maskormenacelogs | but does anyone even actually know what coping is, that sounds fake

Entry tags:

but does anyone even actually know what coping is, that sounds fake

WHO: Duncan & Norman
WHERE: Heropa #035
WHEN: Monday 2/8, early morning
WHAT: Discussing that whole looming war thing and Duncan trying not to be a total wreck over nothing, please save him guardiandad
WARNINGS: None

This is not Duncan's first experience with being on the fringes of a war that could spill over to his doorstep any moment. Zenderael's war, however, was distant. While there was always the looming possibility of finding himself crossing the dimensional divide, the war itself had never reached Earth, and most of his worrying had been reserved for his friends who were stuck on the Zenderael side of the gap and did have to deal with the conflict. This, Russia turning the Cold War hot, is very different. It's direct, even if it hasn't hit him personally and hasn't crossed the ocean to American soil yet. An ocean is much easier to cross than a multiverse, and the Russians have already shown that they can take people hostage no matter how much they don't want to get involved.

Duncan in a crisis has two modes: 1) if there is a possible course of action to solve or escape the crisis, he is a frantic panicky mess fueled by desperation to achieve that solution or escape at reasonable cost, and 2) if there is nothing that can be done to prevent, mitigate, or solve the problem, he's just a nervous fucking wreck waiting for the inevitable.

This looming threat of war puts him squarely in the latter.

There's not much he can do right now except go about business as usual and hope for the best. He's not a fighter, and without his healing magic he can't even play support. He's not diplomatic enough to be a useful negotiator and he doesn't have Archbishop Doukas around to give his stern, "Your All-Holiness"es to keep his mouth in check. If the Russians decide to take him hostage there's nothing he can really do to prevent it. He doesn't have an army. He doesn't even have a handful of clerics to rely on for assistance. Even though he has a god-heart, even though he can defy death, he is powerless here. And it is not a good fucking feeling.

So. Stress. Duncan deals with stress by finding outlets for the abundance of anxious energy. School, work, RP, obsessive upkeep of game wikis, etc etc. He's not in school now, his work is still in the 'deciding what the fuck we're even working on' stage, RP has become tainted forever, he doesn't even have a bike he can take apart and put back together directionlessly for hours--really, the only avenue available to him is cleaning.

Which is to say that it's 5AM and Duncan is awake much too early because he woke up in the middle of the night and gave up on trying to go back to sleep, and he is currently in the process of cleaning the kitchen because what the fuck else is he going to do at 5AM.

But when you're tired and stressed there are some things which just go out the window entirely, like coordination. Which results in him banging a shin against the open door of the dishwasher and dropping a plate in the process of catching himself against the counter. It shatters into dozens of pieces on the kitchen tile, a crash that seems to leave a deafening silence and an oppressive stillness in its wake as Duncan stares down at the ceramic shards.

Another thing that abandons you in this state is emotional regulation. Which is why this stupid little accident, something he normally would just sigh at and clean up with minimal fuss, feels like all the crushing injustice of the universe condensed into a single point in time. A white-hot knot of impotent fury blazes to life in the pit of his stomach, and it is only by forcing himself to remain completely still that he manages to contain the urge to take out that violent frustration on his surroundings. He closes his eyes, deep breaths, and carefully steps over the debris to fold his arms over the counter, head propped in one hand.

He's not in a good enough mental state to tell himself to chill the fuck out over it. His brain is in full-on beat-yourself-up-over-everything mode because that was a stupid fucking accident and he can't even maintain a home without fucking shit up and who even let him be an adult anyway he never signed up for this fuck everything. It's not long before he finds himself trying to keep from crying, and he feels fucking stupid for that, too. What a dumb thing to cry over; last time he cried he was literally dying. This is a plate. It's not the end of the fucking world. What the fuck is wrong with him?

The heel of his palm is pressed over his eye, so hard that the way it digs into his cheekbone is almost painful. That's a thing he wrote into Ravindra, wasn't it? Hand over his eye just like this. Some small way of trying to ground himself when he felt too overwhelmed to cope. You really do put pieces of yourself into all your characters. Or is that something he didn't start doing until after he made Ravi...

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's frustrating being separated from the Mighty One for any length of time, even though Norman knows the reasons. There isn't any way he really could've helped with the peace talks even if he'd wanted to, and he knows Max had tried to see if there was a way around it. In the end, he had no choice but to stay behind in Heropa. So far, he appears to have taken it pretty well, but the truth is that i had taken considerable effort not to seem so affected.

At first, Norman had only meant to send maybe a text or two just to keep in touch with the Mighty One. But before he knew it, he'd sent as many messages as Max's mom might have. Then, Max decided to stay in Mexico—just a little longer, of course. At least the boy continued to reply...

Still, the time between Peter Pan, kidnappings, and the impending outbreak of war was and still is overall frustrating and stressful to say the least. It's also the kind of fate that rested almost solely on Max's shoulders back at home. Here, imPorts appear to share this world's political burden. But with so many different perspectives and outlooks in life, they're far from united in standing for a solution. There's also the question as to whether or not they should be responsible in seeking a solution in the first place, as many could argue that imPorts don't even belong here.

But if they don't belong here, why are they here to begin with? A turn of destiny, maybe? It's hard to say.

Norman's routine is rather oddball, lending to his being up and about at strange hours. He's quite used to Duncan cleaning up, but plates breaking at 5AM? When he goes to check on the kid, Norman finds him pressing his eyes into his face.

"Duncan..." His voice is gentle and reassuring for both their sakes. Looking at the scene, it's hard to tell exactly what is wrong. Broken dishes indeed are not the end of the world, but that doesn't mean it isn't the icing or cherry atop an entire cake of problems. So 'Are you all right?' definitely is the wrong question here. "What's going on?"

Um. There. That doesn't fix anything, but it's hopefully the start of... something.

Great and now Norman's here.

Actually, it is great. Someone else showing up forces Duncan to compose himself, because he doesn't want to break down over something this stupid while someone's watching. He inhales deeply, straightening and pushing himself away from the counter as he does. "Nothing. I'm fine." But his throat is tight and his voice reflects it, and Norman's smart enough to be able to peg that response as an obvious lie.

He leans down, pushes the rack back into the dishwasher, closes the lid, and then straightens and lets out a short sigh as he looks down at the shattered remnants of the plate. "Can you, uh. Go fetch the broom for me? Please."

"I see." While Norman is clearly concerned, he's wearing an understanding expression rather than a sympathetic one. Most people who reach this point aren't exactly in ideal condition to speak about it. They could always have a heart to heart after cleaning the floor.

"Okie-dokie. One moment." He turns away to get the broom, which really isn't all that far. But he figures Duncan can use the time he's looking away to compose himself a little better, so when he's finally back with the broom, "Here you are—need a hand?"

Even if Duncan doesn't, Norman's ready to ask if the boy needs anything else.

Norman, you are a true bro. His understanding without comment is much appreciated.

Duncan does indeed need that extra bit of time to compose himself, bracing a hand against the counter as he closes his eyes and forces down a couple more deep breaths. When he looks up, Norman is handing him the broom, which he accepts with a soft, "Thanks."

His answer as he sets to sweeping up the remnants of the plate is, "Just, uh, bring the trash can over here for me, thanks."

Clean-up proceeds in silence, which is partially Duncan not quite being ready to talk yet and partially him feeling comfortable sharing silence with Norman. He knows that Norman's silence is patience, and that it comes without judgment. He finds Norman's presence familiar and comforting, actually--mainly because his demeanor is strikingly similar to Duncan's father, who has always been an overwhelmingly positive influence in Duncan's life.

As he dumps the last of the ceramic shards in the trash, he finally speaks. "You know, it's fucked up that they wouldn't let you go to Mexico with Max." That's obviously not the main issue, but it is a lead-in to it.

As Norman grabs the trash can, he hears sounds of sweeping and the crunching of ceramic shards as Duncan gathers them together. Then he delivers the can to Duncan—again, waiting. The shards crackle as they're dumped into the trash.

At last, Duncan breaks the silence between them; his remark stands as a reminder that Norman wasn't allowed to accompany Max to the peace talks. He tries not to be a grump about it but isn't very successful.

There's just a slight pause in place of a sigh before he answers, "I know."

He can't help scowling about it. Because he would've even left his sword if it meant being there for the boy. If they'd wanted Norman to contribute, maybe they could've written something for him—he'd have read it off, even though talking isn't really his forte. He's has already been here for how long—roughly three months? And while he tries to be there for the Mighty One, while he tries to do 'what he does best', he feels ill-equipped in handling some of their problems. The remnants of the whole Peter Pan situation and impending war are a couple examples.

Despite his deep frown, he refuses to look as helpless as he feels. It's difficult to say how successful he is. Here, he sighs; it's a little tired but mostly frustrated. "...I mean, I know I can't always be with him. Even back home, we weren't together at every waking moment. But..." He thinks of their travels and their use of portals to confront (or sometimes run from) the hordes of darkness. "I was always able to protect him when he's needed me."

"Yeah, I mean..." He sets the broom aside, leaning an elbow on the counter. It would be a casual posture on anybody else, but on Duncan it's tense, more like somebody who can't support their own weight than someone who just doesn't want to. "They're sending those people on diplomatic missions because Russia just started a fucking war, and they won't let a thirteen-year-old kid bring his bodyguard along? Are they that fucking--" A frustrated gesture with his free arm, trying to capture a word he can't quite recall. "--fucking stupid?" Not the one he wanted, but good enough. "They couldn't stop Russia from kidnapping a shitload of us, and they expect to be able to protect those people by themselves outside of the country?"

He talked until he ran out of air, pretty much, and recovers it all in one deep breath that comes back out as a sigh as dense as a black hole. "This fucking country, man. I can't fucking deal with this shit, Norman."

Everything about Duncan right now is screaming stress and frustration. His body language and movement, his venting in one long breath and needing to take a deep one to recover, the weight in his sigh... Frankly, Norman can't blame him. Momentarily, he grinds out in annoyance, "I know." His answer echoes Duncan's sentiment, his tone perhaps serving as a reminder that despite his ten thousand years of life, he's no less human than when he was a boy.

Scowling as he continues in a grumble, "What if they get kidnapped during these peace talks? At least I could fight even without my powers..." Ever since not being strong enough and losing his father, Norman has been honing his abilities. Should he lose his strength and immortality, he's sure he could come up with something else so long as he could protect the Mighty One.

That would be reassuring if Duncan were in a mindset to realize it. Ten thousand years and still human enough to find this sort of thing upsetting; that's good. That's the sort of thing he worries he'll lose by the time he's Norman's age. That he'll grow so distant from the concept of humanity and morality and people that things like this won't even matter to him anymore.

Maybe he'll realize it later, when he's reflecting back on this conversation and how it went. For now, he's just glad to see Norman echoing his own frustration and knowing he's not alone in it.

"Exactly!" He punctuates it by slamming his hand down against the counter. "And what the fuck is going to stop Russia from doing it? They've already done it once! And nobody has any fucking idea how they did it, either, so how the goddamn hell does the government expect to be able to prevent it?"

As Duncan continues, Norman finds himself gritting his teeth in agitation. It's hard being a guardian who isn't allowed to protect his charge. Moreover, he's the Guardian of the Mighty One—this is his destined responsibility. And he's unable to fulfill it because people who know nothing about its importance forbid him from escorting the Mighty One to the peace talks. Norman could be diplomatic, he's done it before, with the Mighty One.

Realizing he's all riled up, Norman takes a deep breath and lets out a heavy and resigned sigh. There's no point getting all worked up when he can't really take his frustrations out on anything. Not a fan of needless destruction, after all.

"I don't know. It's..." Dammit, it's stupid. "Bad. It sucks. I don't think they really thought it through." It's hard to think they even care, for that matter. But Norman would rather not express that.

Ha ha Norman, getting worked up with nothing to take out his frustrations on is all Duncan ever does. Your self-control is admirable.

Case in point, when Norman doesn't say it, Duncan does. "I don't know if they even care. I don't think they've really cared about us since day one, we're just--we're politics to them! They only care about us as far as it affects public opinion!" When Duncan is keyed up, there are a number of obvious cues as to the extent of it. Along with posture and body language, the biggest one is pitch. The higher his voice pitch deviates from normal, the worse he's riled. He can gain a full octave when it's really bad, and right now it's definitely starting to edge it's way up.

Norman has to control himself; he'll be a force to be reckoned with otherwise. And mindless violence isn't the answer. It's something he never wants to resort to. Not with his power and might. So when Duncan continues, voicing the opinion that Norman won't, he sighs and says, "I promised to always follow him. And where am I now?"

Nowhere near him. Again, as he'd mentioned earlier, Norman knows he can't go everywhere with Max, but he should be somewhere close enough to protect the boy. The fact he isn't...

"What kinda guardian am I, letting a government that doesn't actually care or know what they're dealing with, get in the way?"

"It's not your fault," he says, as though the very idea of Norman blaming himself is absurd. "I mean, what the fuck are you going to do? Walk yourself to Mexico? There's so much red tape involved in crossing a goddamn border that if the government says no you're just fucked.

"None of this is our fault. But--" He sweeps an arm out, indicating the entirety of this universe with the motion. "But here we fucking are! Fixing problems we didn't create for a universe we didn't ask to be in while everyone involved treats us like resources instead of people."

Maybe he doesn't have any right to be so upset about it. It's not like he was one of the ones that got kidnapped. He's not headed out to talk war politics with ally nations. He doesn't intend to do any fighting if he can help it, either. But it's an injustice that affects all of them, even if only indirectly, and it's the injustice that he's angry about.

To some extent, it is absurd, but Norman feels very strongly about his responsibilities. That, and he's never really paid any mind to things like bureaucratic red tape. He's far more used to showing up, demonstrating his strength, the Mighty One pointing out how awesome he is, and then their little group moving along to do what they must.

His mouth opens with a response about actually walking to Mexico because that's actually a viable option. What? It wouldn't be the first time he's walked halfway across a continent for some reason or other. Only Duncan continues ranting, and so Norman decides not to interrupt him. Besides, it looks like he really needs to just let it all out.

Besides, it's not as if Duncan's wrong. Destiny doesn't account for their time here; Skullmaster isn't at the fore of the hordes of evil. And world powers are only as good or bad as the people using them. (When this thought becomes pertinent during the Seminar nearly a couple weeks later, Norman might not immediately recognize the irony of it. But he'll come around.) Instead, he can't help sighing and shaking his head.

"All because the government is using something they don't understand." The Porter.

Norman actually has a lot of questions about the Porter. How does it work, why does it bring people from different worlds and universes to this specific one? Since the Porter keeps planting imPorts into this world, does this constitute as an inadvertent invasion? Does it have the ability to transplant imPorts into each others' universes, and how would that affect those worlds? Does it have the ability to weave new destinies, and what would Virgil have to say about it if he were here?

"Or trying to figure out how it works... Though who's to say it doesn't have a mind of its own?" Is the Porter to blame, or the government poking at it?

Sure it might be a viable option, but you have to consider timeframe here Norman. By the time you finished walking to Mexico everyone would already be home!

Now getting your hands on a car and driving to Mexico on the other hand...

Regardless, he is correct that Duncan just kind of needs to rant and let all his feelings out. And the outraged agreement he responds with leads to more of the same. "Yeah--yeah! Fuck them!" He punctuates it by banging his hand down on the counter. "I am so fucking sick of this shit, getting caught in someone else's fucking crossfire and held accountable for shit we never possibly could've predicted. They put themselves in this position. I've got no goddamn sympathy for people fucking around with shit they don't understand."

Big words from a guy who dug up a god's corpse to feed its skin to his friend on a hunch. But, ha ha, irony is the furthest thing from his mind right now.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

but does anyone even actually know what coping is, that sounds fake

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject