networkinthenight | [Audio] @ SuprNerd

Entry tags:

[Audio] @ SuprNerd - open

[The first few seconds of the recording is just Quentin breathing, fast and shaky at first and just before he speaks, the breathing evens out. The whole speech will be said fast and jerky, like the words are just spilling out without thought.]

What the hell? I can't be the only one who's thinking this, but just what the fucking hell? What the hell just happened? This place, oh shit, this place just-- did any of you see things? Hear things? Fucking feel things? And why? Just, why? I thought we were here to help, to find a way to solve this-- this whole puzzle and suddenly there's something here that made me think I was losing--? That's just-- it was just to fuck with all of us?

What the hell? That's what I want to know - just, what the hell? Is this hell? Is that why?

So, if you're listening to this, lady in the lighthouse? Fuck you! Seriously. Fuck. You.

Also, someone took my hoodie and I need that, so please bring it back. Thanks.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

And get everybody killed? No. That would be really fucking stupid

Edited 2019-10-26 18:09 (UTC)

Uh, yeah. Hi.

[With just the barest wave in Peter's general direction, before he rakes a hand through his hair and heads for the desk. He ignores the chair completely in favor of, very carefully, moving the papers in to small piles and stacking them at the edge of the desk to give him more room on the tabletop. The rest of the room could have been plastered in neon-bright poster, or it could have been a barren, white room with just a sheet on the floor for all the attention Quentin is giving it.

It's a cursory look to see where Peter is, and where the table is, because that's what he needs right now. A plan. Half of one, at least and it's not even all that dangerous to the general population of Beacon. His first reaction had been too much, the network post and yelling at nothing in the woods behind the cabin. The vague and unformed plan to just storm at the light house and find the woman who knew about this and didn't stop it. By any mean necessary.

They'd done worse things for less, back in New York and in Fillory. They'd done way worse to themselves, too. Alice, drinking the nectar of the twin god, to gain enough power to slay the Beast and it still hadn't been enough. Julia, turning over every stone, every book, ever Hedge witch and using desperate measures to get rid of her God-touch. Eliot, choosing to stay behind in Fillory forever and marry Fen, to give them a chance to win. Quentin himself, who'd chosen to stay behind in castle Blackspire as the eternal playmate to a monster so evil and so dangerous, even the gods wanted nothing to do with it and made the protector of the wellspring of all magic.

This would end better.

Because it had to.

Quentin pulls his tablet out and finds the map of Beacon, all the places they've found are on there and so's the vast expanses of wild forest all around them.]

There's a way out. [He starts, not even looking up but biting at the soft flesh of his thumbnail between words, talking clipped and hurried, like he's going to forget the important part if he doesn't get to it soon enough.] There has to be. All doors open both ways. And--and I know that if someone is lost in the woods--[from tv shows and that one time someone from class got lost on vacation] they search it in grid-patterns. South to north, and back. Over and over until the grid is-- they called it 'cleared', but. That doesn't matter. I'm going to search the woods. Starting here-- [he points to the forest just south of the cabins] and working my way through. One grid at a time. I could use a tracker?

[And he looks up then, eyes wide and jaw clenched against either rejection or questions, a stubborn set to his shoulders before he continues.] For my lantern. In case-- in case I find something bigger than me out there. Also, to check. Where I've been.

[There's a good, long wait between Quentin getting the voice message and him sending one back. Texting, allows for a chance to think about his words, about what he wants to say and can be deleted over and over until he finds something he can live with. He can't do that, when he's talking. So, he's going to try to follow the advice Eliot gave him after the first post he made. He's going to try and write it out before replying. And rewriting it.

Who ever this guy is, Quentin's not even sure if they've met, which is not a surprise to someone who spends most days in either the library or in the cabin, but he might have been to the town meeting, where Quentin spent most of his time not paying attention to anything but the pretty witch in the next seat. But. Whoever he is, he's very, very annoying. No one can be that calm all the time and not be a serial killer. Or in customer service.

And the absolute worst part of all of it, is that some of what he says makes sense. In a 'tilt you head and remove your emotions' kind of way. Something that Quentin had thought of, but the bottles had to be made special and it had to be made by the light of the midday sun. Yet another way for Beacon to screw them over. Because without all the emotions crashing through him, all the damn time, all of this would be so much easier. It would be so much easier to see what had to be done, if he didn't have to look at Eliot and know he'd been trapped in his own personal hell for a week, and might be again. If he didn't have to feel all of these feelings about things and people and this almost desperate need to get away.

So he writes and rewrites and ends up throwing it all away before pressing the button.]

And in my dreams? Every waking moment of my life? Sure, and they can stay inside my head forever. There's no reason for that shit to just. Look, you're trying to help and thank you? But I don't need therapy and I don't need to learn how to deal with pain. I need-- shit. I don't need any of this, but we are all here now and. And I just don't understand why. Why do you believe the light house lady? About anything? Why do you think the spirits are friendly?

[And he sounds close to tears, or at least exhausted and more heartbroken than angry.]

Why-- why isn't everyone freaking out about any of this? You said it yourself, there are kids here and they went through this, too. It's-- I can't do this again. I just can't. You might be able to-- to do whatever to see it from the outside, whatever that even means. And I can't watch this happen to-- I can't watch this happen to other people. And not do something.

I thought you were against that whole idea, since I didn't mention people without powers? That making a list would be stupid, and not helpful. And now you think I can help people? At all?

I think all of us did. I don't- [She pauses for a moment, sighing loud enough for Quentin to hear.]

Maybe there's not a reason if this is Hell. [Maybe it's just mindless torture. Maybe not.]

Maybe it's just to remind us to work together.

[ peter's silent whilst quentin's explanation registers; it's accompanied by a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, one that says 'this is a really, really bad idea', and he leans forward, resting his head in his hands. search the woods. god. ] They don't record data, [ peter comments, voice tired and muffled; a breath of a pause and he lifts his head out of his hands and looks back up at quentin. ]

The only way we'd know where you'd been is if you recorded it and marked it off on your map, if you gave the grids a reference point. But they're not— They're pretty basic, y'know? There's not a whole lot to work with here, I'd have to modify each and every tablet, get some more equipment via Rastus, which is going to be pretty—. [ peter waves a hand: until the start of the month, they're not going to know what that's going to be like. he'd like to hope that there was some return to the status quo, but he's not going to kid himself that it's going to be the likeliest answer. if there is, he'll consider them lucky, but it means they'll have to have to wait another month for anything further. ]

All the tracker's going to do is leave a sort of ... ping for where you are, or wherever you've left it, for roughly a 100 yard radius. If you get lost or worse, we'll be able to find you if you've kept even a rough track of your location, but it's not going to tell us when you reached that point, how long it took you—.

[ peter pauses, exhales; stretches his arms out in front of him and then sighs. he hates this place. he wishes that he had someone like reed to bounce ideas off, or doc strange to ask for magic help in finding a portal back home, or — anything. it's not that he doesn't think it can be done with the group they've got, it's that he thinks it'd be faster, easier with someone more experienced with things like this. it's not that he's discounting the experiences of anyone else here, except—

(okay, maybe he is, a little.)

still, this isn't too far off of what peter had imagined using the trackers for, isn't too far off what peter ordinarily used his spider-tracers for: following people and things. there's one issue, though — other than one's he's already mentioned. ]

Are you going to be doing this alone?

[ from the sounds of it, peter thinks quentin plans on going into the forest by himself. the easiest way of tracking him would be to do it concurrently, to enter the forest just after him and keep out of his line of sight, but he's not sure about the feasibility of that. the other question it raises is: if he is going into the forest alone, why? of course it's safer going in with someone else, he'd have to be an idiot or — idiotically reckless not to entertain the thought. ]

[There's an extended period after all of that, of Quentin just frowning at Peter like the words aren't sinking in, or like he's lost in thought and Peter just happened to be in his line of sight. Lost, somewhere inside of himself for half a minute before he blinks rapidly and shakes his head.]

Okay. [He bends back towards the map, wishing for someone, anyone, who knew about maps like Benedict had. A royal Map-maker, and just a little too in to it for that to be sane, but. Good with maps. Good with keeping track and finding places and knowing where to look and what to look for. But Benedict had ended up somewhere else in the Afterlife, after he killed himself, the depression-key clenched in his hand.

Quentin clears his throat.] Okay, fine. That's-- fine. I can. I can mark the way. Somehow. We-- I lived somewhere else? With. There were no road signs and really no way to tell if you were coming and going, so we-- I put up ribbons. On the trees. To mark the way to the water, the stream and to town. So-- so no one [with his mind whispering Teddy] would get lost. I can do that. I'll have to-- [And most of what he says, is said quietly, more to himself than Peter, thinking out loud and making adjustments, and he's looking at the map again. No way to tell if he'd have to walk for hours or longer, no way to know if he's hitting the edge of a grid or not. But with markers, he could choose. One hour out, one hour back and keep repeating it.] It's going to be slower, but. I could make it work. I just need a compass? I think there's a spell for that.

[He does look up at Peter, by the end, hand pressed to the table.] Someone mentioned that it could be seen as-- that all of us trampling around in the woods, might be seen as an invading force. To the spirits. [loathed as he is to mention it, because the guy had been so fucking obnoxious about it. High handed and superior. Fucking Wayne. But he might have had a point.] Like-- as if we're trying to start something. If it's just me [Quentin shrugs] I'm not really an invading force? And I was hoping that you'd be-- that I could have a tracker and if the tracker stops for longer than thirty minutes? You'd come get my lantern. Because I think I need that to come back.

How would driving us crazy help us work together? Because--because I'm not really feeling up for holding hands and--and. I'm not really feeling like I want to do anything but stay in bed, and how is that going to help? How is any of this helping us find a way to repel the World Eaters or whatever?

Yeah, yeah, maybe this is hell.

We can also make a compass, [ peter comments, more to himself than to quentin. he doesn't mean to interrupt, it just slips out in the brief silence between remarks. it's not that he distrusts magic — there have been occasions, plenty of them, when he's relied on magic for help, when a magical problem has required a magical solution (because science sure doesn't always work on magic), and when magic has been the easier answer. even so, that's still more of a spider-man thing than a peter parker thing, as far as differentiation goes. peter parker's maybe caught a few snaps of doc strange in action before; spider-man's his friend (kinda, by a definition of the word), and a colleague.

someone mentioned that all of us trampling around in the woods could be seen as an invading force. peter considers that for a moment — maybe, he's willing to concede, but he's not convinced. surely it'd depend on who and how, on the way that spirits view them in general. truthfully, peter's not sure what the spirits understand of the larger issue at hand, about the fate of this world, its inhabitants, and the rest of the galaxy. if the spirits understand why they're here, then there's less likelihood of being viewed as an invading force, even as a group.

if they don't, then sure, mystery someone could be right. ]

But sure, maybe. [ he remarks, after a moment, the verbal equivalent of a shrug. ] I don't think we know enough about the spirits to make that judgement call one way or the other, but maybe your someone knows something I don't. [ punctuated by a breath of a pause and a wince. (ugh.) ] Sorry, that sounded snarkier than I meant it. [ a beat and a sigh; peter holds up a hand. ] I can come get your lantern, if it comes to it — because you're not wrong, if we don't have that, that's it for you. [ another pause, then— ] Listen, I'm not going to pretend I like this plan, but I respect that it's something you want — maybe need — to do, and if it gets us some kind of answer...

[ he'd seen the preparation quentin had been doing, regardless of how well quentin might have attempted to hide it (knowing q, any of it would have been incidental rather than intentional anyhow), but as far as eliot was concerned, quentin may as well have been shouting back at him that he was going to still try and do something about all this the whole time anyway. despite eliot having argued against it the whole time, pushed to dissuade him, and fought to keep some sense of calm. there were a few times it even felt like he might have gotten through. but quentin, being quentin, never knows how to leave the tunnel once he's in it.

it hurts in a way that he doesn't know how to convey. he can only hold quentin closer when they sleep, let his touch linger as long as he can let it before he feels he's asking too much. they were supposed to be figuring things out together since everything else already seemed wretched enough on its own, and somewhere along the road, there had been promises, both spoke and otherwise, made. even before they came here, that's how it had been. with having arrived and started to find some footing, eliot had thought it meant they were all the stronger for it. except even now, with all of the history and emotions between them, even with what recently happened nearly tearing them apart at their own seams without even caring for the grander picture, he feels worlds apart as quentin carried on about what needs to be done, as eliot stifles the fear still embedded in his limbs, the ghost of malicious touches against his arms, his back.

they're meant to be parts of a whole. something incomplete without the other. but he watches as quentin prepares a bow, finds a quiver, fills it with arrows. eliot asks him to stay, but quentin only sees what's ahead, prepares to leave him behind.

when he's alone, he hears the hollow sound of the air vent from his childhood bedroom, the only sign of life beyond his breath and the shaking of his fingers against rumpled cloth clasped so tightly his knuckles are white. he doesn't want to be right. he doesn't want all of everything he worked years of his life for to be just a lie that lets him sleep at night. but what if it really just is? what if he'd been right all along about him and quentin too? all he'd ever really needed was the right person at his back, but here quentin stands far ahead, waiting for eliot to catch up.

the both of the know that if anything is going to be said, it will always have to be eliot. there's even a method to it, a way quentin simply does and silently dares eliot to say something, ready to fight back with something as angry as it is determined, but eliot had been avoiding it because he just wanted to feel home again, that feeling he'd somehow barely managed to find when quentin was recovering from his injuries. he doesn't quite find it. he can't when quentin is being like this, and while there are conversations they have where he fights back, they all end the same, and eliot knows he hasn't changed quentin's heart or his mind. he isn't like margo. he doesn't know how to fight and make people feel guilty for it. but maybe this is his own fault too, for thinking he could possibly be the solution to quentin's everything.

when q comes back with a torch, eliot ignores the sharp cold that pierces his chest and seeps to his fingers. he finishes making dinner, and only when they've cleaned up does he manage to find the words. ]

So. You're really going.

[ it's not a question because it couldn't be. not when it's fact. ]

[There's no plan beyond getting out of here. There's got to be a way out, and it's was probably going to be somewhere in the forest. Quentin really had no deeper reason for why it had to be in there, except for the experience gleaned from fantasy books throughout the years. And in every last one of them, the solution, the end of the Quest, was in the most dangerous place around. Just look at the Key quest.

The solution was in a dark castle on the underside of a fantasy world and this was going to be just like that. Just like finding the Wellspring in Fillory, like finding the Hidden Sea under castle Whitespire and just like finding the castle with the well of all magic and the Monster.

Determined, Quentin finds the things he needs and carefully packs it all up in his new pillowcase-slash-messenger bag; the ocarina, in case he needed to try to talk to the spirits. Trying that out as a first, instead of just using magic, might not be the worst idea. A bow and the quiver of arrows he found at the Armory, all packed and ready to go. But there's Eliot, looking quieter and more withdrawn with every day that passes, and all the arguments for why Quentin shouldn't.

Shouldn't go, shouldn't look, shouldn't try. And all Quentin hears is - you can't. Can't save me, can't save this, can't help.

So, he works harder, reading through the logs on the network and looking at the map until he almost knows it by heart. There's a way out, there's a way to make sure Eliot never has to go through this again. And somewhere, deep down, Quentin knows it's selfish. That he's doing this to make himself feel better, to feel useful but he swallows it down deep and focuses on doing something.

Because Eliot looks lost sometimes, or like he wants to say something and stops himself. Because the hugs in bed at night are fierce and hard and he never wants to let go, not even for a second, but Quentin can't stand to remember the look on Eliot's face on that last day. How huge his eyes were, wide and full of terror.

He gets in contact with Peter to maybe have a tracker, just in case, and he asks the birdperson for a torch, getting ready despite the hollowness in his stomach and the way every step feels too slow, too little and too late.]

Yeah. [Quentin rubs a hand over his face and looks up, his voice almost shaking with emotion. With exhaustion and overthinking.] Yeah, I'm going. I know there's a way out, El, and I know I can find it.

[ his voice his withdrawn. he knows what he says won't make a difference anymore. still a part of him wants to try, pleads desperately that quentin meant what he said when he promised to always do as eliot needs and so it must be true. there's only so much left to cling onto, and even what's left is barely even there. ]

Then can't it wait? Why now?

Because-- because I don't know when it's going to happen again? It could be tomorrow. There's just no way to know and I--

[Quentin clears his throat]

I have to do something? [Pleading tone to his voice, because Quentin was always at his worst when he was forced to stay still. When there's nothing to do but wait.] Come with me? We can find it together.

[ he does want desperately to go too, to feel like he's something close to who he's supposed to be instead of...whatever disappointing mess he currently is. maybe that's why quentin doesn't want to listen: eliot's just no good like this. ]

I. [ he reaches for quentin's hand because suddenly the fear bubbles up like bile in his throat, and he can't shake the dread. he takes quentin's fingers in his own, barely grasping and yet steadied all the same. ] I can't. I'm. What if it does happen? What if we don't make it out this time? [ what if i don't, he means. ]

Please. I can't-- [ he shakes his head, an uneven panic lingering. ] Not right now.

[ not with mike's words still lingering, every action and inaction quentin makes a silent affirmation of false words that had bored into him for far too long. ]

That's what I'm worried about.

[But he's going to cling to Eliot's hand, holding on with both of his just to have something to steady himself by. He knows these hands, almost as well as he knows his own. He's spent years looking and touching and being touched by these hands and this place almost took that away from him. Took that away from the both of them, because Quentin's fears ran too deep and too hard to take this. Because his mind was too broken to just fucking deal with this.]

When? The more I-- the more we wait, the greater the risk of this happening again. I've got it all worked out, I know where to start looking, I'm not taking any chances and I'm not-- I'm not going to just. [he sighs, licking his trembling lips] I'll find my way back home to you. But we can't stay here.

I. I don't know? I'm. [ he swallows thickly, looking away. he really doesn't know, and it terrifies him just as much as the way quentin looks outside the windows into the dark. he doesn't feel right anymore, and it seems endlessly. if quentin is already okay, shouldn't he be better now? he's supposed to be better than this. so why isn't he? ]

It's not home if you're not here, Q. [ and he means that both for here as it is here and wherever quentin decides to go, if he goes. no, not if. he's going. eliot knows. he just doesn't want to believe it. ] If. If it happens again, wouldn't we still be safer here? Out there is. So much. The dark. Those. Those malevolent spirits deep in the woods. The rivers. And obviously a whole lot of other bullshit we're much safer avoiding.

People are reacting to it. I can't speak to the choices made by everyone else, but I suppose my answer is this:

You said that you can't watch this happen and not do something. I can't either. But I can't use my pain and outrage this way, it isn't productive. I'd rather turn it towards investigating- asking questions and following leads.

When emotions run high it's very easy to make reactive decisions and rush to judgment. It's a good time to invite obstacles and force yourself to slow down. I need to think of more than just myself. I've seen what kind of person I can be when I don't.

[A pause. It's just long enough for Bruce to squeeze his eyes closed and count through his exhale- a practice he'd adopted at Alfred's behest. It's easy, and always has been, for Bruce's thoughts to spin out ahead of him.]

What I told you about making a list was that some people would have experience with lists like that being used against them and that we have no guarantee that people who arrive here wouldn't manipulate it. And also told you that we should look at more than super human abilities for a solution. It's reasonable to believe that powerful people have come in groups like this in the past and they were still reset. We need to diversify.

[His posture softens and with it, so does his voice.]

If you asked me I would say that I believe your intentions are good.

But you need to surround yourself with people who challenge your perspective and your strengths. Find people that you trust but who don't always agree with you. It isn't simply a matter of staying balanced. But sometimes we need to be protected from ourselves.

I’ll have the bow with me. I know battle magic.

[Correction, he knew battle magic back when he was alive and it worked best when they had the emotions bottles and he’s a mess right now. Too raw and unsettled, too angry and too upset, but what choice does he have? Sit here and watch all of this start again? Watch Eliot go through something like this, or worse, again? Heart clenching, Quentin squeezes Eliot’s hand.]

I love you, Eliot. So fucking much. I’ll come home, I promise.

[ his grip tightens. he can feel quentin slipping away. just like that. like it never mattered. ]

What if you can't? [ he doesn't bother hiding the fear this time. ] What if you find it somehow and get. Get stuck out there, and can't come back. What am I supposed to do then? Quentin. Please. Please. I- I. Can't lose you again.

[ and he means that. everything already feels like too much.

he winces as he forces himself to admit the next. ] I need you here.

I'll-- look, I talked to some guy named Peter? He's-- I'll be wearing a tracker and he's going to keep an eye out. I'm going to come back.

[And it's breaking his heart, saying this. Doing this, because Eliot looks so fucking scared again, like he never does, not even while facing down monster and beasts. Not even while sighing his life away, and Quentin swallows hard.]

I can't just stay here and do nothing.

[And be useless, yet again, because he's waiting for someone bigger, or better, or smarter to finish this. This feelings of being of no use to anyone, and it's there, it right there, in every one of his words and every time he clings to Eliot because he needs him so much. That's he's never going to be the one to save anyone, from anything. He turns to Eliot and slips one of his hands up to cup the side of his face.]

I need you to be safe. That's all I want. For you to be safe.

Edited 2019-10-28 20:39 (UTC)

[ the knife twists as quentin justifies everything by saying that staying is just doing nothing, and eliot has to wonder if he's been more of a burden the whole while than he'd realized. had the hallucinations really made him such a trouble that quentin could find it so utterly unbearable? had it become a chore?

he withdraws his hand anxiously and sit straighter. he doesn't want to look weak. not if that's what quentin is hinging on. quentin had said he could be whatever eliot needed, but eliot had clearly overstepped his bounds somehow, asked for too much somewhere without realizing it. ]

How can I be safe if I don't also know that you are?

[ 'he doesn't care,' he hears mike say even without hearing a damn thing. 'he never needed you around to get shit done.' ]

I don't know, okay? I don't-- I just--

[Hands falling in to his lap because Eliot pulled away and Quentin? Quentin hunches his shoulders, free hands twisting together. He wishes briefly for a coin, just to have something to do with his hands, because nothing he's saying is working. Eliot isn't even-- listening. Feeling useless, useless and worthless and Quentin sinks lower in to his seat.]

I don't know what else to do! I can't-- I can't help you. I can't-- I couldn't even help myself and I thought. I thought I'd lost you. This place did that! What the fuck is it going to do next?

[ he shrinks back as if slapped. ]

What the hell do you mean, you can't help me? You're the one that's wanting to go when I need you here. "Can't help"? You're trying to walk away from it. L. Like I'm just some kind of hopeless wreck. Like you even really tried, but what, I'm not good enough of a charity case for you?

Jesus, Q.

What? What the hell- no!

[Quentin snaps his head up, turning to Eliot so fast he's almost making himself dizzy with it, eyes burning in his face- too little sleep, too much time worrying about Eliot, about what will happen next time to close his eyes for more than an hour at a time, just lying there, holding on to Eliot and breathing, and Eliot thinks-- what?]

How? How am I helping being here? Eliot, I can barely even feed myself. I'm fucking useless here! I still feel like I'm cracking up. You-- you need someone strong and I'm not? I'm just not right now, but I can find a way out, I can find a way out and you never have to feel like this again. Ever.

[ eliot folds his arms against his body, knuckles white from grasping so tightly onto his elbows. ]

Can you even hear me? I feel like I'm just.

[ did he imagine it? had he imagined finding q? making it out alive. had quentin even been there? or was it like mike too? ]

What happened to figuring things out together? You. We both said. [ in a long distant dream. it feels like months ago now, but it had only been weeks. ] Why is that not good enough now? How is this somehow so different? I don't. Understand. Why you think I need someone. "Strong"? I already said that I need you. I only need you. Does that just. Not matter at all here?

Quentin? [ he feels raw, like he's just walked out from the happy place again, and here's this stranger in front of him who doesn't want to know him, doesn't want to remember. i'm alive in here. ] Fifty years.

Oh god, Eliot, jesus. Don't--

[Like a rubber-band stretched too hard and Quentin just snaps, mouth quivering and hands shaking, reaching for Eliot and his stiff shoulders. He's wrapping both arms around him before he even has a chance to think, burying his face in Eliot's hair.]

No, no. No, that's not-- no, never. I just can't-- I feel so fucking useless. Of course it matters, it's all that matters. You are all that matters.

[Muttered in to Eliot's curls, Quentin's hands fisting in to his shirt. because yeah, fifty years and a lifetime together and it was never going to be enough.] I want-- we can figure it out together and this, this is the best I've got. Going out to look before it's too late.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 5 of 9

[Audio] @ SuprNerd - open

no subject

no subject

private| voice

@cuttingedge; audio

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

D-Day

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject