savetheearth | Blind Faith, Heartache, Mind Games, Mistakes [Closed, January 2]

Cesar is late.

It's only by a few minutes, fortunately, and it's probably caused by nothing more serious than a paper he couldn't stop reading. Still, it's a mixed signal: first he invites their meeting out of nowhere, and then he's late. Then he has a faint pinch of strain around his eyes when he arrives, but he goes through the motions of there being nothing out of the ordinary. He gets a coffee from the counter by showing a strip of paper from his pocket. The barrista glances at it(they've done this before), gives him something with a doubleshot of espresso, and sends him on his way.

It's normal, whatever 'normal' is for him these days.

He lifts the hand with the reader in greeting, before making an awkward twisting motion with both hands, and tilting the reader in L's direction. It's a casual 'How are you' in sign language, muffled by the things he's carrying. Will L respond in kind?

It's certainly a mixed signal, but L doesn't pay it too much mind; unless he's being guided along by someone like Saretha, perfect punctuality is an enormous and often-futile effort for him. He's been late before, especially before his pulses, even missed engagements entirely.

Not this one, not today, and not Cesar. All are pretty high priority, for reasons ranging from curiosity to guilt to the innate desire to fix what's broken.

He glances up at Cesar's approach, eyes widening slightly in delighted comprehension. He responds in fluid, quick gestures, and once he's started he seems to make a conscious effort to slow them down for Cesar's sake.

"{Fine, thanks. So you are learning Sign Language? I thought you might be and so I started studying, and I got an echo out of it a few minutes into the tapes. I thought maybe I could help you."}

He bites his lip, glancing down at the envelope, seeming awkward and almost sheepish. Did Cesar catch all that, does he seem like a show-off? It reminds him that a big part of ASL is expression, which he is still working on, and that's his rocky segue into reaching for it and offering it to Cesar, waiting for him to set down the items in his overloaded arms.

"I hope you'll look at this. It would help me. I've been working on some things, and watching some movies, so... if you could score me based on our interactions today, it would mean a lot."

Should Cesar open the envelope, he'll find a pretty odd, survey-like form.
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On a scale of 1-10, please rate the following. Indicate via circle how satisfactorily the following emotions/expressions were rendered. Please consider timing, appropriateness, and how natural the affectation was in each instance.

Happiness (upturned mouth, "crinkling" of the eyes, resulting roundness in cheeks)

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Comments:

Sadness (drawing together of brows, downturned mouth, tilting of head. BONUS: compassionate remark)

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Comments:

Amusement (multi-toned laughter, relaxation in shoulders and neck, breathlessness, subject matter appropriateness)

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Comments:

Disgust (wrinkling of nose, brief appearance of tongue, gagging, attempt to deflect obvious signs if to do so would be rude)

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Comments:

Anger (Drawing brows down closer to eyes, lowering head, baring teeth, tension in shoulders and fists, downturned mouth, raised multi-tone voice)

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Comments:

Fear (Wide eyes, multi-tone voice, submissive posture, mouth open)

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Comments:

Cesar pauses in mid-coffee-sip when L's signing takes off, and it's a scramble to keep up. He keeps that intent look of complete focus for a few seconds after L is done, and only then does he bring his right (now free) hand up.

{Thank you}

He smiles.

Oh wait here's an envelope. Wait--what's L talking about? Cesar takes the paper and puts down the coffee, opening and scanning the page.

Edited (let's just face it you're going to have a full inbox by the time this is done) 2015-01-02 06:11 (UTC)

... What.

It doesn't last long, but for a moment he's just so existentially...

...lost.

Then he folds the paper back up, trying not to let his real reaction show. He doesn't doubt that L is asking him earnestly. What on earth can he say?

He reaches for the tablet. He doesn't know the signs for this.

Why don't I just tell you if I see anything that jumps out at me in realtime?

L chews at his fingertips while Cesar goes through the 6 stages of Lazarus-acceptance, not taking his eyes off the other man. Most of what Cesar is affecting goes beyond the basic, broad things so tragically outlined on his score sheet, and it's L's turn to be a little lost as a result of a flurry of signals too fast to read.

He jumps slightly, sitting back when Cesar reaches for his tablet, seeming skittish and concerned about being in the way. He reads over the response, nodding eagerly and affixing a very strange smile to his face. It doesn't quite look psychotic, but it's exaggerated and cartoonish. L signs as he speaks, fixing Cesar with forced eye contact he seems to think is friendly.

"Thank you. That works. I always had a hard time, but Tony showed me some movies? With Muppets? I think that cleared a lot up."

...there it is.

Cesar stares.

Then he looks down as he types.

Muppets are caricatures of what normal expressions are supposed to look like. They're probably good for reference, but trying to follow them too closely will make you look exagerrated.

It's a dynamic that's not like normal verbal conversation, so L thinks maybe that's the problem... until he sees Cesar's reply. He reads it over a couple of times, biting his lip and nodding several times. He invited criticism, but he had still expected his attempts to be a little better-received. His features arrange themselves back into the placid mask they tend towards as he scratches the back of his head self-consciously.

"Yeah, I can see how that might be a problem," he agrees after a moment. He doesn't try to go through the steps for "sadness", since it's officially inappropriate, now, and if there's one thing Lazarus has always been good at remembering, it's rules.

He absorbs himself in his coffee cup for a few moments to regain his bearings.

"So..."

He pauses, taking another long sip before setting his cup down so he can serve as his own sign language interpreter again.

"...you like Muppets, too?"

Oh thank goodness, L picked up on the subtlety of his response. Of course, Cesar realizes, the question was never whether L could catch onto those; he made more than enough of a nuisance of himself wheedling out the details of each micropause and turn of phrase already. The question here was whether his own expression was up to par, and he's clearly disappointed when his efforts don't go as intended.

Cesar is surprised by the responding stab of guilt in his own gut. He's never been that socially incompetent, and it had to be done... Why can't he settle as just 'relieved'?

He picks up the tablet, and then puts it down. These are signs he knows.

{Yes.}

Slight smile. Strained. {My brother and I watched those movies--} What was that sign? {--when we were kids. We saw T-r-e-a-s-u-r-e I-s-l-a-n-d over and over.}

Edited 2015-01-02 07:32 (UTC)

L is better with text than voices, and better with voices than faces. It doesn't hurt him as often as it might, as he lives in an age that is technologically advanced enough to lend him some slack. That being said, humans rely so much on faces to convey emotion, and as many have learned and more will find out, the process of feeling and expressing emotion is less efficient for L than it is for most, and a lot gets lost on the way to his dark, glassy eyes.

Not that little spark of fear, though; the signed mention of Cesar's brother is responded to as though it is taboo, but L recovers quickly, rationalizing that Cesar brought it up, so it's acceptable. He takes comfort in the fingerspelled title of one of the Muppets' better movies. Because he can, and because he does believe it will help Cesar, he continues to speak as he signs along with his own voice.

"That's a really good one. I like Tim Curry's 'only number.' And his laugh, where he does that..."

L opens his mouth, inhales as though to imitate the toothy, guffawing laugh... and then thinks better of it, gnawing briefly on his finger again before he continues to sign.

"...I wasn't allowed to watch Muppets when I was a kid, you know, in case you're wondering why an adult is so excited about them. I would have liked them, so that's why I'm enthusiastic about them, now."

{I liked that one, too.}

L may have difficulty reading Cesar, but Cesar is having a surprisingly easy time with L. Fear. Thought. Self-conscious focus. It's all coming together to paint something far more human than the merciless pestering over the Network would suggest. Is this what Tony meant by 'give him something else to talk about'? How long ago could he have seen this, if only he'd thought to talk about muppets, of all things?

A crease appears between his eyebrows. 'Not allowed?' he mouths, spelling it out for lack of signing vocabulary. (L's signing may someday help with this.)

{Why?}

It's probably the first time he's wondered about L's upbringing, and it occurs to him that he doesn't even have theories about it; for whatever reason, he simply never wondered. Now that he does, the possibilities are obvious. Part of L's oddities are probably his in his nature, but what about the ones that weren't?

Edited 2015-01-02 08:13 (UTC)

If Cesar has never wondered, he could be forgiven; even before the Numbered business, the Lazarus who presents to the world is something that many might well assume came out of an egg fully-formed, rather than the usual way and raised like any other person. And the reason it never comes up is a tense, pain-filled bundle that's difficult to untwine. But L can tell that whatever this is might be working, and rather than giving Cesar ammo for some kind of unseen arsenal, he might be giving himself a leg up on seeming a little less reptilian.

"Well, I played a lot of chess..."

He signs and speaks more slowly. This is tentative territory, shaky ground.

"Like... more than most kids that really liked chess. Here, I can prove it..."

He reaches for his phone, typing his own name into Google and offering it to Cesar. There are lists and rankings, including ones for the world's youngest Grandmasters. Most people do not follow competitive chess, but if they did, L would be one of the most famous people in Locke City. If Cesar examines some of the links, he'll see that the chess-playing community embraced L as a prodigy by the age of 8. L touches a particular link, opening it to a photograph of a very small, dark-haired boy being photographed with a chess trophy bigger than he was. An older, official-looking man is trying to shake his hand, but the kid is looking up at a thin man with protruding eyes who stands behind him with a hand on his shoulder.

"That's me," he says, unnecessarily, though it's easy to see why he thinks otherwise. The well-groomed, serious child in the picture is the through-the-looking-glass version of L, and only the wide, empty eyes are the same. "And that's my uncle, Walter, behind me there. He thought that I was smart... so kid shows, even other kids, were all a waste of time. He was really into making sure I got into the best college at the youngest age, with the most scholarships."

Cesar takes the phone, studying the picture at his own pace. No other children, or children's shows... L hasn't said as much, but what else wasn't around? Did he play any sports? Cesar brings the phone a little closer, frowning. Even as a child, L's face was cave-like pale, and it looks like a well-placed breeze could knock him into his own trophy. Where was the person who'd drag L out to kick a ball around?

Cesar's eyes rest on the man behind him--Uncle Walter--for a long moment. Then the phone gets carefully placed on the table, freeing his hands to sign.

{And your parents thought this was good for you?}

L leaves the phone where it sits, staring as Cesar signs. He shakes his head slowly back and forth, looking briefly lost, before he answers, signing as he goes. Again, it's slower, not because he doesn't know the signs, but because finding the words is difficult.

"They have no opinion on the matter. My mother died having me, and my father shot himself two months later. It doesn't mean he was weak, it just means that he loved her very much. He was probably soft and gentle and nice, maybe like Kermit... but Walter raised me, and for awhile I think he genuinely meant well. I try not to remember him entirely negatively."

It's like seeing an engine come together on an assembly line, and Cesar imagines L in one's place: there is the L as a small child. There are the sockets were some things were left unjoined, and seams where other things were welded over. Cesar wonders for the first time if he wasn't taking advantage of L when the man accepted his case. He'd never thought of it that way before.... Does that make Cesar's crimes even worse? Like asking a lamb for help, only to turn around and butcher it on its way. L had even less of a chance at anything than Cesar ever knew. The man can barely express himself in a friendly conversation; how was he ever supposed to fool the mob?

His reader is back in his hands: Sorry. This is probably a sensitive subject.

If it's not, then maybe it should be: Cesar is perceptive enough to realize how profoundly important this is, but too inexperienced to step back and look at it as a whole. He's caught up in their own tragedies.

L imagines that he can see some things understood, and others suppressed and surpassed, and he is ashamed. Fingertips find a searching mouth, and he is silent as his teeth and tongue worry his many shortcomings.

Don't patronize me...

It is a pathetic and unnecessary thing to ask for, and L opts not to. His eyes are narrow and electric when he signs his thoughts, even as he relays his words steadily with slender, reliable fingers.

"Not sensitive. I was an infant; I didn't know these people. I care as much as society expects me to, and no more."

Vanished are the ideals of his father being like Kermit; he's all prickly barbed wire again, with hard eyes and curved shoulders. Whether or not it should be sensitive, L guards this subject matter like a sentinel.

"It isn't like losing actual family. I imagine that's much worse."

Edited (Ugh late night tqblet) 2015-01-03 08:22 (UTC)

... And they're back to this. Sympathy washes away in a wave of something frostily distant, and even though this time Cesar wonders if it might not be deliberate, it still doesn't stop it from being successful: they've had a conversation like this before. Cesar knows exactly where it might go. The wound hurts. Knowing it was there in the first place doesn't make picking at it any less painful.

{Maybe.}

They were doing so well, too. Is it worth it...? Blunt fingernails strike the tablet screen a little more when he types, this time, and his mouth is pressed in a flat line.

What's your favorite movie?

Whether it was intentional or not, even subconsciously L tends to drive conversations with Cesar that way. He'd been trying, he'd been careful, and he's aware that he's allowed something to break just now because of his stunted, strange relationship to wounds of his own. He has never known how to deal with them, sometimes isn't even aware of them beyond the uneasy sense that something is wrong and painful.

You made something hurt, just now. I think I wanted to make you hurt, too.

Not the spirit of this meeting, incidentally. Even if he broke something, he can at least try to clean up the pieces.

"It wasn't my intention for you to take it that way," he mumbles, without signing this time. "Just to say that it feels wrong to mourn perfect strangers, when people like Anthony felt more like family to me. It's very different."

His segue is awkward, but he endeavors to help Cesar wrench the conversation back on the tracks. It might be futile, but L is grateful that Cesar wants to try. He appreciates that courage.

"This is the sign for 'movie,' so you know..." he says, demonstrating it. It's one of the ones that happens to look a great deal like what it means, which makes it easier to remember in the long term. In L's hands, it looks like a strange attempt at a friendly gesture, movement of the right hand above a left hand held level with his palm facing inward. It looks a lot like waving "hello" from behind a fence.

He starts signing again as he speaks.

"It used to be 'White Chicks,' and before you judge me too harshly, understand that I didn't see a lot of movies. When Walter took me to see it in theaters, back in... June of 2004, when it came out, I was..." he squints, remembering. "...15, and I'd just finished my Bachelor's degree at Locke City University. I didn't understand why it was funny and over break, I spent a couple of months trying to figure out if the movie had a deeper meaning or an underlying commentary, which really annoyed my uncle. It couldn't have just been two black men wearing wigs and rubber masks pretending to be white women and speaking in high-pitched voices, you know? It became an obsession. A lot of research went into that, and in hindsight, it was a lot of time wasted. So... now, my favorite movie is 'A Muppet Christmas Carol.' Even though I'm Jewish and didn't grow up with Christmas, and even though it doesn't make a lot of sense... I'm OK with it just being what it is, and letting it make me happy."

He pauses. He didn't expect to say that much, but he owes it to Cesar to elaborate on his answers. If he's already wounded, and doesn't understand how to communicate pain appropriately, he might as well make it a pound of flesh and call that penance.

"...and your favorite movie?"

Edited (UGH typos) 2015-01-03 17:54 (UTC)

L should be figuing out if not a manual, then at least a roadmap to Cesar's idiosyncrasies. Ask a direct question, and the answer will be incomplete. Even hint at drawing out talk of his brother's death, and he shuts down.

... Apologize in a way that dismantles that reaction, and he relaxes, even if only slightly. Was Cesar overreacting? Possibly. It's one of those times when he genuinely can't read L, and he doesn't care to dwell on it. They've only just gotten there, and the coffee isn't even cooled.

His hands lift and wave back once from behind his own fence. 'Movie'. He's trying.

L is too. Cesar lets the story wash over him, thawing a little more. It's more of L's 'human' side, one he wouldn't mind encouraging. Not that Cesar's disengaged whatever part of him that's been running since that first awful phonecall in his kitchen, but it's the easier side of L to be around. More relaxing, if that word can even apply.

Favorite movie. He frowns. {Back to the Future.} He fingerspells most of it, but he's not done--he's thinking.

'The first,' he mouths, holding up one finger. 'And third,' he holds up three, tilting his head to one side. It's a small shrug.

Even though it doesn't come naturally to him and is one of the most difficult things he's ever tried to learn, his tenacity has never been in question, nor has his willingness to endure just about anything to get what he wants. Right now, strangely, what he wants is to make sure that no one throws away or endangers the meager results of his efforts. Those efforts are going toward trying to understand Cesar, and even if keeping this civil and something like friendly is difficult, and every bit of offered humanity feels like a tithe he can't afford to lose, that just makes him more determined to make sure they are not wasted.

He grasps his coffee like a lifeline, sipping at it; it's not even close to lukewarm, still steaming. Have they really been here for so little time? Or is it just wearing on them because every second sitting and clinging to the procedure of conversation feels twice as long?

It's hard. So try harder.

L sets down his coffee and frees up his hands. Tries to arrange his features into something conveying interest at Cesar's answer. "I haven't seen them," he admits, even though he's culturally aware enough to know that nearly everyone has seen those films, quotes them endlessly, something about McFly? A Delorean? Like kicking a ball around or the Muppets, it's something he's witnessed from the outside without partaking in. "Why do you like them? And why just those two?"

He glances at the tablet, aware that Cesar will likely need to use it. Even if signing is faster, the nuances required for explaining preference and the reasons for it probably require a more fluent vocabulary.

Cesar lifts a hand for fingerspelling, even as he follows L's gaze. He needs to practice, doesn't he?

Not that much. He reaches for the tablet instead.

They're classics, but also very stupid. You get to see what everyone thought the future would be like in 1985.

Nostalgia is part of it, too.

It would be a fair amount of fingerspelling. L bites his lip, thinks of the self-inflicted cuts in his arms and how, prior to his surgery and Octavia's healing, the resulting tendon damage would have prevented him from communicating this way. His hands were weak and clumsy and largely atrophied, and only his index fingers and thumbs bent the way they were supposed to. Now, the surface scars remain, but the deepest damage has been repaired, and his hands are capable of forming those dexterous shapes. If nothing else, he can offer that much to Cesar, the promise of teaching him how to communicate more effectively with the loss of his voice. It would be more involved than teaching Anthony Braille, but if L had learned anything over the years, even if people didn't like him, they could usually use at least one thing he had or knew.

Nostalgia's dangerous to inquire about, though. L is catching on, understanding that the danger of getting too close means dredging up Moises, especially where the past is a factor. Very likely, the brothers watched these movies together, and it could be dangerous to inquire further about them. But that's unfair, people don't scatter breadcrumbs without expecting the crows to go for at least a few of them.

"What is wrong with the second one? The obsessive-compulsive completionist in me wonders," he says, and that is an interesting mess of signs to get across. "And how far into the future, and what is it like? Ridiculous?"

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6/6 DONE

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