interstellar5555 | My window's painted shut

Entry tags:

greg universe

My window's painted shut

Who: Greg Universe and OPEN
What: You gotta appreciate the little things when you've made it big
When: Late March
Where: Various Places Around Vista City
Warnings: nah

A. OPEN

It's been a while since Greg's hung around in the Virgo common spaces; he often holes himself up in the Virgo penthouse, but he's trying to get himself back in the songwriting groove with different workspaces than his room. He hasn't been nearly as productive lately--his career and band is the last truly solid thing he feels like he can protect, so he can't keep letting himself wallow.

Piles of crumpled paper strewn around him are a good indicator of how that's turning out. Greg raps his pen rapidly against his notebook, frustrated and tired. Everything feels stilted and forced. Why is it suddenly so hard to feel passionate about things?

B. OPEN

When it comes to museums, Greg prefers natural history over art, but the public archives in the lower levels of Virgo are pretty pleasant to hang around and people watch. He appreciates the displays of musical history as something largely separate from everything else here.

He might be appreciating it a little loudly. Sorry, he has trouble not air guitaring or humming along when he's got headphones on. Like this is a music museum, it's okay to be loud here, right? Yeah?

C. OPEN

With the first days of spring, Vista has gotten its first real bouts of warm weather in months. Even with the ground still wet from rain, people are laying down blankets in the park to enjoy the sun. Some people might find the pleasant atmosphere marred by the small crowd of birds flocking a nearby bench, pigeons and seagulls impatiently harassing its occupant.

"I've only got so much popcorn, guys," Greg insists to birds who neither comprehend nor care. He thought throwing out a few kernels was harmless, and now he's got some type of feathered mafia glaring him down. A seagull gives an impatient squawk, flapping its wings by way of threat. "Geez! All right, all right!" He tosses out another handful, sending them into yet another flurry. He is trapped. There is no escape.

D. Closed to Pinkie

Greg doesn't drink a whole lot nowadays, but this place has good bar food, and private booths to talk. Given a few hours later at night, this would have been the sort of party place the two of them would have usually run into each other, last summer. He only just realized how long it's been since they got to talk in person.

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[ He looks back into her eyes, almost startled by her palpable sincerity. Realization flickers; he never meant to keep things from her, yet he's avoided so many important, necessary conversations. Greg breaks eye contact for just a second, to check for anyone listening, then back. And he squeezes her hands. ]

Walk with me. I'll tell you everything.

[ Already, he feels the faint buzz of a headache. He ignores it. She deserves this much. ]

[Damn STRAIGHT he has, and she knows it. She has no idea what's going on -- with Steven, with Sans, with Rarity, with anyone. And though she hasn't pressed...]

[She can't go on in the dark. She needs to help him.]

Please.

[ He's silent for a moment or two as they walk. It's hard to figure out where to begin. ]

I guess... to start... I told you, the magic I've learned isn't... I didn't have it at home. I was just a... a father in my forties, living homeless. [ He hesitates. He's come to accept his age by now--as much as any middle-aged man does--but he still worries about other people reacting to it. ] All these powers are from being here, in Virgo. And that... that makes me more useful to them.

It also makes you more useful to others as well... though it is hardly the beginning and end of your use. [She doesn't release his hand as they walk, keeping it close in hers. At the moment, she feels very old indeed, every ounce of his own heritage standing out.]

[Can a god love a mortal? She understands now why it is so hard.]

[ Greg takes a deep breath, the ghost of a smile in his weary expression. His thumb keeps running over her hand in his. ]

I tried to use it to help. Snuck in the offices, looking for info on what happens when people get "fired." [ He watches Meril from the corner of his eye. ] I got some details from it, but I showed them my hand. They're keeping a pretty close eye on me now.

So you are worried about what will come of that. And worried that those of us you care about are being used as hostages.

[That... explains so much. SO much, and as dire as the warning is, she visibly relaxes. Now she understands his fear. Now she has an idea of what she must fight.]

[Greg inclines his head in a small nod. ]

The info I got... it said you're in their bad books already, after that ghost thing you did. And... they know who you were. Before all this.

[If Greg expects a strong response, he will get none. None of that surprises her.]

I cannot say I truly understand what is going on, but I suppose that does not truly matter, does it?

[He stops walking, and stares at her, lack of understanding plain in his face. Of course it matters. Of course she matters. How could he feel any different?]

I mean their motivations, Greg -- their actions speak plainly no matter what they intend. I do not know what they are trying to achieve by bringing us here, having us play music, but...

[She shrugs her shoulders, a lithe and graceful motion like some great cat.]

We're powering them.

[ He says it immediately, certain. She may not think it matters specifically, but while he's spilling info, this is definitely relevant. ]

My powers get stronger after we perform, but they're sapping most of what we get away. Our concerts are like battery recharges. And... [ His brow furrows. ] People who get "fired," too... their souls are... being used.

I see.

[She says this quietly and calmly and yet there is such deep, abiding anger that lurks -- not in her voice, but in her soul itself.]

This is why you are so miserable, lately. You are afraid for us.

[ Again, Greg nods, eyes downcast.]

I'm sorry, Meril. I didn't mean to make you worry, I wanted to tell you everything, it just... never felt like the right time.

[ Still his head throbs, pressing against the back of his eyes.] It feels like I can't think straight.

[She has it better. She was drugged after the TV show, her resistance has waned somewhat. So she reaches out with her free hand to catch his chin and lift his head so he has to look at her.]

Then allow me to speak, for now. Greg... we are in this together. You and I, and those we care about. I do not ask you to not care... I do not ask you to not worry.

What I ask is for you to stand by my side, to the best of your ability.

[ She makes sure he's watching her face, seeing her quiet strength and certainty in asking for something that should seem so obvious and simple, yet he's been struggling with all this time.

Suddenly, Greg can feel all that bone-deep exhaustion that's been weighing on him since February, and even further back. His shoulders slump, eyes welling. He hadn't even realized how much he had been holding back. Greg grips Meril's hand tightly. ]

I don't know... I don't know if I can. [His voice shakes with effort.] I'm so tired, Meril.

[Meril laughs, a low and smoky sound as she wraps her arm around him to pull him close.]

Greg, dear Greg. Think about it. You can't stand behind us, because you won't ever let yourself be protected like that. We don't wish you to stand in front of us, because WE don't wish to be protected like that. So stand with us, and get through this with us. I will be your strength, as you are mine. Together.

[ Greg takes a breath--an uneven, shuddering sound--and rests his forehead on hers. His arms loosely wrap around Meril; she's his anchor, once again.

He doesn't want to lose her. He'll fight Blanche if he can, but he's not strong enough. He needs her. The last thing he ever wants is to let her down.

It's too hard to get the words out as he chokes back tears. For the moment, Greg just holds her, wills himself to believe he's capable of being beside her. ]

[She strokes his back gently, fingers tracing through his hair. He has that strength and she knows it. The question is whether he can find it.]

I love you, Greg. If you know nothing else, know that.

[ For a minute, Greg remains silent, taking comfort in her presence and warmth. Slowly, he pulls himself back together. His head lifts slightly, but still pressed to hers. ]

I know that. I know. [He hiccups something like a laugh. ] You might wanna hit me if you catch me trying to do it alone again. I don't know what got into me. [ Blanche. ]

I will scold you, maybe. And I am not going anywhere. [She gives the hand she still holds a squeeze.] I will be your strength, and you will be my magic.

[ She hasn't gone anywhere, this whole time. Shouldn't that be proof enough? Greg's breathing starts to even out again. He's not strong enough, but she's more than enough for the both of them. ] I can do that. [ The hand around her back pulls her a little closer. ] We can do that.

We can. We have. And we will continue to. [She laughs, her breath warm against his skin as she does.] After all, do we not make beautiful music together?

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My window's painted shut

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