposite directions, her doing what she can on the ground, and him flying directly at it to the best of his ability. It happened with the nukes, and it happened with the doppelgangers, and it happened with the Negotiator. Heck, it even happened with the Narrator's house. He'd never managed to find her in there.

Funny, isn't it? Half of the people he meets here, he only knows because of stuff like that. But they only seem to meet when the dust is still settling and they're figuring out what to do - or how to do it. He smiles at her anyway. ] I do have a pretty good shield, though.

You haven't had to. No, that's true. [ Her hands settle back on the bowling ball, shifting the weight of it so it doesn't bear so much on her lap. ] But... you've always wanted to. I can tell. Even when it's not, um.

[ Even when it's not wise. Even when it's not the right choice. When it's not the right thing to do. It was like that when he came against her double, a corrupted and dangerous fracture that had hurt people, that could have killed them — but that wasn't what Jaime prioritized. It was like that years ago, the first time they met, imprisoned; she'd introduced herself as an unrepentant murderer, and all he'd wanted to do was sway her from that conclusion, bring her comfort and a different path. And just last month, with her flippant declarations of being kidnapped, what had he done? Rushed right in to the same mess. They never found one another, but that didn't matter — not when it wasn't by choice, not when he'd wanted to find her.

And it was like that, too, a year ago, on that beach... even before they became friends, or anything close to what they are now. When everything started going to hell, the first thing he'd wanted to do was get her to safety. He'd offered, in his own way. And maybe he wouldn't have been able to follow through, if she'd asked for it then; maybe he would have turned and done the right thing on his own, even if she hadn't made the decision for him. Maybe he would have thought twice, remembered himself, remembered her worth, and chosen for himself to go.

That's not what happened. But it could have, then, and it could still, in the future: he may want to do what he can for her, and weigh his options, and realize—rightly—that whatever's on the other end of that balancing scale is more important. He may never choose to protect her. He may never be in a position to. It doesn't matter. He wants to; that's enough. It's more than enough. It's more than she deserves.

She exhales; her tack-on is quiet, and she doesn't look up. ]

Um, even when it's not. Always feasible, I guess.

[ There's something else in her expression that he can't quite read. She's never the one who has trouble speaking as much as him, rarely has to rely on filler words the way he always does. It means that there's something else on her mind that she doesn't want to share or doesn't feel she should. He blinks at her at first, trying to sort out what she means from what she says. What's going through her mind right now? It seemed to him a perfectly innocuous thing, but clearly it hadn't been.

He's got a pretty good idea of what she's thinking. She always seems to go down the same pathways, again and again, like an old foe taking her by the hand and leading her down a place that's safe in familiarity, but nothing else. He thinks he's got it figured out, anyway.

He knocks the toe of his shoe against her lightly, the sensation muffled by the fact that bowling shoes are always too big and too hard to actually feel anything through them. ]

Hey, [ he says, tone easy. ] I always wanna do the things worth doing. Even if it's not always feasible.

[ The bump is enough to pull her attention — she hasn't put her boots back on yet — and she speaks without thinking. ]

It's different, [ but once said, she isn't sure why. Her look is part measurement, part confusion. There is something different about it, though, isn't there? At the very least, it's not coming from a place of distant, moral heroism, or anything like that. It's not because it's the right thing to do.

But that doesn't seem to be the right answer either. She doesn't know what she's thinking. She frowns, and smooths the sleeve of her right arm, and shakes her head, and exhales — shaking herself loose from the questions she can't answer. Instead, when she glances back at Jaime, it's with a wry smile. ]

But... it's kind of you to say it, anyway.

Huh?

[ He doesn't get her, sometimes. The things he's saying are as natural as breathing - of course he wants to help her. He always has. And now that they're friends, and they're important to each other, it should be clearer to her now why that is than it's ever been. It's not exactly a radical thing to profess, your desire to keep the people closest to you out of trouble. But it always means something more to her, doesn't it? ]

What do you mean, different?

Jaime. [ It's almost chiding, the way she says it, mouth pulling at the corner, but not for smiling or frowning. ] Come on, I don't really have to say it, do I?

[ The words sound like they should be teasing, but if they are, Jaime's not the target. There's no real levity to it, either. Her hands, anxious for something to do, spin the bowling ball in her lap. ]

There's always so much else going on. You have so much to worry about already. Something this small, it's not... as important as the rest, you know? It doesn't even belong on the same list.

[ It's not as important, it doesn't belong — they're just more distant ways to evade a truth he'd reflexively deny. It's not worth protecting. It doesn't deserve defending. It, it, it, she keeps saying, but this something small she's talking about isn't their friendship, or anything as abstract as that. ]

I mean, it's just me, after all.

[ Is that really it…? Jaime frowns a little, circling around to sit down across from her. He means for it to go more smoothly than it does; these are the sorts of seats that are attached to the table itself and swing wildly back and forth, so it’s a clumsy sort of collapse where the seat boomerangs right back into its spot, his knees banging up against the table. ] Stupid thing…

[ It’s funny. Ruka takes responsibility for so much. Heck, she’s even been touched by the gods. If there’s ever been a hero of a story, it’d be Ruka. And here she is, calling herself small. She may be small in size, but even that first time Jaime had met her, curious and half intimidated by her, she’d never seemed to have a small presence. She has a way of sticking in people’s minds. ]

Yeah. It’s just you. Which is why I stand by what I said - I always wanna do the things worth doing, and that includes looking out for you. You’re still a person, Ruka. That means you’re important.

[ It’s more than that too, though. ]

And you’re my friend. Which means you’re important to me too.

[ He doesn’t say it as any great declaration. In fact, it almost sounds as though he’s pointing out that the sky is blue, or that the grass is green. It’s one of the great truths of Jaime’s life: people, every person, is important. And that goes double for his friends. You don’t get to pick and choose who is and isn’t important, but if he could, he knows what and who he’d choose. ]

I think I get to decide what's worth it to me.

[ She's not gonna change his mind. ]

[ It's still different, she wants to say. Wants to point out the gulf between the value of doing a good thing and doing the right thing, between helping one person you care about and helping dozens, hundreds, thousands of strangers. (And there's no room for him to downplay the number, either; the Blue Beetle is a well-beloved hero for a reason.) To say something like, of course, anybody would want to do both, or of course we're friends, or, I can tell which one you consider first.

She doesn't manage to say any of those things. She moves to speak, even, but there's no sound in the air, no statements forming in the space between her lungs and her lips. Her mouth purses and, flustered, she turns her gaze elsewhere. It's not even arguing, what she'd mean to say, but it's hard to come up with anything to knock against ... pretty much any part of that.

Jeez. ]

... You're important to me, too.

[ It's a quiet echo, made softer by her averted gaze and the volume of the venue — it's a small miracle if he can hear her at all. Jeez. One little I want to look out for you and she's this overwhelmed? It's not even new information. Obviously he wants to — that's where this whole mess of a detour started. ]

I... guess. I'm... not used to that. I'm more, um, usually someone people try to help because they have to. Or, like it's their responsibility. Or it seems like the right thing to do. [ Obligation. Necessity. ] ... Not every time, but enough, that... this kind of thing is different, for me.

... Sorry. If I'm making a big deal out of nothing.

[ Jaime blinks at her. ]

If it's a big deal, then it's not nothing.

[ He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world - and to him, it is. He's always been the sort to devalue his own feelings. It didn't come with the superhero gig. It'd been some attempt to seem more removed than he is, maybe, or to seem cool, or out of worries that the things that matter to him don't matter to anyone else, but every time he'd start down that path - oh, I dunno, it's stupid - his parents always set him straight. They'd never had to do that with Milagro, or if they had, it hadn't been nearly as often, but they'd handled him pretty well.

If it matters to you, it's not nothing. Even if it's hard to feel in his heart of hearts in difficult moments, he still believes it, and it's a simple enough message to pass on. He's not even sure if he completely buys that's how people feel about Ruka (okay, she has empathy so she should know, but surely it's just one part of a bigger picture; he can't see how anyone who gets to know her could dismiss her like that), but for stuff like this, it's not really the truth that matters. ]

I guess... it's harder when you came to a place like this when you were a little kid. But that's not the way I feel. I don't think that's how some of the others would feel either, once they get to know you like I do. [ Is that presumptuous? Maybe like I do, but they can't exactly claim they don't know each other well enough for that, so... it's okay. He knows that's not how Kanaya feels. It's not how Laurie would feel either, or Cass, or any of Jaime's other friends. That's just fact. ]

[ It's slight, but his first assurance only makes Ruka shake her head, gaze still averted. It is really nothing, in the grand scheme of things. Just because it's rare for her doesn't mean it is for anyone else; just because she focuses her attention too narrowly, or overthinks everything, or inflates the importance of simple actions — none of those things actually change anything, do they? Like now. Getting overwhelmed by these little declarations, that she's important because she's a person, that he cares because she's his friend — she's making these things bigger than they are. Obviously he cares about his friends. Of course he wants to protect people, and do good, and push past whatever boundaries are in his way to accomplish that; it really doesn't have anything to do with her. How she feels about it doesn't change anything, so it doesn't matter. ]

Like you do, huh? [ she echoes, quiet; her hands keep rotating the bowling ball, the finger holes appearing and disappearing, over and over. ] I don't think there's anyone like that.

[ And that's the crux of it, isn't it? By all rights, there should be: there are people in this world that have known her for years. There are people she's lived with. People she's worked with, day after day, for years. People who have known her since she was a child — and, under this same roof, someone who knew her before she ever left her childhood home. Do any of them know her, even half as well as Jaime does?

Does Jaime know her, even half as well as he thinks he does? ]

At least, there isn't anymore. [ She shrugs when she says it, and though she looks towards him now, her expression is shuttered, mouth pinched closed and pressed into a polite smile. She offers him the bowling ball. ] I'll let you get back to your game. Sorry I can't be better competition, right now.

[ Jaime could protest. He might even be right to do so. But where would that get them? He'd list people, and Ruka would shake her head, dismissing them with some well placed point or another, and Jaime's never been as good at arguing as her - or as good with the minor details that seem to magnify in her presence, larger than the bigger truths that Jaime tends to see. He'd already overstepped. The way I do.

Presumptuous. Too presumptuous, for what they are. They're close friends, yes, but there's still so much they don't know. ]

It's okay, [ he says instead. ] You know I came here to bowl as much as you did. I'll just hang out with you instead, if you don't mind.

[ They don't have to talk about it. Heck, they don't even have to talk. They can just sit for a while. That's fine by Jaime too. ]

I...

[ It's a difficult place. There's a thickness of tension, of worry... he's worried about her, and that's... not what she wants. (It's not, right? He shouldn't be ruining his night just because she's in a weird mood.) She wants to stay; she doesn't want to make things worse.

She ducks her head, and looks away. ]

... I think... maybe later? My heart's... uh, a little too fragile tonight, I think. There's other stuff, too. That I should figure out on my own.

I'll catch you later, okay? Before you leave.

[ Jaime's not sure why he feels - disappointed isn't the right word. It's something else, something he can't place. But he shouldn't feel that way; close as they may be, it's only natural for her to want some time to process things on her own, and it's certainly not her responsibility to tell him what's on her mind. He doesn't think something like him caring about her is the main trigger for this. Something happened, right?

But it's none of his business, much as he wishes it were. ]

Oh, um... [ C'mon, Jaime. Don't cling. She's got stuff to figure out. He's gotta respect that. ]

Yeah. Of course. I hope you figure out, um - whatever it is you need to figure out.

[ He taps his fingers on the table. ] You know where I'll be.

[ She puts on her boots and redoes her laces in the lull before he speaks; she keeps her eye and attention focused on the task, trying not to notice his reaction. But, of course, there is no ignoring it: that sensation like the ghost of a hand reaching out, hesitating, and falling back. It stings in its own way, and it's reassuring in its own way, and it makes her want to hesitate, too. She shouldn't. She knows she shouldn't. What she wants to do and what she should do are never the same.

She pushes her hands against the table surface for leverage, standing slow; she pauses, (hesitates,) and she looks him over once more. She's still a little too pallid in the face, mood wane, but her mouth pulls a little crooked, one cheek curved for a smile she's trying not to show. ]

You make it really hard to leave, sometimes. You know that, don't you? [ It has all the right words but none of the right sound for a complaint. Exasperated, maybe, but the tone is fond, and warm. ] I'll see you later.

[ And, before she can make anything worse, she turns and heads back up the alley stairs. ]

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Bowl-O-Rama Time

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