021 - Dried Winter Apple

[deadly_ned]

[Something's happened to the Piemaker in the days since he was held hostage by the inmate calling himself Hannibal Lector. He's shut down, closing out everything that could possibly remind him of the nightmare it was spending quality time with the man.

Effectively, this means not going back to his own room.

Instead, he sits on the floor of Alpha's room, having retreated there to make his post. He doesn't want to do it in the infirmary; he wants to be alone. And with his dog Digby cuddling up to both Alpha and new inmate Ellie, he's got his wish]

I'd like to share a secret.

It's something that a few people on this ship already know through either me telling them or the Barge circumnavigating my wishes to keep the secret a secret and whispering it into the ears of people I would rather not have known.

And. And until last week I didn't think it mattered that people didn't know because I didn't conceive of a way it could be used against anyone. It's redundant.

There's a reason I hate magic, and there's a reason I hate Halloween, and there's a reason why I don't go around hugging people all willy-nilly, and why my dog is neurotic and why my pies taste so good.

I can touch dead things and bring them back to life.

And...Dr. Lector found this out. And he kept the secret.

But he also kept me, in my room, while he used my magic to bring dead things he took out of people back to life.

And if I had told more people what I could do, or if I wasn't...here on the Barge to begin with, it probably wouldn't have happened like it did.

I don't care about who knows anymore. There's nothing worse you can do to me and nothing worse I can do to other people than what happened.

I'll answer questions about it. If there are any.

Alpha, I'm sorry.

[Private to Friends]

I would...really appreciate it if someone could go pick up some things from my room. I can't go in there right now.

Comments

Private;

[anewlanguage]

You know, I think I'm just gonna toss your kitchen stuff overboard. We'll write the Admiral a nice suck-up note and see if he'll give you new ones.

Private;

[deadly_ned]

I think that would probably be for the best.

Even if it is littering.

Private;

[anewlanguage]

There're worse crimes.

Go set up shop in my cabin, I'll get your stuff.

Private;

[deadly_ned]

Okay. I'm. Okay.

On my way now.

Private;

[anewlanguage]

Give me an hour, tops.

[In reality it's less than that. He's used to hustling when something needs to be done, and he comes to his cabin with as many of Ned's clothes and sentimental belongings as he could get.

The kitchen items are gone, never to be seen again.]

Private;

[deadly_ned]

[A few minutes after his last message, the Piemaker is sitting at the door to Cain's room, writing his replies back to the network.

He hasn't entered Cain's room; he won't, without permission. It's just how he is.

He looks up as Cain returns and stands up, hugging his elbows]

Thank you.

spam;

[anewlanguage]

[Cain grunts slightly, his way of saying 'no problem' and 'anytime'.]

C'mon in, get settled.

...You know I have to ask some questions. Tell me if you'd be better off waiting to talk.

spam;

[deadly_ned]

[The bed space seems to be conditional; Cain will provide living quarters, but wants answers.

The Piemaker gives a hesitant nod; he'll talk about it. He owes the man that.

He shuffles inside in his apologetic way, helping to bring in the clothing]

I can talk. I wouldn't have posted if I wasn't ready to talk.

spam;

[anewlanguage]

Hannibal's not the first cannibal psychopath I've met. I don't need to know what he did to you, because I can guess. [How he made Ned stay, the things he said. He's aware that all this puts a certain amount of pressure on Ned, and he doesn't want to do that, he genuinely does not--but he will anyway, because right now it's his job to help assess threats.]

I need to know where you're at. Really at, don't candycoat or bullshit.

spam;

[deadly_ned]

[Dropping down onto Cain's bed, the Piemaker looks up at him, uncertain and a little nervous]

Where I'm at? I don't. Can you rephrase?

spam;

[anewlanguage]

[He has a little nook in the wall, where a window would have been in the real world. That's where he sits, to face Ned.]

I mean...what kind of things are running through your head? What do you think about when you try to go to sleep?

spam;

[deadly_ned]

[The parts in the fridge as he stared at it, knowing what was just behind the white door. The sound of the pulse as the parts came back to life. The jelly-like feel of it underneath his fingers]

Nothing. I don't think of anything when I try to go to sleep.

spam;

[anewlanguage]

...You don't need to lie to me. You don't need to tell me either, but don't think that means I don't know what keeps you up, because I do.

I don't have any catch all fix-it for what guys like that do. What I do know is that you might be blaming yourself, and you shouldn't.

spam;

[deadly_ned]

I'm not lying.

[The Piemaker's left eye twitches]

spam;

[anewlanguage]

You play poker?

spam;

[deadly_ned]

Once. In an illegal Chinese gambling den.

spam;

[anewlanguage]

Slow down chef, how'd you end up there?

spam;

[deadly_ned]

Back in my world, I used to be a..private homicide investigator. I had a partner. Two partners. It was a business.

I touched homicide victims, they tell us who killed them, we get paid.

spam;

[anewlanguage]

Sounds like a rough gig. Homicide's tough to clean up after, I bet. [At least the murders Cain left had always been shadowy, messy, bloody affairs that never led to a courtroom.]

spam;

[deadly_ned]

It wasn't so bad.

I have a, um. A high tolerance.

[Which goes to show how disturbed he was about Hannibal]

spam;

[anewlanguage]

[It actually doesn't surprise him that Ned would handle crime scenes well. The difference, perhaps, is that Hannibal deliberately made him an accomplice to the crimes on the Barge, where at home he got to be the good guy solving it.]

...How'd he find out about your secret talent, exactly?

spam;

[deadly_ned]

Memory flood. A few weeks ago.

He promised not to tell. And he. He didn't.

spam;

[anewlanguage]

[Of course not. But Ned saying that opens a whole new field of potential problems.]

You get why that's not a sign of him having a shred of honor, right?

spam;

[deadly_ned]

I'd never done anything to him. I asked him what I did and that I was sorry and he said I hadn't done anything.

spam;

[anewlanguage]

You didn't do anything to him. You didn't do anything to 'earn' this, no matter what your head tries to tell you in recovery. He's a fucking psychopath; some people you can't make sense of.