fatespoken | ∞ [ action post ]

Entry tags:

!ooc,
action

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✏ LOGGING: This is your thread for logging, whether spontaneous or plot-related, silly or serious. His normal haunts include shifts at the Blue Light, various city bars, cafes, random encounters, etc. Prose preferred, [] are fine too.

✉ TO SET UP: Just drop me a line at aeloriax[at]gmail.com or Y!M/AIM (listed in the post below) to give me a heads-up. I'm open to anything as long as it fits ICly.

TRACKING:
March;
Peter & Amory [ Blue Light ] ✯ this is a song lyric [ in progress ]

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[ 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.]

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∞ [ action post ]

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

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