trans_9 | Katzenjammer [Open]

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Katzenjammer [Open]

Aside from the comatose state she reached after Cassie finished her post-exorcism first-aid, sleep hasn't come easily to Eva since the possession. What little she's gotten has been interspersed with nightmares, so it's while all the Animorphs are sleeping that she slips out of Cassie's house and finds herself at the Drunken Dragon.

It's all too much. Too much going through her head and too much space alone in there. When she woke up it was because she was thrashing in her sleep and accidentally smacked her head into the bedpost. She found that she was clawing at her scalp while she dreamed.

She needs to feel a little bit out of control again, by her own doing, because that means less control that other people can take away from her. And she needs to dull the knowledge of how many bad memories she dredged up for Marco by going and getting herself possessed.

"Wine. Whatever you have. Keep it coming," she says, then, as if clarification is necessary, "I'm going to get drunk."

(( OOC: Open post but since Eva's going to be bemoaning the state of everything everywhere, please poke me first if you want to throw a character she's never met before at her. ))

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"Talking books, too. The ship scooped up enough insanity to make my head hurt. Do we have a drug store?" He didn't think it would work. As much as there were events in his life he'd like to change, everything had a bad habit of water-falling. Getting worse if you tried to change one thing.

Time paradoxes seemed like the least of his worries.

"Or one who needed some new entertainment in her life, one of the two." He smiled into the glass, watching Eva. It was strange to think of her as a friend, and not practicly an aunt.

But the thought of going home made him smile, a real one this time, not the slightly forced wisp. It looked different now than it had when he was younger, more careworn and tired, but it gleamed in his eyes.

"We have the Great Wall of China. I'm not sure if we have a drugstore, but I wouldn't be shocked if we did. Or if it sold time machines." She smiles back, happy to see something on his face that genuine and less-scared. It's good to see. She worries about him more than anyone else on the ship besides Marco.

"Oh come on, don't you trust me? Besides, I don't have a camera, or letting you go do stupid things might seem much more tempting."

"Time machines and old gum. Sounds like just the sort of gig this place needs. I didn't know we had the Great Wall." Everything felt scared and sideways lately. Being infested was hard, figuring out what to do after who you were after being infested seemed like it was going to be even harder.

"Right, so we make sure you don't run into any film on any of the planets we stop at and we're all fine?"

"You know, we could run a place like that, the two of us. Start a little metro-mart with odd thises and thats inside an abandoned building. I'm sure there's some place in The City that would do." Besides, anything that gives them something to do, some way to feel valuable, can only be a good thing unless it's taken away.

"I think there are plenty of things besides film that would prevent us from being fine," she says a bit darkly, taking another drink.

"We probably could, but getting stock in sounds like it would be a pain. We don't really stop that often. Maybe if we ever make it back or something."

In Tom's experience, anything that could make you feel valuable could all too easily be ripped away without a second thought.

Or even be forced to rip it away yourself. His hands had come too close to taking everything away from him.

He lips twitched, an automatic response that said he should smile, even if she hadn't said anything funny. "Yeah, well. I think we're all a fair mark from 'fine' anyway. But hey, baby steps, right?" He didn't sound hopeful, free hand drumming against the table unconsciously and taking another too large drink of his wine.

"Well, there has to be stuff in the unexplored areas of The City. We'd be doing everyone a favor to localize it all, organize it, make it easy to find..." She takes a contemplative sip. It's easy to plan things when drunk - you don't have to think about all the little hitches in the plan, just the possibilities.

"We'll be fine. We always are," she says, as much for herself as Tom. 'Fine' is relative anyway, and defined broadly enough, it can include two shell-shocked, scared people distanced from themselves. She glances down at his hand, at her own drumming a four-four beat. "You could at least try to match my rhythm, you know."

"Probably, I mean if the Great Wall is hanging around, surely someone missed a Quickie Mart. Or a Costco...man, Costco. That sounds like fun and I used to hate shopping." Strange how thing that used to be such minor irritations of daily life could become things you missed.

"Yeah." Maybe she was fine, he still didn't feel fine. And he wasn't sure if 'always' even applied in the context of the conversation, but he tried to smile to confirm her statement.

It failed when he noticed his hand, squeezing his fingers into a fist to stop the motion. "Sorry, I didn't realize I was doing it."

"I would kill for a Costco. Although when I was younger they were called Price Clubs. At one point we bought a larger fridge just because the benefits of buying frozen goods in bulk there outweighed the cost of an upgrade." How odd it is that completely banal conversations seem so comforting in this strange life of theirs.

She's not fine. She's fidgety and scared and feels rotten throughout with how much trouble she's caused everyone today. And that bruise on her face hurts. But the longer you pretend the easier it gets to believe the lie.

"Oh, no, sweetie, I was teasing. Tap away to your heart's content. We could make a nice percussion section together."

"Mom used to go once a month. Get pounds and pounds of frozen stuff. Kept it in the fridge in the garage. When we were smaller, Jake and I used to love going with her and eating all the free samples. It was like a game, running between the stations to see who got there first." He stared into the glass, enjoying the absolute nothing of the conversation.

But she could pretend better than he could, at least. He still had to learn how to lie again.

"No...it's ok...sorry." He dropped his hand to his lap, keeping his fingers folded into a fist. "I didn't realize I was doing it."

"Your mother and I used to go together some weekends, when we'd leave you with Peter or your father. It gave us an excuse to get out of the house. Our little refuge from cartoons and peanut butter sandwiches and watching the same Disney movie for the five hundredth time." There's heavy nostalgia and longing in her voice. It feels like an entirely different life, starring some entirely different person who just happens to share the same face and some of the same traits. But then, they know all about sharing faces with other people. Eva only saw Edriss as a slug a handful of times. "I swear the score for The Fox and the Hound haunted my dreams for half a year."

"Tom, have I ever asked you to apologize to me for anything? Don't start now." She shakes her head. "I never realize when I'm doing it either. I only realize when I stop it."

"Yeah. And Peter was bad at making sure Jake and Marco didn't get into everything. One time, I think they were like four, they smeared an entire bowl of pudding all over the fridge. I think he was laughing too hard to be mad at them. You two almost made it home before he got it cleaned up." He smiled, chewing briefly on his lip. "I think there are worse things to get stuck in your head."

He regretted the word choice almost as soon as they slipped out, ducking his head and closing his eyes.

"No, just...I hate losing track of myself. It's distracting. And disturbing. I don't think I used to do it, but I can't remember anymore if I didn't or it's just paranoia."

"Caretaking was never really his strong suit. Don't think I didn't find out about the pudding. There was still dried chocolate in the cracks of the fridge until we sold the thing." Though she instantly regrets the comment on Peter's parenting abilities - it's a sore spot for her, and it would be for him too if he were there. Which he's not. Another drink.

She doesn't miss the word choice, but the only way she can see to salvage the situation is to go with it. "Oh, I know. I spent about a year with that damn 'Glory of Love' song stuck in my head when it was popular. And Peter's opera music is about the worst way to try to kill a mental melody that you could possibly think of. It's all pretty tuneless to me."

She shrugs. "I think everyone does it sometimes. We just do it more. I wouldn't worry about it, and if anyone ever comments on it, you can hit them in the jaw and blame it on twitching."

"He didn't get much by you. He never could lie well, huh?" He'd give almost anything for Peter's bumbling attempts at parenting, or his parents bickering about stupid things in the kitchen.

"Yeah, one of the reasons I like poetry, easy to get it stuck and hard to root it out." Memory was their weapon, but often times it had become his weapon as well.

He rubbed his fingertips together, nodding very slightly. "Yeah. It's like yawning. Can't always stop yourself, but you feel better when you do it." He laughed softly. "I don't think I could hit someone."

"He's a terrible liar. He stammers and fidgets when he tries it." Which, unfortunately, makes him so easy to lie to - Eva's always suspected that Nora might not have been infested. She's just allowed herself to live in ignorant bliss and never brought it up with Marco. "There are worse traits you could ask for in a husband than honesty, believe me."

She has to use present-tense for Peter because she can't bear entertaining any other thought. He must be in the pods. He must be.

She nods. "Do you have favorites? I love Neruda but I'll admit to being biased." Not like she hadn't spent some time reciting snatches of Dario's 'Libertad' at Edriss during her more obnoxious moods. "And sure you could. You'd probably just apologize afterwards."

"Mom worried about him. He'd say he was alright and then he'd just get all awkward and quiet and go away. Not...really physically. I didn't really understand it so well when I was a kid."

Kaylee was right, some things just couldn't be explained. Some things could only be understood once they were lived. "Yeah. Nothing bad about that. Could use more people like that, you know?"

He smiled, hand twitching. "Maya Angelou. We read her once for class, assigned. Iniss hated her, so I got to do the homework. I loved her stuff. I loved everything I read of her. I was working on an essay when we came here, still have the books."

I. Me. Mine.

Fragile words. Painful words.

It's funny that, no matter how high up her walls are now, Tom's description of Peter still hits her in the gut. She looks away, letting her hands stop their erratic rhythm, and swallows bitter saliva. "Yeah. He does that sometimes."

Those were the times he needed her, and those were also the times she wasn't there. And as much as she can't help but feel anger at him for disconnecting like that, especially when Marco was young, she also can't help but feel sorrow and responsibility. Can't help but wish her husband could be enthusiastic and patient and affable and content all the time, instead of this sunken in version of himself that cameos every few years, at the most inopportune times.

"Self-pity in its earliest stage is as snug as a feather mattress," she recites, "only when it hardens does it become uncomfortable. Smart woman. Excellent poet. I'd like to borrow those books sometime, if you wouldn't mind terribly."

Talk about poetry. It's easier.

He felt like he should apologize. He hadn't meant to even bring Peter up. He reached out, grabbing her hand and giving it a tight squeeze. "Yeah." He kept their fingers laced, looking at his glass.

"I think everyone does that sometimes."

He smiled at the quote. ""You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them." He muttered. "She was a treasure. I don't think I've ever encountered something that spoke to me so clearly. They're at home, I'll have to grab them. But I don't mind. I've discovered I prefer books, though. Iniss doesn't mind reading the data-pads, but I much prefer the weight of books. It feels more real."

She half-smiles at the touch. They both need that. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm always aware and lively and I never am awkward."

She nods. "The pads are definitely nice, but I miss the books too. I had Borges' entire oeuvre, all the nice editions, back home." Shame Stacy didn't think to save those. "We should start a bookclub, after we're done setting up a metro-mart. We can foist Angelou and Neruda on everyone we meet."

Touch was one of the few things the Yeerks couldn't block out completely. Not without a lot more effort than they were willing to expend. If fidgeting helped, then holding hands took it one step further. Fidgeting was proving you had control. Holding someone's hand, well, that proved something different. That you were part of the world. That you weren't alone. "Well, I'm not and pretty much constantly awkward."

He laughed softly. "Yeah. Get Superman to sit down and read poetry. Convince Batman that the true meaning of life is in Plath and Borges and we can defeat the Ohm with the siren song of Whitman."

"If you haven't noticed, I was being sarcastic. I'm awkward at least fifty percent of the time I'm not awkward, if we're discussing ratios." She's just better at shrugging it off and not letting it show. Although tonight the weakness is still showing through the seams. She keeps her hand entwined with Tom's.

"Laugh all you want, but I think it's a good idea. At the very least it's a way to meet people with good taste. Maybe these childhood superheroes of yours will surprise us."

"Bad at catching those." He ducked his head, taking another drink of the almost forgotten wine.

"Maybe, it just seems like...I don't know, we're in the middle of a war and no one would want to talk about it." When he talked to Eva, he didn't feel like he was constantly a bother, talking to a large group of people about something he personally enjoyed? A completely different story.

Hobbies, for the infested, were never viewed as important. Basketball had been pushed to the wayside the moment Temrash could reasonably dump it. Everything else he had taken an interest in over the years had just as easily fallen to the wayside.

"Just remember who you're talking to. I've never been completely serious."

"What else do you want to talk about in the middle of a war? Guts and glory and hard decisions all get boring after a while." 'Boring' is the most accurate descriptor at all, but it sounds better than 'soul-crushing', 'disillusioning' and 'traumatizing'. "I think it'd be a nice distraction for people. Whether or not you're joining me, I think I'm going to do it."

"Except when Marco does something dangerous. Then you're completely serious." His lips twitched in an attempt to smile, though it wasn't quite sincere.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." He looked away, down at the glass and keeping his head down.

He hadn't been allowed to have hobbies for a long time. "I'd come it just..it seems weird."

As if to prove his point, her face does get very grave at that. "And that's why he shouldn't do dangerous things. It ruins my image."

She chuckles a bit. "We live on a spaceship full of tentacles and snot and the Great Wall of China. 'Weird' doesn't begin to describe it."

"Can we just get him and Jake and Rachel to stop doing insane things that might get them killed? Because that's my vote." He settled a bit better, holding Eva's hand in his.

"Is it bad that snot and tentacles and all that stuff seem normal now, but the weird thing is pretending to be normal?" The words were soft, head still bowed over the wine.

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