albinomilksnake | OPEN RP PART II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

What are-- [Her comm. He's shattered her comm. If not for a distinct lack of the telltale Peacekeeper tone in his voice she'd assume it was Scorpius and go for the pistol tucked away at his hip. Nearly does, as her hand twitches sharply in his grip before realizing it's still him. It's still John.

Mostly, anyway.

Which is why her voice drops. eyes flicking upwards to lock with his regardless of the noise outside or how she can still hear the crunch of broken comm pieces beneath his boot.]

You need to tell me what is going on so that I can help. [There's nothing pleading about it.]

[John forces himself to swallow down whatever illness is stirring in his throat. His expression is resolute, even if the rest of him doesn't feel it.]

There's nothing to help..

[But he does know that if he lets Aeryn wander around here like this, she's going to get herself and his child killed. If he couldn't get her back to Moya easily, then she would have to stay with him.]

Do you know where we are?

No, but you do. [It's almost bitter, how tense she is in his grip. There's no pulling away, no fighting him just-- some part of her resents it, how he's keeping her at arm's length in the dark. Logically some part of Aeryn acknowledges it's whatever's screwing with his mind: wormholes or fear or something else entirely.

Has to run that reasoning across the back of her mind like a mantra to keep from snapping.

She doesn't need his protection - he needs hers.]

Valdun.

[John releases her then (very carefully, very slowly) and awkwardly moves around her to the bed in order to pick up Stark's mask as testament.]

Its a planet of mystics. Hoaxes, voodoo, all that gobblygook. Lotta folks around here seem to think they can talk to the dead, and that the dead gather in the area.

[He rubs his thumbs over the malformed metal in his hands, smoothing over the curves, carefully remembering the cargo it had once carried.]

Edited 2014-06-20 02:59 (UTC)

Which again makes me wonder what you're doing here. [He's not looking at her, busy fumbling with Stark's mask, the shadow of his profile against false light from outside the only thing she can make out.

Aeryn directs her stare at him regardless, brow furrowed expectantly.]

That's because you're missing some pieces to the puzzle.

[Once he's sure she's looking at him, he tosses the mask to her to examine. He knows the message won't come back -- he had tried to get it to replay a second time once to make sure he didn't miss any details. But maybe...it would make a connection.

He can't help but wonder if he's come out of the wrong end of the wormhole off Earth -- but that wouldn't make sense. He'd seen Aeryn. She was there. She would remember.

So why...]

Not gonna be long. We'll get back to Moya once I'm done.

[It does the job of distracting her, at least. She recognizes the mask: picks it up and inspects it looking for a reason as to why it's there.

He'd never have been without it voluntarily.

But there's something about its smooth, polished surface that makes her immediately uncomfortable. Has her abruptly dropping the thing down on the bed beside all his paperwork and scrawlings. Rubs her fingers against her palms as if attempting to scrub away the contact of it, visibly unnerved.]

[The idea of Aeryn being unsettled by something as simple as Stark's mask is almost amusing, but he knows the weight behind it. He knows exactly why it would make her uncomfortable -- should make her uncomfortable without him saying as much.

He doesn't return to it. Stark is part of the equation, but not until the end of it. Some of the voices are already becoming clearer in the silence of the room.

Crichton recognizes that he needs to diffuse the tension a little, so he forces a small smile and moves over to gather some of the papers.]

Hey. You're in a hotel. Relax a little.

I wasn't anywhere near a hotel before, John. [Despite his reassurances, this time it's Aeryn that steps back to give him room. Aeryn that doesn't know how to handle someone else closing in on her space.

She had been following him-- but she hadn't been following him here. And it's that realization that prompts her to move for the door while he's preoccupied, hopefully before he can stop her.]

[It almost works. John has to do a double take, but with a few swift strikes, he's grabbing her wrist and yanking her back away from the door, spinning to put himself in front of it before she can get a decent hold on him. He won't bother trying to hold onto her -- she's stronger than him, so he just holds his hands up in surrender.]

Wait--Aeryn.

[He almost asks where she had been following him but -- maybe that was too much, for right now.]

Where are you gonna go?

I don't know-- anywhere. Anywhere that isn't here. [She doesn't look at him: drops her gaze to look at his chest, his hands-- the doorframe, anything. This isn't right. She has to go.]

[The awkward pause lingers, enough that his hands eventually fall to his hips and his gaze also drops to the ground.]

Do you wanna talk?

[He can't just let her go, no matter how much he wants to.]

[It's a question that prompts a direct, focused stare. Desperate as much as it is expectant.]

Who am I? Not in general, but to you: who am I, Crichton?

[And, predictably, he doesnt look up. Not right away--it wasn't fair of her, to ask him a question like that. She doesn't know who she is talking to, or what is at stake, or what has even happened to make him even consider coming here.]

You are Aeryn Sun.

[He pulls his hands from his hips, shifting the crude star charts in his hands. What he wants to say can't be said to this Aeryn. So instead of answering as his head wishes him to, he lets someone else's words come from him -- words he's never heard before, but still feel right.]

My point of reference. My guide.

[This time, he looks up -- he knows he has to, if she's going to take his words to heart. If this is an unrealized reality, then things need to be as they were before.]

My one constant.

[It isn't fair of him to give her an answer like that.

Aeryn shrinks beneath the weight of it, or seems to, anyway. Shoulderline dropping into something noticeably less aggressive-- practically the opposite of.

She's rarely ever looked so vulnerable before, and regardless of how she opens her mouth a few microts later, nothing at all comes out aside from that constant, fearful stare.]

Its ok.

[John stays where he is -- he doesn't push, he doesn't try to approach. There's a perfect distance between them, leaving it up to her to close. He'll only give her a few microts to do so.

Because while all of that was true, it wouldn't mean anything when he got back to reality. The attachment would only hurt him more, in the end. If she doesn't opt to close the distance, he will widen it by folding his hands over one another, charts still carefully folded between his fingers.]

Just do me a favor and...don't leave.

[She does though. Tentatively. Slow and barely there when she closes the gap to wrap two fingers round the cuff of his sleeve. As if he were heat, or sharp enough to cut - something that would wound her if she wasn't careful about the sort of contact she's currently making.

Pulls on that sleeve like a thread. Like it'll unravel him and some part of her by proxy. All wordless communication in a noisy, sickly city.]

[She's not totally wrong about that -- the pulling of his sleeve unraveling him, at least. He's forced to move with it, fear of what might come afterward if he resists. For what Aeryn would do, if she thought he was being dishonest.

It wasn't dishonest -- not at the core of him. He cares too much to resist her for long. Somewhere, in the back of his head, another voice echoes in encouragement. The pressure of a hand on his shoulder, though he knows there is nothing there.

Its his own, and yet not his own all the same time.]

[She's at his chest. Hands sliding up his sleeve, star charts rustling against the fabric of her flightsuit. Cheek to his jaw just barely edging in on the sensation of what it means to feel him-- solid-- beneath her.]

Are you afraid of me?

Maybe a little.

[Its easier to joke than be honest, and she'll feel the muscles in his jaw stretch to smirk without looking at him. He's not particularly afraid of what she could do to him -- not really. Not physically. But he is afraid of getting hurt in other ways.

This Aeryn can't know that. The line of his shoulders relaxes through force of will.]

Good to know you're finally developing common sense.

[The forced smile is enough; Aeryn's no expert when it comes to emotion, she can't tell the difference between his forced efforts and something genuine. Her chin drops, tucks down in the line of his collarbone, fingers going sharp in the fabric of his coat.]

You need to go back to Moya.

Not yet.

[From her position, she can no doubt feel his heart hammering uncontrollably. For him, its been ages since they've been this close to one another.

Now, more than ever, he needs to talk to himself -- and anyone else with proper perspective who would be willing to listen.]

Soon.

[Aeryn ought to fight him on that front. Ought to shove him out at gunpoint and keep him walking till he's far and away from all of this.

She doesn't.

His heart's pounding; she can't tear away from the sound of it. Or from him.] Do it, then. Whatever it is you came here for.

[He lets her stay there for as long as she likes -- at least until he remembers that he has to get her back to Moya sooner rather than later.

He couldn't risk doing the deed in the same room as her. There was no telling what would happen if the events that hadn't happened yet for her were accidentally given to her by his twin.

If she could even see him.]

I'll be at least an arn. Maybe a little more. Will you stay here?

Fine just-- [She doesn't want to. Feels like she shouldn't; like something is off and threatening to drown the both of them.

But she also knows she can't stop him. ] be quick.

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