He pulls out the little music player Saga gave him and presses the button labelled with a square*, only looking at it out of the corner of his eye, standing as he does with a quiet grunt.
"Give me a warning if you're gonna want to throw anything at me," and his tone is wry, not un-self-aware of how that comes off after tackling somebody in the corridor, "but if not then I got a coffee pot and a bowl of weird candy in my cabin. If that suits you."
While they don't know each other well socially, he does know Jedao is loved by John, and while John's love doesn't guarantee someone isn't a violent little shit it does make Charlie feel comfortable in extending the invite. Might as well have some creature comforts around while you think about the worst ten years of your life for the umpteenth time this week.
*on music players from the future, square means stop.
"I solemnly swear not to throw anything if I don't have to eat the weird candy," Jedao promises wryly. "My old boss always had weird candy when I got summoned to his office for -"
He waves his hand in a way that he hopes indicates a relatable amount of being grilled by your boss, even if your boss is not also the emperor of an interstellar faction of spies, who is technically holding you prisoner.
It's a relatable hand gesture that everyone can enjoy. Charlie grins the sort of easy grin that's more social lubricant than it is display of feeling. "Ah shit," he says lightly, "thought I could palm it off. Guess I'm stuck with it a little while longer."
It's cool how he can lead the way to the closest elevators perfectly normally, when in his head he's dragging his feet like David Collins walking towards an A&E.
"It was always a different weird flavor, too, because he was kind of a sugar fiend, and I could never tell how much he was fucking with me about it," Jedao chatters, just to fill up what could otherwise be awkward-to-ominous silence.
"Oh, this one is ginger mushroom, Jedao, it's ethereal, you have to try it," he mimics, and despite the silliness of the words, while doing the impression his voice takes on a weird combination of frenetic pace and deeper tones, a weirdly glittery gravitas. Shuos Mikodez was a strange and complicated man.
But they get to Charlie's cabin without issue, anyway, which is the important bit.
"You ever think that the commissary is just the Admiral's bowl of weird candy?"
Honestly, he likes the chatter. He likes it when someone can fill a space, even if this is more like avoiding silence. He can get behind avoiding silence, too.
His cabin is... generic. The door is the same as an unoccupied door, and the layout and furniture the same as an unoccupied layout and furniture, minimalist and clean-lined. There's some added clutter of Charlie's own, and some ashtrays, and a cigarette smell that's blessedly minimal since the Admiral gave him a hand with that.
Charlie goes straight to the coffee machine in the kitchenette. "Take a load off, Mr Cho. You want one?"
"Appreciate it," he says, and takes the chair with the second-best sightlines. He doesn't mind the cigarette smell - he associates it with Eiffel, so it's even a little soothing.
"I don't suppose I could just get a cup of water? Strong flavors kind of mess with me," he admits, which isn't something he normally likes to talk about with people he doesn't trust, even if he isn't touching on the why. Accepting a cup and gulping it down might have been easier on their extremely tentative rapport, too, but - Jedao made a decision before he went looking for Charlie that he wasn't going to lie.
"You got it." If Charlie thinks that's unusual, he doesn't show it. It would be a pretty big waste of one's allotted time on earth to get offended because somebody doesn't like roasted beans.
He keeps himself from pacing nervously by filling up a cup at the sink, while the coffee machine gurgles and chugs. He doesn't know how far Jedao's going to try to dig, has even less idea how much is his business considering his- his closeness with Yellow, and that's about the point where Charlie's attempt to mentally prepare hits a big white horrible wall like a bug hitting a windshield and can go no further until it absolutely has to.
Presently he's bringing over the drinks, sitting opposite Jedao in about an 90% accurate affectation of ease, sliding a silver case out of his trouser pocket.
"I'm gonna talk first, if that's alright? I figure, I asked to talk, so it's only fair I put my cards on the table first."
It's still hard to decide exactly where to start, though. Where the line is between being forthcoming and - unnecessary dwelling on the shit that's already giving the guy jitters. Jedao sips his water - Shuos-polite. Accepting the hospitality, proving he doesn't expect poison.
"I don't want to yell at you, or hurt you. I love John a lot, and he's a pretty good judge of character. I really hope we could get to know each other, be friends eventually. I didn't approach you before now, because I figure you've got enough people tangled up with Edwin on your case, and someone else trying to get into your good graces who loves him is...well. I figured it wouldn't help."
So he'd given the man space.
"He wanted to give you space, and I know you've both been trying to just - not interact. But it's a small boat, and it's built to throw people together. And if I was walking around on a real small boat, with a bunch of people I cared about pointing to an unexploded mine and saying hey, this is our friend Steve, then just not talking to Steve would not really solve my problem of worrying about the fucking bomb day and night while everyone looked at me like I was nuts and I had to pretend and go, oh yeah, Steve, sure. I'll just be respectful and not bug him, and he won't bug me, no problem. I think doing that for awhile would really fuck me up."
He blows out a long, slow breath.
"It hurts him, to be trying so hard to be gracious to someone who's - who reacts to him like he's a monster, who believes things that are also his deep-down fears. That maybe he deserves it because he is the King. And it hurts you to be walking this razor's edge with no clear way to step off it. So I was hoping we could talk frankly, about what kind of evidence or contingencies might help you get off the razor path, because right now it seems... unsustainable, and hurtful, for both of you."
There are a couple of rollups already in the case, but Charlie ignores them and opens the little drawstring tobacco pouch beside them. This is for the ritual movement of rolling as much as it is the actual cigarette. He looks at Jedao to show he's listening, but his gaze quickly moves down to his own hands.
He's already decided (through gritted teeth) not to rebuff wardens who approach him about publicly brawling, since he's not trying to be above the law, and interpersonal pushing seems to be the only particular law that exists here between 'demotion' and 'nothing'. And he's already braced to have to stomach hearing good things about Yellow, for obvious reasons. But this is a very... holistic line of questioning, and unbearably good-cop, and uncomfortably insightful. Charlie's putting the cigarette in his mouth when Jedao is halfway through his bomb metaphor, and he does so with a sort of 'fuck my life' wry grin at the far wall, letting go of his poker face for a moment.
When Jedao's done, Charlie's silent for a few moments, exhaling smoke off to the side, hoping it's not obvious how naked he feels from parts of that whole speech. He starts sentences in his head, discards them, tries again. It would be awesome if he could tell Jedao to fuck off out of his cabin and leave this subject alone, but awesome things are sometimes not an option on the table.
"Frankly," he says at last, flatly, "I wish I had the least goddamn idea."
And then he's silent again, but the movement of his jaw suggests he isn't leaving the answer there, more... figuring out how to continue it. Maybe he should... he should establish context, maybe.
"What, uh. Whaddaya know about..."
Fuck. Hang on. Still monotonal:
"I guess you know there's a reason I don't trust him. He tell you much about it?"
"He told me the King tortured you for ten years," Jedao says quietly, not monotone but close to it, plain and factual.
"I don't know any details, past that. I've seen torture before, but...the Vidona atrocities were measured in hours, days at the most. I can't really imagine."
All right. Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool. No, it's great, he loves it when people just know that. Charlie puts a great deal of concentration into dragging on his cigarette completely calmly and normally. His face is about as closed off as a face can get. He breathes out again.
"He, uh."
He wonders if Jedao will believe him. Thinks suddenly of Alan talking about the King as being from a fictional story. Chuckles a bit, though it isn't actually funny.
"The King in Yellow, this ancient thing of terrible power, started invading my dreams some time ago. Pretty soon he took me off to his realm in the Dreamlands so that it could be a full-time affair for the next, as far as I can tell, ten years. Some... ordinary, mundane tortures, yes, but above all he was a master manipulator, twisting my reality into whatever he wanted it to be."
His voice begins to get more animated, unusually so, though his eyes are on something else.
"He can whisper in your ear and make you think it's the voice of a loved one. Make you look at someone you love and think they're a stranger. Make you think your own limbs are parasites eatin' you. Shatter your sanity with no more thought or effort than dropping a sheet of glass." He's not consciously moving between I and you, he just... needs the extra level of removal, sometimes. "A creature made of madness with a thousand gibbering masks, a-a..."
...and he catches himself.
"Well, that's... beside the point."
...and also remembers who he's talking to, and who he's talking about, and the fact that however true this thing that sometimes tries to tear its way out of his chest is, it's not particularly tactful.
"Sorry. That's... yeah, that's a long way beside the point."
Monotone, again. Staring at the low table between them, again. Apologetic.
"All I... Jesus. I'm not trying to... All I need to say is he pulled out a lotta faces during that time, a lotta names. Some of them he... he picked straight out of my memories, some he took from... other people, I think. He musta put on hundreds of- of characters to trick me. And then there's..."
He waves a hand unhappily, not wanting to say it.
"Edwin. So I don't... have any- I-I don't have any goddamn idea how to figure it out. Ain't got a clue. I'm all ears if you got any ideas because I don't know."
The one thing in this world he can be sure about is that he feels like absolute warmed-up shit from saying all that.
Jedao listens, and if he wants to flinch think they're a stranger - he doesn't. Charlie's lived it, and Jedao can at least face it. He's quiet for a few moments, resolving - yes, that matches. That's the why he was missing, half-suspected after his own glimpse into the dreamlands.
"I don't think it's beside the point," he says softly, but firmly. "It's at the heart of the difficulty, that you've endured by not trusting, by bracing yourself and your own intuition against a malleable world. That's a powerful, incredible thing. You were right to do it, and I know that's...a very hard shield to set down."
It works itself out in much smaller, subtler ways, for Jedao. But knowing - knowing - that everything everyone around you says is wrong, that you know the truth - or that you didn't, that you should have looked deeper, when knowing you should have refused to believe the evidence of your own eyes and ears will haunt you forever -
"Before you came to the boat. What differences, between the world and the King's lies, helped you most in knowing, in reminding yourself that you'd gotten way?"
Jedao is being very very accommodating for someone with skin in the game on Edwin's side, and Charlie doesn't know whether he trusts his own judgement about how suspicious that is. His understanding makes Charlie feel like he's being buttered up.
He's asking a fair question. If he doesn't know that one of the only real answers is 'there are things I know that the King doesn't', and why would he know that, then the question isn't overly pointed at all. Charlie is being an insane person right now probably and also severely overanalysing the layers and implications and pressure that might or might not exist in 'that's a hard shield to put down' he's being an insane person maybe.
Charlie takes a long breath through his cigarette to buy time, watching Jedao with an expression that's opaque but for the little bit of nervousness he hasn't successfully stuffed behind it.
"Being frank," he says at last, and he is actually giving a true answer, just a different true answer-
He grins reflexively for a second, then makes himself say it anyway, what with the frankness of the discussion and all. He shrugs. It's sort of funny actually and also isn't. Lightly: "It's practical. Don't get a lot done otherwise."
Jedao grins, for a flicker of a moment, acknowledging the mirthless joke.
"Fair enough." He drums his fingers pensively on the side of his cup, eyes going a little distant as he remembers the King. Remote, and - not quite pitying. The not-pity of finding someone so far beyond saving that it's not even a tragedy anymore, only an obstacle.
"When I met him, he seemed...bored. He was sulking enormously and making people go insane and kill each other, but he didn't even like it that much. He was fussy. An ancient god of madness, who didn't remember how to care about anything, except he did care whether I used the proper royal address. About...kingliness. It's hard to imagine him putting so much effort into tormenting one random person, when people are so disposable to him. So - you aren't random. And he wasn't just trying to hurt you, to ablate you away, he was trying to trick you. So - information."
He tips his head back and looks at the ceiling, makes a dry huff of breath which isn't quite a laugh.
"...which means me coming over all Crowned With Eyes and trying to figure it all out is also going to put you on edge. Fuck. That's a proper twist of foxes, make no mistake."
He sits back up, puts his cup down, props his elbow on the table, contemplates Charlie with his chin in his hand.
Yeah, contemplates Charlie looking abruptly angry.
It's not really a logical reaction. It's a symptom of jumping from feeling... something (that's as far as he gets) about actually putting that not-really-a-joke into words out loud -- to thinking when you met him???, which is more sort of an alarm and fear thing -- to discomfort as he gets Sherlock Holmesed, made worse by the irritated thought that he would've told Jedao that if he'd asked -- to:
"The hell does that mean?"
His anger is far from incandescent. It's cool, and it's held in. But it's come on too unexpectedly to entirely hide, and so it's visible in how his tension changes tone, audible in the uncomfortable hike to his voice. Because what it sounds like now is that Jedao came here with -- what, with some magic shit that Charlie didn't know about? Something to see through him? If that's a reach then it doesn't feel like one.
He doesn't miss the sudden edge of Charlie's contained anger, but he doesn't bristle at it, either. He ducks his head a little - less retreat than awkward apology.
"Which bit? A twist of foxes is - like, fuck, what's the earth phrase...a catch-23? A finger-trap, where you're stuck coming and going."
Or -
"Crowned With Eyes is..." He rubs his mouth, not ashamed or offended, but self-conscious, uncertain, a little abashed.
"I never know how to explain signifiers. It's like. An omen that's on me, that means I'm really good at...seeing things, that I'm, inclined that way. That I dig and find things, that I have stupid good intuition. It doesn't make me like that, it's that I am that way, so...so it resonated with me, so I have it. I wasn't...doing a power, I was...living down to stereotype. And I thought it might be easier if I just. Did some thinking out loud, instead of interrogating you the whole way down. Seems like I kind of got ahead of myself. Sorry about that."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"That seems wise. I'm happy to go anywhere you'd be more comfortable, or we can use Hakkai's old cabin, if you'd like somewhere more neutral."
no subject
"Give me a warning if you're gonna want to throw anything at me," and his tone is wry, not un-self-aware of how that comes off after tackling somebody in the corridor, "but if not then I got a coffee pot and a bowl of weird candy in my cabin. If that suits you."
While they don't know each other well socially, he does know Jedao is loved by John, and while John's love doesn't guarantee someone isn't a violent little shit it does make Charlie feel comfortable in extending the invite. Might as well have some creature comforts around while you think about the worst ten years of your life for the umpteenth time this week.
*on music players from the future, square means stop.
no subject
He waves his hand in a way that he hopes indicates a relatable amount of being grilled by your boss, even if your boss is not also the emperor of an interstellar faction of spies, who is technically holding you prisoner.
no subject
It's cool how he can lead the way to the closest elevators perfectly normally, when in his head he's dragging his feet like David Collins walking towards an A&E.
no subject
"Oh, this one is ginger mushroom, Jedao, it's ethereal, you have to try it," he mimics, and despite the silliness of the words, while doing the impression his voice takes on a weird combination of frenetic pace and deeper tones, a weirdly glittery gravitas. Shuos Mikodez was a strange and complicated man.
But they get to Charlie's cabin without issue, anyway, which is the important bit.
no subject
Honestly, he likes the chatter. He likes it when someone can fill a space, even if this is more like avoiding silence. He can get behind avoiding silence, too.
His cabin is... generic. The door is the same as an unoccupied door, and the layout and furniture the same as an unoccupied layout and furniture, minimalist and clean-lined. There's some added clutter of Charlie's own, and some ashtrays, and a cigarette smell that's blessedly minimal since the Admiral gave him a hand with that.
Charlie goes straight to the coffee machine in the kitchenette. "Take a load off, Mr Cho. You want one?"
no subject
"I don't suppose I could just get a cup of water? Strong flavors kind of mess with me," he admits, which isn't something he normally likes to talk about with people he doesn't trust, even if he isn't touching on the why. Accepting a cup and gulping it down might have been easier on their extremely tentative rapport, too, but - Jedao made a decision before he went looking for Charlie that he wasn't going to lie.
no subject
He keeps himself from pacing nervously by filling up a cup at the sink, while the coffee machine gurgles and chugs. He doesn't know how far Jedao's going to try to dig, has even less idea how much is his business considering his- his closeness with Yellow, and that's about the point where Charlie's attempt to mentally prepare hits a big white horrible wall like a bug hitting a windshield and can go no further until it absolutely has to.
Presently he's bringing over the drinks, sitting opposite Jedao in about an 90% accurate affectation of ease, sliding a silver case out of his trouser pocket.
"Smoke?"
no subject
"I don't mind if you do, though."
Smells don't bother him. Just food.
"I'm gonna talk first, if that's alright? I figure, I asked to talk, so it's only fair I put my cards on the table first."
It's still hard to decide exactly where to start, though. Where the line is between being forthcoming and - unnecessary dwelling on the shit that's already giving the guy jitters. Jedao sips his water - Shuos-polite. Accepting the hospitality, proving he doesn't expect poison.
"I don't want to yell at you, or hurt you. I love John a lot, and he's a pretty good judge of character. I really hope we could get to know each other, be friends eventually. I didn't approach you before now, because I figure you've got enough people tangled up with Edwin on your case, and someone else trying to get into your good graces who loves him is...well. I figured it wouldn't help."
So he'd given the man space.
"He wanted to give you space, and I know you've both been trying to just - not interact. But it's a small boat, and it's built to throw people together. And if I was walking around on a real small boat, with a bunch of people I cared about pointing to an unexploded mine and saying hey, this is our friend Steve, then just not talking to Steve would not really solve my problem of worrying about the fucking bomb day and night while everyone looked at me like I was nuts and I had to pretend and go, oh yeah, Steve, sure. I'll just be respectful and not bug him, and he won't bug me, no problem. I think doing that for awhile would really fuck me up."
He blows out a long, slow breath.
"It hurts him, to be trying so hard to be gracious to someone who's - who reacts to him like he's a monster, who believes things that are also his deep-down fears. That maybe he deserves it because he is the King. And it hurts you to be walking this razor's edge with no clear way to step off it. So I was hoping we could talk frankly, about what kind of evidence or contingencies might help you get off the razor path, because right now it seems... unsustainable, and hurtful, for both of you."
no subject
He's already decided (through gritted teeth) not to rebuff wardens who approach him about publicly brawling, since he's not trying to be above the law, and interpersonal pushing seems to be the only particular law that exists here between 'demotion' and 'nothing'. And he's already braced to have to stomach hearing good things about Yellow, for obvious reasons. But this is a very... holistic line of questioning, and unbearably good-cop, and uncomfortably insightful. Charlie's putting the cigarette in his mouth when Jedao is halfway through his bomb metaphor, and he does so with a sort of 'fuck my life' wry grin at the far wall, letting go of his poker face for a moment.
When Jedao's done, Charlie's silent for a few moments, exhaling smoke off to the side, hoping it's not obvious how naked he feels from parts of that whole speech. He starts sentences in his head, discards them, tries again. It would be awesome if he could tell Jedao to fuck off out of his cabin and leave this subject alone, but awesome things are sometimes not an option on the table.
"Frankly," he says at last, flatly, "I wish I had the least goddamn idea."
And then he's silent again, but the movement of his jaw suggests he isn't leaving the answer there, more... figuring out how to continue it. Maybe he should... he should establish context, maybe.
"What, uh. Whaddaya know about..."
Fuck. Hang on. Still monotonal:
"I guess you know there's a reason I don't trust him. He tell you much about it?"
no subject
"I don't know any details, past that. I've seen torture before, but...the Vidona atrocities were measured in hours, days at the most. I can't really imagine."
no subject
"He, uh."
He wonders if Jedao will believe him. Thinks suddenly of Alan talking about the King as being from a fictional story. Chuckles a bit, though it isn't actually funny.
"The King in Yellow, this ancient thing of terrible power, started invading my dreams some time ago. Pretty soon he took me off to his realm in the Dreamlands so that it could be a full-time affair for the next, as far as I can tell, ten years. Some... ordinary, mundane tortures, yes, but above all he was a master manipulator, twisting my reality into whatever he wanted it to be."
His voice begins to get more animated, unusually so, though his eyes are on something else.
"He can whisper in your ear and make you think it's the voice of a loved one. Make you look at someone you love and think they're a stranger. Make you think your own limbs are parasites eatin' you. Shatter your sanity with no more thought or effort than dropping a sheet of glass." He's not consciously moving between I and you, he just... needs the extra level of removal, sometimes. "A creature made of madness with a thousand gibbering masks, a-a..."
...and he catches himself.
"Well, that's... beside the point."
...and also remembers who he's talking to, and who he's talking about, and the fact that however true this thing that sometimes tries to tear its way out of his chest is, it's not particularly tactful.
"Sorry. That's... yeah, that's a long way beside the point."
Monotone, again. Staring at the low table between them, again. Apologetic.
"All I... Jesus. I'm not trying to... All I need to say is he pulled out a lotta faces during that time, a lotta names. Some of them he... he picked straight out of my memories, some he took from... other people, I think. He musta put on hundreds of- of characters to trick me. And then there's..."
He waves a hand unhappily, not wanting to say it.
"Edwin. So I don't... have any- I-I don't have any goddamn idea how to figure it out. Ain't got a clue. I'm all ears if you got any ideas because I don't know."
The one thing in this world he can be sure about is that he feels like absolute warmed-up shit from saying all that.
no subject
"I don't think it's beside the point," he says softly, but firmly. "It's at the heart of the difficulty, that you've endured by not trusting, by bracing yourself and your own intuition against a malleable world. That's a powerful, incredible thing. You were right to do it, and I know that's...a very hard shield to set down."
It works itself out in much smaller, subtler ways, for Jedao. But knowing - knowing - that everything everyone around you says is wrong, that you know the truth - or that you didn't, that you should have looked deeper, when knowing you should have refused to believe the evidence of your own eyes and ears will haunt you forever -
"Before you came to the boat. What differences, between the world and the King's lies, helped you most in knowing, in reminding yourself that you'd gotten way?"
no subject
He's asking a fair question. If he doesn't know that one of the only real answers is 'there are things I know that the King doesn't', and why would he know that, then the question isn't overly pointed at all. Charlie is being an insane person right now probably and also severely overanalysing the layers and implications and pressure that might or might not exist in 'that's a hard shield to put down' he's being an insane person maybe.
Charlie takes a long breath through his cigarette to buy time, watching Jedao with an expression that's opaque but for the little bit of nervousness he hasn't successfully stuffed behind it.
"Being frank," he says at last, and he is actually giving a true answer, just a different true answer-
He grins reflexively for a second, then makes himself say it anyway, what with the frankness of the discussion and all. He shrugs. It's sort of funny actually and also isn't. Lightly: "It's practical. Don't get a lot done otherwise."
Hahaha.
no subject
"Fair enough." He drums his fingers pensively on the side of his cup, eyes going a little distant as he remembers the King. Remote, and - not quite pitying. The not-pity of finding someone so far beyond saving that it's not even a tragedy anymore, only an obstacle.
"When I met him, he seemed...bored. He was sulking enormously and making people go insane and kill each other, but he didn't even like it that much. He was fussy. An ancient god of madness, who didn't remember how to care about anything, except he did care whether I used the proper royal address. About...kingliness. It's hard to imagine him putting so much effort into tormenting one random person, when people are so disposable to him. So - you aren't random. And he wasn't just trying to hurt you, to ablate you away, he was trying to trick you. So - information."
He tips his head back and looks at the ceiling, makes a dry huff of breath which isn't quite a laugh.
"...which means me coming over all Crowned With Eyes and trying to figure it all out is also going to put you on edge. Fuck. That's a proper twist of foxes, make no mistake."
He sits back up, puts his cup down, props his elbow on the table, contemplates Charlie with his chin in his hand.
no subject
It's not really a logical reaction. It's a symptom of jumping from feeling... something (that's as far as he gets) about actually putting that not-really-a-joke into words out loud -- to thinking when you met him???, which is more sort of an alarm and fear thing -- to discomfort as he gets Sherlock Holmesed, made worse by the irritated thought that he would've told Jedao that if he'd asked -- to:
"The hell does that mean?"
His anger is far from incandescent. It's cool, and it's held in. But it's come on too unexpectedly to entirely hide, and so it's visible in how his tension changes tone, audible in the uncomfortable hike to his voice. Because what it sounds like now is that Jedao came here with -- what, with some magic shit that Charlie didn't know about? Something to see through him? If that's a reach then it doesn't feel like one.
no subject
"Which bit? A twist of foxes is - like, fuck, what's the earth phrase...a catch-23? A finger-trap, where you're stuck coming and going."
Or -
"Crowned With Eyes is..." He rubs his mouth, not ashamed or offended, but self-conscious, uncertain, a little abashed.
"I never know how to explain signifiers. It's like. An omen that's on me, that means I'm really good at...seeing things, that I'm, inclined that way. That I dig and find things, that I have stupid good intuition. It doesn't make me like that, it's that I am that way, so...so it resonated with me, so I have it. I wasn't...doing a power, I was...living down to stereotype. And I thought it might be easier if I just. Did some thinking out loud, instead of interrogating you the whole way down. Seems like I kind of got ahead of myself. Sorry about that."