People are crazy and times are strange [ open ]

[inequal]

WHO: Liam (Owen) [inequal] and ANYONE.
WHAT: Somebody else got struck by the memory rehab bug, thinks his name is something else. Now Liam's trying to deal with the idea that he might have his head screwed on wrong without being able to tell.
WHERE: All around the Cave, notably: the Bar; the Supply Depot; near the Living Quarters; a secluded corner.
WHEN: April 10th (Tuesday) through April 12th (Thursday).
NOTES: What the hell is consistent narrative name, do not even get me started on trying to figure out which one to use. IT'S JUST "HE" AND "HIM" OKAY.

His Tuesday started out simply enough, some murky memory (or was it a dream?) floating up to remind him of a white room and then... nothing, really. Probably just made it up. No, his day really started with a buzz in his head and a request for his husband to turn off the bloody overhead light, if you please, George.

That was his first sign that something was wrong. It didn't feel wrong, but the sheer comfort with which he identified as Owen Bates (not... Liam McNally or whatever name it was that George—Ken?—said it should be) gave him a shudder if he stopped to think about it for too long. Exactly why he immediately sought out Arthur Stieber at the Supply Depot and was told to swing by later that night after work.

Fine, whatever. He could wait another few hours. So he went with his spouse to the Bar and spent the next few hours ignoring the twitch in his foot and fingers. Scaring off the customers would not do, even if the only exchange he cared about tended to be the conversational sort and nothing to do with money.

He was out like a bolt by closing time and off to retrieve the pack of cigarettes as Arthur had promised. Horrible habit to get back into when he was still not physically addicted, but the psychological effects were already ingrained deeply enough. It wasn't until Wednesday that he had the chance to secret himself into an underdeveloped crevice on the west side of the Cave and finally light up. Hopefully the smoke would dissipate before anyone else caught wind of it, because despite popular belief, he did not try to bury himself in as much trouble as possible at all times. George Ken George would likely be worried and that kept him from lighting a second despite the urge.

The rest of Wednesday proceeded as normal... what accounted for normal in this place, anyway. Some exploration in the day and work in the afternoon, all the way to After Hours. Thursday found him escaping to the crevice once again, lighter and cigarette clutched in hand, then off to the Depot again with George to retrieve more rations.

It was perhaps the least exciting lifestyle he had indulged in for nearly sixty years. Nevertheless, Owen could not stop the dread coiling in his gut that the other shoe was primed just perfectly to drop any day now.

Comments

Tuesday

[antecedent]

After the issues with Liam over their names, Ken left early to go down to the bar. He was even more quiet than usual, withdrawing into himself to think about what was going on. There was the temptation to drink, but he wasn't going to do that now, especially since something had happened to Liam. No, he'd just be quiet and do his work and when Liam came in, maybe they would talk, but part of Ken really didn't want to know just how much of his husband's mind had been messed with by the people running this place.

[inequal]

Owen arrived right on time — perhaps even a few minutes late — with his expression distracted and somewhat harried. Relief blotted much of it out when he spotted George and he practically glided to the bar.

"George!" Lips quirking halfway between chagrin and self-directed amusement, he said, "You weren't at the flat when I got back... Thought you might have come here, but I didn't know for sure." The name that had slipped off his tongue didn't even occur to him just yet. While he was vexed and worried about issues with his own name, George's was simply too natural for him to second-guess.

[antecedent]

There was a quick glance up when Liam showed up, but he immediately went back to work when he heard the name he used. That was wrong and the fact that Liam didn't seem uncomfortable using George was what made things worse. If Ken was a different person, he would have pointed out how wrong it was and why can't you see it, but he wasn't that sort of person and instead just set about poking at the machinery behind the bar.

"Course I'm here. Have to work, remember?" Then his voice got quieter and he kept looking away from Liam. "Got my name wrong like yours."

[inequal]

Despite popular belief, the shock Owen felt didn't leave him cold or frozen. It felt like a painful burn sliding through his veins, air catching in his lungs as that information hit. It passed just as quickly as it had come, and Owen closed his eyes to try and keep breathing through it.

"I'm sorry," he said, once again looking at his husband with desperate earnestness. "I don't know what's happened, and I can't—it all seems right up here—" with a wave up to his temple, "—and especially down here..." His hesitated, then placed a hand over his ribcage. "It's not, though, is it? Ken?"

It was a quiet addition, unsure but hopeful. He'd gotten the correct name this time, right? They would figure out what to do about all of this. They had to. That didn't make the current moment any less disheartening.

[antecedent]

"Not right at all," he confirms gently. It's not Liam's fault he got all mixed up, after all. He wouldn't do something that would worry Ken like this, especially when he's aware how much it bothers him. No, this is something that was done to him. "Got it right this time though."

That at least gets Ken to smile a little and reach out for Liam's hand. "We'll find out what happened and see if we can fix it. And warn the other Sleepers about this."

[inequal]

Owen managed to mirror the smile, twisting his hand to grasp the one George—Ken, dammit—had reached out with. He simply held there for a long moment, then nodded in agreement. "Of course. We should tell others — warn them that something is... something is wrong."

Now why couldn't he convince himself to just do it? Perhaps it was the threat of punishment for breaking rules they didn't understand. If that was what had happened before, what if it happened again and something even more precious became scrambled? More than that, he wasn't sure he could explain it to anyone else without projecting this fear onto them. Fear he hadn't really experienced until he was vulnerable as any other living being once more after a generation of freedom. "Should do," he murmured again.