(Backdated) April, Haller: Damage Report
Dec. 23rd, 2023 07:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsHaller and April reconnect in the remains of What Hope Summers Did To The Mansion. Backdated to December 23rd.
It was . . . a mess.
The first clue, of course, had been the fact the main elevator had not been operating to take him upstairs that morning, necessitating the use of the freight. Upon reaching the first floor, it transpired this was because the doors had been pried apart.
The place smelled like fire damage, which was instantly recognizable to someone who'd caused a fair amount of it in his time. Jim had wandered the first floor with a kind of detached fascination, taking in the caved-in ceiling and blown windows. The main kitchen wasn't going to be hosting major events any time soon. Did they really need those windows? Not with foot-traffic to the kitchen reduced for the foreseeable future. Most of the lounge had survived unharmed, but the loss of the liquor cabinet near the hall would probably warrant a legitimate funeral. It had been fully stocked, for one thing. Pour one out for the ones already poured out, apparently.
Jim was on his way to re-inspect the main entranceway, wondering vaguely if Charles had had any particular attachment to that chandelier, when he almost tripped over something.
"OW" It didn't actually hurt, but that seemed the thing to say when someone tripped over you. April looked up, and already wide eyes got impossibly wide, mouth stretching almost ear to ear as she saw David Haller, upright and in the flesh. She jumped up, a tendril curling around his wrist and feeling for his pulse, the same as she'd done anytime she was helping out with stretches. "AWAKE! HIIIIIIIIII"
Jim jerked in surprise, but more at the abruptness of her appearance than her physical form. It wasn't only that he remembered visiting her in this shape on the night of the riot: it had the dreamlike familiarity of a shape seen many times before, in the way he could recall impressions of what he'd experienced while catatonic.
The physical contact sparked a brief connection. Like before he could receive no thoughts, only static, but a little joy leaked through. It penetrated the mild fog of derealization enough to provoke a smile.
"April," Jim said. "Yeah -- awake, finally."
"GOOD" she rumbled, mouth shrinking back to something manageable. "BETTER?" April peered at Haller's face, getting close enough that he could feel hot breath against the side of his temple. "WALK?" She backed away slightly, feet tapping lightly on the battered floor. "RUDE GIRL BIG MESS"
"So I'm gathering." One piece at a time, from disjointed text messages and journal posts. He shook his head. "Right, walk. That's a good idea. Are you okay? Didn't get hurt last night or anything?" She seemed to be hovering closer than he recalled her as being prone to in human form, but right now it seemed fairly low on a list of possible concerns.
"FINE" The tendril dropped from his wrist, but she offered an elbow just in case. The hallway was a mess, and she firmed up the bottoms of her feet with a thought to avoid any glass getting stuck in them. "LOUD NOISE RAN"
Jim accepted the elbow. Even with the daily exercise he was looking at light physical rehabilitation, and there was no point in taking chances. He could only imagine the look on Quentin's face if the younger man discovered he'd recovered from catatonia only to break an ankle walking down the hall.
A thought, until now drifting through his brain like a bubble moving down a gutter, finally attracted his attention. Jim frowned.
"Are you still locked?" he asked, dismayed. April was talking now, a definite improvement, but . . . it had been a month, hadn't it? Shouldn't the effects of Josie's spores have worn off by now?
"STUCK" April agreed. She couldn't frown, but vague annoyance filtered through the static where they touched. "SLOW" Her tendrils shrugged, used to doing the expression that her face couldn't at this point. "BETTER" She wiggled the fingers of her free hand, showing off slimmer, almost human fingers, and tapped her smaller-but-still-oversized mouth and pointy teeth. "ATE BIRD" Wait, that was... probably unclear. "COOK BIRD FIRST"
"So you're getting some control back," Jim mused. That was a relief to hear. As was the comment about eating properly prepared poultry, he supposed, but that felt like a minor detail. "Okay. You mentioned you couldn't change all the way before, either. I wonder if this is an extension of the mental block, or if that's at least complicating it. Or it could be the alien DNA, I guess. I doubt the woman who did this was calibrating for that."
"MAYBE" There were too many variables to figure it out, really. And aside from the inability to eat normally or write easily, being like this was... simple, in some ways. Low expectations. "OR JUST SLOW"
This got a snort. "Sometimes slow is better. Going fast on the fly is how I ended up with my brain smeared across the astral plane." Without thinking, Jim dangled the fingers of his free hand and began to drag fragments of glass missed by previous sweeps in a telekinetic current. As they passed a suitable bin the shards levitated into the air, wadded themselves up into a vague ball, and threw themselves away.
April's tendrils wiggled in excitement at Haller's casual display of powers. One reached out, booping him in the temple. "BAD JOB SCARY."
"I said slow was better," Jim protested as he idly brushed away the tendril. It was light and rubbery, like being brushed with an electrical cord. "Trust me, even if I wanted to do it again that's not reproducible with how my powers normally work. I don't think I'll be up for field work for a while anyway -- on top of deconditioning, my shields are shredded. I guess we'll be bench buddies for a while."
"YES" Was it possible to share the static of her own shields as a temporary measure? The worst thing would be something slipping through, but that was a minor concern in this form. She could offer, at least. "SHARE?"
"What, the . . . oh, your psi-resistance?" The more contact they maintained the more intent seemed to make its way through the link. It was probably not a useful feature in the field, but it certainly made communication easier. Regretfully, Jim shook his head. "Different problem. I can't stop receiving. Your static blocks your personal thoughts, but it doesn't extend to jam anyone else's. I appreciate the offer, though. It'll be all right, it's just another part of the rehab."
"BOO" The tendrils slumped a little, but at least he wouldn't be going out and doing... whatever it was that had happened again. At least, not soon. "DOG?" She could bring Boris down to keep him company. He was good for walks and quiet companionship, and probably didn't have readable thoughts.
"Dogs are good," Jim said absently, only to catch the words just in time to marvel at their absolute banality. Incredible. "Um, is there anything I can do to help?" he tried again as he nudged aside a sheet of plastic temporarily draped over a destroyed window. "You helped with my therapy a little, didn't you? If there anything I can do to help with your shifting?"
April shook her head in the negative, but said "AWAKE HELP" Maybe not in the physical sense, but it was nice to have Haller aware and upright again. "WILL GET" Eventually, she was sure. Worst case, maybe Wanda could do the red lights again.
"Awake does help," agreed the telepath. "Well, if there's anything I can do just let me know. I'm going to have a lot of time on my hands for a while."
Somewhere down the hall something large and heavy fell over, followed by cursing. Jim winced.
"Or maybe we should just help with the remodel."
It was . . . a mess.
The first clue, of course, had been the fact the main elevator had not been operating to take him upstairs that morning, necessitating the use of the freight. Upon reaching the first floor, it transpired this was because the doors had been pried apart.
The place smelled like fire damage, which was instantly recognizable to someone who'd caused a fair amount of it in his time. Jim had wandered the first floor with a kind of detached fascination, taking in the caved-in ceiling and blown windows. The main kitchen wasn't going to be hosting major events any time soon. Did they really need those windows? Not with foot-traffic to the kitchen reduced for the foreseeable future. Most of the lounge had survived unharmed, but the loss of the liquor cabinet near the hall would probably warrant a legitimate funeral. It had been fully stocked, for one thing. Pour one out for the ones already poured out, apparently.
Jim was on his way to re-inspect the main entranceway, wondering vaguely if Charles had had any particular attachment to that chandelier, when he almost tripped over something.
"OW" It didn't actually hurt, but that seemed the thing to say when someone tripped over you. April looked up, and already wide eyes got impossibly wide, mouth stretching almost ear to ear as she saw David Haller, upright and in the flesh. She jumped up, a tendril curling around his wrist and feeling for his pulse, the same as she'd done anytime she was helping out with stretches. "AWAKE! HIIIIIIIIII"
Jim jerked in surprise, but more at the abruptness of her appearance than her physical form. It wasn't only that he remembered visiting her in this shape on the night of the riot: it had the dreamlike familiarity of a shape seen many times before, in the way he could recall impressions of what he'd experienced while catatonic.
The physical contact sparked a brief connection. Like before he could receive no thoughts, only static, but a little joy leaked through. It penetrated the mild fog of derealization enough to provoke a smile.
"April," Jim said. "Yeah -- awake, finally."
"GOOD" she rumbled, mouth shrinking back to something manageable. "BETTER?" April peered at Haller's face, getting close enough that he could feel hot breath against the side of his temple. "WALK?" She backed away slightly, feet tapping lightly on the battered floor. "RUDE GIRL BIG MESS"
"So I'm gathering." One piece at a time, from disjointed text messages and journal posts. He shook his head. "Right, walk. That's a good idea. Are you okay? Didn't get hurt last night or anything?" She seemed to be hovering closer than he recalled her as being prone to in human form, but right now it seemed fairly low on a list of possible concerns.
"FINE" The tendril dropped from his wrist, but she offered an elbow just in case. The hallway was a mess, and she firmed up the bottoms of her feet with a thought to avoid any glass getting stuck in them. "LOUD NOISE RAN"
Jim accepted the elbow. Even with the daily exercise he was looking at light physical rehabilitation, and there was no point in taking chances. He could only imagine the look on Quentin's face if the younger man discovered he'd recovered from catatonia only to break an ankle walking down the hall.
A thought, until now drifting through his brain like a bubble moving down a gutter, finally attracted his attention. Jim frowned.
"Are you still locked?" he asked, dismayed. April was talking now, a definite improvement, but . . . it had been a month, hadn't it? Shouldn't the effects of Josie's spores have worn off by now?
"STUCK" April agreed. She couldn't frown, but vague annoyance filtered through the static where they touched. "SLOW" Her tendrils shrugged, used to doing the expression that her face couldn't at this point. "BETTER" She wiggled the fingers of her free hand, showing off slimmer, almost human fingers, and tapped her smaller-but-still-oversized mouth and pointy teeth. "ATE BIRD" Wait, that was... probably unclear. "COOK BIRD FIRST"
"So you're getting some control back," Jim mused. That was a relief to hear. As was the comment about eating properly prepared poultry, he supposed, but that felt like a minor detail. "Okay. You mentioned you couldn't change all the way before, either. I wonder if this is an extension of the mental block, or if that's at least complicating it. Or it could be the alien DNA, I guess. I doubt the woman who did this was calibrating for that."
"MAYBE" There were too many variables to figure it out, really. And aside from the inability to eat normally or write easily, being like this was... simple, in some ways. Low expectations. "OR JUST SLOW"
This got a snort. "Sometimes slow is better. Going fast on the fly is how I ended up with my brain smeared across the astral plane." Without thinking, Jim dangled the fingers of his free hand and began to drag fragments of glass missed by previous sweeps in a telekinetic current. As they passed a suitable bin the shards levitated into the air, wadded themselves up into a vague ball, and threw themselves away.
April's tendrils wiggled in excitement at Haller's casual display of powers. One reached out, booping him in the temple. "BAD JOB SCARY."
"I said slow was better," Jim protested as he idly brushed away the tendril. It was light and rubbery, like being brushed with an electrical cord. "Trust me, even if I wanted to do it again that's not reproducible with how my powers normally work. I don't think I'll be up for field work for a while anyway -- on top of deconditioning, my shields are shredded. I guess we'll be bench buddies for a while."
"YES" Was it possible to share the static of her own shields as a temporary measure? The worst thing would be something slipping through, but that was a minor concern in this form. She could offer, at least. "SHARE?"
"What, the . . . oh, your psi-resistance?" The more contact they maintained the more intent seemed to make its way through the link. It was probably not a useful feature in the field, but it certainly made communication easier. Regretfully, Jim shook his head. "Different problem. I can't stop receiving. Your static blocks your personal thoughts, but it doesn't extend to jam anyone else's. I appreciate the offer, though. It'll be all right, it's just another part of the rehab."
"BOO" The tendrils slumped a little, but at least he wouldn't be going out and doing... whatever it was that had happened again. At least, not soon. "DOG?" She could bring Boris down to keep him company. He was good for walks and quiet companionship, and probably didn't have readable thoughts.
"Dogs are good," Jim said absently, only to catch the words just in time to marvel at their absolute banality. Incredible. "Um, is there anything I can do to help?" he tried again as he nudged aside a sheet of plastic temporarily draped over a destroyed window. "You helped with my therapy a little, didn't you? If there anything I can do to help with your shifting?"
April shook her head in the negative, but said "AWAKE HELP" Maybe not in the physical sense, but it was nice to have Haller aware and upright again. "WILL GET" Eventually, she was sure. Worst case, maybe Wanda could do the red lights again.
"Awake does help," agreed the telepath. "Well, if there's anything I can do just let me know. I'm going to have a lot of time on my hands for a while."
Somewhere down the hall something large and heavy fell over, followed by cursing. Jim winced.
"Or maybe we should just help with the remodel."
no subject
Date: 2023-12-29 04:26 pm (UTC)I love how Jim is always analyzing and picking apart the world. Others, their abilities, the interior decorating needs.
April continues to be a delight. Enthusiasm trapped in a (temporary) cursed form.