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trashbinned2030-08-20 09:35 pm
cyclical) wrote in trashbinned2030-08-20 09:35 pm
call me out!
choose a character
call them out: put their name in the comment header
leave a prompt (picture, music, quote, etc!) or blank comment
no smut please! but all other tomfoolery is a-okay
no subject
five cannot lay claim to being a good person, not with his shadows painted red with the lives he's taken. but it stings, in ways that he cannot even begin to describe, that klaus has to see this. that he couldn't do what he set out to do and keep them from being witness to this reality — their world in ruin. it's hard not to consider themselves the catalysts of it all. he has to find the rest.
failure, failure at their feet, i told you so a hissed reminder of a familiar voice in the back of five's mind.
klaus' hand on his shoulder is anchoring, and five doesn't move away right away as he normally would. ] Yeah — you're the first one.
We won't. [ finally, shuffling away, a scrape of glass and wood under his oxfords. ] Let's stick close, and — and see how much else is still standing. We landed here - the others can't be far. [ he can't keep looking at klaus' face, open and honest. or maybe he can't have him staring at his, as he grinds his jaw and tries to steady his breathing as he moves back towards the stairs. ] Careful going up.
[ he has the most incentive to stick close now - if the structure fails, he can grab klaus to jump them away. so he waits for him before he starts the tentative ascent. ]
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[ Klaus has always had a strange way of knowing things, even though he doesn't really know anything. There's a faint twist in his gut that tells him they're alone here, that their siblings landed somewhere else, and he's not sure why he believes it, but he does.
It's happened before, this strange feeling, but it's usually wrapped up in things happening, not something that has come and gone. ]
You ever been to this end of the world? [ There's a manic edge to his voice as he slips away from his brother, hand falling away from that thin shoulder if only to reflexively reach for the dog tags round his neck. They're there, cool against his palm. Not a dream, then.
So he starts toward the great arch of the main room, back into the dilapidated foyer, the hazy afternoon sun, covered in clouds, casting an eerie light on the broken up staircase. ] This place is a fucking time bomb.
[ Every step brings with it a creak, the crunch of stone, the crack and scrape of glass. Klaus knows he should believe the sinking feeling in his gut, that he should accept the fact that they're almost definitely alone here, but accepting that feels nigh impossible when their whole lives lie spread upon the ground in shambles. ]
Upstairs first? Or dear old daddy's office? What a selection.
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there is no other alternative.
fuck, what if there was? he wasn't sure he liked the idea of the possibilities, and until he searches every goddamn corner, he won't go there, and promptly ignores commenting further.
he stares ahead, mindful of where he steps, worn wood groaning and creaking under him. ] I don't know. It looked — the same, before. Maybe. I don't know. [ it's repeated, angry and strained. were he a better man, a better brother, he would try for reassurance. maybe he would tell klaus to go take a breath.
but there's no use in bullshitting. first, while klaus was an expert on bullshit, the bastard was equally good at sniffing it out, too. something about pot meeting kettle, no doubt. and second - what was the point?
he'll fix this, whatever it was. ] Upstairs.
[ the landing wobbles, and he motions for klaus to stick closer to the wall. even if the floor fails, the support beam's still there.
the search is about as fruitful as klaus had predicted it to be. there they stand, in the middle of their dead old father's study at the end of the world, in an empty, broken house, and five doesn't even know where to begin. ] We - should get out of here. Before it comes down on our heads.
no subject
The office, the study, the library, their old training rooms... the only sounds are the house groaning on an uneasy foundation, its studs and drywall splintering with every tired breath the building heaves.
Klaus carefully follows in Five's path, tip-toeing the edge of the landing, wincing as the floor boards complain underfoot. ]
No kidding.
[ They could always return to pick through the rubble once they have a better idea of what, exactly, has happened. ] They've gotta be here somewhere, right? I mean what the hell happened back there? We had a briefcase.
[ The question is nigh rhetorical, because he knows too well that his brother won't have answers. When they reach the front doors, he pushes one open on broken hinges, wincing as it falls out of the frame and clatters down to the sidewalk. Or what was the sidewalk, anyway. He's immediately grateful that the air that hits him through the door is mild, though dusty. Nothing like the blistering heat of Vietnam or the torturous wilds of Texas. He steps out into the open air and down the stairs, looking for anything that might indicate what happened, beyond the obvious destruction. ]
Not even a fucking newspaper...
[ If it weren't for the alcohol keeping him tame he might be showing more of his panic, might lend himself to more hysterics. His family isn't here. The family that only just found some kind of balance, some kind of rhythm and hope together, gone. ]
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though, to be fair, five didn't start up with having his hopes high. the proverbial rug has been swept from out of his feet so many times now it was difficult to count.
that he isn't alone this time isn't better. perhaps its worse, and he listens to klaus's footsteps behind him, his hitches in breath as their search yields nothing but dust and ash and the bitter taste of failure.
(even in the chaos of panic, kept just beneath his skin, he remembers that klaus speaks to the dead. and that thought is accompanied by such sinking dread, that he doesn't dwell on it further. not yet. he doesn't even know the extent of what that could mean, with all the years he's missed.) ]
I don't know. [ hard not to sound like a snap, and five barely even blinks at the door rattling loudly to the ground, just steps further out into ruination, all crooked angles and back to old habits.
distinctly, he keeps closer to klaus' side than he would on any other given day, and tries the same thing he did forty-five years ago.
hands glow, and time around them distorts, that push and pull of something as he pushes at time's edge, wills it around him and it doesn't listen. ] Come on.
[ de ja vu never did feel as horrible as this. ] Oh come on!
[ the anger snaps when the attempt - frazzled, panicked, messy - fails, and five kicks at whatever debris is left underfoot, hisses a swear when his foot connects with something hard.
when he turns to look at klaus, a lean and dark silhouette against the overcast landscape of a dead world, he barely manages to keep his composure as he promises: ] I don't know why we're here, Klaus, but I'll fix it.
no subject
Allison. Luther. Diego. Vanya.
He's not sure whether it's relief or despair that swells into the pit of his stomach when none of them emerge from the dust, from the shadows just outside of his view. He tries again, knowing his abilities aren't honed, knowing that he could be making a mistake and missing something.
On the last attempt, he feels for Ben, reaching for his energy out into the emptiness, even though he knows he'll come up empty handed. ]
Dammit. We're gonna kill ourselves doing this.
[ It's dizzying, maddening, even, to look around at the place they called home and realize that they're alone. Klaus' voice comes out in a tired sort of croak, caught between a groan and a whine. ] But if it makes you feel any better, I just tried to call collect into the after life and it turns out none of our family are dead yet, if they're here. Now, whether or not that means they're here is neither here nor there but I'll take not-dead for six hundred, Alex, and oh, look, Double Jeopardy!
[ Klaus raises his arms in a wide, sweeping gesture, though his voice doesn't carry nearly the energy it usually does. He turns back on his heel to look at Five, letting one hand drop to his shoulder. ]
One day you're gonna figure out that you can't do it all on your own, anyway. Not that my abilities are much use to us, unless you wanna talk to the guy down the street that's had half his head blown off, or there's a lady in the bank on the corner singing Sweet Caroline. Slim pickins.
[ And for all of Klaus's jokes, the gravity of the situation shows in the tired lines of his face, in the shadow behind fair eyes and especially in the way he draws out the flask from his coat and offers it to his brother. ]
no subject
they each push and push, side by side and heart by heart. desperation is vicious little beast, and they've known her claws for too many years.
five had dropped his attempts only shortly after klaus, attention swiveling back to him when he starts talking again.
its no small relief to hear that the rest of their time-lost siblings hadn't answered klaus' calls. that leaves two of the three possibilities out on the table still: they are in another time, or they were flung into this ashen world same as five and four, but farther out. scattered and lost but at least alive.
hope is a terrible thing, but it is the hardest to smother in the dust.
for the second time today, for the second time within the odd hour of searching, five doesn't recoil from the hand on his shoulder. its anchoring, and while he doesn't return the poorly-placed humor, his scowl is less sharp.
he doesn't envy his brother. for all of klaus's ghosts, five isn't sure he'd be able to live with the corpses that paint his resume red. he'd let them do so willingly, pulled triggers over and over again because the ends always justified the means. except here's the fucking end, a slap to the face and a burning in his lungs.
he takes a swig from the flask without any other word. at his very core, he doesn't know if he can do this again.
but he has to, doesn't he? ] Maybe not entirely useless. [ he tosses out slowly. sure, he's thrown out that insult too many times when it comes to the admittedly questionable competence of his family as a whole, but, we're trying for growth here. and its honest and true in this case. ] Maybe you could ask Sweet Caroline what the year was. Or what happened.
[ considers it again. ] Or I can do the talking, but — as you pointed it out — I can't do that without your help.
no subject
It's almost quiet. Quiet in a way that tells him that this place has been emptied out for a long time. Long enough for most ghosts to sensibly pass on, to throw themselves willingly into the big, bright light and call it quits on the real world.
He might be used to seeing them, to hearing their endless prattle, but the thought of talking to them here? To Sweet Caroline or Half-Face down the street? It makes his stomach twist, though that could be the alcohol, the inevitable hangover, the way his head aches after the time travel. ]
Yeah, yeah I can. [ Because he has to, because they need information even if the knowing might make it harder. But he hadn't found or felt his siblings, which again, props up the tiny sliver of hope. They could be alive here or somewhere else, but all the same. They're not dead. Not here. He lets out a sigh, sing-song as it chases a nervous chuckle. ]
I can conjure her, yeah. Just gotta make sure you ask your questions quick. Not exactly sure how long I can hold onto this shit.
[ The control he's learned over the last four years tucked away in the 1960s has been incredible, but he knows there's so much more he needs to learn.
He walks out into the ruined street where the path seems a little clearer, not covered in the debris and detritus leftover from burning, crumbling buildings. ]
It was like this last time, wasn't it? [ He doesn't look at Five, doesn't check for confirmation there because as aloof and ridiculous as Klaus may seem, he's incredibly perceptive. He's seen the ghosts that haunt his brother's eyes, he's seen the pain in those of his sister's. It's like the air leaves his chest every time he glimpses something they think is carefully hidden, barricaded behind bravado and a false sense of responsibility. Thanks, Reginald.
There's not enough alcohol in the world for this bullshit. ]
When you disappeared before. The end of the world.
[ Fire and devastation, and Five had witnessed something like this when he was what? Thirteen? Their father's I told you so goes without saying. ]
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Questions. Okay. What year do you remember? Do you remember what happened? How long have you been here?
Can the dead even answer things like this? He isn't an expert on that. His dead don't talk back.
five stills in his circle of thoughts, culminating in a pacing that ends up following a crescent path orbiting klaus. he doesn't risk looking over him longer than a quick glance.
because, loathe as he was to admit it, klaus' power of perception was far sharper than most people gave him any credit for. he keeps it close, he'll give him that, somewhere beneath the shit coping mechanisms and the sunshine-bright masks of frivolity and bullshit.
so risking looking up at klaus with statements like those is risking being an open book, necessitating a confrontation of emotion and heart, neither of which five had accused himself of having before. besides, klaus asked in a tone that says he already knows, and it sends a pang of frustration ringing through five's ribcage. you don't want to know, he thinks. ]
Yeah. [ quiet, as he rolls his lips. ] The end of — something. [ he parrots that wretched little phrase he'd heard from someone he thought a hallucination, years ago. ]
I was alone then. I'm not now, [ it's a solid statement, so it is easier to believe. ] so let's figure this out.
Whenever you're ready. [ he won't say he does this on purpose, but his body angles itself in the direction klaus had pointed when mentioning the lesser grotesque of the options, in a way that suggests defensiveness. death is a hard thing to see for most people, and it may be an irony or advantage that here stand two people acquainted with it with utmost intimacy. but that doesn't mean five won't attempt to be a shield in all the ways he can, in the sum of actions that belie concern he can never put into words. he's asking questions, after all. makes sense for him to stand in front of klaus, right? ]
no subject
The thought makes him huff quietly to himself and he tips his head to one side, looking over at his brother. ]
Very poetic. The end of something. A perfect little envelope to the chaotic shitshow of a ballet that is our lives, non?
[ He raises a hand in false cheers, as though they're merely ruminating over the apocalypse that was, in a dark, smoky bar with crisp martini glasses balanced between their fingers.
They were never made for something so delicate, something so easy. That's the real punchline. ]
I was born ready. [ It's all bluster: smoke and mirrors desperately cast in an attempt to forge himself into something that resembles a human being. What else can they be, standing here alone at the precipice of everything they knew and everything they don't.
But he starts forward in the rubble, surprisingly steady and limber on his feet for a man drowning himself in yesterday's booze and sorrows, but his family is at stake here. Five beside him, he knows that whatever waits for them in Sweet Caroline, he can weather. Maybe he and his brother got off to a rocky start upon his return, but he can appreciate the understanding.
(The understanding that comes in a you did it, didn't you?, the silhouette of his brother cut against the door frame of the old house; In the flask passed between them in a burning great room, smoke and devastation as their backdrop; it comes in the quiet yeah and the way they both look out at the horizon instead of the definite wounds they have both become).
So he marches through charred bits of building and greenery, over gaping fissures in the sidewalks, and to the little, family-run bank on the corner. The facade is all but blown off, but inside, the marble counters and old teller stations still stand. Sweet Caroline is there— was she a clerk once upon a time?— behind the counter, looking as though she's counting money as she hums to herself. ]
Oh, shit.
[ He sucks in a deep breath and strolls right up to the spot where the ghost stands. There are nasty burns all along one side of her body, the pantsuit shriveling at her shoulder, but her face is made up as pretty as a daisy were it not for the piece of glass sticking out the side of her neck. Klaus swallows hard. He clears his throat and she stops singing, her head swiveling to him with a sick sort of wet sound.
Klaus winces and stares in the space across the desk, where, for now, he looks like he's speaking to plain air. ]
So sorry to bother you, you seem very busy and I just hate to interrupt. While I love institutional capitalism in its purest form— I mean nothing gets me going more than sexy little ledgers and account statements— I was hoping we could ask you a few questions.
[ The lady scoffs, turns her nose, but for the first time in all his time with the ghosts, this chick doesn't really get the choice. He clenches his hands together, knuckles white with tension as blue energy flares up around him.
The bank teller filters into view, shimmering and blue and still absolutely disgusted at the sight of him. What do you want, she huffs, looking Klaus up and down then, curiously, to Five at his side. ]
no subject
how could anyone be ready for something like this? they spent their childhood preparing to be world's saviors in whatever plan dad had pulled the strings of. instead, here they were as the harbingers of ruin and sometimes five has to wonder if they were always going to be. if this was something they would never be able to outrun.
ruble and dust and corpses.
five steps in tandem with his brother, elbows close enough to brush and cannot help the wretched glance he throws at the horizon around them, half-expecting to see another silhouette carved from the backdrop (but she's dead. no more deals with the devil, and yet he'd make one every single time if it would spare his family standing witness to this.)
he casts a long glance at the side of klaus' face, curious. his brother was always good at smoke and mirrors, at wearing that bravado on his sleeves but the truth was - no matter how he wore it, klaus had always cared more than the rest, was sensitive in ways that made it easier to unravel into a mess, with blunts at the dinner table and alcohol in his drawers to numb the worst away.
five wonders if the alcohol cellars from his first stint at the end of the world were still intact in this one.
Sweet Caroline manifests herself in that sweep of blue, radiant and otherworldly from klaus' delicate hands.
five doesn't turn away from the carnage, from the mangled neck or the burned flesh, (he's done worse days ago. the glass in her neck was a quicker death than one would think.) but he is grateful there is no smell.
he can't help the scoff at klaus' introduction, though, and it almost feels like this would be just another mission. ] We won't take up much of your time. [ five clips out, professionalism worn as thin veil. how many times did he ask simple little questions by way of commission assignments? ] What's the date, right now?
[ her brows scrunch up, a flicker of confusion between the two of them, and five's irritation sparks bright hot because he never really could help himself. certainly not now. his next questions are through a clenched jaw. ] I know, not a question you hear a lot. We just - got into town. Lost track of time. [ his smile is so forced right now. serrated in ways that really dig home just how much he hates this.
april 3rd, is the answer, a frustrated little huff. ] Year? [ 2014? says the dead woman, as though the two men in front of her are the crazy ones. she turns to look at klaus: is your son okay? ]
Oh, screw this! [ it just slips out, frazzled nerves getting the best of him because he can't even begin to start processing it, his thoughts a jumble of possibilities that very loudly don't make any sense. ]
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But there's Sweet Caroline, looking incredibly unimpressed but at least she's answering the questions. Until they get to the year. The year's the tricky bit, that makes his heart leap into his throat, because if they somehow ended the world sooner?
He looks, wide eyed at his brother, and for a moment Sweet Caroline herself flickers with the lack of focus. ]
Did she say 2014? You've got to be shitting me— [ His head whirls back to her and he holds his hands up in mock apology. ] My son would sooner have you deepthroating the piece of glass you've so graciously embedded in that old gizzard of yours, but yeah, he's doing just swell babe.
[ The ghost lets out a shriek of disgust, a hand to her bloody chest. The silvery-blue of her fading away to nothing. ] But we got a situation. You're not supposed to be dead, this bank's supposed to be busy and filled to the brim with snooty, old, white bitches so if you have any interest in preventing your very dramatic, very tragic end, you'll want to tell us what happened.
[ The woman looks startled, the brilliantly blue outline of her flickering again. There's not enough alcohol in the world for this shit, particularly when she turns her nose up with a huff. Well, until she finally mutters I don't remember. I remember a man, with a funny hat. Oh, and one of those monocle things. Just before it happened. An explosion? I had to have been an explosion, but he didn't seem surprised.
She flickers away as Klaus turns slowly, painfully slowly, toward his brother. ]
Did she...?