justttkidding | mental link

[ If nothing else, a meeting in the tents gives them a chance to take their stupid burka hoods off for a little while. Annie is ready to be out of hers like it has literally been strangling her, finally exposing a petite little Japanese woman with lengths of spidery platinum blonde hair, her dark roots creeping out at the scalp, much to her absolute frustration. But what is she going to do about it, when she's supposed to be hidden under that hood at all times full of fucking modesty.

She sighs, takes a deep breath of unimpeded air.

Then she actually turns to pay attention to him. She's his age, but she's worn out. Years of drugs and liquor and suffering did that to a person. But she still has a crooked smile like a hellion, the lines around her eyes crinkling. ]

So, what the fuck's wrong with you anyway?

[ Inviting a no good girl like her over when they'd only just met, had to be something. ]

[ If he thinks about it, he's been on a number of jobs that required secrecy like this one. He's worn masks, helmets, veils, bandanas. Some for partial obscurity and others for full cover. Though, it's been a number of years since he's had to do something like that.

So, it's with some relief he's pulled off the covering, hands raking through his hair. It's probably a mess now but who cares?

Annie's blown her way in, all confidence and shit eating grin. She looks unlike what he imagined, but that's not a surprise. His mouth tugs up in a familiar smile, blue eyes hooded lazily. ]

Would you like the short list, the long list, or skip it all and live dangerously?

[ She doesn't really want to talk, but at the same time... She's already made this mistake before, jumping right in at some new host who didn't realize how out of hand things could get when hosts started fucking around. The liquor in her system doesn't want to care about that, always the slippery slope of pretending that the booze would help her keep under control: it eroded all semblances of that.

The murky waters of her inner world stir, something shifting fitfully. ]

Dunno, I'm worried I might be too much for you. I can get kind of out of hand. And you're brand new, you might not be able to stop me.

[ Leaping without looking should be a cause for concern. Though, this is a twofold use; information and stress relief. Underneath all the muted emotions, he can feel his own tension, frustration with the situation palpable even if it's only like a small bell ringing.

November takes a seat gracefully, gesturing for Annie to do the same. May as well be comfortable if this is where the conversation is going. ]

What does that entail, exactly? [ He's looking at her thoughtfully, interested. Her mental link feels like it's being stirred; almost instinctively he curiously soothes. Like a palm between the shoulders, hot tea on a cold day. ]

[ She shouldn't let him do that. And really, what better way to warn him about what he was playing with than to simply show him? The veil that shrouds her thoughts parts just enough for something unpleasant to reach back for him. Something much bigger than her small frame lurks behind the murkiness she's created through booze, something not human at all. ]

I've always been a real problem. [ She says softly. ] But I'm an especially real big problem when I got people in my head. I can bulldoze right into people sometimes.

[ Her crooked, goblin smile, ]

Yanno. Fuckin' bull in a fuckin' china shop.

[ He's patient as she seems to gear up for something.

And then there's a slinking feeling at the edge of their connection, disturbing the static the rest of the hosts have been creating in his head all day as he's attempted to block them out. Concentrating, he's looking at it more closely, feels something slither along his mind (down his spine, around his ribs).

It's. Unpleasant. Sticky. ]

What's the end result? [ He lets the placidity of his mind answer back, feels like he's rearranging and putting the more important pieces on higher shelves. Monster-proofing.

As though he isn't one, himself. ]

It could be worse. Fucking a bull in a china shop.

Mmm.

[ That's hard to explain, isn't it. The words don't want to come together, too many ideas that burst and spark behind the veil of her increasingly lesser inebriation. Goddamn why is she still talking to him, she wants to fucking do this already before she can think about it too hard. But she's thinking, it's piercing its way through her fog and she's not ready to go back yet.]

We slosh around inside each other, it's not the worst. You'll get a little of me, I'll get a little of you. But I'm not all the way human, you might not be too in to getting some of me. I'm a lot of stress and nightmares and problems.

[ She's lost all her noise and cussing, looking and talking like an actual person instead of the thunderous facade she puts on. She doesn't always mean to turn that off, but sometimes she gets distracted by something real to talk about too. ]

[ Annie's thoughtful noise leaves him some time to think. Just a little, but the mind works through problems and ideas faster than anything else.

He tilts his head, continuing to listen to what she has behind the mental curtain. The slow stirring of that thing; it feels like it's still clinging, a phantom touch. When she speaks up again, he meets her gaze, attention wholly there. ]

I'll let you in on a secret, Annie. I'm not entirely human either. Arguably, I'm not at all, but that's still a theoretical where I'm from.

[ November doesn't seem bothered by any of this. ]

Obviously, I'm not skilled at this, but I could show you, if you like.

[ She just stares at him without any immediate reaction for a moment. She hadn't really expected to hear that answer at all. When has anyone said that to her? Never. It feels dangerously enticing. She opens her mouth to say something, but then closes it again, her brows pinching.

Her laughter is awkward, less outright and cruel than it's been thus far, ]

Shit, that's what you wanna do on the first date?

[ Since when does she need to be fucking reassured before she jumps a dick?

But. She does want to know. She wants to taste it, his flavor of not quite human. So she opens, letting out more of the inherent dread that comes from her mind, the stagnant water, and reaches, like a creature tasting the air. She shifts closer, looking into his really just very human face with a determined intensity. ]

[ She's staring and he just. Endures it. With a faint hint of amusement lingering somewhere between them. Though his mouth does turn up at the corners at her laugh, awkward that it is. ]

Considering it's normally people sharing each other's bodies, I'd say this is possibly more romantic. [ Who said romance was dead?

What's important though, is that she's assented. November thinks of restraint, wipes away bits of frost, pries up part of the ice that sits over his mind. And there, a deep part of himself is on display. Except there's just– nothing. Inky blackness, sifting, ghosting up over the edge like a blanket of fog. It's odd to see his contractor ability like this. That the lack of emotion really is just swallowed up whole, covered and covered again.

There's a faint blue halo-ing around his hands, red pinpricks in his eyes. It's unlike using his power, but it's still there. ]

[ Fuck, she wants to bury herself in it. Press in to that cold empty nothingness and squirm. It’s the not-quite-human in her: the thing that lives in the cold abyss of the stars, that is used to such vastness and craves to make it hers, to lord in, to live and die in. The novelty of it in this one man-shaped thing entices her. ]

Cozy.

[ A drowsy smile, face flushed with daydreams. ]

[ They're so connected it's easy to tell that there's yearning coming from her side. A kind of hunger that wants to curl around the fog, let it seep into all of its parts.

He can't deny that it's a thrilling concept. ]

It does nicely. [ November smiles, some of it making it to his eyes. Sort of. He leans towards her, lightly brushing his thumb across the curve of her cheek. She's warm to the touch, so different from the slithering thing behind her face. ]

[ She's going to lose it in a second, all sense of restraining herself. She's unsteady in her pool of murk and muck, ready to break out of the haze of drink she's put herself in and really really feel everything. ]

So, uh-- [ Her breath on his opposite cheek, looking down her nose into his face. ] I think that's... plenty of tidbits, right? Super important. Super relevant. That's all the clothes, right?

[ On the opposite end of the spectrum, he's perfectly stable. The inky fog sits unmoved, a passive monstrosity. Annie's a livewire in comparison and he's intrigued. ]

Incredibly relevant, so important. [ Ok probably not, but whatever. November tilts his head just so, lips brushing across hers– the contact feels like a jolt, physical and freeing. ]

I suppose we could do with less vestments. [ He murmurs against her mouth, amusement bleeding through. ]

[ She's not quite sure if she likes that yet. There's something to be said for someone who could absolutely let loose the way she does, someone to bring the fire and brimstone down with her. But-- maybe she's not so afraid of breaking something in the jack ass either, and maybe that had its own worth. She presses in to meet his mouth, inhaling like she's been holding her breath. In a way she has been, and using the liquor to keep herself complacent while somewhere deep inside she was going absolutely fucking batshit with the kind of loneliness only the most deep and abiding grief can bring you, bottling up sorrow and anxiety. She needs to let it out, and this planet is real shitty at affording her that. It overflows as she lets down the restraints, whitecaps of bubbles and foam.

On the other side of expulsion is Annie more like she normally has been: dreadful and creeping, loud and colorful and sprawling, creator and destroyer... as well as the little sinewy woman shedding her cloak first before going after the buttons on his.

She looks like a soldier underneath that cloak, the tank top she wears shows a strong musculature and too many scars, the nastiest of which is an enormous mountain range of twisted purple flesh up the center of her body. It peaks over the bandages wrapped around her chest, its highest point just at the base of her collar bones. ]

( You can still chicken out, if you want. )

[ Teasing, but truthful. ]

[ Contractors are always measured to some degree. It comes with the territory. But the parts they let unfurl take up space, they're beautiful and jagged and monstrous. November has blood on his hands enough to drown in. Here it doesn't matter, with Annie lifting the curtain between them, her color and sound and everything fitting in the places he didn't know were missing.

It's not uncomfortable. The other side of her feels like a threat and a blanket all at once. Consuming, hungry. He lets it wash over him, the ice of his mind unmoved. Her clever fingers are on his cloak and he shrugs out of it as soon as the buttons let loose.

The cloth drops to the floor in a crumpled heap, his gaze flicks over her. Scars and wraps and musculature to catalogue, some filed for later and an appreciation for the physical shape in the now.

He's less dressed down, wearing a suit minus the coat. Immediately, he starts loosening his tie, listening to her words intently. ]

( You wish. )

[ At that, he stands, drops the tie on the floor and holds a hand out to tug her towards the bed. ]

[ There's still a solid chance of one of the other hosts walking in on them. Someone too drunk to pay attention to the obvious highlights in the air, Annie is a colorful blot on the psychic landscape when she unveils herself like this. This is what everyone has gotten used to since she joined the hosts months ago: the enormous looming thing in the back of her mind, and then the absolute cacophony of sound and color and sensation that is her strained humanity. She seems to be going in every direction at once, both hot and cold, void and holographic. Her dualities contradict and fight with one another, making for a wild, conflicted creature.

She pours it in to him. In theory, she'd one day like to learn how to do that in increments but-- She's not that good with control when it comes to things like this, and she had warned him. A fucking bull in a fucking china shop.

But it feels good. Her utterly addictive personality loves the sensation of two symbiotes getting too close. It was an amazing trip. The symbiote isn't meant for it, to get that close and they get a bit drunk from it. Turning linear vibrations suddenly into something else entirely, signals that the mind turns synaesthetic: colors into tastes, tastes into sounds, sounds it so many strobing patterns.

Sex is fun. Sex like this is more fun, and maybe... just maybe he was right after all in saying there was something intensely romantic, overwhelmingly intimate, about the whole thing. The pouring back and forth of overflowing cups, the outrageous froth of liquid down the sides. Maybe it was funny that someone like her, with such a fake ass facade, was always dying to spill herself wholeheartedly into someone else, to really feel and be felt in a language that could actually convey all of her peculiarities. A place where her humanity and her otherness could properly intermingle.

Who gives a shit why. He doesn't, how about that. So she just gets her fingers in his hair and pulls, feels it prickle in her own scalp. The physical sensation share was always fun too. ]

[ If there's one thing to be said about November, is that he always seems to toe the line. He weighs his options, risk vs reward. Contractor and Human. Which mask is better to shed in which situation. Work with the fear of discovery or shrug it away. Here, they absolutely could have another host walk in, could have someone flushing with shame.

Not himself, of course.

He's toeing the line again, with Annie. She's unfurled along their link and it feels so intimate, personal, that he almost backs off. It's like she's stripped down to nothing, but he nakedness has never been this raw before. Both sides of herself are there, the bleak monster that looms over and through. Her colorful personality that feels like a warm fire, like a breeze, a caress. November sinks into it, lets it adjust all around his iced over edges, the cold parts that run layers deep.

In a way, he feels like he doesn't has as much to offer. His own colors are muted or clean– whites, cream, blue. Some sections run purple where the red sits buried. But even with the chill and unperturbed waters, there's the smell of fresh linen and mint. A warm cup of Earl Grey. Smoothly, those lines twist between the ecstatic patterns of Annie's mind and everything feels like it vibrates, like it shudders.

Dimly, he's aware that there's a gasp, out of shock, out of the nerves firing as though someone's run nails along his spine. He can see why someone could get so easily addicted to this. The closeness is almost as unbearable as it is comforting and exhilarating. A startled laugh comes bubbling up and he holds her close, hands wrapped around her waist and sliding up her sides. He feels the echo of it on his skin, feels her fingers grab hold and stay. ]

[ There's nothing quite as open and freeing as laughter in the midst of sex. She's extremely prone to it, she gets giddy and relaxed in a way that makes it obvious why she's after it as often as she is. She wants to tear down all of her restraints, to engage with someone on a spectrum that is devoid of anxiety for her. All movement and exertion and spiking, mounting, desire that will lead to a delirious, giggling release.

He may be so much more structured on the inside, but that doesn't mean it's not fun for her to make a mess of it. Assuredly, even, she leaves handprints of chaos and color on his lovely white things and then turns with coy defiance for the reprimand, challenging him to get her under control.

Or she'll just be here, making a mess of things. He'll have to clean up after her sooner or later.

What? Is he just going to sit there and watch her flick all his teacups off their shelves?

Laughter, warm skin sliding, all play grappling for a position that she'll settle into and keep, she can be a wretched, smirking tease. ]

( A whirlwind, aren't you? )

[ It's not said snidely, or even meanly. Almost like stating a fact, except for the hint of humor that edges it in. Calmly, he meets her chaos with an unperturbed air, watches as she leaves fingerprints on the crisp edges of white, billowing curtains. All along the countertops. Teacups come crashing down on the tiled floors, scattering ceramic and fine china into little colorful bits.

In reality, it should be upsetting, but it isn't. Not here, where he's charged with the logical reordering of his own mind. He'll fix it, eventually. Maybe the cups will be a different color, different pattern. The curtains– maybe he'll keep the colorful handprints. He sort of likes how they stick out on the white.

The ceramic cups are neither here nor there and a breeze blows in, cool to the touch, refreshing. It mimics how he blows a gust of air along her neck, follows it with a kiss. There's flashes of warm sun filtering in through the window, too hot to stand in for long, but sinking into the skin all the same.

She's intangible and tangible like this. In their connection, he laughs as he lifts her and all her colors and sounds off her feet, twirling. Some of his icy edges drip, cool water puddling under them. ]

[ She is an absolute natural disaster. It came with the territory, really, of being so much more than just a woman. She's also every particle of an ocean, every inch of growth in a forest, every decaying pile of bones, every quake in the earth, every breeze-- She's a very good choice for a host, in her way. She already knew how to hold many things in her mind, but... she was a force of nature; not a careful creature of logic the way the Nest really needed her to be. Her strengths were her weaknesses; her strengths were what made her dangerous to the hosts around her who did not have her immensity. She had warned him, that while this could assuredly be fun, it wouldn't necessarily be easy on him.

Not that he's struggling to keep up with her, retaining his composure beyond the sweat on his brow. She'd love to him really rumpled and absolutely fucking put out one day. Her grin is sharp, mean-spirited, at the thought, and she doesn't bother to hide it. How could she, at this point. Cruel little daydreams, but she's relented her struggle and settled comfortably across his lap, her sigh of breath a lot sweeter; liquid and warm.

She hadn't intended to get quite so comfortable. These kind of things were usually a lot more desperate but the smell of lavender and mint makes her breathing slower, eyes heavy lidded and content like she's complacent with a lover she's known a long time. Not that she ever stuck with any lover for long at all, that was a vulnerable business that might lead to something like an actual relationship--

An unwelcome thought, that one, and she shivers, huffs a breath and buries her face in his hair, more demanding than before. That's exactly the kind of shit he should be distracting her from. ]

( My apologies. )

[ He can tell she's not trying to be comfortable, content. But something in how she moves like a natural disaster clicks on all of his defenses, willing or not. Here, it's to subdue, to keep her from breaking too much. November isn't intent on doing it on purpose, but his mind rearranges and reorganizes to do it anyway. Contractor instinct.

But, he's also in charge of what his mind projects. So he leans down, kisses her neck, scrapes his teeth along the skin there. His hands are sliding up her small top, thumbs picking out her ribs and scratching with short nails. Instead of mint and warm breezes, the sun slips lower, hot and in their eyes from the mental window.

Shadows creep along the corners, spread up the walls, eating away at the details. The fog of it blankets the floor, curls around their ankles and sits there, an emptiness, a hunger. It thrums with an unnerving electricity, sparking at the nerve endings. ]

[ There's something interesting there in the way he both does and does not have control of that. Even more so as a new host. There are questions to be asked about what he really is and what he can really do, but... Well, the change in gears does the trick. Her next huff of breath is more from excitement than impatience, heat building low in her body. ]

( Shut up, sweetheart. )

[ And just let the dark hungry bits of themselves twine together. ]

( My head hurts. )

[ The hurting means she's stopped drinking long enough to feel it. ]

( If I had an aspirin I'd give one to you. In lieu of that, perhaps some water and a nap? )

( Ugh, I just want a cigarette and to slam some vodka. I'm even sick of their gross alien liquor, just give me something normal... )

[ It's aimless whining, not looking for any real answer, thought jangling painfully in her head. ]

( Gotta go do the stupid arts and crafts... best place to watch the Rabos and the Cardouches like it when we act like their fuckin' culture is great and magical and shit... I hate them. They suck. )

( Now now Miss Annie, you know how I feel about smoking. If I could acquire better alcohol, I could be swayed into it. )

[ But only a little. A shot. Enough to take off an edge. ]

( Not a fan of their culture? Or just them in general? )

( I hate that I can't just be myself. )

[ She is not built for long term covert missions. ]

( It can be rather exhausting, playing pretend. Do you have an alternate persona to utilise? I find that easier than simply holding everything in. )

[ HOLDING WHAT IN NOVEMBER YOU'RE A GLACIER. This is his ideal type of mission. A long con, lots of details, playing up a personality that isn't his. It's his training and his interest all in one.

Obviously, it isn't for everyone. And he knows this, has seen field missions fail because of people who didn't make the cut to MI6. All things come to an end eventually though, and something will have to give. Hopefully it was the other side and not theirs. ]

( If I had an alternate personality, do you think I'd be this person ever? )

[ She wouldn't be. If she could get far enough outside of her and act any other way, she would. As it is, the closest she gets is the pin-prick focus of an actual goal. If she had a target to assassinate, this would all be fine. But everything is so nebulous she has nothing to really ground her. ]

( I don't know. I could... Maybe stash me somewhere, and borrow someone else. Isn't that how this hivemind shit is supposed to go? )

Edited (html) 2017-12-24 04:45 (UTC)

( Wasn't sure if it was something you'd already attempted to utilise. I've a few tricks on how to do it, if you're interested in learning. )

[ Not that he's using any of them right now. The mission as it is calls for him to be himself. Whatever that means. Maybe as they went along, he'd slip into the figurative skin of someone else. Call up any number of personas he's created over the years. ]

( You'll only want to borrow parts. Taking a full mantle on can cause more frustration than it does to alleviate it. )

( Like you can teach me anything. )

[ Which isn't actually a no, it's just Annie being a mouthy bitch like she can't help herself. ]

( Besides, I'd have to borrow their parts without breaking them, which I sure as shit can't be trusted with. )

( Well, I didn't say I can teach you just anything. Maybe just some things. )

[ And to Annie's bitchiness, he keeps on going. Like a mental and verbal parry, because he's not bothered. ]

( I'm not saying to borrow their minds. Their mannerisms, though. Verbal tics, reactions. Are you any good at theatre? )

( I can put on a performance, how about that. )

[ Most of her public facing persona was performative. An unending saga of what a fine-not-fine person she was, so self-awarely in balance with her dysfunction. Watch her spin. ]

( That's a good start as any. )

[ He doesn't say: aren't we all putting one on? Because she's aware of that, she has to be. Annie is self-effacing enough to know this. Most of the time, the performances aren't ill will. Just a different mask to suit the moment or the person.

Here it's no different, aside from playing a larger group of people. ]

( Then yeah, sure, teach me, master bullshit man. )

[ Is that flattering? Who knows, maybe at least planning curriculum will distract her from the hangover. ]

[ It's been a few days since Sam has talked to November - mostly because Sam's been pretty closed off, with his broodmate being in a coma and not wanting to inflict that on anyone else - but he likes the man's company, wants to check in with him on how the mission's going from his end.

And hell, just wants to grab a drink with him.

So he reaches out, the brush of his mind light and playful. ]

( You busy? )

[ He's... well, he's tetchy. If he had to put a word to how he's been in the last few days. Yes, he's a patient person, but this mission doesn't have too many parameters and it scratches at some distant annoyance in his person.

Still, he's just drifted and listened, keeping his ear to the ground as much as possible.

It's with a moderate rush of relief that he greets Sam, something that transmits over the link, albeit muted. ]

( For you? Never. )

[ Tetchy is a really good word, actually. Sam might borrow it for later, because that's exactly his mood about this whole mission.

It grates, the longer they're here, the less they have. The more it feels like he's still working if not exactly blind, then with blinders on.

There's warmth in his side of the mental link at that relief, an edge of it returned. ]

( Charmer. How about a drink? Talk a little mission shit, take a little breather from all of this. )

( I *am* British. )

[ As if that explains the charming bit. It doesn't, really. He's just this way. ]

( You know Sam, I already had a high regard for you, but this takes it up a notch. Where? )

[ A drink sounds incredibly relieving right about now. To take off the edge of buzzing at the outskirts of his mind and mental capacities. ]

[ Sam chuckles, little sparks of warmth traveling across their connection. Sure, that must explain it. ]

( There’s a pub with an ocean view that’s not bad - but I’ve got a couple of bottles back in our quarters, too, if you don’t feel like dealing with all these damn layers. )

[ Reaching out to November has to happen. Seth needs to do it one way or another. But the connection is opened on a sense of crushing resentment. Seth hates that the easiest way to get in touch with November is this way. The point of contact is painfully narrow; it's as if Seth's just barely cracked a door, kept the chain latch on to prevent any further entry. ]

( You're the one linked up to my brother's mind? )

[ Brood is still a bridge too far for Seth. ]

[ And so unlike Seth's cracked door, November's is wide open.

Like a house in the country, no afraid of burglary. Windows unlocked, door unlatched, a cross breeze coming through. He has nothing to hide; or rather, anything he does want to hide doesn't matter here. So he just has it all on display, including the frosted edges and the absolute void of emotion, if someone looked hard enough. ]

( I am, yes. Is there something I should know? )

[ Richie, for all of the teeth gritting, has been mostly forthcoming with information. November also prodded hard enough for it, so there's that. He's curious what Seth will have to say. ]

[ The easy display of November's mind feels like a trap. There may be people within the Nest who would find it inviting, but Seth assesses it and feels no need to match it. It's a black hole. ]

( That if you screw him over, you're going to have me to deal with. )

[ Normally, this never needed to be said. It had gone without saying that double-crossing one Gecko would bring down the wrath of the other. But they were on an alien planet with people from who the fuck knew where. Seth couldn't protect Richie the way he wanted to, but he could reiterate the old warning as clearly as he was able. ]

DISTANCE hammer at it long enough and fissures run through	TACTILE maybe what you want isn't so far after all
LOYALTY you're making this harder than it has to be	CONTRACTOR pay up

mental link

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day 29ish

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somewhere around day 24.

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