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

... 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?"

The signs get a look, but they're amused. To say 'completionist', apparently, L bastardized the sign for 'complete'.

'It was 20 or so years forward and back from 1985. 1955 for the past. For the future--

He does the math, and his face cracks into a grin, shoulders shaking. I think it was this year, actually. The show thinks we should all have self-lacing shoes and hover skateboards.

Cesar lifts his hands, still smiling. He makes the sign for future, trying to convey something while he looks around. It looks as though he wants to continue it up with something, but drops it when he doesn't have the signs.

There's nothing wrong with the second movie, by the way. It's just not very good.

Well, that's different. L seems startled for a moment, but relaxes when he identifies Cesar's mood as decidedly amused.

"Sign Language... any language is about communication, more than perfection," he explains, just a touch self-consciously. He knows he's right, so why be more embarrassed than he has to be? "Sometimes you have to improvise."

This is good. Cesar's mood appears to be lighter, he's even laughing, albeit completely silently. "I think we should have those, too," he speaks and signs, "to be fair. I hate tying my shoes. Not so much, anymore, since I got my hands fixed, but it's really a pain."

He pauses, considering something.

"They sound really stupid, but if you like them despite that, well... maybe you could show them to me. Since I'm catching up on movies I didn't see before, anyway... I'd probably regret dying without seeing something so many people like so much."

It's a pretty bold request. The implications are letting L into his house, spending up to six hours with him, possibly on the same piece of furniture. He asks like he doesn't expect an eager, acquiescing answer.

It's a bold request, enough so that Cesar thinks it through, and then thinks it through some more. Then he tilts his head to the side, following it up with a nod.

He doesn't like L, not in that chummy a way. Why not? There was a time when he had a wide network of friends, and was spending time with people every other night. If the Cesar-from-then were here, he'd not just agree, but make a taco-making party out of it. What's changed?

Moises. The nights alone in his kitchen, watching the phone. The things that Cesar's done, and while none of this is coming to mind consciously right now, they've never really stopped standing over him. He'd stopped going out drinking with friends in this time, and started drinking alone.

Any other movies on your bucket list?

L was right: It's not an eager, acquiescing answer. On the flip side, it's not a 'no', either.

The nod says "yes," even if Cesar hasn't explicitly. It seems to hearten L; having never known the Cesar who regularly went out with his friends and was the type to throw taco-making parties, it was actually the best possible outcome, in his mind. The absence of a formal invitation still hangs uneasily over the table, but for now, L will assume that's what he meant.

He'll even drink alone alongside Cesar, if that's what it comes down to.

"I don't get a lot of recommendations," he said. "Once at a tournament, after he lost our game, this kid told me to 'go watch Schindler's List'. I knew that Walter had it, so I tried watching it when he was out buying cigarettes, but..." he laughs, and it's a really broken sound. "It wasn't actually a recommendation, you know. I like puppets," he stresses, with a firm nod to drive the point home.

Shock. Cesar knows just enough about L's background to realize why this sort of thing would have been cruel, even moreso than usual. L wouldn't have had an older brother (Moises), or even parents around to catch on to what was happening and stop him. L is Jewish. It would've been like throwing sand in a kitten's eyes.

He can imagine it easily: a skinny, trusting L, sitting in the suit from a tournament, eyes wide and expectant... Then--Schindler's List.

He needs to learn the signs for this as soon as possible. For now, long fingers dart across the tablet. Dios mio, que pendejo.

What an asshole.

Edited 2015-01-05 05:22 (UTC)

He doesn't sign. For the moment, his hand is curled tightly into a fist in front of him on the table, even if his expression still looks rigid and overly placid.

"Yeah," he agrees, after a moment. "He was an asshole. And a child. I took a title away from that child, and he lashed out the best way he knew how to. And... consequently, I learned something about history, and much bigger assholes, and what could have happened to my grandparents if they hadn't gotten on a boat right when they did. If I hadn't learned then... it would have happened eventually. That's the worst thing about children, isn't it? That they become adults, and then the things that made them merely unpleasant before can hurt a lot of good people."

His coffee is cooler. He can drink more deeply, and does.

"What movies would you have on your bucket list, in a position similar to mine?"

Edited (ICON) 2015-01-05 05:50 (UTC)

The self-righteous offense on L's behalf fades, and Cesar senses that he's misstepped. It's not a common feeling in their relationship. L is right; Cesar disagrees with him, still, since it sounds as though L is leaving the other child blameless, but Cesar can understand intellectually the rest of what L is saying. He can even compare some of it to their own situation, as Numbered.

Cesar wonders if L has been drawing these comparisons all along. The man's number-tattoo isn't visible from the way he holds his cup, but Cesar knows it's there.

Star Battles, Cesar writes. The Headache.

If you haven't seen any major animated films from the last twenty years, then you're probably missing a lot of pop culture references there, also.

This is another way L is difficult to read. Whether he is unusually forgiving or buries his grudges so deeply they are actually a part of his blood and bones is difficult for most to know or guess. But what is obvious is the fact that, in more than one way, L has always been a target. Being Numbered almost isn't even that bad, when held up against all the other things he's been picked on for. Being homechooled hadn't shielded him from bullying, prejudice or the realities of the world not being made for child prodogies... but the Numbers make him stronger. Smarter. Braver.

Better.

He laughs lightly at the two specific recommendations (appropriateness of subject matter?), followed by a category so general and numerous that it would probably be impossible to watch them all without several unbroken months to devote to the task.

"That's a lot of movies," he comments, as if gently pointing out a flaw in a plan. "Perhaps not something you would want to commit to. I can relay some of these to Tony; otherwise, I'd be at your place very frequently."

Can you stand to have the minutes move slowly so often?

Edited (Tablet typo woes) 2015-01-05 16:46 (UTC)

Cesar's eyebrows lift, and this fact seems to occur to him for the first time. Had he been planning to invite L over for all of these recommendations? If he wasn't, he doesn't say so. He just nods slowly, eyebrows lowering again.

Let's not make any plans beyond Back to the Future until those three are done.

Well. He lifts the coffee as though to sip, but it seems he realizes how this might've been taken. He softens the blow with,

With my contracts as they are, Back to the Future itself may take longer than you think.

With neither asking and neither confirming, it's open to an obscene amount of sheer interpretation. Would Cesar invite L to cross the threshold of his home, taking the risk that he's given a monster his house keys? Or would he shut out a searching, potentially kindred spirit and let the door freeze shut, like the ones on the freshly arrived Delorean in the stupid, nostalgic movies that he likes?

This. Is heavy.

"Contracts?" he asks, voice quiet and cautious. "For your work, of course... I understand being at work, even when you're not at work. If your mind never leaves it, why should you? The only reason this species makes any progress that matters is because there are people who never leave their work. Does it make you proud? That there are the average people, who stop sometimes... but that keeping at it gives you something in common with those who are exceptional?"

Is that how you can sleep at night, now?

I don't work out of pride, L. I work because it's interesting, and because I think it has more potential than most people realize.

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and yet again, it's a new one L hasn't seen. A curl here, a sharpness there--it's like watching a camera's view come into focus.

Think. I'm legally not allowed to discuss anything about my project that hasn't been publicly released, but if you had the secret to something as big as this, and if you could actively explore something as fascinating, wouldn't you pursue it?

His eyes are sharper and brighter, and the micro-creases around his eyes are genuine.

L tilts his head, one eye squinting almost imperceptibly. The smile is new, to the point where it practically mocks the simplistic description he'd cobbled together on his scorecard. He pulls that searching stare away from Cesar's face after several moments so he can read the tablet's screen, taking longer than he usually does to process printed words.

Are you taking pleasure in your work, or in the fact that it's something I have no hope of getting you to tell me? I wonder.

"I would, of course. It's a gift, to care so much about a field or pursuit that it puts so much meaning in your life... you should revel in it."

He's not sure if that smile should put him at ease, or on pins and needles.

"We're all working to leave the world a better place than we found it. I'm truly glad that you can, and even more that you find it fascinating."

Whatever it is...

The smile turns gracious, and he nods. Pins and needles, L.

{I'm glad, too.}

He returns to the tablet, deliberately coasting on the good mood.

Speaking of callings, I was wondering if I could ask you a question.

It would seem that the pound of flesh wasn't an adequate offering, after all. L's dark eyes are wide and uncertain.

It could be innocent.

L swallows, lifts his cup, drinks more coffee.

It'll be something he didn't think he could ask before. He used the word "calling."

"Oh? Is that so? I'll do my best to answer."

A favor, or something sensitive... I wager one of those.

Edited 2015-01-06 08:12 (UTC)

Cesar is better than L at timing, but this does not mean he's very good at all. It's a small blessing that he's noticed the shift in L's look. His own smile fades, replaced by something sober.

(The expression is more fitting for this anyway, isn't it?)

Do you still do work as a detective?

Alarms are blaring in his own mind, shouting the dangers of going anywhere near these treacherous waters. He ignores them: L is interested in the safety of the Numbered, if nothing else. Cesar is Numbered. He's not even enlisting his help for an investigation, is he? All's well.

So, both.

L doesn't follow the instructions on his scorecard, but his eyes communicate the fact that this has caught him off-guard.

"Some," he answers carefully, after a moment. "More coordination and intelligence-gathering, these days... not as much field work. Why?"

This could mean granting L access to his life again! Temporary access. Yes. And how much does L really need to have consequences? Cesar brings his coffee up, stalling. The coffee is cool enough for a proper drink.

He lowers the cup, hands once again free.

I wanted to know your opinion on something I noticed last week. I have a neighbor that I know is anti-Numbered, and I saw him making strange purchases.

For someone who is using the exaggerated expressions and postures of Muppets to properly learn how to convey human emotion, the implications of Cesar's observations have certainly been written plainly enough across L's pale face. Nothing so cut-and-dried as "happy" or "sad", of course; apprehension and exhaustion play a reluctant duet. A peg slips, a string snaps, and he's rubbing at his temple. He's uncertain about just what it was he was trying to resist, but he can't do it.

It's nothing like a child upset over a chess board. We're the adults now, there are consequences to hatred, and it doesn't end when we turn off the movie.

"Then... you'd better tell me what you saw. My opinion is that it shouldn't be ignored, when so many people have already been hurt so deeply."

I'm not asking you to take on a case or look into it further. I just want your advice.

Advice that L can't give unless Cesar goes ahead and explains to him the problem. He holds the tablet in its place for a few seconds longer anyway, trying to emphasize it. To reassure L? To reassure himself? He'd been so wrapped up in his own troubles that this possibility of how it might affect L hadn't occurred to him.

Large quantities of rat poison. More than an entire family could ever use, more than if the entire building was infested. Duct tape. Edged objects that I couldn't identify through the bags.

Edited 2015-01-06 19:54 (UTC)

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