He Holds His Crayon Rosary [Open]

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

It's been a long time since Howard engaged in some harmless graffiti. Two years, if not a little more. He's exhausted from a long shift in Med Bay and then hitting the Media Library for his new Leon-appointed position, but it seems like the urge to vandalize things has been pent up for so long that he has all the energy in the world to do this.

The memory-statues and painting under the giant lit-up head in the Art Hall are as good a place as any. Using permanent marker, some pink spraypaint and his knife, he starts to carve and mark things into the shifting wall.

DGIG KILLED 1ST CREW

STACY WIPES MINDS

DON'T TRUST THEM

The paintings and statues shift and mold to his memories, images both calm and terrifying, images he remembers and ones he's long forgotten. There's him playing basketball in his driveway. There's Orc's face torn open by flesh-eating worms. There's a massacre, and there's a busy cafeteria, and there's Disneyland, there's the first time he broke his nose and there's him sleeping in math class. The statue becomes a child's corpse and then an impatient P.E. coach and then his grandmother. On the wall, the images keep shifting, but the marks he's making stay where they are, black and pink and chiseled.

WRITE IT ALL DOWN

Comments

[paidinbeer]

It's surprising how quietly a ton of rock and gravel can sneak up on you, especially when you're working and trying to ignore horrible statues.

Orc considers Howard's works. He's somehow been dressed today in pants at least rather then just the plant suit. And he doesn't reek of beer so maybe he's actually not drunk...yet.

"How is it doing that?" He asked with a note of discomfort as his eyes were drawn to the shifting statues.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard jumps up when he hears Orc, partially because he's surprised and partially because he's used to doing things for Orc as soon as Orc wants them done. "Oh, hey, man. Didn't hear you there."

He follows Orc's gaze to one of the statues, which is doing an uncannily accurate recreation of Drake tied up in the basement right now. Even knowing it isn't real, Howard shrinks back a bit, closer to Orc, his protector. "I don't know. It's some kind of memory thing. Alien technology."

And it'll start pulling images out of Orc's head too before too long. "Probably best we walk away quickly is anyone else comes. I don't like us broadcasting our secrets to any stranger who walks by."

[paidinbeer]

Orc made a audible growl when he saw Drake and even though it wasn't real he made a fist and shifted his weight moving just a little bit closer and inbetween Howard and the statue before managing to tear his eyes away and look at the rest of Howard's handywork.

"What's all this?" He asked struggling to read the words. Orc had never been the best at reading and alien words were impossible.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard doesn't mind scooching behind Orc and away from the Drake statue, art or not. As he watches, the statue starts to shift again. He can't make out what it is yet.

"There's a conspiracy going on, man. You don't got to worry about it any. I'm taking care of it." That's a complete and utter lie, but at the very least Howard has his fingers in that cookie jar, so he can figure out how to keep him and Orc safe if it comes to it.

He points to the statue, now finished its transformation. "Hey, that's you." A perfect replica of Orc in the 7th grade, before the FAYZ.

[paidinbeer]

Orc was very quiet as he looked at the person who was both a stranger and so familiar. It scared him looking into those beady little eyes. That smug smirk like he was king of the world when really he was just a bully.

His fingers curled into a fist and he tensed up tighter as the statue shifted again. He knew what it was before it even finished. Him, with a bat. A girls head connecting sharply with her temple.

He hadn't seen it in such vivid detail before. He had been drunk, and it had all happened so fast. He forgot Howard was even there as his eyes drank in the detail of how her skin rippled around the bat. How her eyes were crossed and tears were leaking through the corners of her eyes.

And worse then the pain on her face? Was the triumph on his own. He looked so proud of himself swinging that Louisville slugger into her face. It was for a petty, stupid reason too.

He murdered her. She died because of that moment of poor judgment.

His insides churned with bile and he felt hot. Faint. He stumbled forward and let out an anguished roar swinging a massive fist for his own grinning stupid face on the statue.

[theboywhodied]

Cedric's never seen this room in his wanderings before. Statues line the hall, clearly important, but they're fairly creepy. He thinks he should probably leave.

That lasts until he spots Howard and the unsettling messages being left in the shifting scenery. He walks closer to read them all---more messages like what he's been reading on the channel. The ones who collected the crew, the Daligig, are evil. People have been calling for action, but what happens if their memories are wiped?

It's a lot to consider. So much so that he almost misses the actual content of the scenes at first---they register for later, though. "Busy?"

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"Not really." Howard finishes carving in another reminder and stands up and back. Without the intense focus on the graffiti to decorate it, his face just looks tired and stressed. He glances over at Cedric. "You've been following all this, right?"

[theboywhodied]

Cedric doesn't like that look at all. He knows something's been wrong on the ship for a while, but it's clearly gone straight to Howard's face.

"Somewhat," he whispers, gesturing to the carved messages. "I know what that's referring to, at least. You know more, don't you?"

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"I always know more. I'm good at that, Knowing Things." His eyes slide over Cedric's shoulder to see the image the memory painting is creating. Howard, emaciated, scrabbling through the underbrush eating dirt-covered roots out of the ground. And the statue is him as a six year-old, playing with a toy telescope.

He'd rather Cedric see the statue, so he pretends to be interested in it. "You come here often? It's kind of...weird."

Tighter in his hand

[grimbiker]

Sirius hadn't been exploring so much as wandering. He couldn't bear staying still for too long. He found himself in the art hall, a place he hadn't been to often.

He stood for a while, watching Howard's creative contributions.

"Having fun?"

Now from his pocket quick he flashes...

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"Not really." Howard turns around and tilts his head at the new guy. He hasn't met him before. Howard's fingertips are red from holding the knife tightly enough to carve into the painting's surface. "Who're you?"

The crayon on the wall he slashes

[grimbiker]

Sirius walked over to Howard so he could better inspect the art. "Didn't think so but it looks like it could be fun." Desecrating paintings was a tradition of his, though he didn't remember it. "I'm Sirius Black."

Deep upon the advertising

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard can't resist. "Are you serious, Sirius?"

And then, laughing at his own wit, he folds his arms and looks down at his handiwork. "That's a weird name."

[hit_girl_mindy]

It's one of those days where she just is restless: there was training, and there was hanging with her girlfriend, but then there were the times Hit Girl just struck out on her own, wandering, creeping about. Sometimes you saw her and sometimes you didn't: she was fairly good at that by now, what with how important it was to move swiftly and all when sneaking up on somebody.

And who should she come across on one of these restless days of hers but Howard, the guy that gave her the physical not too long ago. He was, of all things, penning graffiti on the wall. She couldn't help but laugh.

"That almost feels like home, seeing this."

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"You wanna join? I got an extra marker."

He figures that Hit Girl's not really the type of person to throw a hissy fit about a little graffiti, given her colorful vocabulary. He tosses a sharpie to her.

"Figure it's best to write down everything, everywhere."

[hit_girl_mindy]

"Sure, why not?" Yeah, graffiti back in her world was pretty much just a way of making sure that pristine things knew better than to stay that way. She grabbed the said item and started scrawling immediately, writing some pretty choice words about the Daligig and the Ohm and their mothers.

"What made you decide to do this? Random inspiration?"

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"I figure if everyone gets mindwiped and repodded, there might as well be something public for everyone to find. Keeping a journal's really only good for the people reading it." He glances over at Mindy's scrawl and snorts. "Where do you even learn those words?"

[youmissed]

John spends more time wandering and exploring than sitting with his module - there's only so much you can do there to keep busy and he's triple checked it so much now that he's just flicking switches at that point.

So he explores. They said there was a Media Library here, which means DVD or VHS or at least something he can pretend is like the Earth equivalent, and he thinks he could use something that looks like it's home. He's on his way when he backpeddles up a few steps and...

Whoa, graffiti central. John figures he can put the Media Library on hold, the human entering the Art Hall, his head swiveling and taking in some of the downright funky statues, others he actually recognizes from magazines.

"'Write it all down?' That's deep," John says as he finds the tagger. Somehow he's not surprised it's Howard: considering the kid's a thief, tagger doesn't seem like it's much more of a stretch.

For some reason "write it all down" hits home. John gazes at the marks, biting his lip thoughtfully. Write it down. Grab onto it, kicking and screaming if you had to get it out of your system, but write it down because that might be the only proof you have in the end. He files that away as useful advice.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"I'm not going for deep. I'm going for concise. This stupid wall's hard to carve in." Howard shakes one hand out - his fingers are blotchy white and reddened from pressing the knife hard into the wall.

He sits back on the ground and admires his scrawling handiwork, then looks back at John. The last time he saw him was that weird shared dream they had, which Howard's tempted to ask John if he remembers but decides against. 'You were in my dream the other night' just sounds a little weird, and out of fear for being found out as gay, he's been trying to avoid anything that could be twisted even in the most obscure way to look like he's attracted to guys.

But at least John isn't interrupting his bad behavior with a gun to the face. That's something. And while John isn't joining him, he's not taking the marker, knife or spraypaint away (Howard would part with the marker or spraypaint but he'd actually put up a fight over his beloved knife).

To the side, the statues start to shift again, forming images of Howard's school counselor from sixth grade. It's weird, how the statue's mouth is moving as if silently reciting Howard's memory of 'I feel like you're intentionally underperforming so you don't stand out...'. The memory painting starts to absorb memories from Crichton, too. Howard can see the module he tried to boost being designed.

"You ever come here before? It's super creepy."

[youmissed]

“Good point.” John actually laughs. It’s one of his surprised ones, almost like a bark. Why go for deep when you can go for practical? He’s glad all over he didn’t shoot Howard, flashing a grin at the kid, feeling that there’s some folks back home that would probably have some heartattacks and then some over how Howard’s treating the art here.

He’s distracted by the statues shimmering, shifting on him like Silly Putty on LSD and giving him that vertigo-kicked-you-in-the-ass feeling that you’d get your first EVA. To his credit, John doesn’t go weak in the knees like some people do when you stick them on a glass floor. He shakes his head.

“Haven’t had the chance.” He eyes that damn thing. Creepy’s one way of putting it, that’s for sure. John watches as it shifts from what he assumes is someone from Howard’s past to…well, currently it’s working on a pretty decent image of Pilot, complete with that alien version of the doe-eyed stare. John just hopes it doesn’t – oh, there it goes. It’s starting to already change to Scorpy, John figuring out real fast that he better keep thinking of Pilot. The hazy shape switches back to his favorite four-armed alien. “So the whole Stacy wipes minds thing. You think we could’ve been here longer than we think?”

It’s not exactly a nice thought. Actually, it skeeves him out way more than he wants to admit – the whole mind thing is a real touchy subject for him these days and he doesn’t like the idea of any more aliens poking around in it. He figures Howard’s the same, smart kid like that.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"We might not even be us. We might all be clones with a fake set of memories. Or Bladerunners."

Howard's paying closer attention to the statue once he realizes it's reacting to John's memories and not his, and as such, picks up quickly on the way it changes to something - and then, as if thinking better of it, starts to switch back. Like a jerky sort of art hanky-panky, you put your right foot in...

"You can control it?" Howard's eyes widen. He's tried a few times to get the memory statues to react to his wishes and commands, but that only seems to make it worse. And, honestly, since he couldn't make out what the statue was turning into, Crichton's control over the images fascinates him more than the Whatever That Was that Crichton doesn't want him to see. If Crichton's going out of his way to hide it, he's certainly not going to just up and tell Howard what it was if asked.

[lastgallifreyan]

"We don't."

The Art Hall was an interesting place and, although the Doctor spent the majority of his time working on the TARDIS, he'd still gone out of his way to explore as much of the ship as possible. It might come in useful one day. And it was certainly a good way to keep himself occupied. Boredom didn't suit the Doctor.

"I'm not sure this is going to help, though. What is it, exactly? Some sort of public service announcement? A bit of abstract art? There are galleries across the Milky Way that would pay a fortune for it."

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"Too bad we don't got any buyers. If we did I'd feel bad about tagging it."

Howard stands up and shrugs. He doesn't recognize the guy, but from the sound of it he's a traveler.

"Figure it's better to write things down everywhere than just in journals that get left alone if we get repodded." Or killed.

[lastgallifreyan]

"It's a good idea," the Doctor admitted. He hadn't bothered, of course. Although he'd been on the ship for a while now, the Time Lord still had an overabundance of faith in his own abilities. He'd remember everything that he needed to remember and he'd find a way to fix the mess that the Daligig and the Ohm had managed to make out of the universe.

"Of course, anyone clever enough to control putting us in and taking us out of the pods is probably clever enough to get rid of these sorts of messages. But it's still a good idea."

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"You'd think, but no. They weren't clever enough to get rid of all the hints we found along the way, especially the hologram. So maybe this'll get washed away, but that doesn't mean it all will. The more we put out there the more they're gonna miss."

Maybe, in a past life, Howard was an anarchist fighting against established government. Who knows.

"Anyway, what's your name, Crazy Eyes?"