station72 | [ OPEN ] Hot Springs Episode!

[ The other option, Elliot thinks, is to give in to this. The symbiote's warm happiness at their togetherness when their minds slot like unlikely jigsaw pieces is at least as good as morphine. Opiates muddle the connection, leave him feeling separate again — but in a good way, a relieving way, a moment of silence after a thousand synchronized voices shout.

Oneness (or the facsimile of it, Elliot is never exactly singular) is something he'd taken for granted before this place. And maybe he should be glad not to be crying with loneliness every single night, at the chance to feel like he's a part of something, just like Misato had said. But he mistrusts the motives of the symbiote just as much as, say, Mr Robot.

All this to say: he takes the morphine.

Pill form — it's too wet in here to chop a line. Crunches it between his teeth instead, the alkaloid bitter and disgusting, but able to enter his bloodstream through his mouth's mucus membrane faster than digestion could manage. The sharp pucker if flavor is almost a physical pain, all his saliva glands going off like fireworks, and then

their connection flickers as warmth

floods him and

peter is just left curled around

static. ]

[ warmth and then nothing and noise all at once. it's the kind of sensation that makes his eyes snap open wide as he lets his reach spread against the static momentarily and then retreat. it's a jarring sensation, and he decides in this moment he likes it about as much as he did the first time, maybe even less as he pushes himself up to his feet and looks across the room a moment. then makes his way over, glasses perched on his head now.

you'd think that being left to static when you've been alone most of your life is a relief, but the symbiote reaches and peter feels like he's reaching and grabbing air, sand, something wet that slides through your fingers, hits the ground. it's impulse, the touch, tactile as he is, smoothing what he can of himself against it the way you feel out a lock for that sweet spot with your tools or smooth a hand down a coat for just what you're looking for.

and then it pulls back.

he's a soundless choreography, moving himself closer to where elliot is sat in the pool, arranging himself on the edge of the stone close enough. just... close enough. ]

( Elliot. )

[ he's not concerned. elliot certainly wasn't, more wanting of it than anything else. he's just nosy. ]

Hadrian.

[ Aloud, Elliot's rough voice drawling each slow syllable. He's relaxed into the water, eyes sleepy when he tips his head back to watch his broodmate through the curls of steam. He barely notices the heat now, skin numbed just like the screaming void of his emotions, all the emptinesses and patched-over horrors in his mind. And other things. Already the symbiote is working double-time to expel what it interprets as a kind of poison. But there's euphoria, too: the high. The brief respite from being himself is why he takes the drug, but the sweet joy is a nice side benefit, and he hopes some of it's making its way down the line past that hush of mind-silence. The pleasure is chemically induced, sure, but what pleasure isn't?

For all he came here to be alone, Elliot doesn't seem particularly bothered by the invasion of physical presence. Bodies are irrelevant right now. Which is maybe why he doesn't notice when someone else borrows it.

Their connection is a new thing, as their symbiotes have dug tentacles tighter and tighter into each other's brains, knotting and winding them irrevocably together. But they both have spaces where the other can't go: Peter has an infinite number of layers, labarinthine, but Elliot simply has invisible files. Places you didn't realize you weren't allowed to go because you didn't know they were there.

Until now.

In between the static and the hush, there is unexpectedly a presence. Walking into Peter's skull like a house he just bought, surveying the detritus of the former owner. ]

( Well hello there, pretty lady. )

[ peter pulls back from it first when it comes- the pleasure, the impression of it familiar if only for its core. his mind presses against a corner the way you try to melt into a convenient pocket of shadow before the feeling of it it skates a rising curve of him, tapping very gently to draw him out in a way he's hesitant to follow along with, but ultimately takes the elbow of. being more aware of it helps, perhaps, keeps peter high on his toes and still letting it curl around his brain in a way that lets out one slow sigh as he adjusts.

but it's not really alone, accompanied by something that's walking in the quieted spaces between them. something is the best word for it because it’s not elliot, someone he’s enmeshed in unwillingly, but twisted up around none the less and slowly growing. this one strides long and even, almost comfortable, as if it quite resolutely now owns the place, and peter immediately swipes at his own prickling skin, at the way his mind rises to smooth over itself in a way he’s practiced since he was very young.

(a wash of calm latticed with the pleasure that skims along him. a palm over a pulse and the sentiment of steady. be steady.)

he leans into his shoulder, eyes turned to elliot’s, as if trying to seek him out among the sensation of static until the link breaches into conversation and peter-as-hadrian comes to attention to answer without missing a beat. ]

( Why hello there yourself, )

[ he answers like there’s only elliot at the door, tone like honey, teeth behind it, not bared, but present. something simple to start. ]

( How are you feeling, Elliot? )

( Just fantastic. )

[ Answering for Elliot, because of course he's good: he loves drugs and he loves oblivion. Would probably be upset if he knew Mr Robot was a third presence in their little tête-à-tête, the shadow of a shark in the water, but what Elliot doesn't know barely ever hurts him. ]

( I figured it was time you and I had a little chat. )

[ You mirror-thoughts motherfucker.

But they're linked enough that Peter can see him, if he wants to. Standing on the edge of the pool behind Elliot's relaxed sprawl, fully clothed, smoking a cigarette. Looking off into the dim room rather than at either of them. He wears an American baseball cap, an ugly scarf, glasses. A jacket that says Mr Robot on the pocket. ]

[ he'd like to know who he's talking to, that'd certainly be a start, and seeing him has peter steeling himself for half a moment, tilting his head lazily, as if to take in all angles of the stranger sitting at the edge of the pool behind his broodmate. ]

( Well, then by all means, it'd be my pleasure. )

[ he lifts a hand to rest to his chin against his knuckles, in repose and watchful all at once. there is no panic here, only a sensation of prowling slowly, around himself, around the other, watchful. ]

( And no better time than now. ) [ there are a million times better than nearly naked in a sauna, but really. ] ( What shall I call you? )

Edited 2017-11-29 12:59 (UTC)

( He calls me Mr Robot. )

[ The name is accompanied by a grim little smile of amusement that doesn't at all meet the eyes. It's a stupid name. But he doesn't offer an alternate one.

Hadrian is taking this surprisingly well: bristling, sure, since despite the morphine high and the symbiote feelings of belonging and love, this guy is a prickly presence to have in your head. He has better boundaries than Elliot, which leaves him somewhat inscrutable, but he also has absolutely no tactful allowance of privacy. Even the slightest ripples of emotion, stray thoughts, get pounced upon and dissected. ]

( So let's start with this: the fact that we're having this conversation is bad fucking news, beautiful. You need to stop letting the alien in your brain run the show, or you're not going to have anything left that's your own. )

Edited (wasn't demeaning enough needed more creep) 2017-11-29 13:25 (UTC)

[ it'll do.

peter hums and it's nonchalant in tone, but the undercurrent of his emotion is there, they way something slips through a seam beneath the door. something pulling tighter, sinking in deeper. this plays differently than back home, there's upkeep on two fronts, and while peter is great at dividing attentions, the mind is a sprawling monster and the two-way pleasure street starts to feel a little sickening.

perhaps he's been wounded a little just prior to arriving, but he's sure that it's fine. he can just tuck it away - ]

( I assure you that I've no intentions of letting it run anything. )

[ - it's fine. (and as if it knows, symbiote warm and creeping, trying to slink into a hole shaped like a man, but it's empty and hungry won't stop eating whatever comes to fill it - a comfort and an absolute disaster.)

stop. ]

( I've more than enough of me to keep it from having what it wants. While it's rather nice to touch and I will admit to it, amalgamation isn't where I want or intend to go. )

( Is that so? Because it's what Elliot wants. )

[ It's probably cruel, to reveal that truth without Elliot's consent. Probably it should have been obvious, though: the Nest is sweeter than morphine and easier than trying to be normal. Elliot reaches for what's between them and clings. ]

( Early days yet, but it's what this is all about, too. You really think we all need to be here? You really think a truckful of new guys helps the mission any? They want us in situations where we have to use the symbiote. )

[ This is the kind of thing he's been ranting at Elliot for the last couple of days, but it's nice to have a real audience for it. ]

[ peter can't blame him for it, couldn't to begin with because holding onto it feels good, like it was carved for your palm to fit into perfectly. sinking straight down would be easy, but twenty years doing the opposite of that has taught him that to overthrow, you bide your time. you don't give in, you wait and you are patient.

his mouth twitches a bit. ]

( Then why not use it? Sure, that's what they want, but learn to control it so that it can't overwhelm the mind enough to catch it unawares and pull it all the way under. )

[ to let the symbiote rot seems like the perfect option, but there's disease that comes with rot, and peter isn't sure how it might apply to it, but he'd rather not find out. ]

[ Mr Robot's sharp Ha of a laugh is like a bark. ]

( This guy. This guy. You think he can control himself enough to manage that? Look at him. )

[ He turns, gives a dismissive gesture in the direction of Elliot, who in turn, tips his head and looks back at Mr Robot, glazed expression fracturing a little. Mr Robot seems startled to get a reaction: ]

( Oh, shit, )

[ As Elliot says: ]

Oh, shit.

[ And both of them sort of stare at each other for a moment, as Elliot tries to shake off the morphine fog in a panic and Mr Robot wills him not to, to slip back into the current of sweet euphoria and stop paying attention. ]

[ seeing the both of them interact against one another is strange, the words chiming together - one cutting and full of that hungry fury that peter's only know an old, revolution-hungry man to have, while the other is softer, free-floating at the sides of his mind, lapping at him placidly and far more familiar.

so his eyes focus on elliot, the way he seems to fuss a little to slough off the sensation of the pill, the one that sends a pleasant tingle down the corridors of peter's nerves. he wants to say something to him, anything, but he'll leave it for later, turning his attention to mr robot, eyes neutral, a smile there just barely on the edges of his mouth now. almost bored-sounding now: ]

( I do, actually, )

[ their situation is anything but ideal, trapped with some kind of symbiote each and elliot with... whatever this mr robot happens to be. a presence that feels wholly unlike him but unequivocally apart of him. he's different and he makes peter's skin crawl just a bit from the nape of his neck to the backs of his shoulders like a creeping chill.

his fingers curl tightly into his palm, nails biting into skin as his smile turns into something saccharine despite the ever present feel of being nettled, almost protective.

where it comes from, peter doesn't care. it's preservation of the self and of his broodmate. ]

( Because who says he'll have to do it on his own? )

[ Mr. Robot rolls his eyes, but they're narrowed — he lacks Elliot's capacity for self-doubt, so he's not rattled, and he also knows that he isn't going anywhere, that he's a part of Elliot the way this upstart intruder could never be. But Hadrian's smile is giving off a level of threat that is... unexpected. ]

( Okay, beautiful. )

[ He shakes a cigarette out of a crumpled and endless lucky strikes packet and, with the hiss and flare of a match, lights up. The smoke scent is illusory, but Peter will be able to smell it. ]

( Here's how it's gonna be. I only, I promise you, have this self-sabotaging jackass's very best interests at heart. If I for one second think our goals aren't in alignment? I will be done with you. And trust me, you won't enjoy it. )

[ Elliot, wide-eyed and mute, is looking back and forth between Mr Robot and Hadrian like he's not sure how to process that this interaction is happening at all. ]

[ none of this, peter is almost certain, should feel as real as it does, which is the trouble with this thing knuckling its way between the folds of his brain, bridging a gap that shouldn't exist as plainly as it does between himself and elliot and... and this third player that's stretched himself out so comfortably between the two of them. he watches the way the flame lights itself up, the smell of cigarette smoke faint like a memory, but there. ]

( "Done with you" as though I can simply be discarded! ) [ a beat as he pulls his glasses off of his head and onto his nose, hair pressed back with his fingers now. ] ( At least you're a gentleman about it. I love a good warning. )

[ he leans on one hand, turning openly to him while the other drapes over his thigh. his posture is curved, just like the smile still on his face that slowly begins to spread as if amicable, but really just feels more like a knife dragged slowly over a whetstone. ]

( In any case, I accept those terms. Simple enough. )

( Good to know we're on the same page, then. )

[ And apparently that's all he has to say for now, walking away into the steam, disappearing like a spirit dispelled, though the scent of cigarette smoke still lingers.

-- Always leave them wanting more, right kiddo?

But probably only Elliot hears that.

Elliot, who is still under the influence of those sweet, numbing chemicals, leaving him sluggish and euphoric in the warm water. His adrenaline spike at realizing he was somehow projecting Mr. Robot hasn't really dissipated so much as been smothered, a sensation he's kind of struggling against — this is definitely a higher dose than he'd usually take.

Still, it seems important to convey at least one thing to Hadrian, emphatic: ]

You can't trust him.

[ peter wants to know, one day, where this page goes. it's never been in any book he's written for himself. thousands of first rules in grifting and talking to men who disappear like smoke right before your very eyes, disappear into steam, wasn't really one of the lessons.

He watches the flicker of elliot's eyes, feels the sweet curl curdle alongside the fact that he is most definitely disturbed by elliot's strange hitchhiker? what's the word for this? for now, only mr. robot. he files the name away carefully, fingertips along the edges of something you don't want to get prints on.

peter dips his ankles into the water, towel wrapped loosely around himself as elliot parts a thick and velvety panel along their connection, rich to touch, soft to the palm. he grabs fistfuls of it because he can and it's there. he reaches out with a finger and taps him softly on the tip of his nose, leaning in. ]

Don't worry yourself, darling. [ the touch leaves, but he remains close, drawing an invisible line with his finger in the air between them. ] Though I didn't realize it wasn't just the two of us.

[ The little nose tap is so sweet that Elliot doesn't flinch away, not even subconsciously. It's nice, having someone who can touch him without the nausea-residue or ingrained paranoid discomfort that a lot of other people evoke. He leans, drops thoughtlessly sideways to rest against Hadrian, letting that and the morphine and the warm embrace of the water combine to soothe him.

(Probably putting your head in another person's lap has some pretty intimate connotations but there's not even a flicker of that, just trust, trust like Elliot didn't know he was capable of. ]

I didn't think you'd be able to see him.

[ Like that's any sort of excuse. Mr. Robot is a consistent presence in Elliot's life: even without the mind link, everyone meets him eventually. The drugs just exacerbate, as they always have. He should have thought of that — but can't quite summon self-recrimination right now. ]

[ elliot’s head in his lap isn’t something he anticipated whatsoever, full of a dozy warmth and trust that makes peter give a visible pause between the two of them—one that tastes like blood in the air, like electricity, like somewhere dark meant to be a place to rest, but in reality is just a place to wait and fester. the last time he had someone’s head in his lap, there was a sense of exhaustion about it. this is far less dire (in one way). he swallows and lets a hand rest on his hair softly, thumbing the base of where his hair fades to a cut that looks as thought it will need some maintaining at some point. it’s another idle thought that’s runs as though the first hadn’t tainted it with its taste.

his fingers curl through dark, thick hair absent-mindedly. ]

He said he had only your best interests in mind.

[ which makes the animal thing in peter curl it’s lips back just a bit. there’s something in the symbiote that doesn’t like the claims fed to it. it wraps around the connection with a soft heartbeat of a touch, squeezes a little the way you might grip a hand gently in the dark. ]

Is that true? Does he keep you safe at least? Whoever he is?

[ a thought betrays a fraction of gentle hadrian, a brief cut of steel, something in him tightening: i could keep you safe.

he pushes away the loaded spring trap, voice tender, but edging on clipped at the end. a declaration. ]

I don’t like him.

Elliot gives a soft little rasp of a laugh, his eyes closing against the affectionate and soothing scritch of fingers across his scalp. Despite Mr Robot, this suddenly feels like it was a good idea, the kind of sweet contentment he has so rarely experienced in his life.

"You don't like him." The irony there is obvious. Elliot doesn't really like him either, but what does Elliot like about himself. But he does have to concede that Mr Robot can be particularly unlikeable. Mostly because he doesn't seem to give a shit about anything.

Krista had postulated that a split personality originated from some kind of self-defense mechanism, though Elliot straight up never told her enough about himself for her to postulate what he might need protection from, beyond his own anxiety. But Mr Robot doesn't keep him safe. Mr Robot drags them both into trouble, time and time again.

"Listen," he manages. "Don't worry about it, okay? He's basically powerless, except for talking shit." Slightly less powerless if other people can see him, but maybe it's just Hadrian.

[ OPEN ] Hot Springs Episode!

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boop

clutches my face

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