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xp_logsBackdated to January 10th. Doug wanders around the office between duties on Tuesday, and happens upon Christophe Nord. Realizing how much history the other man is missing, Doug decides to fill him in on some of the major happenings.
Using his foot, Christophe spun the office chair around, looking like a grown man acting like a child as he tried to get it to go around as fast as he could, hitching his feet up so that he could dig his heels into the bottom of the seat. Well, given that he was mentally 16, he really did not have as much qualms about looking stupid in front of others as he would have as an adult. Furthermore, the room only had one other occupant whose opinion would hardly bother the German ‘teenager’.
As the room spun around him, he closed his eyes and settled his head against the backrest of the chair. The whole situation was strange. And to put it that way was like issuing the understatement of the century. All his (known) life he had been sheltered, even if there was a war going on in his country. Christophe had had the best. The best parents, the best education, the best grades, the best girls, even. He was supposed to have the best future too. But here he was, physically old and stuck in America with the strangest group of people. He did not know what to think. So logically, he should simply stop thinking altogether.
Once he'd gotten through his responsibilities to Remy, Doug had gotten the wandering itch, and gone walking around the office space. Interacting with the other 'sixteen year olds' one on one was much more preferable to the large group dynamic of the conference room. Sixteen year old Doug was self-effacing and diffident in groups, one on one he could at least talk to people. Well, some of the people, he amended in his head. Sarah still rather terrified him, and Amanda was...well, the Amanda he more or less remembered. Which was to say, abrasive and pushy. And then there was what Wanda had said to him in the meeting.
But the quieter, more polite people, them Doug was interested in getting to know the ones he didn't already know. Like the German man he was in the office with. "So, has anyone told you that the Berlin Wall no longer exists?" he asked in flawless German.
“…” His foot shot out to plant itself on the floor, effectively halting the chair although Christophe’s world continued to spin. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments before forcing his eyes open to stare incredulously at the American. “I beg your pardon?”
In retrospect, Doug supposed that was a rather abrupt conversation starter. But... "I thought it might be something you ought to know?" he offered, scratching sheepishly at his hair. "I mean, some of the people around here are missing a lot more history than others, right?"
Who gave two fucks about that? “What do you mean the Berlin Wall no longer exists?” Christophe demanded, trying to keep his upset from showing in his demeanour but largely failing altogether. Blue eyes flashed with a kind of warning annoyance, and he was sitting with a ramrod straight back, tense and waiting to pounce. Had he been a cat, he would have been bristling with anger.
"9 November 1989." He'd only been two years old at the time, but he recalled some of his parents talking about the fall of the iconic barrier that they had grown up with. "Germany officially reunified in
1990." Doug watched the other man's reactions closely. He could only imagine what discovering something that huge would do to him.
The other male was completely serious, and he had moved past the stage of questioning the whole ridiculous situation. Christophe stared at Doug, and almost exactly as he would have done as an older man, said nothing as a war brewed between his ears. Unlike the older David, however, the conflict showed clearly in his eyes.
An end to the civil war was, of course, welcome news. It made for better days and more freedom for the people. But he was no idiot and he knew that in a battle there was always a victor… and a crushed loser. “Who won?”
Doug shrugged. "I dunno that anyone really won? I mean, Germany's a single country now. I guess you could say East Germany lost, because even the Soviet Union no longer exists. The only real Communist state left is China. And maybe North Korea, but Kim Jong Il's supposed to be crazy."
“Huh.” The anger ebbed away and Christophe was left with what he was coming to recognise as confusion and exhaustion of the mind. He thunked his head against the backrest of the chair, hugging it as he idly swung the chair back and forth. “I don’t think I want to think about this right now.”
"...seems to be a lot of that going around." Doug couldn't exactly throw any stones there. He may have gone delving into a few of the files Remy had suggested he avoid in favor of the porn. In his
defense, though, telling someone to avoid thinking about the pink elephant in the room tended to lead to elephants all over. "You want me to leave you alone to...not think about it?" he asked hesitantly. "Or we could order lunch or something?"
“Lunch. Lunch is good.” Christophe agreed, although he did not sound very enthusiastic about it. Just because he said he didn’t want to think about it, didn’t mean that his brain would necessarily listen to him. “Although, I don’t really feel like getting up right now either. And that Frenchman does not seem to want us leaving this place.”
"Technically he's Cajun. He's from New Orleans, not France," Doug corrected, somewhat pedantically. "Marie-Ange is French." He shrugged. "And besides, that's what ordering takeout is for. I know for a fact that Nico said she'll handle accepting food deliveries while she watches the front desk."
Christophe waved away the issue of Remy’s race, not concerned about it in the least. “You can do that?” He asked instead, more interested in food. “Well, then. Let’s do that.” Technically, he wasn’t really all that hungry. But he was just used to the idea of needing to eat almost every second of the day. “What can we get?”
"Just about anything you could want. I checked. There's a whole bunch of menus in the break room, probably for just this sort of thing." Doug waved his hand. "And even if they hadn't, I found a whole bunch of menus for places near the brownstone in my apartment's kitchen last night, and it's probably close enough that they'd deliver here too."
He paused. "So, you've kind of got more history to take in than I do. Do you...want to see if I can dig up any of your records since you've been...here?" He scratched his head. "You just have to promise me you won't tell Remy. I mean, he was pretty insistent that I not go looking for things."
Standing with care, Christophe stretched out his old man legs and rolled out the crick in his neck. “I don’t rat people out,” he assured Doug, a not-quite-cheerful grin on his face as he headed towards the door even though he had no idea where he was going. “Especially if they’re doing me a favour.”
“I’d like that, though,” he admitted, raking his hand through his brown-and-grey hair. “But food first, and then strange mechanical contraptions.”
Using his foot, Christophe spun the office chair around, looking like a grown man acting like a child as he tried to get it to go around as fast as he could, hitching his feet up so that he could dig his heels into the bottom of the seat. Well, given that he was mentally 16, he really did not have as much qualms about looking stupid in front of others as he would have as an adult. Furthermore, the room only had one other occupant whose opinion would hardly bother the German ‘teenager’.
As the room spun around him, he closed his eyes and settled his head against the backrest of the chair. The whole situation was strange. And to put it that way was like issuing the understatement of the century. All his (known) life he had been sheltered, even if there was a war going on in his country. Christophe had had the best. The best parents, the best education, the best grades, the best girls, even. He was supposed to have the best future too. But here he was, physically old and stuck in America with the strangest group of people. He did not know what to think. So logically, he should simply stop thinking altogether.
Once he'd gotten through his responsibilities to Remy, Doug had gotten the wandering itch, and gone walking around the office space. Interacting with the other 'sixteen year olds' one on one was much more preferable to the large group dynamic of the conference room. Sixteen year old Doug was self-effacing and diffident in groups, one on one he could at least talk to people. Well, some of the people, he amended in his head. Sarah still rather terrified him, and Amanda was...well, the Amanda he more or less remembered. Which was to say, abrasive and pushy. And then there was what Wanda had said to him in the meeting.
But the quieter, more polite people, them Doug was interested in getting to know the ones he didn't already know. Like the German man he was in the office with. "So, has anyone told you that the Berlin Wall no longer exists?" he asked in flawless German.
“…” His foot shot out to plant itself on the floor, effectively halting the chair although Christophe’s world continued to spin. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments before forcing his eyes open to stare incredulously at the American. “I beg your pardon?”
In retrospect, Doug supposed that was a rather abrupt conversation starter. But... "I thought it might be something you ought to know?" he offered, scratching sheepishly at his hair. "I mean, some of the people around here are missing a lot more history than others, right?"
Who gave two fucks about that? “What do you mean the Berlin Wall no longer exists?” Christophe demanded, trying to keep his upset from showing in his demeanour but largely failing altogether. Blue eyes flashed with a kind of warning annoyance, and he was sitting with a ramrod straight back, tense and waiting to pounce. Had he been a cat, he would have been bristling with anger.
"9 November 1989." He'd only been two years old at the time, but he recalled some of his parents talking about the fall of the iconic barrier that they had grown up with. "Germany officially reunified in
1990." Doug watched the other man's reactions closely. He could only imagine what discovering something that huge would do to him.
The other male was completely serious, and he had moved past the stage of questioning the whole ridiculous situation. Christophe stared at Doug, and almost exactly as he would have done as an older man, said nothing as a war brewed between his ears. Unlike the older David, however, the conflict showed clearly in his eyes.
An end to the civil war was, of course, welcome news. It made for better days and more freedom for the people. But he was no idiot and he knew that in a battle there was always a victor… and a crushed loser. “Who won?”
Doug shrugged. "I dunno that anyone really won? I mean, Germany's a single country now. I guess you could say East Germany lost, because even the Soviet Union no longer exists. The only real Communist state left is China. And maybe North Korea, but Kim Jong Il's supposed to be crazy."
“Huh.” The anger ebbed away and Christophe was left with what he was coming to recognise as confusion and exhaustion of the mind. He thunked his head against the backrest of the chair, hugging it as he idly swung the chair back and forth. “I don’t think I want to think about this right now.”
"...seems to be a lot of that going around." Doug couldn't exactly throw any stones there. He may have gone delving into a few of the files Remy had suggested he avoid in favor of the porn. In his
defense, though, telling someone to avoid thinking about the pink elephant in the room tended to lead to elephants all over. "You want me to leave you alone to...not think about it?" he asked hesitantly. "Or we could order lunch or something?"
“Lunch. Lunch is good.” Christophe agreed, although he did not sound very enthusiastic about it. Just because he said he didn’t want to think about it, didn’t mean that his brain would necessarily listen to him. “Although, I don’t really feel like getting up right now either. And that Frenchman does not seem to want us leaving this place.”
"Technically he's Cajun. He's from New Orleans, not France," Doug corrected, somewhat pedantically. "Marie-Ange is French." He shrugged. "And besides, that's what ordering takeout is for. I know for a fact that Nico said she'll handle accepting food deliveries while she watches the front desk."
Christophe waved away the issue of Remy’s race, not concerned about it in the least. “You can do that?” He asked instead, more interested in food. “Well, then. Let’s do that.” Technically, he wasn’t really all that hungry. But he was just used to the idea of needing to eat almost every second of the day. “What can we get?”
"Just about anything you could want. I checked. There's a whole bunch of menus in the break room, probably for just this sort of thing." Doug waved his hand. "And even if they hadn't, I found a whole bunch of menus for places near the brownstone in my apartment's kitchen last night, and it's probably close enough that they'd deliver here too."
He paused. "So, you've kind of got more history to take in than I do. Do you...want to see if I can dig up any of your records since you've been...here?" He scratched his head. "You just have to promise me you won't tell Remy. I mean, he was pretty insistent that I not go looking for things."
Standing with care, Christophe stretched out his old man legs and rolled out the crick in his neck. “I don’t rat people out,” he assured Doug, a not-quite-cheerful grin on his face as he headed towards the door even though he had no idea where he was going. “Especially if they’re doing me a favour.”
“I’d like that, though,” he admitted, raking his hand through his brown-and-grey hair. “But food first, and then strange mechanical contraptions.”
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