savetheearth | Entry #A-4: "Ante" [February 21, Text]

Entry #A-4: "Ante" [February 21, Text]

Though the police and the Blood Keys obviously represent a threat to many numbered individuals, I have a question about organized religion, and what pulses might mean when framed within certain philosophical contexts. No matter how natural it might feel, if there really is another being nudging its way into an existing consciousness, changing a person's aptitudes, physical attributes and even their personality... there have to be at least a few churches that would consider that demonic possession, right? Has anyone tried to reconcile what's happening with influential religious practices, and do we have any resources for assisting anyone who might wind up the subject of an attempted exorcism? Those still happen today, they can be extremely dangerous, and I'm concerned about the possibility of frightened numbered people seeking out such assistance, or being subjected to it by their families and communities. Thinking you're crazy is one thing, but sincerely believing that the devil is wielding you as an instrument is another entirely. Probably not something that the FAQ page can successfully assuage, for the most tenaciously convinced.

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They look warm, at least. And soft. You should wear them to work when it gets colder again and see if anyone mistakes them for Urban Outfitters merchandise.

[It's uncertain whether L has any idea that what he's doing right now is pretty serious encroachment on someone's personal, emotional space. Or if he'd care if he did know.

Bringing down a third sweater, he uses it to wipe away the majority of the dust and cobwebs, tossing it aside and flopping himself down on the floor to open the album to a random page, poring over the contents with a small bottle of hand sanitizer coming casually out of his pocket.]

No way. I love my grandparents, but I will never. Ever. Wear those abominations.

[Either way, Ray isn't going to bitch about it. He is, however, going to collect that third sweater and toss it into his laundry basket.]

Yeah, dust. Sorry about that. I don't clean up there. For three reasons.

One, I'm short.

Two, I'm lazy.

Three, people don't usually come over and dig in my closet. My boyfriend doesn't even dig in my closet.

No, wait, that's not entirely true. He digs through my clothes and insists they're not fabulous enough.

But not the top shelf.

[you bet your ASS he's trying to distract himself from the open photo album.]

Don't worry. I'll do it; it's really a health hazard up there, you know.

[Spoken casually, as if he's agreed to split the check for dinner with a business associate. From his point of view, it's probably not much different.

He's not short or lazy, and he loves digging through closets, so he is clearly the most qualified.

He flips the page as he massages hand sanitizer into his mangled cuticles.]

Who's this guy? The one who's high-fiving you here?

[He was about to comment on the state of his closet when L hit him with the next question.

yeaaaah he should have figured he'd be hearing questions like that. After dumping the other two sweaters into the laundry basked, Ray came over and leaned in to get a better look at the photo]

That's uh... Joe. Joe Cambridge. He was from Santa Fe.

[The past tense usage doesn't slip past L. He furrows his hairless brow, taking in the presumably dead man's expression, posture, and frozen interaction with Ray.]

I like his... ears. They are unusually proportionate. It makes sense that you would be friends with someone like that.

[Okay, THAT? ray doesn't understand that at ALL]

I... What. I mean, he did pull off the buzz cut better than most people, but I really fail to see how that makes... any sense.

[L looks startled for a second, then doubtful, like someone who is staring at an obviously malfunctioning calculator.]

People are drawn to people with symmetric features, right? It makes sense to me that they would have a lot of friends, because they are pleasant to look at... that, and... I mean, I just really like his ears...

[NOPE RAY STILL DOESN'T GET IT]

Rrrright. I'm. Sure he'd be flattered.

[BUT L IS TRYING SO HARD.]

Do you think so?

[His face brightens considerably and he starts flipping through looking for more pictures of that guy with the nice ears.]

Yeah, sure.

[SO CONFUSING. But L doesn't usually seem so CHEERFUL, so. Ray just goes with it.]

No, that's weird. I'm just stuck on this ear thing now.

Me, too. It's hard to truly move past a nice set of ears.

This is him, again? What are you all doing here? Was this after the haircuts?

[He points to a group shot where everyone is buzzed. ]

Oh, yeah.

...And that's me and Marty flipping off the camera. Oh God, I forgot about that. The commander thought we were flipping him off, and he made us run twenty laps around the camp.

[Clearly Ray's always been a classy motherfucker]

That must have been hard... one day you're running twenty laps, the next day you're...

[It's the first moment of awkwardness that L appears to be genuinely aware of today. He clears his throat.]

So Joe was your friend. And Marty. Who else? Who did you like best? Was there anyone you really didn't like?

Edited 2014-03-07 07:12 (UTC)

It was hard.

It was really hard. Still is.

[He hadn't really meant to admit that, but hey.

He didn't want to look anymore, making his way over to the bed, he plopped his ass down on the edge of it. Talking wasn't as hard, but talking and looking at those old pictures at the same time... it was hitting him harder than he'd expected.]

I didn't really dislike anyone, to be honest. There was Rob, though. He uh, he's the guy with the ridiculous sun tan. You'll know him when you see him. Always wore sunglasses, looks like he's wearing a goofy white makeup around his eyes, and the rest of his face is really tan. Anyway, he was always pissin' people off by doing the goofiest shit. Tying people's bootlaces together, starting food fights, real juvenile shit. It was annoying at the time, but looking back... he made everything a lot easier to get through.

[L bites his lip, his flipping of the pages slowing as he listens to Ray. He comes across another group shot where everyone is clearly labeled, finding the guy he's referring to.]

You do sound fond of him. And everyone... which was your best friend?

[Despite how tactless, invasive, and downright bizarre L is, he seems very interested in whatever Ray feels like he can say about the soldiers in the photographs. He can be a nightmare to deal with at work, but he has a long, deep patient streak.]

Best friend? I guess I didn't really have once, but there was this one guy I tended to talk to more than anyone.

[Hang on a sec, he's struggling for a name.]

Zack. We talked about cars and junk a lot. Common hobbies and junk. We talked about opening a...

[He trails off and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Shit, he wanted another cigarette.]

Yeah? What did you talk about opening? A coffee shop? Is that why you decided to work at Espresso Yourself?

[Blithely, he continues flipping through the pictures, fascinated by the solid, strong men who are so very different from himself.]

Ray? Do you hate me?

[Conversation whiplash, L causes it.]

No way, an auto body shop. We were both mechanics.

[Ray actually stares like an idiot for a moment because REALLY where had that question come from all of a sudden]

What? No. Why would I hate you?

I would hate someone who was looking at the faces of men who didn't want to die, and did. Especially if he had tried to throw away his own precious life. I must seem incredibly ungrateful, to you.

I...

[Rrrrray has no idea how to reply to this. Ray you are so bad at words.]

No.

I mean. I hadn't thought of it that way, but I don't hate you. Everyone's situation is different.

[Nooo Ray this is not your fault.]

OK. I just wanted to make sure... I don't think I could look these people's mothers in the eyes, but if you don't hate me, I guess it's not so bad.

[He runs a fingertip over Joe's ears thoughtfully.]

You don't look at these often because it makes you sad?

[you and Joe's goddamn ears.

Ray is quiet for a moment before standing up and returning to the closet. He lowers himself to his knees next to L, staring at the photo.]

It does make me sad.

[he reaches over and turns the album towards himself, his thumb lingering on the edge of the photo as he speaks]

It reminds me that I'm alive, and they aren't. That I shouldn't be here. I would have traded places with any one of them if I could have.

I wouldn't.

[He sounds almost apologetic when he says it.]

I really am glad I'm here. Whether or not I deserve it... that's how it is, and I might as well make the best of it.

You do deserve it.

[They deserved it too, he wants to say, but he stops himself.

Frankly, he isn't so sure he deserves it, but he's not about to say that either.]

But you're right. Just gotta make the best of it.

I'm trying. I know that these pulses are difficult for some people, but they're the best thing that's ever happened to me, so far.

[He twists at a strand of his hair as his dark eyes continue to drink in the pictures of Ray's dead companions.]

There's even a girl I like. I'm trying to figure out how to ask her out. How did you ask out your boyfriend? Or did he ask you out?

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