ML ★ IC CONTACT

[adsero]

@abel.navigator | ■ ▲ ◌ ▼

Comments

@cain.fighter / breaks in here

[blyat]

hey.

[This is the first he's reached out via the implants, but he's going to assume Abel's since had some time to adjust to them. Cain doubts it would take him long. And... maybe it's an excuse to be in more direct contact, now that it feels the dust is beginning to settle between them. Tentatively, at least.]

almost done making a supply run but ill be back soon
gonna stop and get some food at one of the open shops too. you want anything?

[adsero]

[Once Abel figured out how the network worked, how to navigate it, search, access his own inbox, read what was being posted, he was almost immediately acclimated. He thinks the OS could use some functionality tweaking, but that's hardly what he's focused on now. He's looking at photos of New Amsterdam when the message comes across-- it's a new thing for him, but when he sees who it's from, he curls up a little on the couch and smiles to himself.]

Hi Alexei!
I was thinking about lunch actually, getting kind of hungry. What do they have?

[blyat]

[Having someone use his name so casually is new, somehow unique in the context of a message. He finds himself staring at Alexei for a heartbeat longer than necessary. The giddy jolt of feeling is private to himself, at least.]

nothing great
just shit that doesnt go bad easy. canned and preserved/prepackaged.
maybe we could cook? they got... frozen fish. some vegetables are fresher.

what have you been doing?

[adsero]

Yeah, let's cook something then! If you can get some tuna, some baby tomatoes, and zucchini we can make something from my days at the Academy.

[His face is so pink right now and his thumbnail is likely to be completely gone by the end of this exchange.]

Just reading, trying to get up to speed on everything that's going on. This guide that's been compiled has been very helpful.

[blyat]

ok.

[Cain isn't much better, but at least he can blame the icy wind on any flushed cheeks.]

if you dont get something... you can ask me i guess
you read about the power stuff yet?

@cain.fighter

[blyat]

hey, babe

[Since when did terms of endearment become second nature? Probably since they began living together in romantic domesticity.]

you busy? we should talk about deimos

[adsero]

Hi Alexei, I was just thinking about how your day might be going.

[It always fills Abel with a tingly excitement when he sees Cain message him out of the blue-- though that mood drops when he sees the second half. Oh. Right.]

What's there to talk about?

[blyat]

first i just wanna know how youre feeling about it
him being around, i mean

[See, he's getting better at this.]

[adsero]

[Abel leans back on the sofa and stares at the ceiling. He's not in a good place right now, all he can think about is the feeling of how broken he'd felt in that moment when Phobos and Deimos had left him to pick up the pieces of his life. They did that to hurt him, no other reason, and it worked. It destroyed him.]

[But clearly Cain wants to be friends with Deimos for some godforsaken reason, so Abel has to take that into account too. There's a direction that Cain probably wants this to go in, and Abel has to be open to that, somehow.]

Well the last time I saw him, he led me at knifepoint to the worst conversation I've had in my entire life. So it's not very positive if you want me to be honest.

Do we have to have this conversation over text?

[He's curling up on the couch as he relives that moment. He'll never forget Phobos' words, the tone, how even after he'd delivered what was ostensibly the killing blow he still had to keep kicking.]

[blyat]

no. we dont
you at home? i can come to you

[And they shouldn't have it over text, Cain only wanted to check in. Abel sounds worse than he expected, but... maybe he should have been prepared for that. It's not an easy topic to discuss.]

you kids and your newfangled dance moves

[wangxian]

[ for all that is dissimilar, much remains the same.

the turn of one festival into the next brings no surprise. to these people, the harvest is bountiful and the earth renews. to celebrate is to celebrate all that is left to the living, all that may soon come again. it is this trend of thankfulness, of gratitude, that lan wangji is familiar with. it is the occasional dances too, that lan wangji spots here and there. representatives, they had called themselves. and for all that those in his time would struggle in such professions, they seem delighted to participate within them here. lan wangji had known easily the heavy lay of long sleeves, the movements of the hands and the wrists and the body more purposeful and at times acrobatic. it had brought a wash of comfort to him, to see such movements performed even here. imperfect as it might be, as imperfect as it may have been, it served more to recall the roots than this:

before him now, dancers school like so many fish. at times, they sway together. at times, they break from the hands and the shoulders that brush against them, individuals touching upon each note in ways both careless and erratic. there is no rhythm, only feeling as the patterns are repeated and forgotten. again and again, the shameless tucking of arms low against another's body, the chase and leave they give—

it is not surprising, necessarily, to see another of their kind here. but, like lan wangji himself, he remains at the sidelines. he idles as lan wangji does, though for what purpose is unknown to him. he does not assume, even as he recognizes him. his pale eyes sweep down, the light in them moving from study to recognition, the very edges of his brows softening. when once he saw this one, this one was drunk. and yet, he had been polite and courteous. he had been mannered enough to worry after his perceived burdens. and so, lan wangji gives him a gentle nod.

it may be more the subtle incline of his head than anything else, but his voice carries despite the crowd the mills about them. low and even as it always seems to be, the stillness that he exudes is not touched even by the occasional shout or the occasional cry. it is not ruffled, even by imperfections that now dapple his own face. bruising, long since greened, brushed upward toward his right eye. it makes its color seem all the more golden, as he turns his head. ]

Will you join them? [ it is a polite question, perhaps. it seems lan wangji has no intention to do so himself, after all. ]

[adsero]

[This is much better than the club, if Abel is being honest. Not as loud, not as performative, more people dancing for the joy of it instead of just to be seen. And no one really looking at him. He's more or less anonymous here instead of standing out like a weed in a flowerbed, and Abel likes it that way.]

[But it does make it that much more obvious when he notices someone looking at him. Abel wasn't at his best when he met this man, but he still remembers. He helped him out of his jacket and wings at the carnival, he was very kind and calm throughout. And there's a bruise over his eye now, how did that happen?]

[Recognition flickers into worry, and Abel crosses the distance between them with clear concern and expedience. The question catches him off guard, mostly because it has nothing to do with what's at the front of Abel's mind.]

Oh, ah, maybe later... your eye... [His eyebrows come together and he gestures awkwardly.] What happened?

[wangxian]

[ lan wangji had always been alert like this: able to track the attention of others, the attention of others upon those under his care. he had always brushed against the shape of intention, discerned its edges with the flicker of eyes and the curve of his fingers. to be aware of one's surroundings, to be aware of what was to come your way without assumption or rashness— that is what had been trained. that is what has remained, for as long as he remembered.

and yet, there is something in his interactions here. there is something in the overlap of time, of culture, of space. lan wangji, though he knew of what lay beyond the borders of his home, had never left it. contained in large to the mountains, that is where lan wangji had spent his life. it was only through chance and through some exploration— his night hunts and missions —, that he would encounter such deviations from the manner he would come to expect. and that abel asks, direct and without guile, hinges in him pause that reflects at the corners of his lips. they do not dip, but there is a twitch. it is a fleeting thing, as though at once made embarrassed by the question. and by who? himself, it would seem. his lashes droop, if a little, his gaze shifting a hair to the left. ]

My fault, [ he says. he would place it as such. he had the capability, the capacity to budge. he had intervened, but this is what he had desired. he took what consequence came with it. he adds, just as certainly as he had placed the latter half: ] It is old.

[ it does not hurt, is the understanding that rest beneath even that. even if it had, the idea that he would never admit to it is apparent. he is the sort to lift such worries from the shoulders of others, as much as he has pride. ]

[adsero]

[Both of those pieces of information don't have much traction with Abel. This man seemed so deliberate with his actions, it's hard to believe that this is an injury from an accident. And it being old doesn't comfort Abel any either-- he's more concerned about the root cause than the healing time.]

Are you sure it was your fault? [He asks it gently because it might not be his place to pry, but sometimes people just need a second chance to tell the truth.] You didn't seem clumsy the last time we met, and I wouldn't say you were the kind to start a fight either.

[wangxian]

[ abel assesses, kind and without pushing. his concern is a noted thing, one that lan wangji does not attempt to mollify. he knows of others who have done similar to him, to lan wangji, their eyes speaking where their mouths did not. and yet, even manifested in a way that lan wangji cannot avoid, he will not insult the other. he will not be rude. instead, he clarifies. he clarifies, just enough, to save face and settle. ]

Yes, [ he says, serious as it is certain. lan wangji is careful with his words. they shape against his tongue, come without pause, but he is not one to fritter them away as others do. even still, the impression that they are difficult for him exists in the spaces between, in the way his brows crease almost indiscernibly. his gaze again centers on abel. ] I intervened, [ I understood my risk. and here, most assuredly, is the largest gap in understanding. for him, fighting is not unusual. he couches it within two words here. and while it too is true that he is not one to most commonly start them, he has indeed fought the majority of his life. ] This was my choice.

[ and there is an odd conviction in that. without its context, there is still an ineffable surety. his pale eyes flicker with it, almost as if to say that he would have done so again had the situation required it. he had chosen larger fights. ]

( misfire: @wangji.lan )

[wangxian]

[ he'd intended to do a few edits to the pieces he'd uploaded. just a few. with his new profession came upkeep and upkeep is something in lan wangji's blood to do. he is meticulous in everything, placed together— pure and refined, many of his countrymen would say.

they do not know all that there is of him. and most would continue not to, though— well. there's no accounting for unforeseen incidents, is there?

so, abel receives no text. it is only an image. if abel were curious enough to match it up to what lan wangji has made available, it is the untitled piece he had posted some time ago on his cooltalk. yet, instead of its careful angle, it is the full of it.

it is the entirety, wholly recognizable. even if, or perhaps even though, it has been painstakingly rendered like this. ]

[adsero]

That's beautiful! Is that Xuanyu Mo and his flute?

[Why no, he doesn't realize that this is kind of a big deal.]

[wangxian]

[ he—

it might be a while, before he answers. after the worst of the chaos, after he has found him. when there is a moment.

and in part, because of his own embarrassment.

his face is thin, abel. spare this mountain maiden. ]

It,

[ yes, this is clearly the fault of the failing network. it is not him pausing, uncharacteristic and somehow ashamed of his own brazenness to do this in the first place. and yet, he cannot lie. even if it is just a singular sound, made textual. never mind that it would come out thin, his eyes cast elsewhere, were it asked aloud. ]

Mn.

[adsero]

Mn? Is that a no? The network isn't functioning correctly, so I'm not certain if your response has been garbled or not.

[wangxian]

[ well, at least he seems to have collected himself. a little. ]

No.

[ maybe he should have held on to this a bit more firmly. ]

That is who it is.

[ ... ]

I had meant to send it elsewhere.

@matches.malone nov 23rd

[reneger]

yo
you busy?

[adsero]

Your couch isn't going to hold itself down.

[Jokes, he's got them.]

Not at all, what can I do?

[reneger]

what does 'navigator' entail, exactly?

[adsero]

[Well that's not what he expected. Honestly Abel thought he'd be taking out the trash, or doing a grocery run. Being reminded of Cain still hurts, but he's come out in one piece on the other end and it's time to move ahead. Time to pull his weight and repay Matches and Loki.]

[Or talk about what being a Navigator means.]

Now that you ask, I guess the terms 'Navigator' and 'Fighter' really weren't very descriptive of what we actually did.

I mean, I definitely set the course during battles. But I also redirected power from the nav system to the weapons systems, handled R&D for engine configs, analyzed data from simulations and operational errors, performed maintenance and repairs-- Cain did that part with me though.

[It really had been their ship.]

Why do you ask?

[reneger]

cain did say not to underestimate you

i've got a project i'm working on and i want a second set of eyes
and i think yours might fit what i'm looking for