[OPEN] Endure

[i_swear]

Who| Joel and you
What| Gettin' hammered on account of there actually being supplies here
Where| in the fever dream that is him clearly imagining the Legion, specifically the observation deck
When| After getting sworn in
Warnings/Notes| swearing, drinking, zombie-talk, mentions of death

He's had time to get used to it. Half a day, it feels like. Maybe more. There's no sunlight to use as a mental map on Legion World, his watch has been busted for years; even in a dream, seems like he can't catch a goddamn break.

His mind could have at least fixed the damn thing.

But the beer's not bad. Better than boiled backwash. The view— aside from being surreal— is pretty enough, though unsettling to think about. Some kind of metaphor for the limbo he's found himself in while the seconds tick on, pulling a long, bitter sip from the bottle in hand. Hard not to imagine the reality of his situation: somewhere outside of his head, he's probably bleeding out, stuck in a coma. Dragging Ellie back from hell hadn't been easy, and he sure ain't as young as he used to be. Doesn't take a genius to put two and two together and—

Christ, he's been staring at those comic books of hers for too long.

Another scoff. Another drink.

"Hell of a way to go."

Comments

[mylawn]

Alcohol does very little for a super soldier unless he's really trying to get drunk, so being in the bar is part placebo, part 'I wonder if this particular alien liquor will do anything for me'. It's an excuse to people watch, too, though now that he's desensitized to Legion World, the clientele is a lot less interesting This guy is new--76 can spot that easily enough just from the way he stares out into space (both literally and figuratively), but he refrains from approaching for a few long moments. He has to size up the situation, first.

Figure out what he's drinking and order one to bring over. You know.

When he finally does interrupt, he's holding a glass of (presumably) whatever Joel's been ordering, but he doesn't invite himself to sit, not until he gets confirmation that this guy might entertain company.

"You're not dead."

He can offer that much, at least.

"Don't know if you consider that good news, but--"

Here is that glass, raised a little in mock-toast before he sets it down on the bar in front of Joel.

[i_swear]

"Not yet I ain't."

The nod he angles Jack's way is a stand-in for any substantial kind of greeting, taking the drink without fanfare or gratitude. He's still sporting the stained grit of a few long, hard-fought battles on his shirt, his knuckles.

But the seat beside him's still open, and he's carrying on conversation; it's a sign enough that he doesn't mind company right about now.

Better than thinking too much.

"Not as long as I keep dreaming up whatever you are."

[mylawn]

Out of the tactical gear, 76 looks almost normal, not counting the scars. This guy, however, seems a little worse for the wear, which he takes as more evidence that he's a recent arrival--or at the very least, hasn't bothered to get cleaned up yet. Still, he's running on assumptions, and there's still plenty of time to be proven wrong. He can test the waters a little.

"Co-workers, I imagine."

He'll just invite himself to sit, now that it looks like Joel isn't about to punch him or reject the beer or both.

"If you took the oath."

[i_swear]

"Yeah, I took the damn thing."

And he looked about as ridiculous swearing in as you'd imagine, but what else was there? Reject it all? Try to wake up? He's tired. Still feels the ache in his bones from clawing tooth and nail through fired rounds and the smell of gunsmoke. Ellie's fine. And she sure as shit doesn't need him anymore.

Not like he imagined he'd have fit in all right with Tommy after all these years, anyhow.

"Don't plan on stayin'; figure it doesn't matter either way."

[mylawn]

There's a noise in the back of his throat that might be a laugh, because he knows the oath is not really a choice for someone who doesn't want to sit idle. If Joel is anything like he is, then he likely didn't see any other option.

Because wasting away from boredom on Legion World is not an option, of course.

"Welcome aboard, in the meantime."

Not that he thinks it's what Joel wants to hear.

"Got a name?"

[i_swear]

"Joel." Said like a surrender. Mostly because— like the rest of the steps he's taken here already— it is. Giving up Ellie had to happen at some point, Marlene wasn't wrong about that; it was the circumstances that mattered, and if she's crashing couch at Tommy's place, well...

She's in better company.

And he's done.

He bites the corner of his lip, wearing down a cut out of habit that's already been mended, brushes aside the empty shell of the glass he'd been drinking from. "Texas."

[mylawn]

"Is that a call sign or where you're from?"

He imagines that in context it's the former, but all things considered, this guy seems pretty...ordinary. Maybe it's both.

[i_swear]

"A nickname."

From someone long dead now. Over nothing, he used to think. A waste that had him hateful, had him hurting. She deserved better. She mattered more.

Now here he is, having done the same damn thing in her footsteps.

"Both."

[mylawn]

"Texas, huh."

There's a sort of wry amusement in his voice--not because he's trying to be smug, but because it's nice to have that vague familiarity, even if he's from another region of the country entirely. 76 imagines he could still be surprised, but so far Joel seems astoundingly normal in a way he hasn't quite encountered here yet.

If he realizes he hasn't introduced himself in turn, he doesn't show it. Mostly he likes keeping the conversation trained on someone else.

"Long way from home."

[i_swear]

"Not really."

He nods his head towards the view, eyes darting to follow before flicking back towards Jack himself. Punctuation for the (entirely flat) punch line.

"I can still see it if I squint."

[mylawn]

That manages to get a laugh out of him, if only because he recognizes this kind of incredibly dry, deadpan humor, and it's appreciated. That seems to be the catalyst for 76 to actually introduce himself, which he does, extending his hand.

"76."

He imagines that Joel won't settle for that (it's a weird name to give), but it will have to be a start.

[i_swear]

"That the year you were born?"

It's a blunt-edged question, asked with a pointed beat of silence while he stares at Jack's hand the way a stray dog eyes a stranger. Wary out of habit, not hatred. Been a long, long time since he's met another man his age that isn't a barrier or a direct, immediate threat.

Eventually, with only one foot in the figurative water, he exhales hard through his nose and finishes off the handshake. A little harder than what's friendly or fair, and a little faster to boot; he's clearly out of practice.

[mylawn]

"Funny, but no."

Jack sort of wishes he had a dollar every time someone asked him that very question, because he'd be rich. Luckily, he has significantly more patience for people his own age than kids who think they're funny, so this time he shrugs it off.

If he notices Joel's less-than-stellar handshake, he doesn't show it.

"And it's not how old I am, either."

That's the other thing people think is funny.

[hallaifyouherd]

"Are you planning on leaving?"

The voice drifts from near the entrance to the observation deck, Marjara's hand on the rail as she observes the man steadily drinking himself into a stupor. The same one from the network the other day, perhaps. He's too far away still for her to tell.

"I wouldn't use that route. Apparently there's an airless vacuum that can kill us all." She tips her head and nods past the glass to the vast expanse of stars twinkling in the black. Beautiful, but dangerous, like so many new things.

[i_swear]

"Planning on dying or waking up from this shitshow." Another pull from the bottle he's holding, and he shrugs it off the way he shrugs everything off: with irritability, with callouses and a bristling tepidness that should be out of place on a face so entirely accepting of his perceived situation.

But he remembers her— and it shows in his expression when his attention turns towards her a beat later.

"Whichever one comes first."

[hallaifyouherd]

"So it still hasn't sunk in yet."

Her lips pressed together faintly as she nodded, took a breath and stepped closer, apparently undeterred but the curt attitude. "I remember what thinking things were impossible felt like. Some days I think I still wonder."

"I've seen the sky torn open, demons and dragons and all manner of things...and yet if I told most people back home that I was among a group of heroes in a fortress that rested amongst the stars? They'd think me mad all over again."

[i_swear]

She's not wrong.

That said, her recount of all the unbelievable things she's seen and heard seems to pluck at something dormant under his skin— enough that he drops his hand to the bar, abandoning his beer with a loud clink— turning in his seat with the posture of an animal that's been riled up in its den.

"You want something from me, kid?"

[hallaifyouherd]

That? Prompts laughter. Maybe it's the gruff way he says it, like it's meant to be demeaning or dismissive, or something else entirely, but it strikes her as suddenly funny and she smiles broadly, shaking her head.

"From you? No. I come here to look at the stars too, you know."

You're not the only one, Joel. So there.

[i_swear]

Part of the problem with assuming you're the only person inhabiting some kind of coma-induced nightmare is that different perspectives are tough as anything to even begin to consider. Couple that with Joel's static way of life, his stubborn insistence on knowing just what is or isn't at any given time, and it's a raw splinter only made that much worse.

She cites her own reason for being there, and he...

Exhales.

Diffuses like the tired thing he is, returning to the secure grip of his drink without further protest.

"Pull up a damn chair, then. No point in standing around on your feet." Said with all the affection of an old man stubbornly picking at someone else's every waking decision— mostly because that is exactly what he's doing.

[hallaifyouherd]

Her eyebrow quirks up at him. "You can be gracious," she replies, not all tart, before nimbly swinging herself up to perch on the railing and hooking her bare feet under one of the supports, to help her balance. It's a long way down, but she doesn't seem all that concerned.

That done, her head tips back to observe the beautiful sight afforded them.

[i_swear]

"My ex-wife would disagree."

Bad humor, but there it is. And when she swivels herself up onto the railing to perch, there's another discontented grunt from her back: Joel's scored brow deeply furrowed as he watches from behind the lip of his beer.

"You're gonna break your neck up there."

[hallaifyouherd]

"If this is what kills me, then it all really has been one big joke. I think Varric would approve."

She glances back over her shoulder at him, watching him slowly nurse at that drink like an elixer for what ails him. "How long have you been sitting here drinking like that?"

[i_swear]

"Ain't nothing funny about throwing your life away. "

Says the man that lived his life trying to do just that.

Still, he shrugs. Thins his lips out in thought, flattening the greying stubble of a beard that's gone too long without trimming. "No idea."

His wrist is raised, then, metal glinting in the pale light. "Watch is busted. No sunlight to tell time with otherwise. Couple hours, maybe."

[hallaifyouherd]

"That tells time?"

She distinctly ignores the comment about throwing her life away -- if she's not in harm's way, then what is she doing with her life, really? -- and leans forward slightly, a curious knot in her tattooed brow.

"What's wrong with it?"

[i_swear]

"Used to." Joel shakes his head, tipping back in his seat and angling a stare up overhead— that wide, vast expanse. Hard not to think about it, all that empty space. What good any of it is when it was all out of reach.

Instead of responding, he lifts a rough hand, scrubbing at his jaw.

"Who tattooed your face?"