(no subject)

[cactusy]

WHO: Sameen Shaw
WHEN: post-mission
WHERE: the Library (Alcyone's Wake), the Apartments (Alcyone's Wake), Kwik Trip (Harborport), the trolley and the streets as she shuttles from place to place looking like a hobo
WHAT: life hack. nothing's real
NOTES\WARNINGS: unreality :)

The day that the mission ends, Shaw holes up in her apartment in the library for three days.

She doesn't trust this, is the thing, and she doesn't particularly want to see the city slide back into normality (or what passes for normality here). It's not that she doesn't believe that the mission is over: it's that she fundamentally doesn't see any appreciable difference between the mission and Etraya-as-usual. Sure, one had been foggy and filled with horrors, and the other isn't. But they're both equally fake: not simulations, maybe, but not the real world, either. It's not like she hasn't always known that, but for the sake of avoiding the potential consequences of her apathy (which would be real, she's pretty sure), she's played along for the past year.

But it's harder to do that now. And when there's no mission to distract her (not that she'd done anyone much good in that last one, she thinks bitterly) and very little to quiet the voice in her head that says You could just shoot everyone, nothing would happen, who CARES, she figures it's better that she not be around people. She thinks about Bear first, wondering whether he's been picked up from doggie daycare yet. Then she thinks about other people that she knows, teammates and friends and hook-ups and acquaintances, rolling their images around in her mind. She wonders if they're relieved, happy that it's over, and getting down to the quick and easy business of moving on.

She leaves when her food runs out - she's never kept a big stockpile - but only to head to Kwik Trip, where she fills a shopping cart with cans of soup, dry pasta and rice, and other nonperishables. Instead of bagging everything, she just steals the cart, working it laboriously onto the trolley and taking it back with her. Whether on transport, in the store, or on the street, she keeps her head down and her sweatshirt hood up. She's not dirty or smelly - she's been taking showers, thank you very much; she still has her self-respect - but she's certainly not looking well. And if she sees legs approaching like someone is going to sit down next to her, she slumps in her seat and pointedly manpsreads.

Sometimes she switches it up and goes to the top-floor room she's claimed in the apartments: the one that doesn't have her name on the door, but that isn't really a secret, even though she only ever bothers to tell anyone about it if she needs a private meeting place. When she's not carrying much, she forgoes the proper entrance and instead climbs the fire escape, entering through a top-floor hallway window; she does this sometimes at the library, too.

And then she goes in, and she stays in, for as long as she can possibly manage it.

Comments

THIS IS NOT ME GIVING THE BRUSH-OFF; if he wouldn't persist, I can have her change her mind & answer

[cactusy]

Shaw stares at the message for several minutes straight. She knows what he means by it, of course: is she around and available, is she safe. But calling anywhere here home strikes her as so patently ridiculous that she doesn't know how to even begin to respond. Besides, even the thought of making her fingers move on the HUD display is exhausting.

She doesn't reply.

NO WORRIES Bossie is persistent!

[nottheboss]

He gives her an hour to answer. He wanders the library, picking up a book and reading a chapter before putting it back. Nothing holds his interest. He's too worried.

I'm going to come up to find you if you don't answer.

bless him

[cactusy]

Huh.

It occurs to Shaw that she doesn't actually know how much Bossie and Carver know about their library base: she's always considered deciding how much to tell them to be Harold's prerogative. Thanks to the biometric lock, Bossie won't be able to come in on his own (at least not through the door; as she well knows, the windows are another story). So while she doesn't answer, she keeps an ear out, not wanting to miss a knock on the door.

[nottheboss]

He doesn't give her quite as long this time. He's not even sure she's here, but he sighs and makes his way to the door. Knocks gently.

"Sameen. C'mon. It's just me."

[cactusy]

This time, at least, she doesn't metaphorically leave him on read. In bare feet, a tanktop, and sweatpants, she plods her way over and opens the door, wordlessly letting him into the apartment.

She's taking decent care of her space, even now: there's a pot soaking in the sink and the trash is filled with ramen packaging (her favorite flavor is beef, apparently), but it's clean (though not exactly homey, due to a complete lack of decor). Without looking to see if he closes the door behind him, she goes back to flop onto the couch.

"Harold trusts you," he says, her voice raspy. "He wouldn't have told you we live here if he didn't."

[nottheboss]

"Yeah he trusted me before he had real reason to," he admits. "Which sort of made me pick early on if I was going to follow him or not."

He checks the door for locks, wanting to secure their exit, before he follows her inside. "What's going on with you?"

[cactusy]

"That doesn't sound like him," she says dully, instead of answering the question. "He must've had a reason, even if you didn't know about it."

[nottheboss]

"I still don't know why he trusts me," he shrugs. "But I trust him so I guess that's enough to keep me in line."

He sits at the end of the couch. "You been sleeping?"

[cactusy]

"Yeah." Too much, sometimes. She's not quite at the point of full bedrotting, but she's been averaging out at a few hours more than she actually needs. Swallowing, she adds, "I'm just done."

[nottheboss]

He looks over at her, his eyes warm and worried. "I kind of got that sense," he admits. It's why he's here. "What's 'done' mean to you?"

[cactusy]

"I just can't pretend anymore, that's all. Not even to humor John and Harold." She leans her head against the back of the couch, closing her eyes. "This place isn't real, Bossie. Don't any of you get that?"

[nottheboss]

"Of course it's not real." He gives her a pained, bitter smile. "You think I don't know that? I died, Shaw. This is- this is hell if it's anything."

He reaches out. "Give me your feet."

[cactusy]

It's such an unexpected request that it gets her to crack an eye open, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"What? Why?"

[nottheboss]

He shrugs a shoulder. "Because I'm really fucking good at foot massages and if none of this is real it might as well feel good for a change."

[cactusy]

Weird logic. And yet, not exactly wrong, either. She pulls her legs up onto the couch and plops her feet in his lap. Sure. Why not.

[nottheboss]

He is, as promised, actually very good at it. He works the balls of her feet, the arches, the heels. Rubs the toes and between them.

"The fact is we were told to go through this to save our worlds, right?"

[cactusy]

It does feel good; Shaw certainly isn't immune to physical sensation. But it doesn't make her feel better.

She won't say so out loud, though. No sense in trying to tear the guy down.

"Yeah," she says. "Sure."

[nottheboss]

He keeps at it. The movement soothes him.

"I don't really buy it. But the fuck else are we supposed to do? We're alive. We're going to keep on being alive, looks like."

[cactusy]

Unlike him, she does believe it - or, at least, she thinks it's a strong enough possibility that she wouldn't dream of trying to sabotage it.

But.

"I could just wait it out. I've done it before."

[nottheboss]

He rubs her heel and wishes he had lotion.

"We need you," he says very softly. "You make things...better."

[cactusy]

She raises a skeptical eyebrow. She doesn't think she makes things worse, but "better" seems like a stretch. There's so rarely anything to fight for here, or anyone to save.

[nottheboss]

He looks at her with a scowl. "Are you calling me a liar in your inside voice, ma'am?"

[cactusy]

"I'm spinning my wheels here. My talents are almost always wasted."

So, maybe he's not a liar, but he's definitely a little confused about what she's good for.

[nottheboss]

He wiggles one of her toes. "Which skills are we talking here?"

[cactusy]

"Fighting. Saving people." She flexes her toes, sinking back into the couch. "Hands-on work, not waking earning points."

She says it like it's a dirty word.