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?"

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Not much of what's happened here is in any way reassuring, if he's honest. Most of the related stories are bad or at least worrisome. But that's the whole problem with being kidnapped through space, he guesses.

His smile straightens up again, though thinking about 'Tiger' at any length is an extremely confusing exercise. That aspect of him isn't entirely gone, he doesn't think, but at the same time it can be tempting to think of him as a different person.

"Yeah... I just... Wish that I could remember more." He grasps at his gem distractedly. "There's all these people here that... that I know want to help me. And I know that things at home are better, but... but I still can't remember what it felt like. Not really."

"When I was Tiger I felt like I'd never had any of that stuff before ever, and even thinking about it just made me so mad. I feel so different now... it just makes me really sad remembering how bad they made me feel back then."

"Yes." The word is soft, but complete understanding. "It does."

He has absolute right to that feeling . . . and to anger if he wants it, as far as she's concerned, even if she knows him well enough to know that probably won't be his way. Steven grieves, but he forgives; Lapis forms a hard knot of rage and destroys.

His way would be easier, but she knows she can't manage it.

"You'll remember," she murmurs. "Talking to other people, being around them . . . it helps."

Which reminds her: She reaches for the bag next to her. "I . . . brought something for you?"

He's in a fairly sober mood at the moment - he is most of the time, given the situation. But that doesn't meant he isn't quick to lighten up when given a reason to. He blinks in mild surprise, and then nods eagerly, smiling again.

"You did? Thank you!" He doesn't even have to see what it is first because it doesn't really matter for the thank you part. He's feeling pretty grateful in general.

She's there in part to try to help buoy his spirits. While her transition feels a little artificial to her (she's not exactly used to being the one to buoy, and normally it seems that Steven would have the right to feel as he wants), she makes it. It feels . . . important somehow. As much as he has every right to feel as he does, it's also not natural to him. A Steven sad for too long is . . . not quite Steven.

Plus what she has to offer feels important.

Her shoulders turn in a little at his enthusiastic attention, suddenly weirdly shy, but she reaches in and produces a small, very simple phone, holding it out to him. It's probably nothing like he's used to -- no data plan (though it is texting-capable), small and slight rather than with a big, dynamic screen. It's simple, black, the only ornament a small, yellow bauble charm with a smiley face in it, dangling from a red ribbon.

"I asked . . . someone to give the other one to Greg," she offers softly. "So . . . you can talk to him without them watching."

She's never given a present before, and there's the sudden anxiety: Will he like it? Is this silly? She doesn't think so, but . . . is it after all?

It takes a moment for Steven to understand the purpose of the gift, but when it clicks he reacts with a mixture of excitement and caution. He takes it in hand, looking at it with surprised wonder - only to immediately tuck it away in his pocket like he's scared someone will see him with it.

"Really? Oh man... I..."

His cheeks flush a little bit pink. He's a little bit embarrassed by how nervous it makes him, and also how important it is.

"...I've been too scared to... Thanks."

"Is . . . it okay?"

She thinks he likes it, but it's hard to tell from that reaction. He seemed so excited -- but put it away so quickly, and now he's pink. Is he worried about the phone? Worried about calling Greg? Or something else?

He flushes even more deeply.

"Of course it's okay! Oh geez..."

He ruffles his own hair self consciously.

"It's just...it's a secret, right? I've gotta be secretive!"

And hope to god Lesedi never finds out, because then he's finished. Yet, he's ashamed to admit how uncertain he is about doing anything the least bit rebellious at this point.

". . . Can you do that?"

It's an honest question; she hadn't even considered that it might be a challenge. He seems to want to . . . but there's that awkwardness, too -- that hesitation that she can't quite place.

Sometimes subtle emotions are still hard to piece out.

"Does . . . it scare you?"

His shoulders sink. He's really no good at lying, and he never has been. He frowns uncertainly, and eventually offers a helpless shrug.

"A little..." he says, which is sort of an understatement. "I've just...been trying really hard to good, so that...so that I won't cause any problems like I did before."

His personality may be more familiar than it was before, but he's still far from free.

"They're the ones that are wrong." She does her best to remind him of this fact when she can. She knows by now that it won't -- can't -- take completely, not with the brainwashing. But it's still important for him to hear it, for what little comfort it gives.

Very softly, "Sometimes secrets keep us alive, too."

He should know that, really. Part of him is sure that he does. Yet, it seems like when it comes down to it, it's his fault for making them angry. That's a way of thinking he can't quite seem to shake no matter how many times someone tries to tell him that he's not at fault here.

It's so easy being here, in comparison, when he behaves himself. Things have only really gotten terrible when he did something wrong. Inside, he's convinced that if he doesn't act stupid things will be okay. Even though they really won't be.

He looks ashamed, staring at the floor between his crossed legs.

"I'm gunna keep it," he says quietly.

She can see in his face that it doesn't take -- but it never does, and she understands why. All she can do is keep reminding him . . . and to bolster his spirits when and how she can. It doesn't feel like very much, but . . . in the face of not being able to do anything, she'll gladly take it.

She smiles faintly at his assertion, the backs of her fingers stretching out to touch his cheek again, both reassurance and to draw his focus back. "Okay."

"I think . . . that will make him happy too."

Have you forgotten what you have and what is yours?

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