dualislogs | What's that crashing sound that follows us around?

Jane watches, taking in every detail of the executions. She needs to -- whatever they're up against she needs to know, for the good of the other sixty-four. For Kay. So she watches the broadcast, her fist resting against her chin as tears gather in her eyes. She doesn't notice when they begin to fall, which is sometime around the first death. She just keeps blinking to keep her eyes clear, and breathes deeply, audibly, when it's over.

Once it's over she stands up slowly, breathing deeply, shutting her eyes. Her outline blurs.

Hammerhead punches the television set, shattering the screen and parts of the plastic frame.

"Stupid motherfuckers!" she spits, kicking at the toppled electronic frame. It shatters into smaller pieces, which doesn't seem to satisfy her. "FUCK it! It's good they're dead!"

He doesn't think it's good they're dead. He does, however, know better than to say that out loud in the dorms. And he is angry that thanks to all of the Heart's helpful shit, they're actually at an enormous disadvantage. Enhanced monitoring. A way to shut down the power grid closed off.

"I don't know what they expected when they decided to dress up like fucking Death Eaters."

He sits back scowling, tablet on his lap. That haggard fact just reeking of all the disapproval he can fucking muster. Stinking of it. "God I'm glad Heather didn't see this." Heather as she was, anyway. "Little girl shouldn't have to go through that once, very well twice."

"Fuck them," Hammerhead growls, pacing across the room like a tiger in a cage. "Idiots were too fucking stupid to act like fucking human beings. Fuckin' shitheads had nothing to offer us."

Her outline blurs again and Jane's body twists in on itself, contorting into a curled-up ball. Sylvia glances up at him through dark, dark eyes.

L͛͊o̜̞͎̣̔́͛̚o̖͍̼̰̭k ͐̊̃ͩa͈̗̱t ̝͉͎͚̠̹͇͊ͩͤͦͩͭ̋t̻̖̦̲͉haͤ̐ͧ̈́̄̚t, s̱̰̬̙̋̅̾̊ad̟͔̖̒̆̐ ̒͋̒̓̔̋lí̥̫͐tt̼̫̦̖̹̻̻͑͆̀̿ͨ͐̚l̲̼͚̹͕̘e sp͋ͪḛ̟͎̭ͨ̓͊ͭc͓̩̪̦̪̜̱͂̃̓ͮ͑ͦ̚i̮̱͚̙̘͈̭m̘̯̓ͦe͈̭̫n̊̉̽̈ͩs ͆̔f͈̟͉͔̮̀ͯ́̏̿o̝͍̖̫̦ͯͨ̽̋̈́r̫͒ ̇ͅȇͭ͂ͪxt̮̙̳ͥ͛̋e̜͈ͫͬrͯ̄ͩ̑ͤ͒m̹̖͎ͩ̈ͩi̽̑ň̈̎ͥ̽͋̒ḁ̮̜̘̖ṯ̳̞̾ͣ̉i̭̮̲ͦ͆̏̇ͅo̅̈̍n͆ͨ̈́̿̚.̝̋

Again her form blurs and Jane is in the driver's seat again, breathing deep. She turns to look at Hank curiously. "Who's Heather? Your daughter?"

Oh Jesus she is really stressed. And scared? He's taking a wild stab in the dark.

First, answer the question reasonably, even if he hackles internally. "No uh... she was a girl who lived in the building until a couple of months ago. Spunky but sweet. Came from a life on the run. She had a memory that got stuffed in my head. A cult burned a cop at the stake, they made her watch when she was little. About the same age my son was." He does admit that much. "The woman that died told her not to look as she was suffering and I just... I'm glad she doesn't have to relive that."

At least as an original. Right now, she might be able to handle it. She's programmed to be glad it happened.

"Sounds like everyone in there is pretty angry at the moment. I am too." They got themselves killed. And because of them, they're all a little closer to death.

Stressed and scared are usually a safe gamble when it comes to Jane et al. She's taking control, though, doing her job. She's the primary, she keeps control of what's going on as much as she can.

So Heather was just a girl Hank took care of, a girl the same age as his son -- she nods, she can understand that. That was good of him to do, and she was glad this Heather had avoided seeing these sights.

"Everyone in here's about ready to explode," she admits. Then she pauses. "What was your son's name?"

Edited 2020-01-21 09:25 (UTC)

Well, when she'd seen the disaster. A teenager here. A barista who, like the Hangman's Daughter, got stripped of her chance at normalcy. This place is fucking horrible to everyone.

"...Cole."

He says, quietly. "His name was Cole. And I live in fucking fear I'm gonna look out in one of these crowds and-" see his face. He swallows thickly. It's not just too much to say where they're being monitored, it's too much to feel.

"God I want some fucking whiskey. I hate these assholes. Hold on, I'm gonna go to my room and get a fucking bottle."

Jane pauses, the other personalities held back at the moment. She looks up at him, frowning. "Fuck. Hank, I'm sorry."

She leans over, elbows resting on her knees. "Share some with me, will ya? This is bullshit."

"Yeah, no problem."

He leaves, and when he returns it's with a bottle of whiskey and an alert Doberman in tow, because everyone around her is acting off. He sits beside of her and doesn't even offer a glass. He just uncaps the bottle, takes a swig, and hands it off. Whiskey is self sterilizing, it's fine.

Maggie sits between them on the floor, staring at the screen before cocking her head.

Jane takes the bottle and gulps from it, not giving a fuck whether Hank's mouth has been on it. Once she's finished she hands it back to him in lieu of a thank-you. It wasn't helping enough and Jane reached into a pocket of her sweatshirt, extracting a joint and lighting it.

"I'm about to freak the fuck out." She runs her hand through her hair, breathing deeply. "I'm about thirty fucking seconds away from some shit going down."

He doesn't complain about it. It's just pot. It's legal back where he comes from by his time. And even then? Fuck it. Probably could use a contact high.

"I don't think it's just you. I also don't think this is the desired response... I don't mean just you. I mean all of us.

"I think we're supposed to be scared. I'm not scared."

He's pissed the holy fuck off.

Jane's not sharing the joint, she's going to need everything she gets if she's not going to set something on fire or punch through a wall. Hank can have the contact high but she's not passing it to anyone.

She wishes she had something stronger. Then she sits up straighter as it dawns on her: she does.

Something that might make the little fire trick the Head pulled during the execution a lot less likely. She'd come in with a dose of an opiate that rendered superpowers useless, had tested it herself. She could take that now, or find a way to get more of it.

"I'm not scared either."

Hank leans back with his whiskey, takes a long, long swig that should by all rights destroy his throat but he doesn't seem to mind. Then his lips crease into the smallest smile. Like something just occurred to him.

"Hm. Funny how everyone wanted to be on the street and in the park for this."

The idea passes through his head. Yeah, yeah if he found an idea. This proud motherfucker. This goddamn piece of shit cocksucking computer. This 'brilliant AI', and his love of his special disease.

Oh, oh Hank has an idea.

"What?" Jane looks at him, disgusted and surprised by his comment. "The fuck are you talking about?" To her it looks sick, sadistic -- how could people want to watch this? She doesn't understand why he's smiling.

She holds out her hand for the bottle again, looking at Hank sternly. She thinks she's missing something Hank must have noted, and she's not happy about it. She doesn't see herself being happy again for a long time.

"I got an idea." Is what he says. He reaches over and turns up the TV, to the sounds of cheering.

"This place is littered with surveillance. So is any place that new people rented, or where they've held a NAPS. So. Wanna hear the idea? I know a good bar."

She's still confused, more than a little disgusted when he turns the TV up, but his mind's clearly on some track she's not following.

"...Sure." If Hank hadn't stumbled on the idea that would take the Head down, at least they could get drunk.

"You know... What killed the Heart was some showboaty bullshit. I think some people-" the Head "-aren't going to learn from their mistakes."

He wags his finger loosely at the screen, hazards a sip, before passing it off to Jane. But at least the triumphant smile is gone.

Was his idea just to be discreet? She still doesn't get it, staring at him as her joint smolders between her fingers.

"This sounds really cool in your head, right?"

"Does anything about how I look right now-" he motions to his head, his fluffy hair, his shirt, etc "-leave you with the impression I'm trying to sound cool? My brain to mouth filter is running at half capacity right now anyway. I'm pissed."

He makes a motion at the screen.

"He does these... these big fuckin' showy things. And he puts everyone outside- You know what? Fuck it."

"How the fuck would I know? I can't read your mind!" Maybe the pot and whiskey are having an effect on her (not enough of one, if you ask her). "Okay, fuck it." More annoyed than she was a moment ago, she grabs the bottle from his hand and takes a deep drink.

"You want to go to this bar or what?"

"Yeah, Bar's better."

And of course, it's Rick's that he intends to go to. Even if it might be a stretch to get there. He can already hear celebrating in the streets over the death of the Heart even through the outside windows.

Everyone's super damn good time.

He's taking the stairs. The elevator seems like a deathbox now, after seeing Mello.

Jane doesn't want to go on the street either: that merriment is just going to disgust her even more, and when Jane gets disgusted enough someone else comes out. Someone who might just cause a scene and potentially get another execution or two added to the lineup as an encore.

Her outline blurs, but this time her appearance doesn't change at all. Flit's never stayed around long enough to make many changes beyond her brief eyeroll at the whiskey bottle still in her hand. "So I guess this bar is BYOB?" She grabs Hank's hand and they disappear.

When they reappear a second later it's in Rick's with a possible side effect of nausea, as Flit has an uncannily good sense of direction and the transportation comfort of a roller coaster. She shrugs. "Whatever." Then her outline blurs again, Jane glances around, and takes another swig of Hank's whiskey.

Edited 2020-01-26 09:45 (UTC)

"I bought the booze from it so they-"

He's cut off as the whole world isn't, and then is again. He staggers, dizzily reaching for a brick wall. The bar is active, because everyone is celebrating, though because there are other people with powers they just cheer. There's some noise, activity, etc.

But Hank stammers before gesturing to Jane to follow. No one really pays attention to them. They're all pretty engaged in their festivities.

"Come on."

He'll go inside and lead her downstairs. He has access to the basement, even without the usual doorman there. "Jesus she didn't stick around long," he mutters to himself.

Bottle to her lips, Jane raises one middle finger and lifts it aloft. The party trick's over so none of the bar patrons seem to notice, and those who do are in high enough spirits that they don't care.

"Yeah, she goes where she wants." Quickly and exuberantly, unlike Jane who follows Hank with slumped shoulders while trailing smoke behind her.

"What is this, the secret VIP sex dungeon?"

"Yeah and I'm bringin' the queen of the dicks. Come on."

He opens the door and heads into the downstairs shop, which is full of little bits of electronics that, blissfully, don't connect to the internet. Its not until the door is closed that he starts saying anything.

"Usual shop owner keeps this locked up and has a door guy. They can tell who clones are. Better than any of us can, so I made this-" he goes to where he'd been putting shit up on a bulletin board, and he's about to start writing something else.

"So the head told me a few things with his little performance. One? He's still got the virus, he's been modifying it, he probably also has cures for it. He also told me every time he does one of these big displays he puts everyone outside. Within easy grabbing distance of each other. Meaning if we spread a computer virus between them, they'd be vulnerable. He confirmed that we have to disable the chips in our heads 'cause he can control us, and the motherfucker's showed off we can use tattoos to regulate our own abilities. Vergil's were suppressed by a tattoo the Malakye put on his back. That wasn't the Head's doing. That was an act by an organized crime family restricting his abilities.

"Which means, maybe, someone with a control problem can hone theirs if we can uh... liberate-" he taps the deprogramming of the clones "-a couple of good modders and tattoo artists? Or if one of us learns to do it ourselves."

"Touché, dickwad." And from her mildly bewildered blinking at the varied electronics around, she really did expect a sex dungeon before this. She snuffs out the joint between her fingertips, letting the ashes fall to the floor as she listens.

"So you think we can find a way to change what these fuckers are thinking?" Jane considers that, lining it up with what she's learned about Dualis since arriving. "Do you know how? I've been staying the fuck away from this mod and tattoo shit." She doesn't want anyone messing with her any more than she's already been messed with. If she can't have control no one else can, including the Head.

"See, I had some other ideas." Ideas about limiting powers, and ideas about what they can do with the clones.

What's that crashing sound that follows us around?

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cw: drug use

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