[tfln/meme overflow]

[disproof]

(206): No, handcuffs and friendship bracelets are not "basically" the same thing.

Comments

Jonathan Sims | eyechivist

[disproof]

I hate it when you get drunk and philosophize in my kitchen. I barely understand Latin sober.

[disproof]

One of them told you to go home and take a nap. You managed half of that, anyway.

Do you remember the Latin?

[eyechivist]

I don't remember the Latin, no. But I remember the gist of what I was saying.
It wasn't philosophy.

[disproof]

What was it?

Or are you going to make me pay a fee to see the wonder?

Melanie King | ghosthuntuk

[disproof]

Sometimes the best medicine thermos of whiskey in the library.

[disproof]

He doth protest too much? Really?

[ghosthuntuk]

Yes, really. Do you have an explanation you'd like to give instead?

[disproof]

Would I like to explain your pet theory? No, Melanie. No, I wouldn't. I'm pretty sure that's your job, but we've had this discussion before.

Burden of proof is on the claimant.

Q | commandline

[disproof]

Just escaped from the ER. Meet me at the bar in 20 minutes.

[disproof]

You'll read it in the report tomorrow. You'll hear it again when I do the debrief in the afternoon. I'll give you the short version. [And before he does, he knocks back the whiskey and tips the bartender for a refill.] It went exactly as you'd expect interviewing a burgeoning cult leader to go. Actually--

[Yeah, another beer too, why not.]

[commandline]

They seem like the sort who'd be happy to rant all day about their beliefs, if given the chance. [ As narcissists so often are. Q sips his own whiskey at a much more reserved pace and watches Strand down his without comment...just raised eyebrows. ]

He didn't try to get you to join, did he?

[disproof]

[That gets a low-set chuckle, still a little soaked from the whiskey.] I'm hardly acolyte material. I try to be transparent about that. Shock and awe, they aren't going for--transparency. Particularly not where law enforcement is concerned.

[Eyebrows raised in kind, he casts a sideways glance at Q.] I, ah--I might need your help with management.

Eddie Gluskin | themandownstairs

[disproof]

birds singing to calm us down

[disproof]

As it turns out, Richard is a passable cook. He can cook anything simple, provided that exact measurements aren't a necessity. He doesn't bake, despite--as Eddie will notice only in the way he takes his coffee, in his regular purchase of little desserts and sugary things--having a pronounced sweet tooth. For their first few days together, he keeps to distinct breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. But even with this company, pretense fades eventually: Richard eats at irregular hours, picking throughout the day, relieving boredom or antsiness or a mental block by slipping down to the kitchen to rattling the packaging on something.

A lot of things go this way: tight and predictable initially, then slowly relaxing as they begin to feel each other's edge. Richard moves around the house as if holding his breath for the first week, a little jumpy and a lot attentive. It isn't as if he starts to feel safe--
Maybe he starts to feel safe. 

Not safe enough to unlock the door while he sleeps, but enough that he sleeps. In his teenage bedroom at first, leaving the master bedroom to Eddie who, for all intents and purposes, is sleeping for two. Once two weeks has slowly passed, however, he fall asleep over his computer in the office from time to time. In the arm chair by the bookshelf, office door open on the somewhat chaotic workspace he's made for himself. He keeps the kitchen and the living room tidy out of a roommate's respect, the bedroom clean out of having very little to mess with in the way of wardrobe--but if Eddie peeks in on his process, he'll see a whirlwind of books, papers, electronic devices of all ages and kinds. 

Richard's favorite, it seems, are USB drives with videos, and voice recorders. Eddie isn't subjected to the first, but he won't miss that they seem to drop out of Strand's pockets, out of his jacket, out of his bag or out of his hands when he comes in from his trips out. Submissions, he explains if asked. Cases he's asked to work on. 

(If Eddie takes a closer look, or if the swarm takes an interest, they'll find that the videos run a huge range of subjects, none of them savory: murders and hauntings, possessions and stalkings, conspiracy theorists and kidnappers. Strand keeps a library of the mystical and macabre on hand at any time, his very particular investigative specialty.) 

What Eddie will see, nearly daily, is the voice recorder. A little digital number, powered by AAA batteries, it sits on the table or counter or porch rail any time Richard asks hims questions. There's no hiding the difference between regular conversation and professional inquiries; Strand takes the same tone, but he makes a show of taking out the recorder when the real talk starts. He wants to know about Eddie's thoughts on cooking 

how he keeps the house
where he goes when he wanders the miles out of the house on warmer days
what he's thinking about at any given moment in the morning, in the afternoon, at sundown 

It's tempting to think he can lull Eddie into a sense of security and start planting recorders around secretly, but Strand has no illusions about avoiding the attention of the Walrider. He sticks to transparency. The last few days, his questions have probed closer and closer to real topics, not just small talk: what does this music remind you of? do you think about reaching out to your relatives? do you think about having a family? why? He doesn't push when he's deflected, no matter how much he wants to. This is a game of patience, at the end of the day. He has to wait Eddie out. 

After all, Strand shares very little about himself in return. He doesn't trust Eddie with any of it, even in isolation out here. If this goes belly-up, he won't put anything precious at risk. He takes work calls, though, in the office upstairs. He counsels university students and detectives and FBI agents and secretaries for conferences that he can no longer attend. He discusses workloads with his assistant in Seattle at length once a week. But nothing he lets Eddie see reveals much about his personal life; if anything, he has a distinct lack of meaningful relationships. 

It allows him to be less afraid than some, once the dust settles from moving back in. Not that he's without his nerves. Today, for example: it's been raining for days. The darkness would be enough to drive anyone crazy, nevermind practically being under house arrest. When the weather persists for the third day, Richard starts taking more frequent trips out of the office, laps around the house to make sure all is well. It's harder to sleep in the evenings, worrying whether Eddie is coalescing under the great noise of the rain on the roof. There's a leak in the basement by the fifth day, nothing structurally damning, but just enough extra stress to set him on edge. 
When he emerges from his office in the dark of the late afternoon, he doesn't see Eddie anywhere. Not pacing the master bedroom, nor reclining on the sofa, nor standing at the kitchen window, hands folded neatly behind his back. Strand reminds himself not to be jumpy (it doesn't work) and sets a pot of coffee on before he starts calling. 

"Eddie?" He opens the basement door to hear the benign drip of water and closes it again, easing towards the main stairs. "Ed? You awake?"

[themandownstairs]

Eddie himself is surprisingly domestic, at least in the beginning. His cooking leaves something to be desired until he spends a few days determinedly brushing up, relearning skills he hasn't used in several years. It's not a chore he has strong feelings about but there is something about having real, non-institutional food whenever he wants that makes him eager to try just about any recipe he finds. If asked he claims to barely remember his own preferences but he notes Richard's and is quick to try and cater to them as best he can.

He at no point shares his host's caution, as confident and self-assured as usual and clearly finds considerable amusement in Richard's initial jumpiness. The gradual relaxation is even better though and he's pleased the first time he finds the man asleep in the office with the door open. Those occasions he does find Strand asleep without a locked door between them, Eddie makes sure he's comfortable - a blanket if needed, a book nudged out of the way - and takes the opportunity to watch him for a while. Always leaving before he sees any signs of Strand waking but making no attempt to hide his presence - and the fact that no harm befell the man as a result of it.

He's far more careful about his own sleeping arrangements no matter how much time passes, similarly keeping the door to master bedroom locked of a night and on the rare instances he's caught dozing elsewhere, the hazy cloud of the swarm circles about him like a warning sign.

The various materials Strand works on garner some attention and he's mildly curious about the more outlandish materials, digging for what details Strand is willing to share but easily dissuaded from pursuing them. For the most part, Eddie himself is fastidiously clean and tidy, helped in no small part by his lack of personal possessions. His free time is spent sketching once he acquires the materials - mostly clothing designs though there are occasional rough images of Strand produced as well - exploring the surrounding areas, exercising. He repairs his own clothes and anything Richard or the house needs fixed, happy to spend hours sitting mending while they converse or the radio plays in the background.

And he watches. He takes in every detail, every piece of information he can about Richard, somewhere between avid pupil and predator.

That it to some extent goes both ways with all the recordings.... he can't decide how he feels about that. On one hand, Eddie loves the attention. He's more than willing to share his thoughts and feelings on every little inconsequential topic, to turn those questions back on Richard when he can get away with it and collect every scrap of information he can. He's openly unhappy with the scant details Strand provides but he keeps his expressions of displeasure civil. He gleans enough information from the other aspects of their living arrangement to satisfy. Eddie's answers are honest when the questions are easy, gushing over the idea of a family of his own, of romance, idealised fantasies that have little to do with reality. The harder questions - the family he does have, elements of his past - he spins cozy lies to answer, when he doesn't just outright change the subject and Strand's acceptance of these strategies means those questions never garner more than a flash of anger that quickly fades. Questions about the Walrider fall somewhere in the middle, occasionally answered freely, occasionally avoided with no discernable pattern.

Overall, he's surprisingly lucid and stable, given his history. Once or twice Richard might see his eyes start to glaze over, a certain distance entering his expression but these are the times he quickly disappears into the surrounding woodlands with the Walrider swirling about him, reappearing hours later calm and collected once again.

The swarm itself is an inconsistent presence, sometimes shadowing Eddie about as a swirling, chaotic mass that reflects his mental state. Other times it stay within its host, out of sight and passive until it emerges. And still other times it drifts about independently, a faintly visible, human shape that drifts through walls and the surrounding area.

It's all very... pleasant as far as Eddie is concerned, a comfortable little retreat, a chance to remember what life used to be like. That carries its own danger though.

The suffocating sense of being trapped has been building since the rain started and they were unable to leave the house. He tries going out in it once on the third day, but the battering cold of the downpour drives him back inside all too quickly. His attempts at sketching to pass the time... don't turned out well, designs scored by jagged lines and descending into rough, disfigured shapes before he tears them to pieces and abandons the attempt. There are things seething under his skin by the fifth day and the swarm is the least of them. It's a dark haze presently, moving around and through him, pin-pricks of discomfort as it dives in and out of his flesh, expressing its own restlessness.

They're prowling the upper floor of the house, stalking through the rooms as though searching for something he can't identify when he hears his name. It pulls his attention down, to the lower level and the other presence in the house. Slowly, Eddie makes his way to the stairs, appearing silently at the top. His eyes are wide and empty and when he sees Richard he tilts his head, silently studying him. The swarm writhes wildly an equally silent counterpoint to Eddie's own stillness.

god bless this post

[disproof]

That’s definitively no good, Richard decided quickly at the sight of Eddie. He knows that look—from the footage he’s committed to memory, from a few days over the last few weeks. But Eddie doesn’t have the luxury of slipping the house to blow off steam in this storm, and Strand doesn’t have the luxury of a pause button.

He desperately wants his recorder before he opens his mouth but it feels—rude. Richard slips his hands into his pockets slowly, moves completely into sight before speaking. “Coffee’s on. I’m taking a short break.”

A beat, breathless. “You with me, Eddie?”

Beverly Marsh | retraverse

[disproof]

This is a test message to see whether or not the recipient is alive.

[disproof]

More of the same. Other people with less interesting clown stories, mysterious voicemails, new restraining orders for the new stalkers.

[retraverse]

Stalkers plural, jesus
I only had to file one restraining order and I already feel the sympathy headache coming on
You okay?

Sam Drake | seekingmyfortune

[disproof]

tfln

[disproof]

Want to meet at a cool spot and just park like cops side-by-side and you can eat some potatoes and I can smoke a cigarette in your face?

[disproof]

[ On the one hand, it's really exciting to see the little wood-and-gold statue in a non-blurry-polaroid context. On the other hand... ]

Are you keeping it with the recycling?

Tim Stokes | kayaking

[disproof]

I'm half naked talking to a cat. You don't have to justify your life to me.

[disproof]

A laundromat in the dead of night is hardly "public", but I take your point and yes, my pants are currently in the rinse phase of the cycle.

[kayaking]

You realize that I'm dying to know what happened, and only not asking for explicit details out of respect, yes?