. .. IC Contact | Duplicity .. .

[konstant]

                                                                 

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[konstant]

[They'd talked about it, even. K had tried to say he understood, and Jesus had insisted he felt safe, felt good with him. And he meant that too.

He's meant all of it, even his apology, which leaves K at a loss for what to do, so he makes a soft sound of agreement in his throat, and occupies himself with another lungful of smoke.]

[cryfrustration]

I'm not here to try 'n be some kinda go-between, trying to patch things up 'tween you guys like some middleman. That's not my place.

He came to me, and that's no small thing. It matters. But it's to one side. I'm worried 'bout you now, K. I'm worried 'bout where this leaves you.

He told me you don't trust him anymore. [But he doesn't know if those were K's words or what Jesus took from them. He doesn't know if that's where K is at right now. And there's no blame for it, either way. He's just looking for a place to begin.]

[konstant]

There's nothing to patch up. We didn't argue. I'm not angry.

[He accepted Jesus's apology, and told him they're okay; clearly, Jesus didn't believe that, but that's fair. K meant to mean it, but he doesn't know how to actually get any closer to that end goal.

He's still not angry, not particularly. Something else though, something related, something not far from it.]

I just. Don't know what to believe.

[cryfrustration]

Yeah. I can kinda guess it must be like limbo.

[He can imagine frustration and resentment for the situation that K's found himself left in, but it's not his place to try and drum up words for whatever K is feeling either.]

Have you spoken to Drake? [The other factor in all this, a man Vrenille doesn't know except second hand, but who's come to hold this position of power in K's life.]

[konstant]

Yes.

He came to find me first. He asked to, I guess.

He wanted me to know that it didn't change anything between us. Except it did change something, even if he doesn't know the shape of it yet.

[cryfrustration]

First? [Obvious surprise. Jesus failed to mention that.

Vrenille's prepared to bite his tongue on it. He's prepared to try and bite his tongue on all of it, but as K goes on, the furrow in his brow grows. He opens his mouth and closes it again a few times before actually figuring out what he wants to say.]

Sorry, maybe I'm not following.

He asked to talk to you so he could tell you Jesus leaving doesn't change anything.

And then--is it you saying something has changed even though he doesn't know it? Or is that him saying it to you, like he's gonna let you know when he works out what the change is?

[konstant]

[The difficulty with trying to do damage control with a replicant blade runner is that it's nearly impossible to bluff him. He's too well mannered to call anyone out on it, usually, but he has to be very distracted indeed to miss whatever is underneath whatever he's being told.]

He said he wanted me to be able to trust him. He was trying to make me believe our arrangement didn't have to change.

But so much of it hinges on Jesus. How can it not?

[cryfrustration]

I just don't see how someone's gonna tell you that. Seems a lot more an asking you situation to me.

[He doesn't care for it, and even though he's not going to say so directly, K will probably be able to tell even via video. He doesn't care for anyone taking a unilateral stance on how things are or how they will be with anyone, but especially not with K.

But he sighs deeply lets it go. For one thing, he might still be misunderstanding. For another, if K's not mad about it, then Vrenille needs to accept his lead. And for a third, Drake is someone who Jesus trusts--who Jesus loves. So, alright. But that doesn't make him any less worried.]

It kinda sounded like it all hinges on Jesus. Unless there's parts I'm missing. You've never made it sound like you and Drake are close.

[konstant]

Jesus was the go between for our contract. I... when I lived with V for that month, we were neighbors, and I would pet his dog sometimes. But he came and spoke to me for the first time after Jesus mentioned me.

And I didn't want a contract. I still don't want a contract. But I also didn't want to keep hurting people, and it's not going to change, so - Jesus trusts him. I have no reason not to, not that he's given me, and I do like him. He's been kind.

[K's cigarette hits the filter and he grinds it out in the ashtray, but immediately pulls another out of the tin on the table.]

He helped me set terms in the contract, helped rent this apartment, and - then he left me alone, which is what I wanted. It's not his fault I don't want this. It's not because of him that I don't.

I just. [He falls quiet, rolling the unlit cigarette in his fingers, rubbing Nibbles' ears. He just doesn't know, so he just doesn't start again.]

[cryfrustration]

Well trusting him and liking him, those go a long way. And kindness is important.

There's a lotta folks in this city who've got contracts of convenience. Two people needing signatures on a piece of paper and nothing more. Sign and then live their lives separate. If that's what you want and he'll still respect it now... [On that front, K is formally no better or worse off, regardless of what Jesus chooses to do.

That's clearly not how it feels though, and Vrenille's not about to try and say it should.]

If Jesus went back, if he signed with Drake again, would that make it-- I know not better, but would it help?

[konstant]

[Another long pause. K sits for several moments, trying to get traction on the question, trying to make it fit what he knows is the logical progression. It's two days, and if no one had said anything, nothing would have changed. It shouldn't matter. No harm no foul, nothing has changed, nothing has happened.

Except it did. K lights the new cigarette, carefully setting it down again, and tries to say yes. Tries to say it's a done deal, it's fine, life goes on.

What he says, very very quietly, is:] I don't want to be here, Vrenille.

[cryfrustration]

[It breaks Vrenille's heart hearing him say it and knowing he's so entirely powerless to alleviate the hurt--to alleviate anything, not just about having to be here, but about having to feel the things he's now feeling.

He can't get him out of a contract he doesn't want to be in, can't get him free from contracts altogether, can't take him home with him to Tyria, can't take away the things that are worst and most inescapable about life in this city, and he doesn't have any words that will make this hurt any less.]

I'm coming there, alright? I know I can't change anything, but I'm coming there, and then... I just am. [So long as K doesn't tell him no, at least.]

[konstant]

Jesus needs you there.

[K is rubbing at his face, rubbing hard at the corners of his eyes, like he can massage any of this right out of him but of course he can't. No one can.]

He came to you there. That's a big deal.

[cryfrustration]

He's asleep. Probably be out for a few hours yet. I'll leave a note in case he wakes up while I'm out.

[And more to the point, Jesus seemed pretty steady and calm at the point they reached. That's not to say that panic can't resurge, but the initial crisis seemed to have ebbed.]

He wouldn't want me not to come see you.

[konstant]

[Smoke curls up into the starlight framed by the window, pulled out the gap he's left open to vent it. More rushes up as he breathes out.]

Alright.

Could you bring more cigarettes? I'm almost out.

[cryfrustration]

Of course I can. [It's such a small, simple request that it has no right to strike the pang it does in his chest, but he smiles through it regardless.]

I'll be there in twenty.

~~~> Spam ]

[konstant]

[There's a light on by the time K is opening the door for Vrenille, at least.
K can see just fine without it, but he knows how it looks, and anyway Vrenille will probably need it so he turns on one low lamp in the corner and pours a few drinks while he waits. Waiting is always hardest.

He was always good at waiting.

K is also holding what is both very obviously a puppy still and on her way to becoming quite a sturdy, large adult pit bull, solid, rich butterscotch in color; he has her over one arm like she's still only weeks old, held to his chest so that when she starts wiggling excitedly upon seeing the newcomer, he can steady them both.

She lets out a soft whuff of sound that gathers in the next one to slightly louder, but he murmurs to her and strokes between her ears and she doesn't bark again, only wiggles harder.]

This is Mango. If you pet her a few times, I can put her away with a toy and she won't make the neighbors hate me.

[It's hit or miss sometimes, she's still a puppy, but he's confident he can keep her quiet anyway. Nibbles has already moved to the bed.]

[cryfrustration]

The first thing Vrenille wants to do when he gets through the door is throw his arms around K's neck and hug him.

There's a puppy in the way though, and he can absolutely tell by all the wriggling, that there's going to be no settling down without a greeting. So he dutifully presents his hand for sniffing, licking, nibbling, or the overeager combination of all three that one sometimes gets with puppies.

"Mango," he repeats the name first to smile at K for how adorable that is before greeting the dog herself. "Hi, Mango." He rubs her chin and one floppy ear, hopefully offering what counts as a satisfactory puppy greeting. His experience with animals has never extended to being a natural with them, but it's not at all lost on him how important these companions K is accumulating seem to be for him, and that matters to him a great deal.

"Hard to imagine you not getting on with your neighbours." K is so polite and respectful of people. But then he's also the single submissive who lives next door, and sometimes people will use any petty excuse to complain.

[konstant]

"I never have," he admits, and he smiles when he does but it's neither happy nor reaches his eyes. "At least the ones here don't write things on my door."

Mango is all too happy to make a new friend, pawing the air as if she can paddle closer to Vrenille, tail wagging furiously when it's not caught against K's chest or side. K lets her for a minute or two, and then murmurs quietly, "That's enough." It doesn't cut things off, per se, but when he steps back and moves to put Mango down inside her crate, she doesn't whine or bark. He hands her a chew toy and closes the door, and even though she still stands and stares expectantly between the two men, tail still going, she does settle down to it a few minutes later. She doesn't bark.

K brushes hair off his shirt, glancing back up at Vrenille uncertainly, then away. The animals make for good conversation starters, or buffers; he's not evasive enough just now to try to keep Mango out as a permanent distraction, but it's also true he isn't quite sure what to do now.

"There's um. Drinks there," he finally lands on, nodding at the counter where indeed there are drinks, but he's pulling his cigarette tin out of his pocket again.

[cryfrustration]

While the puppy remains a factor, Vrenille rubs absently behind her ears and strokes along the top of her head. It's just what seems necessary though, a basic level of placation. He's thinking about the apartment he saw in K's memories, the ways people in his world spoke to him, the counterpoints with this one.

It shouldn't be difficult to score a mark on the plus side when the bar is literally on the floor like it has been in so many of K's past experiences, and yet somehow, things in this city seem to keep kicking him while he's down.

"I got you two," he says, pulling twin packs of cigarettes out of a jacket pocket and setting them down for K.

And then he takes the liberty of pouring a drink for them both, selecting something from the available bottles, opting for whatever looks hard but smooth, or at least as smooth as possible. (He and Hakkyuu drink whiskey when they want to drink something strong, so if that's an option, he'll choose it now.) He waits until K's lit his next cigarette before passing him a glass.

"You said you're not angry," his eyes are worried. Maybe K will just tell him he doesn't want to talk about this, maybe it won't do any good...but maybe it will do, maybe talking it through will help a little. "What are you feeling?"

[konstant]

The request shouldn't have been so poignant; the fact that Vrenille actually did it shouldn't be, either, both for its simplicity and for the fact it's Vrenille and yet he blinks a moment when he sees the packs. Two, even. He swallows subtly, and nods.

"Thank you," he offers, quiet, touched as he takes them. He brings them with him over to the couch so he can work on transferring them to his tin - where he's obviously been sitting either often or for a long time, judging by the state of the ashtray. This is where his lighter is, too, so he just stays there while Vrenille brings over, yes, whiskey. He nods again, but sets the glass down on the coffee table for now, focused more on taking long drag off the cigarette while he doesn't answer and doesn't answer and doesn't answer.

What is he feeling? "Not angry with Jesus, I guess," he finally settles on, sighing out smoke. "He was doing what he thought he had to do." It's not for him to say what someone else should and shouldn't do, not for him to decide what's a valid reason and what's not. "But - this keeps happening, and I keep saying I'm afraid of it happening, and I keep being promised it won't. And then it does. But I'm the one who doesn't understand how things are?"

[cryfrustration]

It's such a small thing, but Vrenille watches K take those packs of cigarettes feeling as though he's managed to send a little care package across a no man's land of isolation that he's still trying to find his own way across. It's not much maybe, but at least a not nothing.

"You," he acknowledges firmly, taking a neighbouring seat on the couch, "understand a helluva lot, K. And if we don't acknowledge that often 'nuff then we oughta." We, he says, because he doesn't think he's necessarily excluded from the people who've, inadvertently, made K feel this way.

"I think with humans...I'd say a lotta times, we want so badly for things to be different with us, different in our lives, in what we do and what happens 'cause of it. We really go in with the best intentions, believing what we say, and then somehow, there's the same shit happening again, even when we tried to avoid it. We think we're taking a different road, going somewhere new, we really feel like we are. And then we end up back in the same place again, and maybe we don't even know how we got there; we just got there." He's seen the pattern too many times with too many people not to have noticed it by now.

"None of that's on you though. We both know Jesus didn't set out to hurt you, but here you are still hurt nonetheless." He swirls the whiskey in his glass, looking at the amber of the liquid, not yet taking a sip before looking up at K again.

[konstant]

Here he is, still hurt nonetheless. K turns the cigarette between his fingertips, studying it. It does help, a little, to receive that acknowledgement even if he wonders then at the way some instinct in him, some reflex, rears up immediately to absolve the humans around him from any fault. Is that him? Is that how he feels? Or is it the programming, keeping humans safe from him and what he might do if he did blame them?

He doesn't look up, and only barely manages not to say it, not right now.

"When I was in jail over my first deadline," he says instead, "V begged me to sign with him, for three days straight. Give him this chance. Let him help, it could be different than what I thought, we could make it something else together. He was from a nomad culture, and I think it actually hurt him to see me confined even though the only part I minded was the guards, and even they were... predictable." He draws a lungful of smoke, holds it.

Lets it out slowly while he speaks. "I went in, then, knowing that the city would be forced to do something with me eventually. Assign me to someone - like they did, after he was gone. Inject me with something to take away my choice, like they did when I missed quota. Or just get rid of me. I knew that. I accepted it. I watched it done in Los Angeles, with the rebel replicants we did manage to bring in alive. But V begged me, and it was hurting him, hurting Jesus, hurting you and Sara. So I tried." Here, finally, gently as though it has sharp edges that cut under too much pressure, as if it's something lodged so deep that any movement aches: "He didn't want to go, not for a moment, but V is still gone. There's no together with only one."

[cryfrustration]

"I am so sorry you lost him--when, how you did." There's nothing to be done about it, but that doesn't make it less grievable. "Everything in this place is so fucking arbitrary, so gods damned unfair." But K, he thinks, has had to live through more unfairness here than most, which is saying something.

"For what it's worth 'n everything you've said, I believe what he was telling you, that chance for you together. I wish to all the gods you'd had time to find out. But that and a gold will get you on the airship, as they say." Wishes are cheap and they change nothing, and ultimately the sentiment is pretty peripheral. Wanting K to be able to be happy is all well and good, but it can't overwrite listening to him--listening to the uncomfortable real of what he's saying.

"Do you regret it? Saying yes to him? You've done this twice now to keep from hurting others--all us humans who wanna see you free. Two contracts you've signed to keep us from hurting. Two people who've made commitments they meant to keep." Commitments that they each, for reasons beyond simple choice and without assigning any blame for it, ended up breaking. And K himself is the one hurt in the process. "Do you wish you'd stayed in that cell?"

[konstant]

He lets that empathy sit for a moment, lets himself feel it. He still misses V but Jesus was the only other person K knows who knew him, and they didn't talk much about him then, and still don't. Jesus likes to keep his grief private, likes to move on and not focus on it, and K understands.

But V was so effortlessly, completely, transparently friendly with him at a time when K was only just learning that was even possible; he was so immediately enraged and protective on his behalf at any slight. He was warm, and he was loyal, and his smile and his laugh were infectious and he was the type of person it was just easy to be around, and K misses him.

He glances over at Nibbles, the cat he inherited when V went home; he watches him for a time, listening to Vrenille, considering his question. Considers lying, now that it's a thing he can do; others might like it better if he did, but he rubs one thumb with the other and says, "Yes." It means so much that there's anyone at all, now, that wants him to feel happy, but sometimes he feels like that comes at the expense of the reality of the situation they're in.

Things don't necessarily have to be a certain way, but here, frequently they are.

"I don't regret helping him, because he did need someone to sign or he would have ended up in jail himself. But sometimes I really, really wish he would have spent that effort on someone else and left me there. I don't regret the extra time with Jesus, or getting to live here, but -" He looks around then at this apartment that is, by Los Angeles standards, unimaginably luxurious, that feels like he's not really supposed to be here.

"At least in Los Angeles, I knew what to expect and so did everyone else. When I knew I wasn't going to survive, I accepted it. It was peaceful at the end, and somehow in spite of everything, I knew I wasn't going to hurt anymore. It's hard not to want that."