capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Who: Alpha and Katurian
Where:NOHoPE
When: February 20th; afternoon
Warnings: ~~Alpha?~~ None so far.
Summary: Alpha just has to reunite with his city obsession.
Format: Para/quick-para

"He has been making some progress," Dr. Nadia Verma informed, offering over a few papers -- notes, transcripts, anything to aid in the understanding of her patient.

Alpha accepted them, feigning interest in this young man -- Katurian K. Katurian -- who he knew better than anyone could ever claim to. Dr. Mark Maudsley (who was the personality of the evening), however, was fully interested in what he received, "Although this case is most unusual, I have dealt with..."

"--I know," she interrupted, and then immediately cleared her throat -- looking down in a nearly sheepish manner, "I mean, your paperwork. I read it."

Mark looked at her for a moment, the corner of his lips quirking, "Then you realize he's in good hands. You know some people view their job as a puzzle...one in which the pieces are lost and it's left up to games of discovery, questions, and guessing to make their diagnosis. But to be honest, I don't believe in this approach. If you want to understand -- truly understand -- you have to find a way to really get inside their mind. Because it is only from the inside that you can unlock a person's true potential."

Dr. Verma was left speechless, staring at the man in wonder -- perhaps doing her own psychological read.

Alpha took his card, threw a glance over his shoulder, and with the most charming smile he could muster, spoke the words, "Have dinner with me sometime."

And with that he left her -- entered the room of unfamiliarity yet familiarity all the same. Because there was Katurian. Beautifully tragic Katurian. Alpha wanted to run to him, he wanted to sweep him up in his arms and with those same arms strangle the life out of him. He wanted this so badly because how dare the writer betray him. How dare the writer think he had the right to come into his life, affect him in ways Alpha couldn't even fathom, and then exit it as though their encounters had meant nothing. How could this one, insignificant human being hold so much sway?

But he kept this inner turmoil from his face quite successfully, speaking with a distance from the situation -- an outsider looking in and just trying to break the already broken ice that formed over their entire past together, "Katurian K. Katurian?" Alpha rustled through papers, checking and re-checking and triple-checking things before he spoke his next string of words to the patient. "I'm Dr. Mark Maudsley. I will be sitting in with you today."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

If Alpha looked through Katurian's files, he would see that he had been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, that he had attacked one of his visitors last month, that he had chewed a hole in his own hand, that he sometimes took obsessive, almost paranoid notes in novels. He would see that on his good days, he could make the nurses laugh, and that on his bad days, he barely spoke to anyone at all. Alpha would see that he had claimed to have erased a woman from existence, but oh, there was no evidence, and he had a history of violent delusions and institutionalization, didn't he? He would see Katurian's whole life laid out for him in those files. His whole childhood.

But of course, Alpha wouldn't need to see that.

Katurian heard him speaking just outside his door, but it wasn't until he entered the room that the real fear set in. He could see it. The patterns of Alpha's whole life radiated from his body, all fifty personalities and pasts pulsing like a tidal pool. Alpha could have arrived in a different face and he still would have recognized him.

(And in those fifty personalities and pasts, he thought he could catch glimpses of his own.)

"O-Oh." He slid back in his chair. The anxiety felt like a hand pressing down on his chest, compressing his lungs. His words came out in whispers. "Oh Jesus."

Alpha moved into the room until he could take a seat, not even bothering to look up at Katurian's fear. But he didn't have to. He could sense it. The anxiety. The shock was so real, so present that it was tangible. His lips managed to remain in a straight line although he wanted to smirk. "I take it you weren't administered your medication yet. Shall I get you a sedative to relax?" He flickered his gaze up at the writer briefly before looking back down at his files.

He didn't even wait for a response. Because it didn't matter. Katurian wasn't going to respond or if he did it would be a refusal. Even if he accepted, Alpha had no intention of letting the writer have an easy way out, so the question was more out of job necessity -- more out of playing the part than it was actually taking the role on. One leg crossed over the next, and he folded his fingers on his lap, giving Katurian his full attention, taking in the sight of him in his broken state...and realizing that he could still break him more.

But with a flourish of his hand, he gestured toward his patient, "I open the floor to you..."

He wondered if Death had answered his prayers, finally, if she had sent Alpha to kill him like last time. A part of him craved that release. A part of him was scared out of his mind that it was actually happening.

"How long have you been back?" He posed the question like a concerned friend, like he was the doctor and Alpha was the patient, but with his whole body tense, he could only feign so much control. Still, there was something about Alpha, something that called up those feelings of camaraderie. Maybe it was because Alpha had cared about him, once, when no one else would. Maybe it was only because he was familiar in his torment.

When Katurian asked the question, he kept his voice low, as though he were keeping a secret.

It was a single question, but it really did sum up a whole lot. Katurian hadn't forgotten about him. Neither death nor disappearance nor absence could make him so easily forgotten. And that underlying bond, it was still there it seemed. Perfect. At least one thing was still as it should have been. Echo was missing. M'stra was long gone. Operation Skorzeny had obviously failed. But Katurian was still Katurian, and really that was what Alpha was clinging to at the moment.

He reached in a long pocket of his coat, grabbing a pair of unnecessary glasses and opening them against his chin before sliding them along his nose, "I believe you must be mistaking me for someone else..." Alpha was not letting the act up so easily, he was not giving Katurian the satisfaction of admitting who he was. If he wanted the truth, he would have to try much harder than how long have you been back. "This is the first time I am meeting you."

Alpha clicked and unclicked and clicked a pen before scratching something down on a sheet of paper.

"I know it's you, Alpha. I can see it." He had an edge of desperation to his words, clouded though it was under exhaustion and medication. "Remember? I can see everything."

Remember. Days spent together in Alpha's cluttered apartment, quiet conversations of varying coherence. The time he peaked into Alpha's past and called him by his real name. How Alpha snapped and hit him.

He leaned forward, his eyes flickering to the door. He bit his lip.

"I don't need to tell anyone."

Alpha suddenly appeared weary, looking at Katurian again. Yes, it was true. Yes, he knew this. And it cut the game short, putting a premature end to his fun. His hand moved upward, massaging his temple absently -- working at a headache that wasn't there, or a headache that was always there who knew. But it took a moment before he spoke, "That name. That --"

He paused, gathered his grounding and continued on, "For all intents and purposes, I am Dr. Maudsley. This is our first meeting. And I don't want to be..." his voice trailed off in some thought and died there. He lingered in this silence for a moment, staring off into the space right above Katurian. "I want to help you. This time around. I want things to be different."

His eyes finally lowered to Katurian so he could look him in the eye and speak the soothing lies, "I'm not the same man who was here before. But even in spite of that, Katurian, there is one thing that kills me inside. And it's seeing you suffer."

He wanted to believe it. Oh, how he wanted to believe it. That something had happened to Alpha to convince him that he was through with killing, with torture. He wanted to believe that he wasn't going to kidnap him and lock him in a basement for the rest of his life.

He wanted to believe that he'd help.

"Really?" He laced his finger together in his lap, careful not to irritate the stitches on his right hand. His tone was cautious, but the hope was unmistakable. "All of this is for me. To help me."

Alpha looked at Katurian, and it pained him to see the writer so broken. That part of him was truthful. He had nursed him, killed him, saw him revive...and only in the end to wind up right back here with a self-inflicted injury. Alpha's lips twitched and he hesitated before slowly climbing up to his feet. He approached the writer carefully, cautiously before slowly kneeling before him.

His eyes lowered to the others hands, looking over the bandages. And then he looked up at the writer's face, speaking with all of the conviction in the world, "Really. God, Katurian. God, god, god -- what did you do to yourself...?"

It was so unfathomable, how five minutes ago Katurian had thought of Alpha as dead, forgotten, out of this world forever, and how now he was back as though he had never even left. Maybe Arcade was right. Maybe being ported out wasn't much like death at all.

And then Alpha was moving towards him, and he flinched, instinctively covering his bandages with his good hand. He was still self-conscious, even after all this time.

"It's fine! An accident. A silly little--" He willed confidence into his words, swallowing. No matter how much he wanted to, he didn't drop his eyes. "It's practically nothing."

"You chewed through your hand," Alpha wasn't fooled. He had the paperwork after all. But why. Why was Katurian this way? He could still write, couldn't he? The inability to write had been the cause of his breakdown before. He reached out, his hand hovering over the others -- so close to touch but not quite. And then the hand was gone, moving away from him...back to the floor. He posed the question that had been plaguing his mind more than anything toward the man himself -- even if all he had to do was look inward to find the answers.

"Why are you here, Katurian? Sanity is a relative thing and it is my line of belief that no one in this world can claim they are completely sane. But as long as you can write..." he paused to think a moment, beginning once again. "As far as people go, you are capable of taking care of yourself. Is it that you feel safe behind these walls with regulated medication and therapeutic sessions?"

"Because I killed someone. Remember?" His throat was dry and the words tasted bitter on his lips. Penance and protection. Both of them were purely selfish, in the end, but the former was easier for him to swallow. Alpha's answer was close enough to the truth that he couldn't help but hate it.

"The prison wouldn't take me." He couldn't remember the breakdown that brought him here in the first place, but he had old bruises on the back of his head to prove it. "And if it ever does, I mean, if that opportunity arises, I'm going right back. I'm not hesitating. Because that's where I belong. That's w-what this has come to." His voice caught on the words.

"And you were punished for it. Death punished you. You've suffered enough, Katurian. You did what you had to back home. And here? If you hadn't done it, she would've done so herself -- much more painfully. You don't have to face these burdens alone," Alpha rose just enough to be at eye level. His hand moved upward to cup Katurian's cheek, thumb gliding soothingly over the apple of it. "I've taken part of your burdens for you."

His eyes closed for a moment, as though he was debating something. As though there was an inner turmoil going on in his mind. With a shaky breath, being this uncomfortably close to Katurian. "What if I go to jail in your place? Will you free yourself from this imprisonment?"

He fought the urge to cower, to press himself against the back of his chair. He looked weak enough as it was.

"No," he said. He did everything he could to keep his voice steady. "I can't."

But Alpha was right, in a sense. He had taken on some of the burden. Not literally - Katurian was still a mess and that mess was his and nobody else's - but in taking Katurian's memories, Alpha became the perfect echo of all his troubles. He became the one person in the City who could understand him. Completely.

There were some things that couldn't change, though. He grimaced in anticipation of his next words.

"But you probably do belong in jail."

Alpha drew back slightly, giving Katurian his space once again. Most of him was amused by Katurian's statement. Jail wouldn't be nearly enough to contain him, even if a couple of the personalities happened to agree -- one of which being Katurian himself. But instead of laughing, instead of quirking a grin...Alpha took on the cast of a man who was broken. A guilt-ridden man who knew of his wrongs and regretted them with everything. "You're right." His lips pinched together and he nodded a couple of times in agreement with Katurian, once again confirming, "You're right."

And then he rose to his feet, "I think about it -- the things I've done here, the troubles I've caused, and what I've done to you. And they think about it, and everyone inside my mind is constantly reminding and accusing. Conscience, you called it once. But then I wonder if there's something more I can do outside of jail. I wonder if this time, I could be a hero..." Alpha looked toward Katurian with a hopeful smile, a smile that slowly drained from his face..melting away at the sight of the other.

"But this isn't about me. This is about you. Probably the one I've hurt the most here, Katurian, was you."

This time, I can be a hero. Katurian had repeated that mantra, again and again, during his first stay in the City. It was why he helped Margaret kill herself. It was why he had broken himself down into oblivion, again and again. But when Alpha said it, Katurian could hear his own dreams, his own hopes, and he realized that he craved that just as much now as he did back then. Redemption.

He suddenly hated his imprisonment more than anything.

"The people you've hurt most are the ones you've killed." Accusing, but not vicious. Not yet. He spoke slowly, calmly. "Their families. If you want to do good, the first thing you should do is find them and personally apologize."

Was it a form of therapy for Katurian to be playing the therapist? Alpha returned to his previous seat, sinking into it and he studied the writer. He studied him and wondered how he could possibly believe an apology would be worth anything. Words didn't matter. But then again, he supposed to Katurian -- they were everything. "You truly are a fool -- Hey, shut up. No one asked you. -- No, but I thought it should be pointed out -- so I'm supposed to waltz right up to their doors, ring the bell, and offer them a fruit basket along with my condolences? 'Sorry, I killed your daughter. But in my defense, I wasn't in the right state of minds. Hope you enjoy your apples.'"

Alpha gave Katurian a look that basically spoke the words are you kidding me. "The thing is...I don't even remember half of them..." he grabbed his pen. Click, unclick, click. "But is this really a topic of conversation we want to linger on? After all, Dr. Verma says you're making progress in spite of yours ups and severe downs."

And then Alpha was back to being Dr. Maudsley, "Has the medication they've been giving you helped?"

Alpha had control of his medication. The fear he felt was blood rushing through his ears. Tunnel vision. Numb fingertips. Katurian had been about to say, well, maybe you should try the hospital, it's really not so bad, but this trumped that, this killed all the other thoughts in his head. With that white coat, with that fake ID, Alpha didn't need to be Katurian's doctor to fool around with his prescriptions, his dosages. Katurian made a sound somewhere between a cough and a swallow, ducking his head.

"It's been fine."

It was the only thing holding him together.

Realizing just how much power Alpha had in this situation, Katurian? Clever boy. He frowned over the list of drugs, "There are some things that could be tweaked to make them more effective, though..." Alpha tapped thre pen against his lower lip before he looked back at Katurian. He observed him for a moment, before he questioned with a tinge of amusement.

"Are you scared?"

He spoke with his eyes in his lap, fingers digging into the fabric of his pants.

"If you want to help me, Alpha, if you want to-- to be a better person and do good things for me or for anybody, you need to know that I'm fine here, I'm recovering, and part of this is because I want to get better. I need this. I need quiet."

The last sentence sounded like a plea, almost, how it broke and crumbled deep down in his throat.

Edited 2011-02-23 01:55 (UTC)

The amusement faded, drained into a blank expression as Katurian went on. The more the author spoke, the more it irritated him. He sounded so...so normal, spouting bullshit about wanting to get better. Please.

"You know what I think?"

And he leaned forward slowly. "I don't think you want to get better at all. I think, you're comfortable right here in this secluded world with the safety and protection of the padded walls and medication. But you're not safe, are you? No. Because look at how easily someone you despise can get in..."

Alpha pinched the bridge of his nose beneath the unnecessary glasses, causing them to ride up over his fingers. "Are you even writing anymore? At least before you had passion. Now what do you do, punch foam blocks?"

"I don't despise you," he said, quickly but with a strange, inexplicable certainty. "And I do write." Less, though. Not as feverishly. Before, his misery and desperation carried his words, but now there was something more aimless to it all. Without his stories in danger or his death guaranteed, Katurian was spinning his wheels. Regurgitating old patterns. Grounding himself with illusions.

Alpha thought he was passionate because he was suffering. Maybe he was. He hated to be reminded of this.

"Please." He grimaced. "Come back as a visitor. If y-you can convince them to let you in as a doctor, they have to let you in as a visitor."

Edited 2011-02-26 05:28 (UTC)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only