interstellar5555 | ♪ this is the first day of my last days

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♪ this is the first day of my last days

Who: Terry & Finnick
What: A nerd and a guy who tried to kill him walk into a bar.
When: Jan 16th, in the evening
Where: The Aqualine Hotel bar
Warnings: They're talking about 'I Will Twist the Knife' and also probably drinking.

Honestly, Terry isn't sure what he expects from this. Most of the questions he had have been answered over the last month, and those that haven't... Well, he doubts Finnick can answer them.

But he hasn't spoken to anyone from Virgo-- he doesn't actually know anyone from Virgo, come to think of it. And it couldn't hurt to know how things are on their side of the fence. It'll be hard to talk with the bodyguards around, but that's why Terry picked this bar. Not only is it a high class establishment with a lot of nice (expensive) drinks, but it's part of a hotel. No way are the bodyguards gonna follow them into the room if two gentlemen are planning to do The Sex at eachother.

He's found a booth that's in direct eyeshot of the main entrance to wait for Finnick with a drink and a notebook, jotting down some ideas while he waits. If he can't spot Terry, the woman standing just next to the booth in a suit looking like she could beat up everyone in this bar without breaking a sweat is kinda hard to miss.

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Finnick struts in looking like the millionaire he wants to be. He's had a lot of time to recover from the party and build his image back up again (there haven't been any more sweatpant outings for him) and so he's clad in the expensive shoes, the tailored pants, the stylish blazer, and the high fashion sunglasses despite the fact that the sun has set a while ago.

He spots Terry after a quick look around the restaurant and strolls over after a couple words to his bodyguard, who slips into a seat at the bar and narrows his eyes at the woman by Terry's booth. Finnick slips his sunglasses into the inside pocket of his jacket and gives Terry a smirk. He doesn't know quite what to say, feeling like any of the lines he might usually drop would just be insulting. He takes this very seriously, despite the image he's trying to maintain. So he just nods.

"Terry."

Oh no, is this what the guy's usually like? Terry doesn't give Finnick any judgemental looks, much as he might want to, hoping the guy's whole "aggressively better than you" demeanour is just an act.

Instead, Terry nods back. Putting his pen down so he can address Finnick properly. "Hey," it's hard not to look at Finnick's guard at the bar, but he manages to get by with just a quick glance, and he quickly shifts his attention to Finnick. "How's it going?"

"Business as usual," Finnick says, gesturing dismissively. It is an act - his public face - but he plays it quite well and convincingly enough. Finnick's not sure exactly what his personality is anymore, since this comes so easily for him.

"Though I have gained an impressively stubborn leech," he adds, grinning in his bodyguard's direction. "I see you have one too."

It is taking everything in him not to look as put-off as he feels by... Just everything about Finnick right now. How's he supposed to convince the guards he 100% wants to bang this dude and absolutely isn't just trying to slip out of their sight if he looks disgusted by everything he says?

Ugh, but it's so difficult. (And makes him think of a particularly obnoxious blond he can't place, but that's neither here nor there.)

"Leech is kinda harsh," Terry says, though it's probably obvious to Finnick that the attempt to sound good-natured is pretty forced. "I don't like having a guard 24/7, but she's alright."

Finnick picks up on the edge in Terry's voice, so he takes a moment to tone it down a little. They still have to get away from the guards, and he hasn't come up with any grand plan of how to achieve that - Terry said he'd take care of it, but so far Finnick has seen no sign of that and he's anxious to get away from them. Neither bodyguard will like it very much if he just leans across the table and starts whispering.

"Let's not waste time," he says decisively, smirking and leaning forward with his elbows on the table, "why don't we get to why I'm actually here."

Please have a plan.

Terry nods and throws back the last of his drink. He has a plan thankfully-- He's no Yuffie, but Terry's no slouch when it comes to getting some quiet time away from prying eyes.

"We should, uh." He pauses, casting a glance up at his bodyguard (who doesn't seem to care at all) and then looking back to Finnick with a raised eyebrow, "we should get a room."

There's a flash of recognition in Finnick's expression, and he thanks his lucky stars that Terry's playing right into his strengths.

"Ah, I thought as much," he says smugly, sitting back and drumming his fingers on the table. "Allow me to go speak to the receptionist, then. I'll get us something nice - well, appropriate for the mood, at least."

Finnick gets up out of the booth and brushes past both bodyguards, heading toward the lobby. His talk with the receptionist is brief, and he flashes a credit card and a winning smile and gets a key in return. It's full steam ahead to the elevators then, as Finnick ignores all the hushed protest from his bodyguard who is close in tow. He continues ignoring the man until he's at the door, swinging it open for Terry to walk in ahead of him. "I'm sorry Bruno but you just can't watch this time," he say with a wink as he follows Terry through.

When the door clicks shut, Finnick's shoulders finally relax and he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Brilliant," he says, "I wish I had thought of it first."

Terry's first stop when the door closes behind them is the minibar, immediately getting himself a tiny bottle of vodka and a can of lemondae, and he laughs a little at Finnick's comment as he rummages through the fridge.

He kicks off his boots and puts himself on the bed, sitting cross-legged with his drinks in his lap as he gives Finnick a look that's a mix of wary and curious, almost as though worried now the door's closed. Kinda hard to let go of the whole 'getting beaten up outside a party' thing now it's just the two of them, but more than that he just has no idea what to expect. He doesn't know this guy beyond the fact that he's kind of a dick.

"How've you been?" He asks, looking down at his lap when he opens the can. Start small and ease into that whole 'so about the murderparty' thing.

Finnick looks at the drinks Terry's taking, trying to decide if he wants something as well. He puts it off for now, pulling out a chair from the table by the window and slouching into it with another sigh. "Everything's fucked up. No one understands what happened and we're basically on lockdown what with Bruno and his ilk following us around." He gestures at the door with a gentle sneer - he really does not like having a second shadow going everywhere with him. It's irritating in the least, and Finnick looks grateful for the opportunity to vent about it for a moment, but he knows better than to go on much longer.

He fixes Terry with a hesitant look and says, "I've heard things are about the same on your side."

Perhaps it seems like he's avoiding the topic because he doesn't actually care about how Terry's doing, but it's just so uncomfortable to ask someone if they've fully recovered from you beating them up while in a murderous trance.

"Yeah, they're not telling us anything." Except that he should be damn thankful to be alive, but he's not exactly about to say that. And Finnick can see for himself that they've got this ridiculous bodyguard situation going on at Pride too, which Terry is 900% not a fan of, but he knows better than to complain lest he bring Lesedi's wrath down upon himself.

"It's the music," Terry says abruptly, still staring a hole through his drink, "I can't prove it, but it's... That's the only thing that makes sense."

For a relative amount of 'sense' anyway.

Finnick nods slowly, frowning. "A bit ironic," he says, "but it does make sense." Naomi's song was when the tone of the night started to change, as far as he can remember, but there's no way to prove it. Even with proof, what could they do? They can't just go calling the police.

His jaw tightens as he considers it, and then he looks up at Terry cautiously again. "Are you okay?"

Well that went better than expected. You typically don't expect 'someone mind controlled you into trying to murder people by singing' to go over so well, but then when it's someone who was affected by it. Maybe it's a little easier to take in. Who knows.

The question catches him off, he hadn't expected it at all, and he abruptly stops fussing with the can in surprise. "Yeah, I'm fine." Terry huffs a small laugh and looks up at Finnick with a wry smile, "you were kind of outdone by the guy who shoved me out a window."

Finnick's ready to accept any explanation for what happened to him, eager for people to believe he didn't actually want to do what he did. Whatever feeling he felt, he wants it to be someone else's doing. It's scary that he could be controlled like that, but at least it didn't come from his own brain, right?

In any case, he doesn't find it that funny that Terry got shoved out of a window. He shakes his head, looking grave. "Someone could have been killed."

"I think a bunch of us were," he takes a gulp of lemonade and starts carefully pouring the vodka in the can, "or-- close to it anyway. I was a little unconscious at the time so I couldn't really ask any questions."

But he found a nasty scar on the back of his head in the shower when he got home, and Yuffie had a scar where Luce had stabbed her too. So whatever happened...

Terry shakes his head and drums his fingers on his knee, resisting the desire to draw them up and hug them to his chest. He doesn't want to think about this at the best of times, let alone here with some guy he doesn't even know. "There's something big going on, you know?" He sighs and stares down at his hand, "it's more than just the fucking... That party. There's just so many things that are wrong."

Finnick gazes down at the floor, frowning thoughtfully. "Maybe we should all keep our distance, then," he says airily. "Maybe that's just how it has to be."

He's rethinking his decision not to have a drink, and he glances at the minibar wistfully.

Edited 2016-01-19 20:22 (UTC)

"So, what?" Terry looks at Finnick, frowning. Almost like he's disappointed-- he shouldn't be, he doesn't even know Finnick, but he can't help feeling like there should be some other feeling than being resigned to all this. "We just sit in our rooms and pretend that nothing's happening? Like we're not all having these fucking hallucinations or being brainwashed into murder or whatever the fuck else is going on?"

He should be angry! Everyone should be angry! How can he just sit there like this is just someone's dad telling him to stay away from his daughter?

"What we do," Finnick says, his voice gaining a little weight but still quiet enough so the bodyguards can't hear, "is our jobs. Isn't that why you're with Pride to begin with? So you can make music? You can't do both, especially if Blanche and Santiago are so set on sweeping it under the rug and have eyes on us all the time."

He gestures at the door and then drags a hand down his face with a sigh. "There's nothing you and I can do. Maybe if someone figures out a way to stop it... but I didn't work this hard just to turn my back on my career and my band just because the world's more fucked up than I thought in the beginning."

"Our jobs." Terry echoes, and he laughs humourlessly. "Were you not there a month ago when your job suddenly included attempted murder, or...?"

It's kind of hard to pull off the whole 'disappointed parent' aesthetic when you're sitting cross-legged with a can of soda, but Terry's going for it anyway. "I should've known better," he murmurs with a sigh, jaw clenched as he shakes his head again. "Of course that's who you are. Just sit here and pretend nothing's happening and maybe someone else'll make it go away, right? So long as it doesn't mess with your career."

A coward and a sell-out. Great.

"You don't know!" Finnick says, hushed and angry, like he'd be raising his voice if he weren't hyper aware that their bodyguards weren't outside expecting to hear entirely different kinds of shouts. His eyes have a touch of that manic fear in them, like an animal backed into a corner.

"If they can do that to my mind, imagine what else they could do, what they could make me do to people I care about. And Santiago, she ripped through Naomi Rivers like she was made of paper. It's not just my career, it's my life I'm worried about."

"You're kidding yourself if you think playing along is gonna keep you safe."

He's not vented that particular concern before, not in so many words, but hearing it out loud only solidifies his belief that they're in danger regardless of what they do. But hey, if Finnick doesn't want to hear it... Terry glances at his boots, wondering if maybe he should just leave.

"I'm not gonna sit here preaching to you about this," and there's resignation in his voice, "just don't kid yourself here."

"Then you shouldn't kid yourself thinking that you and the people around you won't get hurt if you keep pushing back," Finnick says, and he sounds genuinely worried, his eyes wide.

"I can't tell you what to do - we attacked first after all - but I can't do anything until I know it's not going to come back and bite us twice as hard. I'm not going to be responsible for anyone getting hurt."

It's like all the hot air completely goes out of him, and Terry practically deflates. Finnick's right, of course he is, but he can't just sit around like it's just a bad week in the studio.

"I can't do nothing." It's more like he's talking to himself than to Finnick, voice hushed and his fingers find a hole in his jeans to fuss with, "it's only gonna get worse."

"Then make sure your friends are safe before you do anything foolish," Finnick says. "I agree, someone has to get to the bottom of this, but for all we know that's just the tip of the iceberg of whatever's going on between them and if we stay out of their business we'll be just fine."

He scratches the back of his head and then smooths his hair down where he messed it up.

"Yeah, sure. I'll just stash them in a safehouse, it'll be real simple." Despite himself, Terry's sarcasm doesn't have quite the same bite it did a moment ago. There isn't a way to make sure anybody's safe, so his choices are pretty much either stay out of it and potentially leave them in danger, or try to do something and potentially put them in more danger.

Great.

Terry sighs and drags a hand down his face, "I'm sorry, what I said was uncalled for. We don't even know eachother and I'm..." He trails off and gestures a little uselessly, struggling to find the right words. "I don't know."

"No, no," Finnick says, waving Terry off. "I can't even begin to apologize for what happened at the party. I wouldn't know where to start. I still don't even know what it was exactly that made me stop..."

He does know. He's worked it over and over again in his mind, the image of that boy that he saw himself killing. His talk with Johanna had just made everything more confusing - how real was it, and how many people were seeing these awful visions?

"I think 'mind control' is just below 'evil clone' on the list of 'get out of jail free' excuses." He offers a bit of a weak smile to go with his attempt at a joke, but he's really not feeling it. Thanks Finnick, he's sad now.

Terry pulls a face and takes a nice, huge gulp of his drink. That is way more vodka than he'd normally put in a drink this size, and honestly thank god.

"... You really don't know?" He asks, and that's something he hadn't considered. Some people snapped out of it before they actually got a real attempt under their belt, but obviously not everyone did. There had to be a reason for that.

Finnick looks at Terry thoughtfully, considering whether or not to tell him. It sounds crazy, and he knows it, but the rest of this is crazy anyway. The thing he saw was no worse than what happened in the ballroom later, but he still has no explanation for why he saw himself doing it. He can't place that boy, as hard as he tries.

But the only other person he's told about it so far said she experienced the same thing. She did it with an axe, but it was her. Maybe if he reveals it, Terry will have something similar to compare notes on...

"No," he finally says, breaking his gaze on Terry and looking down at the floor. "I just suddenly realized what I was doing and I was horrified at what I could have done."

Terry's still Pride. They don't know each other that well at all, and Finnick can't trust him with this.

That's a shame. He was kind of hoping Finnick might have some information that'd help unlock some part of this, maybe give some clue as to what to do next. But that whole night was a mess, expecting anyone to hold on to some tiny fragment of information that might be useless is ridiculous.

Terry sighs and pulls a knee up to his chest, "lucky me, I guess." It comes out a little morose, but then he suddenly remembers who he's talking to and his eyes snap up to Finnick. "--Shit, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to make you feel bad." Frowning, he brushes a hand through his hair. Nice going dingus. "I'm just tired, I guess."

"It's fine," Finnick says. He's pretty immune to people trying to make him feel bad, and even though Terry doesn't seem to blame him for the party, he figures he's beyond forgiveness anyway. The whole thing is a rotten memory that he hopes he never has to touch again.

After stewing on that for a moment, he looks up at the door and then at Terry, raising an eyebrow. "So how long do you think we should stay in here?"

"Depends." He fishes his phone out of a pocket and looks at the time, as if that'll answer Finnick's question for him. "How thorough do you want Bruno to think you are?"

Terry raises an eyebrow at Finnick and gestures to the door with a smirk, because he's hilarious. "I mean, I could grab my boots and storm out if you want."

Finnick actually looks offended at this suggestion. "Absolutely not," he says. "I have a reputation to uphold. That smug prick out there needs to think I'm a god in the sack."

He frowns at the door thoughtfully, obviously thinking of how best to pull this off. "There's pay-per-view," he finally suggests.

Wow. Finnick's reaction straight up makes him laugh and he looks up at the TV on the wall, considering it. It's not a bad idea, provided Finnick's taste isn't awful.

"Sure," he shrugs, "any preferences?"

Finnick shrugs and shakes his head, noncommittal. "I can watch anything, as long as it's not too violent. I haven't had the taste for gore lately."

Terry makes a noise that suggests he feels similarly and flicks through the guide until he spots something that looks like it might be entertaining. Just some generic comedy that'll be fun to watch and forget about afterward. Plus he feels like he remembers the lead actress being pretty good.

"How about this?"

"Fine by me," Finnick says pushing himself up and out of the chair to go root through the minibar at last. He takes a bottle of coke and some rum out, mixes it quite generously on the rum side of things, and then walks back toward the bed.

"D'you mind?" he asks, gesturing toward the bed. It's king size, so it's not like Terry can't put a little distance between them if he prefers, but Finnick's not looking to spend the entire movie sitting in the nice-looking but uncomfortable dining chairs at the table.

He shakes his head and moves over a little so there's room for Finnick to sit instead of having this skinny loser somehow taking up most of the space.

Sighing, Terry leans back against the headboard and starts the film once Finnick's settled. He will, inevitably, start texting Yuffie a play-by-play of everything that doesn't make sense about this movie, but at least he has the good grace to put his phone on silent.

Finnick doesn't mind. In fact he starts playing with his phone as well, careful not to actually do anything on any social media in case his bodyguard actually is that smart. About half an hour in his stomach starts rumbling and he suggests room service, which he then accepts in nothing but a towel over his underwear and smug smile at Bruno while the door is momentarily open so they can accept the trolley.

When the movie's over Finnick sighs and stretches. "Alright," he says, "mess up your hair, we should make this look believable."

"I know what I'm doing," Terry says with a shake of head as he starts mussing up his hair, pulling it into his face and some of it at angles it doesn't fall at on its own. He pulls a little at his shirt to make it look like it's been hastily thrown on too, and even swaps a few rings around just in case someone's eye is really that keen.

Once he's done making himself look a mess, he looks up at Finnick expectantly.

Finnick's already undressed once, so he leaves his shirt untucked and musses his hair in the back, making it stick up where it shouldn't. He throws his blazer back on hastily so it's bunching a bit in the wrong places and for the piece de resistance he gets an ice cube from the freezer and presses it to his neck, raising an eyebrow at Terry with a smirk and saying, "you strike me as a neck man." When he pulls it away, there's a red mark on his skin that'll fade in a matter of minutes, but it's effective for the moment they walk out the door.

He throws the ice cube in the sink and then puts his hand on the door knob. "You ready?"

Wh-- Terry opens his mouth to ask Finnick what he means by that, but he's just. Not going to go wading in that pool. Instead, he nods and gestures for Finnick to go first, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he follows him out of the room.

Finnick opens the door abruptly and sweeps out of the room, slipping easily back into the personality he had when he first came into the restaurant a few hours ago. "Alright Bruno, we can go home now," he says as he brushes past his bodyguard. "Come on, I've got things to do, we don't have all day."

He turns as he walks down the hall, waiting for Bruno and winking at Terry. "Call me," he says, and then he turns and swaggers down the hall, bodyguard close at his heels.

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♪ this is the first day of my last days

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