tolaywaste | 26. » private, video, spam

spam } aeryn & charles

[Alex has spoken to both his inmate and his now-legal guardian, trying to figure out a way to address the part of Aeryn's rehabilitation he feels least equipped to handle: her anger. What he hasn't done is gone into any great detail with either of them about how he wants this guidance to proceed.]

[In a way, he wants it to be something he and Aeryn can do together; in another way, he wants it to be as organic as possible, and so he pushes thoughts of structure away.]

[He calls them both to the CES. Bring jogging clothes, he says, because in his experience, just talking without moving can be a little bit terrifying. He waits just inside the entrance, stretching and plotting a path through the high grasses the room has given them today.]

private/voice } anya

Hey. We need to talk. [He hesitates, thinking of Snow and of Ben who would want him to actually be honest, not just truthful.] I mean, I need to talk about a bunch of things. But you, too.

Do you, you know. Have a minute?

private } crichton

We need to talk about Aeryn.

public } video

[See Alex. See Alex at the skating rink, with all necessary hockey accoutrements, just finishing up playing some solo hockey. Badly. The communicator appears to be resting on the wall of the rink; he waves at it pretty vigorously, his breath hanging in the air.]

Hey! So as some of you know - some of you new people, I guess, maybe don't - we have a skating rink. I have the keys and everything, but as long as you don't stab anyone with skates you're welcome. And we've been talking about having a serious hockey tournament for ages, so - here's phase one: try to beat me into the ice. Because seriously, it's the only way I'll learn.

Or come out and do some one-on-one, whatever you want. I'll be out here all afternoon.

open } spam

[And he is - out on the ice for the rest of the morning and into early afternoon, until he has to run to cover Ben's kitchen shift. He's been doing this more frequently lately than usual because Ben's been sick, but even now he's not the best at it. Kitchen work doesn't come naturally to him, but at least he follows direction well.]

[Immediately after lunch, he takes a walk in the CES, then attacks the CTS full force. The simulation it provides is terrifying in its sterility: robots twice his height, slow-moving but determined to capture rather thn terminate. His endeavor is to dismantle rather than destroy - a finesse exercise.]

[He leaves the CTS a smoking ruin. He's not much for finesse these days.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[And Ben watches. He doesn't always seem to be looking at Alex, tilting his gaze up at the lights over the rink, back at the door, at the lockers behind him with supplies for those who are unprepared. He drifts around the circumference of the ice in silence, and he seems to disappear when other people show up, but he doesn't actually leave. He just holds himself decidedly separate.

He wanted to watch; it wasn't hockey, or hockey practice, that he came to see.

At last, he's seen enough: Ben appropriates a pair of skates from one of the lockers, strips off his field jacket to leave the civilian sweater Riddick gave him for Christmas, and moves out onto the ice with cautious, careful wariness. Transgenics are never clumsy, but he's not used to this, and it takes effort not to go crashing down.]

[It takes a second for Alex to come back to the present when Ben begins to move; once he steps onto the ice, Alex turns to look at him with confusion, brows furrowed.]

You need - Ben, are you okay?

[He sounds hesitant, almost shy.]

Edited 2014-02-23 04:22 (UTC)

Yes.

[Ben, in return, is certain of that much anyway; he frowns with concentration, keeping one hand out to the wall while he slides first one foot, then the other, along the ice without lifting them, feeling how the blades and his weight cut into the top layer. Like every beginner, when he feels confident enough to push away from the wall, he attempts to merely walk first.

He doesn't fall. But he does glance up sharply, going very still with his feet shoulders-width apart and both arms out for balance.]

Alex? Show me?

[This makes him almost, almost smile, like nothing else in the world could right now. He cuts a little closer on the ice, stopping far enough away that he won't upset Ben's balance, but close enough that he can reach out slightly, hockey forgotten as his fingertips stretch out to his friend.]

I'm right here.

It's just like walking, Ben. Walking without picking your feet up. And it's okay if you fall some. I fall all the time.

I won't fall.

[This with something very close to petulant determination, childlike confidence in himself and his abilities more than doubt or insult to those who do fall. He's an X5. He doesn't fall down.

Physically, anyway.

But he does slide his feet forward twice and, when he nearly overbalances, lashes a hand out reflexively to catch hold of Alex's wrist. He doesn't fall, but he does hold on like he thinks he might.]

Is there a reason "hockey" cannot be conducted on some form of terrain friendlier to the natural motion of bipedal beings?

[Alex's hand squeezes lightly, just one time and out of reflex, making sure Ben's is secure in his grip. Then he loosens his fingers and stands there sort of awkwardly, like a walking, breathing railing.]

That's what field hockey's for.

[He grins, mischievous.]

But it's not as fun because it's not as slippery.

[The look Ben casts his friend is decidedly more along the lines of unimpressed than it is annoyed, though he does not point out that it would likely be more suitable regardless because fields are softer than ice.

Not that he cares either way about ice. He's built to withstand it and he can, and if Alex can learn how to do this, Ben is confident he can. Alex will teach him.

His eyes narrow down at Alex's feet, transfer to his own, and he adjusts his stance in better imitation.]

I don't suppose you could be convinced to transfer your interest to field hockey. [Some of the edge has worn off with his concentration, and he slides his feet forward just as Alex described, grip still tight on his friend. It's just a precaution.]

[He scoffs, blowing some hair out of his face and lacing their fingers together gently, like he doesn't realize he's doing it.]

We can do that, too. But not instead of.

What? You don't think you can beat me at this, so you want to quit?

[He doesn't actually think this is true. But trash-talking with Ben is a lot of fun, and it makes Alex feel a little more normal in this crazy place. Best to indulge in that feeling whenever he can.]

[Ben is not great at trash-talking; he knows this. He doesn't do it with anyone but Alex, or at least so blatantly - in fact he only tells the truth with others, if he is saying he is better at something, or will be. But it is, in its way, fun and Ben keeps up his end now.]

I'm being polite, Alex. I want you to have a minimum of one thing you can do better than I can.

[But now he motions with his head, nodding out in front of them, squeezing one more time - unconsciously, apparently - before loosening his grip so Alex can move away from him.]

Show me again.

[He scoffs, but he's grinning, wider than before. It's such a little thing. But it's what friends do.]

Oh, okay, I see how it is. Get me to show you again and then you're gonna show me up.

[He feigns like he's not gonna show him, but it was, of course, a foregone conclusion. Alex will always help Ben.]

One foot at a time. Like walking, the same rhythm, but longer. Sliding along the ice.

You can come with me if you want. I'll go backwards. I figured out how to do that. [He sounds absurdly proud of himself.]

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