savetheearth | Entry #B-1: "B" [November 19, Video]

Entry #B-1: "B" [November 19, Video]

[The man appearing onscreen this morning is haggard, somber, and distracted. Clearly, he's been awake all night, something he's been doing far too often lately, sitting curled in the middle of what appears to be a cleaned up but ancient school gymnasium's basketball court with his chin on his knees. A few feet away is a blue tarp hiding something sizable and lumpy.]

I know Albero's people are striking Espresso Yourself, early on the morning of Sunday, November 23, at 3:15 AM. They will be there to raze the building to the ground and they do not intend to take prisoners.

[He bites his lip, glancing away from the camera. The calmness he's affected since Anthony's death slips for a second, revealing something like fear. He swallows.]

I've been waiting for a pulse. I was hoping that maybe my other's experience and knowledge could help me, in this regard, but up to this point... it's been all quiet on that front.

[He rises slowly, moving towards the tarp and drawing it away from what it conceals. There are many pounds of dynamite stacked in the middle of his gym, along with several ominous looking canisters.]

I have dynamite and nitroglycerin. I think...

[He takes a deep, shuddering breath.]

I know we can kill a lot of them. Part of me really wants to, and I can't be the only one. But I know... I know that's not what we're fighting for, a criminal record of our own and another reason to be driven out of this city. So...

[He sits again, hard, on the floor, eyes and posture conveying a distinctly dazed quality.]

I think maybe it would be better to use this information to get the FBI on this and catch them in the act, with no blood shed. I'm prepared for both of these scenarios, but honestly... I don't know what's right. I'm so tired. I trust all of you, so... please help me make the right decision.

EDIT: I've been informed that Nick knows about another upcoming opportunity, a chance to hit the Mafia where it hurts. There's to be a meeting of higher-ups in the near future; further details are forthcoming.

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[When Elian arrives, Lazarus hasn't moved from the spot, even though he might be, initially, kind of difficult to locate. He's very still, curled against the heap of dynamite's bulk. Several feet away from him, there is his ice stave and a Sig Sauer, but they are not within his reach, and he doesn't go for them when he hears footsteps. Any desire to use deadly force has been sufficiently dampened, leaving someone uncertain who looks smaller than he is.

If Elian was someone intent on incapacitating Lazarus, he'd have no problem doing so.]

[he doesn't spot him immediately, but when he does?

the blade clatters harmlessly to the floor, echoing achingly loud, and he's rushing over quickly at first and then slowly and finally, kneeling only a step or two away.]

...are you all right?

[the answer is clearly 'no', but he can't help but ask]

[Even the sudden, clattering sound of the sword falling from Elian's hand to the floor doesn't get an immediate reaction from the detective, who is steeped too deeply in self-doubt and resignation to bother flinching. It's only when Elian's at his side that he blinks and looks up.]

I almost did something terrible. I didn't recognize it until it was almost too late, and alone I never could have. What does that say...

...It says you're a man.

[and without further ado he's reaching for Lazarus' shoulder, and pulling him close. his other arm wraps around him in a tight hug, giving no option of escape. at least not for the few moments that Elian squeezes]

You're a man who tried to bear too much, and then asked for help to bear it.

[he eases up on his grip a little, but he makes no motion to pull away]

[In his short but eventful life, Lazarus has been called many things. Except in the starkest, most literal terms, "man" isn't a descriptor that's been used often. He, like much of the world, associates the term with strength, capability, and bearing difficult and unpleasant things without broadcasting the strain to others.

As Elian pulls him into a gentle but solid embrace, he practically goes limp; it really has taken this much for him to accept and realize that he's actually in need of some help, and it's relief that shakes him to his core. It also stirs something else, the long-dormant but very familiar feeling that accompanies pulses.

It helps, truly, to know that his Other wasn't quite the island L has long been assuming him to be. With that realization comes another wave of relief and a rare, brief moment of unguarded reciprocity from the typically aloof detective; he doesn't so much return the hug as cling to the older man; he's awkward about it, but unfalteringly sincere.]

Somehow, I thought it would be so much harder.

[And maybe that shames him, because it means he was underestimating the kindness, patience and empathy of people like Elian.]

[awkward is fine. as long as Lazarus isn't pushing him away, which he'd allow, but he won't deny that he's happy it seems to be helping. Elian is more than willing to offer what physical support he can at this point, and reaches to give the boy's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.]

Being a man, or asking for help?

[though- both can be daunting, until you take the first steps.]

[That shoulder is practically solid bone under Elian's hand. Lazarus is not the portrait of health or care; he's been working harder on it, but he's trying to outrun years of careless, bad habits that have left lasting damage.

He can't say anything for a few beats; it's still difficult to wrap his head around what's happening. It's welcome, especially with the echo he's just received telling him that it wasn't entirely uncommon for an older man to be there to help him in stressful situations, but it's still wholly new and unfamiliar.]

Both, but asking for help, especially. That's been my entire life up to this point, and I thought I was past it. I was counting on it being behind me.

[take care of yourself, child. even if you're a man, everyone is a child to him.

he offers a humorless chuckle at that point, shaking his head]

You're never past such a thing. You know how old I am, and I can tell you there are many times when I gladly rely upon others to assist with my own burdens.

[Everyone is a child to Elian, and L is, at least in some ways, a child to everyone, overgrown and wayward and stunted in a few hopeless and unforgivable ways.]

And you do not feel like a burden, at times?

[The question is fiercely blunt, but one he needs to hear the answer to.]

[oddly enough, Elian...well, he doesn't stiffen, really, but there does seem to be a shift, there. a pause, a sigh...and then, him reaching up to rub his face.

it's an easy answer to say 'yes'. because he does. but...perhaps Lazarus needs to hear more than that.]

...you know I fought, all those years ago, in the Second Great War. And you know I don't like to talk about it much, but I will say this- when I was about your age, I was just coming back home, and I had seen many things that had shaken my faith in myself and my fellow man.

One of my brothers called me...[oh, and there's a bit of a hitch in his voice there] ...'useless' for it, and for my depression. I have never forgiven him for that, nor have I ever forgotten those words, and to this day, when I am at my lowest...I still hear that poison in my heart.

[so- yes.]

[A sponge for information who asks more questions than he answers, Lazarus can and wants to hear more, always. Especially when the stories are ones that can help someone with his set of troubles and concerns. Elian, seemingly, can deliver more than adequately,

He paints a picture of someone L's age, who is therefore like Lazarus in at least one established way. Shaken faith, depression, worthlessness and poison... Elian might not have stiffened, but Lazarus certainly does.

It's confirmation that these are heavy crosses to bear, and that faltering is forgivable... even common, expected.]

It's a shameful thing for your brother to have said. I'm sorry.

[Though L wasn't the one to have voiced that venom, he is there and it feels necessary to offer an apology, so that someone, at least, will have done so.]

What happened to make you depressed? It's not... you don't have to say, but you sound like someone else I knew, who fought in a more recent war. He lost his platoon, so... I guess I want to know what you...

He had his reasons.

[Elian never cared what they were, though. as for the question...he doesn't respond immediately, expression clouding. then...he sighs, again.]

Most of my division survived, but...that does not mean it was for the best. We glimpsed the worst of the war, and we understood that what we endured was only a fragment of what others had.

[he looks back up, slowly.]

I have seen enough brutality for a hundred lifetimes. I have no wish to see more.

[Seeing the nuanced truth of emotions does not come easily or naturally to Lazarus. Elian's pain is impossible to miss, though, even after so much time and even for one like him. The words are poignant and stirring, and his next question betrays, in all likelihood, the frustration he feels in regard to other people, the ones whose perspectives he can't visualize.]

There are only two options regarding your brother, and neither makes sense. Either he didn't fight in the war and had no room to talk, or he did, and he would understand. Which is it?

[And why doesn't it fit?]

Edited 2014-12-07 05:36 (UTC)

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Entry #B-1: "B" [November 19, Video]

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Echo approved, sorry about the delay!

No problem!

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