fatespoken | ∞ [ action post ]

I hope so.

[He really does hope that there's some quick and simple explanation that will get him back out of this apartment as abruptly as he's entering it. But, knowing what he's brought with him, can't quite imagine any easy dismissal. Chase ducks his head as he waits for Amory to open the door, hiding the slight crease of a frown at the distraction he's been met with. Outright abuse he was prepared for. This reaction is, oddly, more unsettling, and Chase has to bite back questions on what might have happened (surely a weekend as a cat wasn't so traumatic?) in order to keep the distance he's going to need to talk about what he came for.

He's quiet as he gets his shoulders through the door without having to jar them against it. Quiet in sliding a palm into his back pocket and pulling out the image, a smooth motion continued in dropping it lightly onto the first surface he comes to. The nameless young girl stares incomprehensibly up at them and, not for the first time, Chase feels intrusive for looking back at her.]

Someone, [He'll leave that open for now - Amory might guess who'd be able to trace origins here] told me it was yours.

[ The first surface he should come across is the top of a low oak bookshelf placed against left wall of the apartment. It's barely decorated, the interior of the apartment attuned more to necessity than frills and aesthetics. There's a coffee table off to the right framed by a couch and an upholstered chair, clearly for the sake of the cat currently lounging on its seat. (One would hardly expect Amory Felix to have company, of course.) Spic and span, faceless and sparse; it suits him fine.

Amory is a step ahead of Chase when he walks in. Contrary to dividing a large distance between himself and the doctor, he's close enough to reach out and grab his arm. If he needed to, that is. ]

Another one of these?

[ Gingerly, he picks it up, expecting either the worst or the innocuous. But like the deflation of a balloon, the tension and pressure trapped in his posture suddenly pull away; there's a moment where his eyes close, the pads of his thumb pressing into the plastic film of the photograph. A moment for a palpable relief, then a moment for his lips to tighten into a rigid line. It could have been worse, he thinks. This was only a picture. ]

It's the perspective of a witness, not of the perpetrator. [ A breath, as he runs looks to Chase. ] If that was your question.

[Chase doesn't go in for homely decor himself, left to his own devices. It's not in him to wonder why Amory keeps his surroundings spartan; he's here for answers from his own lips, not the revelations of his furniture. There are things Chase does pay attention to, however. Matters of distance, and the expressions washing over each other in a series of tides as the photograph is lifted, registered and recognised.

He meets Amory's look with pointed corners of oceanic blue, not accusatory but not accepting too easily, either. The same careful positioning between blame and absolution finds itself in the level of his tone.]

Perspective isn't relevant. I was in the majority of the pictures that came back to me. I assume you hadn't hired a photographer to stand just out of shot, either.

[He pushes his hands into his back pockets, turning on the cusp of a heel to face Amory more directly. It's clear, at least, that no one's pleading ignorance.]

Who was she?

[ A recognition without sight, observed through a disjointed plane of perception in which presence possess the same force as a name. What Chase doesn't feel, or what Amory does not expect the pragmatist to feel, is the shadow across his back. The shadow sinking in the skin of his fingers every minute, every second, bleeding intangible black into his fingers. Disgust wears itself well on Amory's face, but it is not directed toward the likely recipient. What is done is done. ]

I don't know. Either then or now. [ He catches the sea in his eyes, and candor rushes out with the tide. ] A matter of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. It's of no concern now.

Wrong. A few people are concerned. This- [He nods to the glossy square in Amory's hands] has been doing the rounds.

[He lets that sink through, familiar himself with the constant frustration of this place, where his business can be made public to a degree House would only have dreamt of at home.]

And it doesn't look like you were the only one in the wrong place. What did you do?

I can't say I'm surprised. [ There's the perk of an eyebrow, followed by a dismissive nod. ] My memories have played daytime soap opera too many times for me to be surprised.

[ And this is where the quiet takes hold, indecision splintered between shrugging the Doctor off or manufacturing some ambigious truth. It extends for the next minute or so, though Amory's own eyes maintain their gaze on Chase.]

I walked away.

You walked away.

[As if the repetition clarifies or somehow puts the statement into perspective. Not intervening is something Chase can understand if, in practice, it might not be an option he could live with. Amory does have a talent for edging people's perceptions of him towards the worst, and for this moment at least there's a chance not to tip anything beyond that point.]

And got help? Did you tell anyone? [And one more consideration, Chase's hands pushing deep into his pockets.] How long ago?

Nearly three years ago. And no, to both of your questions.

[ A talent he does has, moreover a natural cadence. There are many things about him that are not admirable. Hardly tolerable, even. It becomes even more apparent when the shade drops. For Amory has always navigated the world through a multitude faces, polishing crisp veneers for this or that occasion, as when needing to play the refined cavalier or the unabashed sensationalist. And he has, surprisingly enough. Even the unrelenting bastard used to be only a face before becoming a time-worn, time-cracked constant. They allow him to divide a mile between himself and others, yet not solely for his sake. How many people would want to know they're insignificant? A single individual's opinion is still an opinion in the end. To Amory Felix strangers are homogeneous nothings, worth only the dregs of his concern. This is especially the case when Amory must consider his own safety, such as the scene in this very picture. ]

You wouldn't know this Chase, but I'm a rational sort of person. [ He leans back on the balls of his heels, relaxing his posture even as their conversation begins to climax. ] There are certain calculations I always consider. Inherent, you could say. The answers are all a matter of less thans. How will it affect me? What are the consequences? How much does that person matter?

What would the consequences have been for making a call?

[The vague relief of expectations confirmed (Amory was not the perpetrator) dissipates in the rush of annoyance at the dismissive and, in Chase's consideration, inaccurate excuses. There's a question of the difference between inaction and implicit accomplice that has him hunching his shoulders, fingers curled against his sides.]

Do you think you're the only one with the mental checklist? Maybe you're just the only one labouring under the assumption that being rational equates to doing nothing.

Maybe I am.

[Undercurrents of private knowledge drive a course against the unfaltering pithy of Amory's response. Yet, his emotions hang in the rafters, as to leave Chase the task of filling in the blank through uneven steps of uncertainty. ]

You're a martyr-kind of person, Chase?

[Chase grits his teeth tight enough to see his jaw click, glancing away from Amory's gaze, back down to the photograph. He shakes his head, sharply.]

I'm the furthest thing from it.

[Whether that's true or not, in the matter of his own opinion it's heavy honesty. He narrows his eyes at the reproduction of a moment that mattered enough in Amory's life for the city to think to issue reprints. It's not nothing.]

You didn't know the girl. [They've established.] The assailant?

Not the furthest thing. [ Amory steps backwards, shifting the weight of his stance onto the other foot. Silence is a space of a minute with his unwavering stare driving the seconds sharp and clear. He breaks it with a suggestion a sigh, eyes briefly catching against the pale blue of the carpet. ] You have to care at least one-hundredth of a percent, to do what you do.

[ He's not here to judge the veracity of Chase's words. Amory takes them for what they are. ]

An acquaintance.

[ Another suggestion. This time the faint impression of disgust in his face. Faint enough that only a meticulous eye might catch it. ]

I get paid for what I do. It's not Calcutta.

[And he's no saint. Though he takes the implication that Amory doesn't have even that minute percent of caring, and discards it as more of the younger man's attempts to keep up appearance. He's already seen evidence of more than a single percentage point between them.

Chase is meticulous about many things people would be surprised at. He nods shortly at Amory's revelation and moves away, folding his hands.]

He'd have come after you, this acquaintance? If you'd done anything.

[ Between them, that's the key; the deviant factor manifesting a contradiction. Amory can care in regards to certain individuals, personages who have dug their impressions so deep within him that searching for a cause would be fruitless. Individuals like a certain doctor who Amory had long given up on ignoring. The rest of the multitude were irrelevant. ]

Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't. Nothing I can predict. [ A particular dryness. ] Or assume.

[ He lets the photograph drift from his fingers onto the coffee table, unceremonious and detached in a gesture of quick disposal. Like something foul, unfit for his hands. ]

[It's not necessarily enough reason to leave a girl to her fate, but Chase is hardly morality's champion himself and fear is a powerful force of reason. The tangibility of the distaste in the room is enough evidence that Amory took no joy in what he'd seen, not that Chase had - even for a moment - believed he'd find that to be the case.

It's enough. He collects the picture and pockets it, more out of respect for not leaving bad memories behind than having plans for it beyond incineration. This is one that doesn't need to go on file. The only thing he owes now is an answer he can give Caspian, whether the truth or something made up to appease him.]

Fine. Any idea what happened to her, after this?

[There's nothing to gesture to anymore, but the image is still clear.]

[ Fear certainly is powerful, even if he had actually approached the impulse with cold, dry logic. It wasn't him following the quickened race of his heartbeat; he had kept his cool reasonably well. Amory had calculated the repercussions with mathematical efficiency, weighed the positive and negatives as though considering a inanimate object. Fear was the quiet force, of course. The victim, as a person, was forced into the back of his mind-- or so he had tried. ]

He's glad that Chase has taken it. Even if Amory had incinerated it, the stink of his presence would still linger. It would take a day or two for it to dissipate even now. ]

I don't know what ultimately happened to her.

[ It's vague on purpose. More to the story than he's willing to give, too many knots to untangle and roll out for Chase. ]

[Chase exhales a breath, catching that ultimately and turning over the possibilities attached. He has his natural curiousities, but also understand the importance of learning when it's better not to follow a story too far. This girl isn't even from his world. Ultimately, though, does mean there was something beyond this.]

I assume I'm better off not knowing.

That, and there's too much that would need explanation. Too many questions.

[ Implicit in his remark, whether Chase catches it or not, is the suggestion that he wouldn't fully comprehend his explanations. A man used to the laws of his own world, or the laws he was aware of, would seem to have difficulty wrapping his mind around the supernatural. The unusual must not be a complete stranger to Chase after living in the City this long, but even if Chase understands the words presented to him, fully registering the reality of it is a different matter. He might not be giving Chase due credit, but any excuse not to give explanation is enough for Amory. ]

[Chase has been quietly honest for a long time about his distrust of the city's reality and it would be easy to take from that that it's the strangeness he finds difficult to comprehend. It's not. It's not accepting the reality of this world that allows him to fully accept the possibilities within, from the cat-girls to the wizards, he doesn't expect his own rules here. That helps.

So maybe he'd understand or maybe he wouldn't, because he himself is all too human, but the concern now is that he arrived past midnight, and he's already pushed Amory further than his weekend of displacement had managed. He doesn't want to push too far.]

It's late for long stories. [He pauses, inclining his head in some kind of acknowledgement.] Thanks.

[For telling Chase what he had with such a small degree of hostility as to be almost civil. It was late, too, to be dragging anything out of him.]

∞ [ action post ]

spill it out on the ragged floor / a thousand different versions of yourself

spill it out on the ragged floor / a thousand different versions of yourself

spill it out on the ragged floor / a thousand different versions of yourself

spill it out on the ragged floor / a thousand different versions of yourself

spill it out on the ragged floor / a thousand different versions of yourself

spill it out on the ragged floor / a thousand different versions of yourself

spill it out on the ragged floor / a thousand different versions of yourself

spill it out on the ragged floor / a thousand different versions of yourself

spill it out on the ragged floor / a thousand different versions of yourself

spill it out on the ragged floor / a thousand different versions of yourself

spill it out on the ragged floor / a thousand different versions of yourself

spill it out on the ragged floor / a thousand different versions of yourself

spill it out on the ragged floor / a thousand different versions of yourself

spill it out on the ragged floor / a thousand different versions of yourself

spill it out on the ragged floor / a thousand different versions of yourself

spill it out on the ragged floor / a thousand different versions of yourself

spill it out on the ragged floor / a thousand different versions of yourself

spill it out on the ragged floor / a thousand different versions of yourself

spill it out on the ragged floor / a thousand different versions of yourself