interstellar5555 | Have you forgotten what you have and what is yours?

Who: Greg, then open to Agent Apartment residents
What: Lapis confronts Greg about the things she's learned from Steven; life with Agent Apartment residents
Where: Beach, then Agent Apartment
When: Early April
Warnings: Angry blue lady.

A. Closed to Greg - She's waiting there for Greg when he comes -- a blue wraith in the near-darkness, stepping out from behind the rocks when she's sure he's alone. The ocean is restless that night, with a smell of a storm rolling in from the sea; the waves fidget, lashing against the sands in fitful bursts like energy just barely contained.

There are things she needs to discuss with him. She's been waiting.

B. Open to Agent Apartment - With the combination of the city being so close to the sea and the wet season upon them, it's not infrequent that Lapis -- or rather, Luna -- comes to Agent Apartment damp . . . even dripping. Find her when she comes in the door, or when she's dryer (hair much fluffier) and herself again, curling up in a corner of the couch with a minute sigh of what could be pleasure/relief.

She never makes a big deal of her presence; she generally settles in to watch whatever action is currently going on, leaning on the couch arm with a half-smile, her legs tucked up underneath her.

C. Closed to Steven - She gets to see him almost regularly now -- generally later into the evening, when practices are complete and most of the rest of the dancers are packing up or in the showers. Unnoticed, Lapis separates from the others, heading off. (The others are already convinced that Luna is a little stuck up, never staying and talking or going out afterwards with them. Lapis herself has barely noticed.)

She heads off to the designated meeting spot -- a quiet corner in one of the empty practice rooms, readily out of sight of the door. Legs tucked up underneath her skirts, she sits waiting for him, rolling a bit of the fabric between her fingers.

Today there's a woven bag beside her. She's hoping what's inside will lift his spirits.

D. Closed to Frisk - I want to bring him back before Papyrus knows.

The words haven't quite left Lapis since Papyrus appeared in the apartment. At first it's merely something to tuck away -- something to check on with Frisk once they reappear, something to resolve and put aside.

The problem is that Frisk doesn't reappear.

Even that wouldn't completely be a worry; Frisk is often out and about the city, and between their intermittent stops in Agent Apartment and Lapis', missing each other is par for the course.

The bigger problem is that word comes through that Sans has been captured.

And Frisk doesn't return.

Those two facts are what prompt Lapis to move. Though she can't take time off practice, she takes time from the spa, using the extra hours to comb places they tend to be or that she thinks would attract them.

Maybe it's nothing.

But she can't get rid of the echo of the words in her own head.

The warehouse is one of the last places she checks. It doesn't rate high on the list of places she might expect them to be, abandoned long ago and used only for the briefest of intervals. But. She's checked so many other places, and this can't be left from the list.

Her feet are light, barely audible as she steps into the space. The vastness of it stretches over her, around her -- makes her wary. For a moment she lingers close to the door, one hand still on the knob.

Calling quietly: "Hello?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Her head turns at that, cheek still resting against her arms and knees. For a long moment she watches his profile, quiet, as though she's seeing something for the first time.

The words resonate, humming inside of her like a completed chord. They hum and expand, and for a moment, she's warm, full in a way she can't remember being.

". . . Thank you," she murmurs.

"I'm sorry."

Greg takes in and lets out a deep breath before looking back to her. The last ten minutes or so have been... hectic. But it feels like they've come out better for it.

"Hey, don't worry about it."

That's Steven's same resonance -- that strange ability to forgive and let go in the the face of what should be hard to forgive.

Sometimes she wishes she had that quality herself. At the same time, however, her life, everything she's been through feels like a wall. It stretches upward, up, far away . . . insurmountable, unknowable, with her left at the bottom looking up.

Still, with all she's done, with all she knows she would be willing to do, the idea that people are willing to forgive, that she can be forgiven is balm to the long-standing remnants of old wounds.

"Is that," she murmurs, "how you healed him?"

That catches him off guard. Greg blinks at her, before glancing off and rubbing at his neck.

"N-no, that... I... I don't really know how..."

It's confusing to think about. If he's glad he healed Steven, why is he so uncomfortable talking about it?

Greg frowns at the ocean.

"I didn't... used to have magic. Did I?"

"No." She's a little more alert then, though she doesn't change position, watching him.

"You didn't, or you would have--"

. . .

She's never really revealed to him how they met, has she? A faint flush of blue gathers in her cheeks. He just forgave her, but would he do it again?

She's not quite ready for the risk.

"You would have used it before," she finishes, and hopes it suffices.

Venturing, "Where . . . did it come from? And when?"

If Greg caught that slip up, he doesn't react to it. He just shrugs a little, still looking over the ocean.

"I didn't even notice it, at first. I would play music, and people would like it, and..." He makes a vague gesture with his hand. "I noticed things started changing."

A moment of silence passes. "They're making me learn how to control it. In exchange for helping Steven." His tone is clear: he's not happy about it. It scares him.

"They." She knows on a general level, but specifically, it might be good to hear further. "Who?"

". . . What else can you do that needs to be controlled?" That means there's more than healing.

No need for preamble. It's obvious. "Virgo. Edward Blanche." It all comes down to him, in the end.

His shoulders hunch, a little. He doesn't want to admit the real focus of his training. He's scared, ashamed. She did just attack him, after all, and in truth he couldn't blame her for doing it again if he told her he could affect people's minds.

"A...Almost anything, I think. It's all about imagination by this point. And... and how well I play."

His worry is fair . . . though she'd be embarrassed if she knew it.

"The head of Virgo himself is teaching you?" Her head comes up at that, staring at him at full alert.

He raises his hands quickly. "No no no, nothing like that." He doesn't want her to get the wrong idea and think he's actually important.

"Another musician's been doing it for him. She's been here a long time, she's pretty much an expert."

Too late for that, Greg. The mere fact that you are able to do these things, that Blanche has taken an interest in you, that he's gone so far as to kidnap a child for you . . . even if you don't fully see what value you've taken on, she does. In a society such as the ones the labels have created, resources are not wasted without purpose.

". . . What is the cost?"

This is the question she absolutely wants; her eyes don't move from him.

There's a faint pause, but as much as he'd like to he doesn't look away from her.

"Favors. I don't know what kind yet, he hasn't asked. But..." No matter how often Blanche denies it, he'll keep thinking of Naomi. "...It's not gonna be anything pretty."

She presses her lips together at that.

Why? is the immediate question. Why are you doing this?

But it's a useless question. She knows why. The executives have made sure there are no options, no choices but what they determine.

"How many others are there?"

"Uhh... I... I don't get to talk to the musicians who've been here long. My teacher's the only one I know for sure about."

He's not being very helpful with any of this info, is he. It probably sounds like he's covering things up. Which, to be fair, isn't wholly inaccurate.

"Some of the other guys... ones who got signed on around the same time... They've got power developing. I can feel it. But I think there's only one who's getting as good at it as me."

She can tell there's some evasiveness going on, yes. Her eyebrows lift towards him. "Is . . . there something you aren't telling me?"

Throb. Throb. Throb.

Greg has to work to think through the pain, but he's too tired to work very hard. He runs a hand through his hair, and starts getting to his feet.

"Probably." He shakes his head. "There's too much for me to know it all, Lapis. I'm sorry." He offers her a hand.

She hesitates, watching him after that response, then looking to his hand.

But ultimately she reaches back, her fingers resting on his.

Have you forgotten what you have and what is yours?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject