station72 | day 42

Entry tags:

day 42

WHO: miniSam and whoever drops in
WHERE: The Bearings
WHEN: Day 42, mid-day
SUMMARY: Watching the news. Trashtalking Ngozi. Chess.
WARNINGS: None yet?

[ So here's a familiar sight: Sam Alexander watching the news, stretched out on the floor in front of the screen that he is only ever going to think of as a TV no matter what you want to call it, thank you very much. There's a chessboard in front of him, a can of a soda by his elbow, and an expression on his face that hovers somewhere between "unimpressed" and "disgusted," because guess who's being interviewed? ]

"Don't think that because we're investigating subspace right now that we aren't looking into other options as well -"

[ Sam snorts derisively as he mutes the sound, because he's really not in the mood. ]

Yeah, sure you are.

[ Back to that chess game. Or, on closer inspection, maybe it's not quite chess; it's something played on the same board of sixty-four squares, but the pieces are oddly shaped and there are a few extras sitting discarded to the side with the captured pieces, because he just picked out whatever game looked the closest and ignored the rules it came with.

It really figures that Ilde offered to play with him, and when he finally found a board...she's in a coma.

Because hey, it's not like enough was going badly already, right? He should've expected.

So instead he's playing against himself, turning the board around after each move, frowning thoughtfully as he moves a - well, he's decided it's a knight, whatever that piece is really supposed to be - and stopping, not letting go of the piece and committing to the move just yet.

Yes, lil' biscuit can do thoughtful.

Who knew? ]

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[There seems to be a running gag that Bruce tends to startle Sam, managing to enter any given room with just enough soundlessness to remain unnoticed by the teen.

Maybe the same happens this time, maybe it doesn't. But regardless, the man is here, noting the muted TV and -- of more interest -- the chessboard. Or at least, something that appears to be similar to a chessboard, with its strangely shaped pieces.

Bruce speaks up, a few feet away, his voice resounding in the otherwise silent area.]

Need a partner?

[ He doesn't jump, and yes, he's very proud of himself thank you. He does twitch and tense up for a moment, but he doesn't let go of the knight, and he gives it a three-count in his head before he looks up and answers, because someday is gonna stop looking so obviously surprised every time Bruce enters a room, God. ]

That'd be cool.

[One day, lil' Sam. One day.

Bruce takes a seat across from him, eying the chess board. If he has anything to say about the state of the game Sam's playing against himself, he doesn't say. Rather, after a moment of eying the strangely shaped pieces, he asks:]

Which pieces are you using as what?

[He can already make a few assumptions, based on the position of certain pieces on the board. But there are a few that are decidedly quite alien-looking, and some that he guesses aren't even being used.]

[ It's not as bad as one might expect from him; Sam's not a prodigy, but his chess skills are pretty solid. ]

Pawns are obvious. These ones - [ He finally does let go of that knight, tapping it once against the board first. ] - are knights. These, bishops...and the weird blobby ones are the queens.

[ He doesn't point out the kings or the rooks; both sides have castled, so he figures Bruce probably knows enough to recognize them from that. It's the kind of classy smart people crap he'd know about, right? ]

[The alien shapes are committed to memory easily enough and Bruce nods, shifting in his seat and taking it upon himself to help reset the board. Sam would be right to assume that he's familiar with the game; "classy smart people crap" and all.

His movements are deft enough, but he still has a moment to ask before they begin:]

You play very often, Sam?

Yeah. When I have the chance, at least.

[ The superhero life kind of gets in the way of making it to chess club after school sometimes, after all. ]

[Bruce can relate to that much, at least. Chess games were few and far in-between. There was always the more pressing matter of cleaning up Gotham, you know.]

How decent do you consider yourself?

[This isn't just idle chatter. This is Bruce already measuring how to assert himself on the chess board.]

I'm not, like...amazing. But I think I'm okay.

[ How do you even quantify how good you are at chess, ugh. ]

I'm not winning every game or anything, but I've beaten everyone else in chess club at least a couple times before. [ A beat - ] Except Brian.

[ fucking brian ]

[Not amazing, but okay. A straightforward enough response, and Bruce figures that he'll just have to test the waters with Sam to see exactly how "okay" he is.]

If you want to improve yourself, you'll just have to keep playing against him.

[You know... someday. When they're not stuck out here on alien planets and the far reaches of space.]

Yeah, I know. Someday when I finally beat him maybe he'll stop being a douchebag about it.

One of those, then?

[He crosses his arms, waiting patiently for Sam to be ready.] All the more satisfying when you do beat him in a game. Just think of it as motivation.

Trust me, I don't need help figuring out how to motivate myself against a total douchebag.

[ Granted, he's used to motivating himself against getting punched in the face or having his head shoved in a toilet, which is technically easier to get mad about than losing a chess game. On the other hand, it kind of comes down to the same thing. Everyone figures he's too small to ever beat Moffat in a fight. And with his constantly skating the bottom of the grade curve and his horrible attendance record, everyone figures he's not smart enough for chess.

Sam's always liked proving people wrong.

With the board reset, he shifts his position a little and props up his chin on his elbows. ]

You want black or white?

[Bruce already knows that Sam is scrappier than he looks, and clever enough too. It's mere potential that needs to be refined with a fair amount of guidance; that's what Bruce will be here for, if needed.

But for now, chess.]

Black. [-he chooses ~~and no one was surprised~~.]

Aw. You're too kind.

[ Of course Bruce would want to sit and wait for the second move. No pressure there.

But Sam's not the type to wallow in indecision, even if the pressure's on. He's the type to make a decision, and worry about whether it was the best one later. So he doesn't spend long staring at the board before he slides one of his pawns forward.

There are only so many opening moves worth making, anyway. ]

[The opening of most chess games are often straightforward enough. It's difficult to get a read on an opponent that you haven't played before from the first couple of moves alone; and so Bruce merely pushes his own pawn forward.

For most, this would be the time to fill in the beginning of the game with idle chatter. Bruce is... not the best person to go to for that specifically, but he does seem to be willing to strike up a relevant conversation today.]

So how have things been going concerning the management of your powers?

[Puked lately, Sam?]

[ The first few moves are the boring ones anyway; it's once you get more pieces out that things get interesting. ]

Okay, I guess.

[ He's definitely improving, but there's only so good you can feel about an improvement that amounts to "it takes longer before I totally lose my lunch." ]

Still feels like crap every time I use them, but I guess I'm getting better at ignoring it.

[Bruce is glad that Sam seems to be getting a better control of his symbiote abilities, but there's another part of him -- so utterly ingrained within -- that can't help but feel bothered by this otherwise good news. Ironic, he knows, considering their current mission has relied heavily on Sam's abilities before; one could argue that it was necessary, but perhaps it meant they weren't always being as creative as they could be, without having to rely on powers that they shouldn't trust so openly.

He'll make a move after Sam does, but then crosses his arms across his chest in consideration. He's looking at the board, but also turning over these thoughts in his head.]

Do you trust your powers?

[It's an open-ended question, but purposefully so.]

[ That question catches him a little off-guard, and he stops at the end of his move, hand still not leaving his piece, to try and get his thoughts straight about that. (And also to be sure that he really meant to move there, and that distraction hasn't led to something stupid on his part.)

Always with the tough questions, Bruce. ]

...I don't know.

[ The instinctive response to any tough question. ]

[The "I don't know"s are the easiest responses to his questions, aren't they? Though unsatisfied with that answer, he doesn't pry further just yet. He takes the time for Sam to think on it longer, considering the board before them. Instead, he offers something else.]

I haven't even considered using mine. Not since I first arrived.

Yeah, I guess that's easier when you don't have to figure out how to turn them off.

[ He's not sure if there's no way to or if he just isn't doing it right, but he's tried to shut it off and go back to not knowing a lie when he hears it, at least for a while, not just because of the nausea but because he really doesn't like knowing just how much crap most people are full of. He's not the type to delude himself about everyone being great people with good intentions, but he'd like to be able to hope for a little more from some of them... ]

I'm saying that I don't trust them, not that you have any control over when they activate.

[That causes him to frown, though. Even if Sam felt the same, could he find a way to turn them off completely?]

It's a double-edged sword. Learning to control it would be the easiest route to take, but that requires practice and dedication to a set of skills we shouldn't trust. Not unquestioningly. But I don't think everyone sees it that way.

So, I can play with fire, or I can go through life in a constant state of needing to hurl.

[ What a great choice. ]

I dunno how much to trust it, but if I don't get it under control I'm gonna go crazy.

[Sam definitely got stuck with one of the more inconvenient powers, there's no way around that.]

There's a difference between controlling them and indulging yourself in them. [He pauses, a hesitation.] We've asked you to utilize your powers a lot lately; that probably hasn't made it any easier.

[Is that a smallest admission of guilt? It may just be.]

...they're useful. Of course you did.

[ Which is his way of excusing the admission of guilt; even if it's not great to use them, it's gotten them leads they might not have been able to get, otherwise, and if that's what it takes for them to stop the bombings and get off this rock, he doesn't really blame anyone for wanting to take advantage of it.

(Stopping the bombings, not the plight of technological developments, is more his concern here. It's more straightforward.) ]

[No one gets to excuse his admission of guilt, at least not successfully. He holds onto that kind of thing so tightly that it's practically become a part of his personality.]

Just because something is useful doesn't mean you need to over rely on it. There has to be a limit; we should have been more creative.

Yeah, well if we start on stuff we should've done we're gonna be here all night, and I dunno if I've got that many games in me.

[ Punctuated by sliding one of his knights forward. ]

No point in shrugging it off when we can do better the next time.

[Bruce moves one of his own pieces forward as soon as Sam finishes. He had already been considering what moves to make while Sam had been thinking.]

[ He stares at that move with an expression like he just bit into a lemon. God, Bruce, can't you just beat around the bush like a normal person? ]

So we do better next time. Without the self-flagellation to get us there.

[No, he really can't.]

That's all well and good, but you don't just get "better" by hoping it goes more smoothly the next time around.

Dude. Not wallowing in it doesn't mean that you're not doing something about it instead of just hoping.

[ A moment, before he moves his own piece. ]

It just means you're thinking about next time instead of the one you can't change.

It's not that easy, Sam.

[For him, should be the sentiment that he leaves hanging there, perhaps echoed more clearly in their shared link if Bruce allowed it. He looks down at the piece Sam had moved, brow knitting.]

The mistakes we've made in the past define how we react to the future. I'm not going to sit idly by and wallow in it, but I'm also not going to pretend to be okay with how much this whole mission has relied on your abilities, at the risk of your own health.

[He means more than just nausea, of course. He means whatever unforeseen consequences comes from using the symbiote unquestioningly.]

[ Pretending to be okay.

Ha.

There's a phrase Sam likes to avoid if there was ever one. Because if he gives it enough thought to acknowledge when he's pretending, there's usually just...too much to deal with and people are relying on him to be okay, whether as the only functional male in his house or as the superhero standing between them and whatever.

And it's far more obvious where his thoughts are going than Bruce's - just skating on the edge of stuff falling apart and then pulling back hard before they can start circling the drain.

He can't deny that there's a point there, though. ]

What do you think happens. If we use it too much, I mean.

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day 42

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i suck at chess so just kinda....glossing over /o\

lol i'm garbage at it too. fake it til u make it

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