All the White Horses have Gone Ahead

[tongueamok]

Who: Carlisle Longinmouth (tongueamok) + open + a closed prompt for Glacius (glacius)
What: People go missing, and panic ensues.
Where: Park, Speakeasy, Spire 2 (Apartment 401)
When: 6/5
Warnings: PGish


Overall, it's a nerve-wracking day for Carlisle, but what day isn't for the heir of the Longinmouth estate?

It starts out innocuously enough, as Carlisle makes his way to Emily's sewing shop. While he doesn't give his pupil regular lessons anymore -- she doesn't particularly need them -- he does still check in with her from time to time, getting her opinions on glyphs, seeing if she'll transcribe some things for him with her far-neater-than-his handwriting. With his papers in hand, he opens the door—

Or walks straight into the door, as it doesn't budge when he tries the knob. Carlisle backs up a step, straightening his glasses with a befuddled look. Locked? Peering into the window tells him she's not in -- odd. Emily sometimes has the early shift with that coffee cart she and her friends run, he reminds himself, but it's plenty late enough for her to be here.

He lets out an aggravated sigh and waits for a bit, figuring she might show up at any time. He waits ten minutes, then twenty before sighing again -- more irritably this time, as though Emily would hear him from wherever she is and appear to open the door for him. He pulls out his communicator, scanning down the list of residents to find her name... but it's not there.

Carlisle's brow furrows as he searches again, pulling the device closer to him and narrowing his eyes behind his glasses. He must have overlooked it, he tells himself. She's there, surely -- Emily has been in the city longer than he has. He simply missed her name. It's a trick upon his eyes by this accursed technology. Unfortunately, a second and third, more thorough search reveals he was right the first time, and that her name simply isn't on the contact list for the citizens of Hadriel anymore. Emily is gone -- from the list, from the communicators, and if that means what it has always meant, from the city entirely.

Oh.

That's a rather somber sort of oh that rings through Carlisle's head, worry etching across his face as he simply stands there, dumbfounded. He suffers through and entire minute, maybe more, of quiet shock before he finally tucks his communicator away and starts moving, aimlessly heading back into the city, his mind anywhere else but where he's actually going. It's not as though he hasn't had people disappear from the city: there was Miriam, Kate, Chris. He's lost friends before, though it always seems notable to him, as he doesn't have a great deal of friends to begin with. He's too private a person, too troublesome to deal with even on good days. Even Carlisle only likes himself in measured doses.

But Emily meant something to him. She was a student, someone who had taken an art he'd taught her and not only took it seriously, but made it her own; she was a friend, one who looked out for him even when he insisted she do otherwise. And now she's gone, just like the others, and there's that terrible sinking feeling that she wouldn't be if she'd not associated with him. It is said in his world that the twice-cursed are misfortune incarnate to those who would make the error of being near them, and Carlisle, at that moment, cannot think of a greater misfortune for Emily than being returned to a terrible monster-filled mountain where her friends are dead.

That's the sort of thought that riles Carlisle's natural paranoia, making him worry about other people who have associated with him. There's one being in particular he worries about more than any other.


Park [open]

Carlisle spends the early afternoon in the park, buried deep within the area in a spot that he and Glacius have turned into his latest garden. While not entirely hidden, it is set back far enough to be off the normal paths, a spot of green one might notice in the distance among the blasted trees near the riverside. There are rudimentary fences constructed of stone, mostly ones salvaged from debris when the city split into two and buildings deteriorated. There are plenty of plants, crawling vines and flowering shrubs that are a far cry from the ones found in Sorrow's orchard. There's even the base of a small building, a structure with four walls and a door that's mostly meant to serve as storage.

There's also a man who is clearly wrapped up in his own head, muttering to himself as he angrily prunes away at leaves on some smaller, potted specimens.

"I should have known this would happen," he grumbles in clear irritation, his tone absolutely embittered. Carlisle shifts the pot around to get a better angle on what needs to be cut away, removed for the betterment of the entire fern. Wouldn't that be something, to remove what -- or who -- poisons the entire city with his presence as easily as he removes those dying leaves?

Carlisle pushes his glasses to his forehead and paws at his eyes a moment, setting aside his shears to wipe his free hand on his gardening apron. That's not a productive thought, and he knows it, yet there it is all the same, a torrent of negative self-reflection threatening to pull him under. Would Emily still be here if he hadn't known her? Would Kate? Was there really no correlation, as she is always so apt to—

Was, Carlisle corrects inwardly. Emily was so apt to tell him that, just as Glacius is. How long will it be now until he brings misfortune to his icy partner, as well? Or to anyone else? Is there anything to even be done about it now? He has long lived with the knowledge that he is the failure of his bloodline, and that a cursed creature such as himself would only bring ill upon those closest to him. He'd thought that, perhaps, he could escape such a fate away from his world. He'd toyed with the idea that he had been led astray his whole life when people claimed him to be the reason his family line will die with him. He'd wondered, even for a moment, if he could be more than the most pathetic of the Longinmouth line, the weak link in a once-strong chain.

However, as he hurls one of his plants as far as he can throw it and rubs at his bleary eyes again, choking on the breath lodged somewhere in his throat, Carlisle decides he was clearly wrong to ever consider such nonsense.


Speakeasy [open]

The evening is spent searching for liquor. With the former bar gone, Carlisle makes his way to the Speakeasy, ready to drown his problems in his former vices. He knows better -- he knows his partner would be disappointed Carlisle didn't turn to him for solace from his deprecating thoughts. However, the more the despondent Carlisle considers pulling out his communicator and just calling Glacius... the more nervous he gets. Emily was close to Glacius, as well, and the alien is no doubt hurting from her loss... but what if he's no longer in the list of names, either? What if he's gone?

That's paranoia talking, Carlisle reminds himself... and yet, with how unnerved he is from the mere thought of the panic that will set in the second he sees Glacius' name is no longer among the residents of the city, he finds he cannot even bring himself to see if his fears are even valid. Not right now. Not yet.

Maybe after he's had a drink.

Though Carlisle does have a bottle sitting before him on a table in the corner, the hours tick by without him imbibing. He's instead sitting back there, still incessantly chattering to himself -- or maybe he's talking to the bottle at this point. It does have a cat's head sculpted right into the glass. It gives it character.

"I should- I should just do it," he mutters, his nails curling against the table as he runs his other hand through his hair for the umpteenth time; it is more unkempt than usual, his fastidiousness unraveling with this composure. "I don't know what I'm afraid of."

He seems to reconsider that lie within one second, as though the cat-bottle would judge him for his lack of conviction. "I mean, I know what I'm afraid of, but. I- I should trust he's fine. He's always fine. The sort who can accomplish anything he puts his mind to. In fact, he'll call me anytime now, surely."

Yes, anytime. And yet, despite this being the one time he hopes technology will come to his rescue, his communicator doesn't ring.


Apartment 401 [for glacius]

And by the time the late evening rolls around and the night is in full swing, Carlisle has worked himself into near panic. He barely manages to get inside his apartment, his hands shaking so badly that he can hardly maneuver the keys into the lock. "It's fine," he says aloud -- with no one, plant or otherwise, to talk to this time, he is absolutely talking to himself. That's not unusual, all things considered. "It's fine. Glacius is fine. He'll- he'll probably be waiting as it is. Back from his patrol, I'm sure. Hah, what took you so long, Carlisle? That's what he'll say. And I'll see this has all been for nothing. I mean, not nothing, as Emily is still gone. Still my fault she's gone, by the way. It's fine. It's just fine."

Unfortunately, the dwelling is empty when Carlisle finally gets the door open. His mind works into overdrive to keep himself from completely breaking down as panic latches onto him. "He's asleep," he reassures himself now, tossing aside his bag and heading right to Glacius' door. It's not like the alien to go to bed before Carlisle gets home, but then, it's not like Glacius to not call, nor is it like him to not be home already, nor is it like anything for Emily to just be up and gone. What a strange day it's been!

Carlisle knocks at the door, the nervous smile plastered across his face fading as fast as that brief, denial-born glimmer of flippant humor. "Glacius? I'm sorry I'm home so late. I- I stopped, er. Somewhere. Lost track of the time. Funny how that happens here in a cave."

Silence.

"I'll admit that, ah," he continues, stumbling over his words. He claws at the back of his neck with one hand, the other fumbling with his tabard. "It was the Speakeasy. Little place run by Miss Rey. You remember her, I'm sure, being on the Guard with her and all. Fantastic woman, sometimes. Not much of a conversationalist. She's got her merits, though."

Further silence. Carlisle fidgets uncomfortably, tension mounting in his shoulders.

"I- I didn't mean to break my word to you. I didn't drink. I mean- maybe just one swallow to take my mind off- well, there's been a lot on it today, actually. I- I should have called you, but- but I- I started thinking about, um. I just happened to notice today that Emily's name isn't in the phone anymore. Funny thing, really. And I wanted to call you with the communicator, but you know how I am with technology and... whatnot."

The clergyman pauses there, inwardly praying for an answer as the seconds tick by, the thudding in his chest growing painful the heavier it gets. Disappointment, irritation, remorse, anything. He pushes the door open when nothing comes. "... Glacius?" Though the icy bedroom is still there -- and still relatively icy -- the alien who usually inhabits it is nowhere to be found. He's out far later than he should be, Carlisle thinks to himself, trying to swallow the knot in his throat; it doesn't budge.

A shaky laugh forces itself out of Carlisle as he breaks the silence himself once more. "Something m- must have happened," he mumbles, trembling as horror sets in before it even has a full foundation. "Just- just a busy day for the Guard. I'll just- I'll just call, and it'll- it'll be fine."

Oh, but calling would require him to look at the list of names, he remembers, the reason he hasn't already made that call back to torture him once more as it paints a clear scenario in his mind's eye. Looking at that list would result in him not finding Glacius' name on it, surely. He'd deny it as much as he did earlier, searching the contacts again and again, but to no avail. And then he'd panic -- catastrophically so, as with the recent bout of frights, but far worse -- and that'd be just awful. It could be the easy solution, the logical part of him says; it could also be a shortcut to utter despair that he is currently not equipped to handle.

And where does that leave Carlisle Longinmouth, heir of the Longinmouth estate, in the wee hours of the morning? Hiding in his closet. It's a little cramped for his tall stature, but at least there's nothing to be terrified of in there -- nothing but the utter hopelessness consuming his own mind as he mutters another desperate prayer to his goddess. He doesn't know if she can hear him... but it's better than the thought that he might be alone.

Comments

park

[skelebro]

After the kind of party that shook the city from top to bottom, Sans settled to stay inside for a few days. But in the days that followed, well, Brot was gettin' pretty antsy. He takes the little guy out for a walk or two, and ends up picking petals off golden flowers as he goes. The little things are resilient, he'll give 'em that. Prolific. The seeds just...get everywhere, don't they? Stickin' to just about everything.

So it goes that he nearly ends up brained in the face by a hurled chunk of plant matter, clods of dirt trailing out from the ripped-away roots. Good job it don't smack him head on, too, or he'd well and truly be dust without anyone being the wiser for it. But he tracks the line of sight and low and behold -

"Carlisle?"

Throwing plants seems a bit beyond what he's assumed is the norm for the guy, though he could be way off base there. Either way, he looks - drained. Tired. At some sort of end.

The last thing he needs right now, probably, is a skeleton grinning at him from across the park with a little fennec fox sniffing at his heels. But Brot is already trotting over to the source of the disturbance, ears pricked upright.

Welp. No goin' back now.

His smile don't quite land in the realm of apologetic, but it's certainly tired.

"Heya."

[tongueamok]

It's odd how much emotion a skeleton with no skin or musculature can convey, yet Carlisle is mildly grateful for the tired smile Sans offers him. He's not quite as grateful for the strange animal that approaches him, and his reaction shows it as he takes a step away from the tiny beast.

"Ah, Sans." He looks away in embarrassment, his eyes falling to the bat-eared critter as it nears him. "Sorry, um. For the plant. Wasn't aiming at you, or... anything in particular, really. Probably shouldn't be taking out my irritation on them."

As usual, he spends far more words than he needs to.

[skelebro]

Guy don't seem that wild about foxes. Or maybe he just doesn't have 'em where he comes from. Regardless, Sans draws slightly closer to retrieve a small strip of dried meat of dubious origin from his pocket. Feels a bit like his pockets just kinda have whatever's necessary in them, but hey, maybe it's just magic.

At the scent of the jerky, Brot immediately marks an about face and comes bounding back in Sans's direction. His sockets lid as Carlisle expends twenty words where a handful would suffice, but that seems, all in all, pretty typical of Carlisle. Flinging things at random, that's a bit more worrisome.

"You doin' all right there, pal?"

[tongueamok]

Carlisle crosses his arms, picking at his sleeve with his hand idly as guilt crosses him.

"I would insist I'm fine, but I suppose the fact I nearly assaulted you with a paw plant says otherwise. You have my apologies, Sans. I simply just... lost a student to the whims of the false gods. I should take care not to lose another to my own ire."

Paw plants, after all, reproduce fairly quickly. They're much easier to replace than magical skeletons.

Speakeasy

[mismanagement]

Stars, she needs a drink.

Too much has happened lately, none of it good, and this --

This is only another number ticked off the list.

Maketh woke early and discovered something while she was working. A name no longer present.

She checked, of course. It's clear what happened. That doesn't make it hurt less. It just --

Is. What it is.

She hasn't told anyone yet. She wants to drink and work it over in her mind - Emily is home and surely that's better - before the words finally come out in ways she can't take back. A drink, yes - maybe two - but in public, because that's better. There are limits to how drunk she can get in public.

That's her intention when she walks in. Then she sees Carlisle holding court with a bottle, thus far untouched.

Maketh hesitates. "Carlisle?"

[tongueamok]

Carlisle lifts his head as Maketh addresses him, his eyes red, his frustration worn into his every muscle. "Miss Tua," he greets glumly, his eyes flicking back to the cat-headed bottle as he wonders for half a second if she's here to chastise him for drinking. No, he decides -- not everyone knows he's supposed to be refraining from such activities, surely. That's his nerves talking again, paranoia creating this delusion that everyone is looking to judge him for some reason.

To be fair, that apprehension hasn't been entirely wrong for most of his life.

"And what brings someone like yourself to such a lowly establishment? Not that the establishment itself is lowly so much as any reason one might find themselves here."

[mismanagement]

Maketh tips her head to the side, wondering if he's drunk. The bottle appears untouched. But his eyes...

It's not her concern, really.

"For a drink."

She thins her mouth.

"Someone has--left. So I am drinking."

[tongueamok]

Ah. Of course she'd be there for a drink. Even he's there for a drink, despite the fact he shouldn't be. What she says certainly catches his attention, though. People come and go most every day, he's sure, but it certainly is coincidental timing.

"I suppose you knew Emily, then," he returns, too exhausted from his own woes to be subtle. His eyes make their way back to her, his nose wrinkling as his chest hurts all over again from the misery that is losing someone. It could be worse, he tries to remind himself. It could be worse.

speakeasy.

[circumitus]

Times have been shit all around for everyone, it seems. With the infighting and the threat of god-killing machines on their trail, Rey hasn't allowed herself much room for rest. How could she? How could anyone?

She's spent less and less time around the Guard these days. Instead, she spends her free hours running maintenance on the dam, or maintaining the Speakeasy. Though she's had help between Firo and Danse, she still likes to oversee the upkeep herself. It is, after all, her little project that she arranged here.

Rey had been taking a breather upstairs on the casino floor, downing a few bottles of beer while chucking darts at the target on the wall. Most hit close to their mark starting out, but as the buzz took hold her aim got less coordinated. No big deal.

At some point, she hears the sound of babbling downstairs. Despite the prolonged chatter, it seems more like a one-sided conversation than an exchange between patrons.

That doesn't bode well.

With a sigh, Rey abandons the dart board and stumbles down the stairs, hand sliding down the railing on her way to the bar level. There, she finds a familiar figure parked in front of a liquor bottle.

"It doesn't talk back, you know," she tells Carlisle, raising a brow at the cat head crowning the bottle. There's more sarcasm in her tone than the misconception that he's actually carrying a discussion with an inanimate object. Rey has had her own share of talking to herself during prolonged periods of solitude. Not a fun mental place to be, that's for sure.

[tongueamok]

Carlisle lets out a sigh as Rey descends the stairs, his eyes flicking from the bottle to her, and back. While he might have seemed perfectly content to vent his frustrations to the bottle, he is marginally glad she's here. His own thoughts are not the kind of company he likes to keep when he's so frazzled.

"It is admittedly less of a conversationalist than even you," he mumbles. Not exactly the nicest way to greet the proprietor of the establishment in which he's currently sitting, but Carlisle doesn't look like he's in a terribly chipper mood.

[circumitus]

To be fair, when does Carlisle ever look like he's in a chipper mood? Around Rey, that is. Without fireflies.

"Hello to you, too." She doesn't seem all that offended, though, as she makes her way around the counter to grab one of the selections from under the bartop. There is a type of drink she's been meaning to try. "Are you going to just keep talking at the bottle, or are you going to actually drink it?"

It makes no difference one way or another to Rey; she doesn't know Carlisle's sordid history with alcohol, or why he's even here.

[tongueamok]

"I haven't yet decided," he answers honestly, his brow knitting as they go back to the bottle in question. The eyes of the cat simply stare at him, glassy and empty.

"I said I wouldn't drink anymore," he continues, pushing his bangs back with his fingers as he rakes them through his hairline, "but I believe certain occasions still merit such vices."

[glacius]

It really is a shame that Carlisle hadn't found it in himself to reach out to Glacius; the alien has been having every bit as much of a hard, misery-filled day as the human has, starting first thing in the morning when he set out about his patrols. It still took a considerable amount of effort for the galactic marshal to will himself to stop by the clinic across from the spire where he lived; it was still a reminder of the dear friend that he had lost, even after so much time. He was used to the following stop at Emily's sewing shop being the one that would boost his spirits... little did he know that after today, it was just going to be one more place in this city that always felt empty no matter how many people were milling around inside of it.

It was a discovery that smashed through the resilience Glacius had been building up since Kate's disappearance; one of the only remaining cornerstones of the support network that had established itself in this city on his behalf had been torn right out, bringing what snatches of comfort he had been afforded in the past crashing down around him. When Kate had disappeared, Emily's gentle and thoughtful condolences had been one of the primary forces that had helped the ice alien rally; now that both of them were gone, he had only one pillar of support left who he felt close enough to come to with the worst of his emotions. Carlisle had never been overtly sympathetic to disappearances in the past, however... and after the amount of time it had taken Glacius to put himself back together after losing Kate... well. He was hesitant to make his partner go through that same song and dance all over again, esepcially so soon after the previous bout of sorrow that he'd suffered from.

So he wandered, with nothing to keep that sense of numbness from settling right back in. It didn't take him long to arrive at the caves, and what was normally a dutiful vigilance quickly became nothing more than an outlet in which to vent--over the fact that suffering was simply the way of life here, over the repeated losses in this cave, over that damnable sense of loneliness born of isolation that he knew the gods were milking for all it was worth. The ice alien lost track both of time and the number of breaches in his armor that he allowed as he fought bitterly, relishing physical hurt as an alternative to the emotional. It was only a hazily-remembered promise that he wouldn't leave his partner alone in this damned city that drew him out of the caves, and the fortuitous intervention of one of Emily's mutual friends that helped Glacius remember himself enough to finally, finally head back to he and Carlisle's shared apartment.

In truth, the otherworldly being didn't know how to face the clergyman without digging into any of this, but he wasn't going to be afforded a choice. He no longer possessed the keys to the apartment, Carlisle nearly always kept the door locked, and he couldn't shift through the crack underneath said door as he always did for fear of upsetting his injuries or the dressings that had been applied somewhat haphazardly over them. It was clear that whoever had applied them hadn't understood fully how to treat his underbody--through no fault of their own, given that there was now precisely one person left in this cave who he'd divulged that sensitive information to. With no other option left to him, Glacius rapped on the door with cracked knuckles as he heaved a beaten, exhausted sigh.

"Carlisle? I know it is late, and I am... sorry to wake you. But I am so very tired, and would appreciate it if I could come inside."

[tongueamok]

At some point as the hours tick by, Carlisle nods off, still curled up in the tight space of his closet, his knees pulled to him, head buried in his arms to shut out the rest of the world. The crick in his back aside, he considers it was safer there than anywhere else in the city, and he is reasonably content to stay in there until either Glacius comes home, or he starves to death. Realistically, he knows he isn't likely to go through with the latter, but given the troubles weighing him down, it is certainly an option that had crosses his mind once or twice.

And it is thankfully an option he doesn't have to consider for terribly long, as a knock at the door awakens him. He must have imagined it, he tells himself as he peers beyond the threshold of the tiny room, so encumbered by his own trepidation that he'd rather not risk even having hope; however, as Glacius' voice carries from the hallway, the clergyman cannot get out of the closet fast enough. His legs tumble beneath him -- Glacius might hear a loud thud from the other side of the door, the telltale sign of a man literally falling over himself -- and after the sound of some heavy, but hurried steps and the cli-clunk of the lock, the door opens.

Neither of them looks well: Glacius is injured, dressed by an amateur, and Carlisle is as bedraggled as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs; however, there's a far more important point that needs addressing.

"You're- you're here," Carlisle utters, his eyes watering immediately as he reaches a hand out, placing it gently on the alien's arm to make sure his partner isn't simply a hallucination. The second he discovers Glacius is indeed a tangible, living being rather than a figment of his desperate imagination, Carlisle embraces him, those injuries be damned. He'll be sorry for aggravating them later -- for now, he wants the comfort of knowing his partner is there, is safe, is home.

[glacius]

Though Glacius' head cocks up at that dull thud from the other side of the door, he gets his first real surprise when it swings open and he actually sees just how bedraggled Carlisle truly looks. The second one comes when he's suddenly and adamantly embraced by his partner; the ice alien exhales in his grip, but otherwise seems more or less unbothered by it. Whatever pain having his injuries forcibly clamped like this is causing seems to take a backseat to the utter relief provided by the affection. After a day like today, it's something that is sorely needed.

"Yes--I am here," Glacius affirms, wriggling his arms free to return the embrace. "As I said, I am sorry it got so late. I--I did not mean to leave you alone for so long, I just... lost myself. Are you alright? You didn't have a nightmare, did you?" It's one of the only explanations that he can think of for the clergyman's behavior--the way he's so desperate to see and hold him again. The ice alien knows how rampant his partner's imagination can run and it's part of the reason he hates to leave him alone for any prolonged period of time, part of the reason he was pulled back to him...but he doesn't know how deep it runs, or that Carlisle's desperation is born of the same hurts that kept them apart for so long in the first place.

[tongueamok]

Despite the icy shell and the injuries, Carlisle remains against Glacius another moment, his fingers curling along the alien's back before he finally pulls himself away. Whatever had been holding his nerves back is quickly deteriorating, crumbling now that he knows his source of stability within Hadriel is still there to catch him, to break his fall. As the dam bursts, the words come pouring out of him.

"No, I—" he starts, his eyes falling as he takes in Glacius' condition. His hands are shaking as he runs them along Glacius' arms. "What- what happened? I- I knew I should call you, I really do, but Emily is gone and every time I thought of using the device to get a hold of you, I wondered if your name would be gone as well, and I couldn't- I couldn't bear the thought of that! She was close to you, and I should have reached out to you, I should have, but I thought of myself first and that's a regrettable choice on my part, but I couldn't take the thought you might not be here, and that the false gods had taken you as they'd taken her, because why would they leave you here with me when they know what misery they could inflict upon a miserable wretch like myself?"

He slows down there. He'd be visibly happier if he weren't so rattled by the sudden relief that washes over him, his apprehension fading, leaving him exhausted from the stress alone.

[Park]

[lifetothefullest]

Despite having been here nearly two months, Lance hasn't totally explored Hadriel just yet.

He was at the park for the first time only briefly a few days earlier, to meet with Henry, but he hadn't had much of a chance to look around and so decided to come back. Having given himself a little bit of time to rest after overdoing his attempts at exercise, he feels well enough to really wander around, and the patch of green catches his attention as he does so.

He's not really expecting a plant to be tossed in his direction as he nears, jumping back in surprise, but it clearly wasn't aimed at him and he's pretty sure the man who threw it has no idea he's there. He also looks very upset, and so Lance can't help but step a little closer and speak up softly.

"Hey, are you alright?"

[tongueamok]

With the first hurled pot having done nothing to sate his temper, Carlisle gets ready to throw another one, as though the destruction of one thing he holds dear would somehow ease the ache he feels from the loss of something -- or someone -- else he equally enjoyed. However, as he grabs the pot and prepares to lob it, he spots his visitor, the soft voice nearly lost in the frustration he feels.

The surprise of having an impromptu guest, especially when he is clearly distraught, takes Carlisle aback; he fumbles with the pot in his hands, his fingers only barely catching it as it slips from his grip in his quiet moment of panic. "Ah, sorry!" he calls, his irritation stifled by immediate embarrassment. He reddens just a bit, setting the pot aside and straightening his tabard beneath his apron. "Sorry, I- I didn't see you there. Wasn't- wasn't expecting someone out this far, and not, ah. Not walking in my line of sight."

[lifetothefullest]

He'd really appreciate not getting another plant--or well, really, the pot is the actual problem--tossed at him, but fortunately Carlisle notices him in time and Lance watches in a combination of uncertainty and sympathy as he nearly drops the plant. At least there's no actual harm done.

The flurry of apologies prompts one of his own, immediately forgiving the plant incident entirely. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to startle you. There's no need to apologize." It's not like he tossed the plant at Lance on purpose, and besides, he's had way worse intentionally thrown his direction lately.

But he doesn't miss that his initial question wasn't answered, so he'll ask it again. "Are you okay?"

Speakeasy

[ishotyouuu]

Unfortunately, Carlisle isn't the only one currently drowning his sorrows at the bar. Being lost in the caves for near on three weeks can give you a hell of a thirst, and the destruction of Delight's bar hasn't exactly done much to put Wade on the path to sobriety. Healthy coping mechanisms? What the hell are those? Those are for alcoholics. Wade's a drunk. Drunks don't have to go to all those meetings.

Unfortunately, his journey to a pleasant buzz is somewhat curtailed by the ramblings of the nebbishy-looking dude in the corner. Wade attempts to block him out the first time he starts talking to himself, but after the fourth or fifth time the silence is broken Wade loses his patience, calling out to Carlisle from where he's sitting at the bar.

"Hey. Seymour Krelborn. Wanna dial it back on the monologuing just a tad? Jussayin', I'm havin' a hard enough time shuttin' up the voices in my own head without havin' to listen to someone else's verbal diarrhea."

[tongueamok]

From his lonely corner, Carlisle shoots the fellow accosting him a seething look. He really should behave; he really should curb the ire bubbling in him, that frustration that Emily is gone and there's nothing he can do about it. However, he's had most of that cat-faced bottle at this point, and whatever was in it was strong enough that he goes against his better judgement in this case. His chair squawks as it slides across the floor, his feet loud as he stomps over there, fire in his eyes, bottle in his hand.

"What did you call me?" he demands. "What did you call me just now? Was that an insult? Because that certainly sounded like an insult."

[ishotyouuu]

Kitten's got claws, apparently. Unfortunately Carlisle's attempt at intimidation isn't quite as impressive as he was probably hoping. Wade fixes him with a baleful stare, as if weighing the pros and cons of getting into it with this nerdburglar. Apparently Carlisle isn't even worth keeping an eye on, because after a while Wade merely turns back to the drink he's got sitting in front of him.

"Rick Moranis. Little Shop of Horrors. The TV version, I mean-- I've never seen the play. Heard the plants take over the world and kill everyone in that one, though. And Jack Nicholson is in it instead of Bill Murray. Go figure."

Do you have even the slightest idea of what Wade is talking about, Carlisle? Too bad if you don't, because he's kinda all outta fucks to give at this point.

let me know if this is too late!

[readytobe]

Mewtwo hasn't been back a month yet, and at least a month has passed since he last mentally mapped out the city, so he's been wandering around and taking note of the changes. And finding things that he missed the first time around, too. He might be more annoyed with himself about that if the things in question weren't green and growing. He had been born of machines and science, yes, but he could still feel a deep connection with nature. You can take the Pokemon out of nature, but you can't etc. etc.

So he's not entirely pleased when he finds a man throwing plants around one of these newly-discovered nature spots. He's too far back for it to hit him at all, but he turns to Carlisle with a rather judgmental look all the same. The human does seem to be dressed like a gardener, but surely plant-throwing is not typical gardener practice.

He remains silent for an uncomfortable moment longer before speaking (or 'speaking', as it were). What are you doing?

Not too late! o/

[tongueamok]

Carlisle would have been happy to stew in his own irritation; he'd have been just fine to continue fuming, perhaps even throwing more plants. He doesn't get to be incredibly angry very often, and as much as he might regret all this later, it is, for the moment, a release.

Unfortunately, he doesn't get to stay angry for long, as he hears a voice suddenly ring out. It isn't spoken so much as projected directly into his head, and that downright terrifies him.

"What?" he asks, his eyes darting around him. "What was that?! Who said that?!"

[readytobe]

If Mewtwo were a more mischievous soul, he might hide himself and try to convince Carlisle that it's "his conscious" speaking; instead, he just gives an annoyed huff and takes a step forward. There are times - or there have been times, at least - when he enjoys scaring the pants off others, but more often he would prefer to inspire a less strong reaction.

You are damaging these plants. An obvious statement, yes, but he's not sure if he wants to introduce himself yet. Though perhaps he should've just walked away if he really hadn't wanted any interaction...