"Hmn." Charlie lets out a breath, having now safely locked himself into the thing he doesn't want to do but knows he needs to do anyway.
But first, instructions. Seems pretty simple to remember: arrow means go, everything else kind of fans out from there. He can't help a dry comment, though. "Think they could make the buttons any smaller in the future?"
The war between Charlie and his communicator is in a cold state, but it has not reached a ceasefire.
He presses the single triangle. The clarity of the guitar, the hi-hat, and the ebullient voice yelling right in his ears makes him jump with a hiss like a startled cat -- then a moment later he recovers and laughs, impressed. "I think it's working," he says, loud enough to hear himself, much louder than necessary for anyone not wearing headphones.
He tests the back-and-forth skipping a bit too, then pulls out one of the earbuds and toggles the volume down so that he can actually. You know. Hear anything. There's a grin on his face like there was at the concert, if a bit more managed and a lot less whelmed.
"This is really somethin'," he says, at only a little more than the average volume. "Thanks a lot, Mrs Anderson. What's it s'posed to help with?" Besides, you know, extremely specific music on demand. But seriously, why this, for him, now?
Seeing him smile is something, really something, and she'll take a moment to savor that little victory before she moves right along to the business. She tips her head to the music player.
"That music, the music my grandfather and his brother make, isn't just music. It's got power, power I've used before. Power that got me through when nothing else could."
She points to the earphone.
"When you're listening to that music, you'll see through tricks or illusions or shifts in reality that are trying to mess with you. It'll keep your head clear. It'll keep you focused, in control of your mind and your senses."
She offers him a lopsided smile.
"I figure another 'normal' person could use all the help they could get, given everything that goes on around here." She taps her temple. "And the earbuds are small. You can keep one in without being too obvious, even if it's pretty common for people to wear stuff like that in my day."
It's not entirely surprising to learn that the music is more than music. Tor Anderson clearly had something magical going on, and the question of whether he was a real god or not feels pretty semantic at a certain point.
Charlie's face gets serious, though, as Saga talks. What the music she's offered him does feels targeted, more targeted than her all-inclusive 'all the help they can get' seems intended to imply. And she knows Edwin, maybe knows what he can do. It seems like she might have drawn some conclusions about why Charlie, ah... why that happened.
He's not sure how he feels about that. She trusts Edwin. She's still giving him this line of defence.
But he mirrors the smile, watching her expression, then pulls the second bud out to massage his ear a bit; he's not used to having something shoved in there.
"I'll be damned." Genuinely impressed. Then: "Whaddaya think it would do to one of these breaches I've heard so much about?" he asks, keeping up that half-smile as if it's an idle thought, as if the fact that a breach is looming on the horizon hasn't been keeping him awake.
You won't get a chance to do much of anything before it happens. His smile shakes momentarily. It's not the answer he was hoping for, but he did ask.
"Heh," he says, acknowledging the flip side, looking at the ear bud in his hand. He notices his fingers have a slight tremor. You won't get a chance to do much of anything before it happens. One moment you'll know who you are, and the next you won't.
"Yeah, I'll try that. They, uh--"
Casual. "They tend to come after the floods, do I remember that right?"
She's not going to lie to him. And there's no way to soften that truth; she'd heard about the breaches and read about them beforehand and nothing had prepared her. The best preparation she could give him was honesty.
"I think that's the rhythm." She's only gone through the one, after all. "And you'll remember the life that you were living during the breach the strongest for the first three or so days. Then the memories will fade."
She considers whether she should say something, whether it'll be as helpful, but it isn't as if she'd learned the technique knowing what she was.
She still doesn't know what she is.
"I employ a mental technique, kind of... a sort of meditation, I guess, that helps me to deal with the alternative memories a little easier. I found it pretty effective after the last one, if you're interested in learning." Then, because she's already well aware he's not much for asking for help. "Or I can suggest a book or two on teaching it to yourself."
Asking for help doesn't come naturally to him, but the dread of what's coming lies on Charlie heavily, on top of the cold threat he's already living with. He's doing things he wouldn't usually do. Saga's here at all because he did something he wouldn't usually do. It takes self-control not to agree before she's even finished offering.
He nods, to give himself time to breathe. "Hey, whatever you got, hit me, I'll give it a try," he says, managing to sound as if you won't get a chance to do much of anything before isn't bouncing around his head like a violent screensaver.
The earbuds in his hand are vibrating softly in time with an ecstatic drum beat; the music is still playing, felt rather than heard. He closes his hand around them to control the tremors.
"I ain't looking forward to it, if I gotta be totally honest." He finds refuge in a wry tone.
"For me," she admits quietly, "it was like... picking up a book, reading it, and being entirely engrossed. It's not that you can't put down the book. It's that you're so... into it you don't realize you're in a book. And when the breach is over, you put the book down. You remember everything that happens, and it was a... really good book, so you're still feeling some of what you felt while you read it, but if you don't make an effort to keep it, it fades away as just another book that you read."
She turns a hand.
"Part of what I did once I got back was pointedly close that book and put it on a shelf. It helped."
He wishes he hadn't asked. He wishes she hadn't described it. Forgetting's nice until you realise what's happening. I can't do this again--
He transfers the earbuds from one hand to the other, slowly, for the sake of the movement. Pays attention to the irregular vibrations. Pays attention to the way the soft round ear-pieces move easily under his finger and thumb.
He can't. He can't. He can't. He can't. He can't. That's just like how it was. Lost in the fiction, sometimes jarred out of it when the King pushed too hard with his questions, other times fighting it subconsciously, inventing reasons within the dream that he couldn't or shouldn't talk. A really good book. Jesus fuck. His shelf is already full. There are already piles on the floor around his shelf. He can't do this again.
"All right." That's all she gets while he fights to keep his breathing smooth.
He holds it in, although it hurts like a heart attack. He breathes slowly through it and makes sure to hold the earbuds gently, carefully, so as not to break them. But he hasn't hidden everything, and he feels like he's barely hidden anything at all. What the hell must Saga think of him for being so unable to handle himself, that's his question.
"I'm sorry?"
She spoke. He knows she spoke, he knows he heard her, and yet it bounced right off him while he was preoccupied.
She's going to reach out again, gently, carefully, to the arm that isn't holding the earbud. And she's going to cup her hand around it without holding.
"Sorry. Sometimes I mumble."
And they both know what she's doing, but she's still doing it. She'll do it as long as he needs her to do it.
"I asked if you have some time now. And if you'd like me to teach you the beginning of the mind palace technique that I use to keep my thoughts straight and help me to process difficult information."
He looks at the hand touching him, making contact between his point in space and hers. And he looks a little lost and confused for a moment, because he knows what she's doing but he doesn't know why. Why go out of her way to be patient, to show him her technique, to bring him protective music?
He doesn't know why him. But he does know that sometimes people, good people, go out of their way. The kind of people who make any of this shit seem worth it. And he exhales, and his shoulders relax, just a little. The breach isn't any less frightening, but she's going out of her way.
"You're a doll," he mutters. It means thank you.
"I got time, yeah, I got time. I got a coffee pot too, if you're stopping-- if, if it'll take a while."
"I am, actually," she says with a teasing little smile, still keeping her hand lightly against him, "I'll have to show it to you. It's got a cape and everything, really cute."
She's got the nursery rhyme dolls in her cabin, after all; she'd had them on her when she came. She's spent more time than she'd like staring at the Father doll and considering what it might mean.
"As for the technique, yeah, it'll take a bit." She grins. "So maybe you should get a pot going for both of us, huh?"
"No kidding." That's cute. Somehow, if you asked him to guess one fact about Saga, he wouldn't have gone for 'has a doll of herself with a little cape'. "Yeah, show me sometime."
He mirrors her grin, answers "You got it." He heads off to the pot, where he stops the music with -- the square? right, with the square button -- and then busies himself with a coffee canister and a scoop. The pot's a modern one, came with the kitchenette, and he likes this future innovation much better than he does the little typing screen. The kitchenette's open to the rest of the living space, so it's easy to carry on the conversation.
"Uh... go ahead and take a load off, sister. Make yourself at home. You smoke?"
He doesn't have a lot of visitors at all, here or before, and hasn't had a female guest in longer, but he can at least attempt to host her thoughtfully.
She opens her mouth and then closes it, partially amused and partially frustrated because it feels cruel to take away a creature comfort.
"Modern medicine has noticed that it's not that great for you," she admits, "so a lot of people, when they get older, choose to try and quit smoking. I never tried it myself, but my partner did."
Oh buddy, you do not want to see the inside of this guy's lungs.
"Huh. No kidding."
That's... a strange and unexpected piece of trivia, and goes against probably every doctor's testimonial he's heard. Then again, doctors were into radium water too, and look where that's ended up. Huh!
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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But first, instructions. Seems pretty simple to remember: arrow means go, everything else kind of fans out from there. He can't help a dry comment, though. "Think they could make the buttons any smaller in the future?"
The war between Charlie and his communicator is in a cold state, but it has not reached a ceasefire.
He presses the single triangle. The clarity of the guitar, the hi-hat, and the ebullient voice yelling right in his ears makes him jump with a hiss like a startled cat -- then a moment later he recovers and laughs, impressed. "I think it's working," he says, loud enough to hear himself, much louder than necessary for anyone not wearing headphones.
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She'll let him listen to the music for a few moments until she speaks again.
"You can adjust the volume using the little buttons on the side, up for up and down for down. Nice and simple."
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"This is really somethin'," he says, at only a little more than the average volume. "Thanks a lot, Mrs Anderson. What's it s'posed to help with?" Besides, you know, extremely specific music on demand. But seriously, why this, for him, now?
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"That music, the music my grandfather and his brother make, isn't just music. It's got power, power I've used before. Power that got me through when nothing else could."
She points to the earphone.
"When you're listening to that music, you'll see through tricks or illusions or shifts in reality that are trying to mess with you. It'll keep your head clear. It'll keep you focused, in control of your mind and your senses."
She offers him a lopsided smile.
"I figure another 'normal' person could use all the help they could get, given everything that goes on around here." She taps her temple. "And the earbuds are small. You can keep one in without being too obvious, even if it's pretty common for people to wear stuff like that in my day."
no subject
Charlie's face gets serious, though, as Saga talks. What the music she's offered him does feels targeted, more targeted than her all-inclusive 'all the help they can get' seems intended to imply. And she knows Edwin, maybe knows what he can do. It seems like she might have drawn some conclusions about why Charlie, ah... why that happened.
He's not sure how he feels about that. She trusts Edwin. She's still giving him this line of defence.
But he mirrors the smile, watching her expression, then pulls the second bud out to massage his ear a bit; he's not used to having something shoved in there.
"I'll be damned." Genuinely impressed. Then: "Whaddaya think it would do to one of these breaches I've heard so much about?" he asks, keeping up that half-smile as if it's an idle thought, as if the fact that a breach is looming on the horizon hasn't been keeping him awake.
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On the flip side-
"It'll probably help you clear out the effects after the fact, though. I know I've had a lot of luck myself that way."
Using her own power but it definitely can't hurt.
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"Heh," he says, acknowledging the flip side, looking at the ear bud in his hand. He notices his fingers have a slight tremor. You won't get a chance to do much of anything before it happens. One moment you'll know who you are, and the next you won't.
"Yeah, I'll try that. They, uh--"
Casual. "They tend to come after the floods, do I remember that right?"
no subject
"I think that's the rhythm." She's only gone through the one, after all. "And you'll remember the life that you were living during the breach the strongest for the first three or so days. Then the memories will fade."
She considers whether she should say something, whether it'll be as helpful, but it isn't as if she'd learned the technique knowing what she was.
She still doesn't know what she is.
"I employ a mental technique, kind of... a sort of meditation, I guess, that helps me to deal with the alternative memories a little easier. I found it pretty effective after the last one, if you're interested in learning." Then, because she's already well aware he's not much for asking for help. "Or I can suggest a book or two on teaching it to yourself."
no subject
He nods, to give himself time to breathe. "Hey, whatever you got, hit me, I'll give it a try," he says, managing to sound as if you won't get a chance to do much of anything before isn't bouncing around his head like a violent screensaver.
The earbuds in his hand are vibrating softly in time with an ecstatic drum beat; the music is still playing, felt rather than heard. He closes his hand around them to control the tremors.
"I ain't looking forward to it, if I gotta be totally honest." He finds refuge in a wry tone.
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She turns a hand.
"Part of what I did once I got back was pointedly close that book and put it on a shelf. It helped."
no subject
He transfers the earbuds from one hand to the other, slowly, for the sake of the movement. Pays attention to the irregular vibrations. Pays attention to the way the soft round ear-pieces move easily under his finger and thumb.
He can't. He can't. He can't. He can't. He can't. That's just like how it was. Lost in the fiction, sometimes jarred out of it when the King pushed too hard with his questions, other times fighting it subconsciously, inventing reasons within the dream that he couldn't or shouldn't talk. A really good book. Jesus fuck. His shelf is already full. There are already piles on the floor around his shelf. He can't do this again.
"All right." That's all she gets while he fights to keep his breathing smooth.
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"Do you have some time now? I can get you started."
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"I'm sorry?"
She spoke. He knows she spoke, he knows he heard her, and yet it bounced right off him while he was preoccupied.
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"Sorry. Sometimes I mumble."
And they both know what she's doing, but she's still doing it. She'll do it as long as he needs her to do it.
"I asked if you have some time now. And if you'd like me to teach you the beginning of the mind palace technique that I use to keep my thoughts straight and help me to process difficult information."
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He doesn't know why him. But he does know that sometimes people, good people, go out of their way. The kind of people who make any of this shit seem worth it. And he exhales, and his shoulders relax, just a little. The breach isn't any less frightening, but she's going out of her way.
"You're a doll," he mutters. It means thank you.
"I got time, yeah, I got time. I got a coffee pot too, if you're stopping-- if, if it'll take a while."
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She's got the nursery rhyme dolls in her cabin, after all; she'd had them on her when she came. She's spent more time than she'd like staring at the Father doll and considering what it might mean.
"As for the technique, yeah, it'll take a bit." She grins. "So maybe you should get a pot going for both of us, huh?"
no subject
He mirrors her grin, answers "You got it." He heads off to the pot, where he stops the music with -- the square? right, with the square button -- and then busies himself with a coffee canister and a scoop. The pot's a modern one, came with the kitchenette, and he likes this future innovation much better than he does the little typing screen. The kitchenette's open to the rest of the living space, so it's easy to carry on the conversation.
"Uh... go ahead and take a load off, sister. Make yourself at home. You smoke?"
He doesn't have a lot of visitors at all, here or before, and hasn't had a female guest in longer, but he can at least attempt to host her thoughtfully.
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"No, thank you," she says cheerfully, "but thank you."
And she'll settle onto the couch and wait for him for the time being, give him some time to do normal things and have his space in his space.
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50% to Saga, 50% thinking out loud about a funny little piece of culture shock that still throws him off sometimes.
"I tell ya, I knew somethin' was screwy with this place when there were no ashtrays put out in the cafeteria."
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"Modern medicine has noticed that it's not that great for you," she admits, "so a lot of people, when they get older, choose to try and quit smoking. I never tried it myself, but my partner did."
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She's hopeful that the guy doesn't need to deal with lung problems on top of the Eldritch Horrors
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"Huh. No kidding."
That's... a strange and unexpected piece of trivia, and goes against probably every doctor's testimonial he's heard. Then again, doctors were into radium water too, and look where that's ended up. Huh!
"Gonna be bad news for some people back at home."
Not him though! His days are already numbered.
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"Probably. But life is about choices. And for some people, cigarettes are worth it."
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...hmmm okay they're making friends but maybe saying he hasn't got much else going on is a bit of an off-colour joke to make to a young lady...
"Anyway, pot's about done -- how d'you like it?"
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