2021-02-16 - Earthshine

The irony, perhaps, is that Joe was just stepping out his door to go take his bike and go to the grocery store. So he's in his greatcoat with its Little Prince pins, scarf wound around his throat, those ocean-blue fingerless gloves he's gotten so attached to. Keys in hand, reusable shopping bags folded up in their drawstring pouches dangling from his wrist, and expression of comical surprise on that long face. It's not that he hasn't been in Dreams before, it's just somehow he didn't expect one now. He makes a sound low in his throat, somewhere between grunt and thrum, in surprise....and glances around to see who and what else is there, glasses glinting in the moonlight.

He's lying in the snow, when he comes to his senses. A thin coating of it on his jacket, in his hair, like he's been there for a little while. It crunches and slips under his fingers as Javier pushes upright, makes a noise in his throat that's part agitation, part weariness, part maybe if I lie back down, this will all just go away.

After a half a minute or so of this contemplation, he shoves slowly to his feet and dusts the snow off his jeans. Doesn't seem to notice he's still got some melting in his beard. Spotting Joe, he begins ambling over, with half an eye on that door.

Surely there's got to be some time when a random Dream is not a hugely irritating interruption, but apparently even 'when you can't remember what you think you were doing a moment ago' doesn't count, judging by the aggravated look Vyv gives his surrounding terrain. Or maybe it's just worse, feeling that information that should be there lingering somewhere outside his grasp.

Whatever he was doing before, it wasn't exactly preparatory for a snowy clearing, though it wasn't as bad as it could be. He's got shoes, for one thing, and the weather in the 'real' world means they can actually take the snow here, too. No coat, though, no gloves or scarf, just the suit. It's tweed; that's something. Still, he'll likely get cold out here in the not too distant future. Though hey, might be warmed up by the presences of lurking shapes, by then.

Oh good.

Two of the less lurking shapes resolve themselves into recognizable ones, and he inclines his head slightly at Joseph and then Ruiz, then the door. "That looks familiar," he remarks. "And yet, not."

It's about this time footsteps can be heard and Bax is back with a branch in one hand with a deep sigh of relief. "Oh good, you're up. Now I don't have to poke you to make sure you're not dead." Tiredly he lifts a hand to wave, "Heeey Spaceman. how's it going?" Is the 'kid' a bit stoned? Maybe. One may always question those that look like they jsut woke up. He looks to Vyv and a slow smile forms, "Aww you got dressed up for us? Nice!" Yeah he's off his normal programming right now but he's at least forming thoughts and sentences. Looking to the thing in question he rubs his eye with the heel of his palm. "Oh no shit. Hope it doesn't fucking zap us. think that old bubbe lives here?"

It was a quite moment for Devlin as he had been practicing on guitar. The instrument set to the side as he relaxes on his couch. A state of near meditation that is for him, interrupted by a change as he finds himself now seated on a log fall. He takes a breath as his eye open and sighs. His expression kind of just says it all.. Not again

Joe spots him right as Javier is getting up, and hurries over to him. His look of shock has become a kind of restrained worry, but there's that intensity in the blue eyes, too. Like the deal with this problem mode has been activated.

"Hey, baby, you okay?" Already raising his hand to brush that snow from Ruiz's beard. The gesture turns into a caress, after a few strokes...and only then does he look to Vyv. "Hey there," he says. A glance between them. "I was in a Dream before that had a door like that in it. I...." He pauses, and there's a little indent of concentration appearing between his brows. "I don't remember real well." He sounds sheepish, and a little perturbed.

Then Bax appears, and he grins. "Hey there, Bax. I'm all right, least so far. How 'bout you? I don't 'member the Baba bein' in the last of these Dreams like th-" And then he's startling, looking around. "Y'all feel somethin'?"

Only to catch sight of that shadowy form advancing. "Nuh uh," he tells it, as if it were a bad dog trying to steal a sandwich off the counter, moving to interpose himself between the shadow and the real man.

Ruiz has that look about him, when Joe goes to brush the snow out of his beard. Like an old dog suffering some minor irritation with stoic aplomb. He flickers a smile when the touch turns fond; hesitant, almost shy. Like he's forgotten for a moment, where they are. And then a breath, and he pats himself down for his gun. Right there, under his jacket, secure in its shoulder holster. Thank fucking god.

When that shadowy figure emerges from the trees, he opens his mouth as if to speak, but no words come out. What do you say, when you find yourself staring back at your own face? His brows knit together, tension laces through his shoulders, and he watches in silence.

"No idea on her, I just recall the last freestanding door to nowhere took us to a book that tried to destroy its world and you, and indirectly the hospital to save your hand," Vyv says to Grant, "...and it ruined my shoes." No, these probably are not equivalent. He's still miffed. All the same, there's a tiny upward quirk at one corner of his lips, and a belatedly added, "Hello," for the skater. The chef's probably used enough to Bax's more just-woke-up/possibly-kinda-stoned times by now, and while one might catch a moment of fairly focused appraisal, he's apparently decided whatever he's determined is nothing to (at least openly) worry about.

The shadow is a different matter, enough to distract from the urge to wrap his arms around himself against the sudden chill. "Don't let it touch you," he says, unusually urgent. "It's not the same, but the last things that," a flicker of glance toward Grant, "tried to be imitations of us, that advanced on us, we were told there was a danger of them taking our souls if they did." A tiny pause, and, "Yes, I know it sounds a bit ridiculous, but," vague gesture toward their surroundings as a whole.

He takes a few steps that happen to bring him nearer Bax, giving the area around them another appraising look. Devlin gets a little nod of greeting while he's at it. "The other door was quite insistent on us going in," he observes. This one doesn't seem as definite on that, as yet.

Grant looks at teh door confuse walking up to it. He steps over the cast shadow. His hand is poised to knock on it when something Vyv says makes him stop. He looks at his hand wondering, "Ooooh yeah. That sucked." There's frustration and conflict in his expression pausing and looking to Vyv and instead of going on a sideways rant about they were not fucking clones processes what was said and relaxes in a "Hi." Looking to Cavanaugh he flickers a smile that warms, "I'm...having a daaaaay, man. Today would be a lot easier up and I don't think we are. Up. There. was painting somethings abnd the memory got all... wrong so it's been a day." He looks at the door and back. His hand lifts to Shado-Cop, "Suuup, man. You know where this thing goes? Lil old lady live here?" He turns and knocks on teh door, "Hey. Hey you home?" Not that the door seems to go anywhere. Yet. Knocking is polite still.

Taking a moment to assess things, Devlin checks himself discovering his boots are on and the feel of hilt of an old friend of a boot knife. He was going to work tonight, at least he has most of his uniform on. Having not noticed the shadow, Devlin nods to the others. "More fun it would seem. And I had hoped to go to work on a good afternoon's relaxation, guess not." He them hmms, "anyone have an idea on what this is about?" He then gives Grant a classic Really?? look as he rises to his feet.

August once described them as acting like ex-husbands. Now it's just husbands, with Joe's easy assurance that he has every right to tend to Ruiz. Up to and including facing down this shadowy reflection. "No," he tells it, "Don't." But taking Grant's advice, he tries not to let it touch him. As an aside to the purple-haired skater, he says, "Hell yeah, it would be. Kinna wish I were high." A shake of his head for Devlin.

Then the Shadow-Vyv has Vyv's voice, and he blinks. "Damn. I doubt that. Looks like he's still the real boy...."

Javier, tense as a board, reaches for his gun when the shadow version of himself starts to curl its hands into fists. Slow and steady, no sudden movements. The hem of his hoodie nudged aside, fingers find the grip of his weapon and tug it free of the holster at his ribs. Dark eyes on his doppleganger throughout, while Joe distracts it with his syrupy sweet voice. The safety's thumbed off, and he gets ready to knock a round into the chamber if that thing so much as twitches in their general direction. Meanwhile, a glance toward the Shadow-Vyv, caution etched into his features as he listens to it speak. "Be careful," he warns. "It might be lying."

"What? That's--" Vyv does not say, very much to his surprise. A lip-reader might be under the impression he had said it, but the complete lack of sound is probably going to settle the matter in the opinion of anyone else.

There's a flash of something across his expression, fury and discomfort and -- thank you, Ruiz -- a soupçon of indignation, and his hands come up, moving. The movement of lips should be making the words as well, but the hands will have to do. «Might be lying? Of course it's lying! One of us is unusually purple and it isn't me.» Although if he lets his blood pressure get away from him, who knows.

He takes a breath, calming at least externally, and shakes his head. Looking at Grant, he makes the skater's name-sign to address him directly. «Please inform anyone colourblind here that that is not me. It doesn't even sound like me.» Some could argue this is untrue, given it's manifestly his voice. But there's more than the instrument involved in making the music.

Grant is so focused on the door and knocks persistently again "You, like, cannot hold out on me forever, bubbe! I got a rock with a turtle with your name on it...if your name is a painted turtle." Oh he's instant and really in one of those mental places where his meds might be a bit off or just failing to keep up with demand here. Then there's Vyv's voice addressing the purple haired skater and with SUPREME patients his hand lifts to knock, pauses and gestures to the shadow, fingers hovering. "First off, He never fucking uses my first goddamn name cause symmetry. Bax. Vyv. Vyv. Bax. Weighted well. Secondly My baby don't go for no mono colour schema. You tell me you're Raven?" his hand wobbles and there's a cultural Eeehhhhhh as his hand wobbles. "Maybe. This you? You need to do your research. And also? You need to work on your tone of utter disgust at someone taking your schtick." he knocks repeatedly again!!! There's a pause and he snickers and as if something is hilarious to him. With a snicker he pauses on harassing the door looking to the shadow with a wry grin, "Also if you hurt him at all, and don't give him his goddamn voice back? I'm a take my fucking board upside your farshtuken head. Wheels first. Dont' tilt my shit today, homes." And again with the knocking on the damn door.

A slight shake of his head as he looks over at Grant and then to the others. He shrugs a bit, "So what is this about clones and shadows?" He seems a bit confused as he looks about. "I guess no answers for me will be forth coming. Not a surprise really." So Devlin continues to just observe for now.

Yet another shadow staggers out from the trees, and...this one is Itzhak too. A much more bewildered Itzhak, looking at a collection of friends and boyfriend who are rather more +1 than they usually are. He tries to say something, and nothing comes out. Nothing at all. Confusion and horror flash across his all-too-expressive face. He gropes at his throat, as if trying to pull away the blockage, but that doesn't help. Nothing helps. Only silence comes out.

That's when he spots his doppleganger, and more confusion first happens--do I really look like that is practically visible. Then all that confusion and terror transmutes in a split second to murderous rage. Itzhak swears in a furious gesticulation, face twisting into a snarl, and then he's charging across the snowy field at his evil twin. Whatever it's doing, it's about to have the inimitable original in its beaky face.

That has Joe flicking a look at the genuine article. "Might be?" he asks, sounding bemused. "How could it not be?" He's looking between the doppelgangers and their originals. "It stole his voice, but....it's still visibly not him." Only then does he realize that Vyv is signing. "Damn," he says, and then he's patting himself down for his phone. If something takes his voice, he can't sign.

To Grant, he says, "I don't think Matushka's here, buddy. She wasn't in the last one of these I was in." Only to dodge, albeit ungracefully, that attempt from the Shadow Ruiz. The appearance of Itzhak's doppelganger has him stiffening. "Oh, shit. Where's the real Itzhak?"

Answer: Right there. Which has Joe trying to flag him down. "Use your phone, Itzil!" he says, holding up his own. "Even if there's no service, type on your screen."

Ruiz's gun remains loose in his hand. Safety off, and then a clack as a round's dropped into the chamber. But does he fire?

No. Instead, a step closer to his doppleganger, and the scent of ozone; the flicker and flare of his eyes shifting briefly blue as his power surges in the form of a question. And then an answer. "They can't cross.. the door," he murmurs, brows furrowed slightly. Eyes dark again as he looks toward the thing. Then eases away from the others to approach it. "I think if we go through this. They can't follow us."

«Yes, well, I do apologise, I seem to be having an explanation complication just now,» Vyv replies to Devlin's remark on having a dearth of answers. Does he have any idea whether the man speaks ASL or reads lips? Probably not. Does it matter? Also probably not. The tone would likely be rivaling the Sahara for dryness, if he were currently capable of a tone.

Bax's replies to the shadow-him improve his mood a touch; the skater's perceptiveness (despite the impression some might get) has always been one of his more attractive qualities, and look at it go. Plus. It's always nice having unpleasant individuals threatened on one's behalf. The arrival of Itzhak... and... Itzhak... startles him, as does the approach of Definitely Not Himself, and his mind reaches out to the real (by his standards) minds around him. Two of which slam closed, earning Ruiz and Itzhak an unimpressed Really? look, of which Vyv has at least twelve varieties at ready reach. Otherwise, however: [The purple ones are obviously not us, yes.] He tries to duck away as not-him comes for him (no touchie!), toward the door almost by some instinct, and his hands lift not to sign but as if to mirror the lightning it seems to be charging up. [But if we go through will our voices be left with the shadows?]

Grant is really distracted today with a laser focus on some weird details. He kicks off a sign to Vyv <<I always hear you V>> using the same sign for 'sweet' with a V instead of one finger. "Band-aid bro," That's Devlin now apparently,"These guys just went FULL Ursula on our dudes. We need to get through that door and save... I dunno the masses or something. Just don't touch your clone in public. they like steal your soul and shit." Speaking of which That fucking not-a-Vyv shadow is now absolutely not listening like he's an idiot. He's also making for Vyv. Cavanaugh's got the one but Itzhak? Itzhak gets to arrive to watch the skater dive grapple the damn Shadow Vyv starting to spark and get the damn shadow in grapple.

Side stepping gracefully away from his doppleganger, Devlin also uses the move to slip the boot knife into one hand but against his arm perhaps concealing it in the moment. He then reaches out with his mind as he mouth's Fuck you asshole and attempts to literally Light up his fake self with a bit of spiritual fire..

Yeah that doesn't improve Itzhak's mood. He does enough insulting of himself as it is. The sound that comes out of him isn't even a snarl, it's just an exhale, like he has no vocal cords at all. He digs in to the snow to swivel around and go at his doppleganger again, left fist first, reading DOWN.

Even with more than a year to grow used to what a power his lover's become....it still strikes Joe, from time to time, with Ruiz. "Through we go, then," he says, before adding, almost sotto voce, "Strike the bell and bide the danger." Already heading for the door, without hesitation.

To Vyv, he asks, "Do you have a means of taking it back on this side of the door? I sure don't. Let's get movin'." After which, he suits action to word, heading for the door....only to pause a moment, caught by some design there. He peers narrowly at the frame. "The carvings are a map of air currents," he tells Ruiz, and holds up his hand, as if somehow that'll help him commit to to memory. Then he's heading through....because sooner or later, the Umbranaut's going to show up, and he doesn't want to be here when he does.

Air currents? Javier looks patently curious at that, but there's no time to stand around and hypothesise about it. They've got to get moving, and they've still got a couple of laggards back there, distracted by their own faces in the mirror. "Baxter! Vydal! Rosencrantz!" He reserves the most savage recrimination, of course, for his lover. "Get the fuck over here, or do I have to hold your goddamned hands?" He's clearly not stepping through without them, even as Joe goes on ahead. The blond's watched, cautiously, his grip tightening on his weapon.

Grant holds on with an anger not actually often seen that is sharp as it it joyless. Does he give up? No, the tenacious little shit. He's not by nature violent. Really. They crossed his boundary of good taste and right into stealing from and fucking up his dude. It struggles and Bax grounds the damn Electricity arcing sparks til it stops moving and that poor little glowing river rock? voice? is laying in the dirt. He picks it up, carefully as if the most important part of his whole day, although it's Ruiz bellowing like a surly foghorn that snaps his attention up. He's covered in dirt and scuffage and is slightly damp from snow in places. He doesn't care. He reaches for Vyv's hand with his other to help him off the ground so they can GTFO, though there's that look back to Itzhak. "Itzil! Heimlich!" Maybe that'll cough up the voice! Looking to Vyv he knows there's a wall of emotion there but says "He's right. That not-you is gonna get back up. I don't want him taking anything else precious, like your good taste or your last shit to give." It's a very round about concern, but it's from a place of caring and compliance!

[Easy for you to say.] Yes, okay, Vyv may not have a plan yet for how to get his voice back, but it's hard not to suspect the chances are higher of doing so where it is rather than where it isn't. Not to mention there's a shadow copy of him attacking his boyfriend, and at present that takes precedent over most things. Not that he seems to do much good at helping there, though maybe (maybe) he's just a little too slow, getting there when Bax has it handled. Or maybe the electricity just isn't flowing while his voice isn't, for some reason.

That little rock of light catches his attention, and he takes a step that way, but don't-touch-the-doppelganger still seems like a good precaution to take, leaving a momentary hesitation in which Grant gets there first and Orders start being given. If had his voice, maybe there'd be something of a growl there, maybe not, but there's a darker than usual set to his expression as he leans in to grab Grant's hand and help pull him up. There's just enough shift of his leg to suggest there may have been a temptation to kick the not-self... or maybe it's just a change of weight to start walking toward the door, drawing Bax along with him. It would be a shame if a shadow-thing stole his good taste. Or his boyfriend.

Amazed would be the expression one might think seeing Devlin's face right after his smooth easy dodge of his shadow-self. This time as he makes for the door, he uses a new strategy against that shadow. Those that read lips might catch, Yeah.. I got it now, just like they got in the way for Kirk. However, that gleam in Devlin's eyes hint a a whole new idea. Now as he moves for the door, he attempts grabbing grab at Shadow-Ruiz and spin him into Shadow-Devlin, yeah let's see how that plays out.

Fienting at his shadow-self, Devlin twists and turns as he moves to the door, stepping to one side of the Shadow-Ruiz, Devlin suddenly spins as he grabs at the Shadow-Ruiz and spins him into his Shadow-self. Not as successful as he hoped for but it manages to make the pair of shadow-selves collide. Hopefully enough to buy time

Itzhak's doppleganger doesn't stand a chance, man. He tackles it into the snow. Cursing savagely in that non-voice that's barely a push of air, he comes up straddling the lanky body and he launches that left fist CRAK into its face.

...Only to feel the impact on his own cheekbone, his head whipping aside from the force. Knocked temporarily out of his rage, Itzhak stops, chest heaving, one hand clamping to his cheek over the already-blossoming bruise. He stares down at himself, which smirks up at him and spits shadow blood at him and sneers those words at him, those words that lance straight through him and set all his old scars alight with something that burns hotter than mere pain...

That's when Ruiz's voice, actually his VOICE, slices through the cloud of fury and confusion and smacks Itzhak in the face a little less literally. His spine stiffens in automatic reaction and he's climbing to his feet before he quite knows what's happening. Right. The door. Right! Itzhak, hip cocked, shoulders back, points at his doppelganger, two-fingered New York tough guy style, in a silent 'you stay the fuck down' that needs no words to make it perfectly clear. Then he's dashing for the door, hazel eyes wide and a hell of a shiner on his face.

Well, isn't that his world? Even if he's never done more than make it to the threshold. Joe's grinning, despite the weirdness of the whole situation, despite the shadow he's turned his back on. The memory of the first time he saw the stars unveiled by atmosphere.

He takes a few paces in, but then he's turning to make sure the others are following. That they're still with him....but that pleasure is still in his face. The echo of the younger man there, eyes bright with the memory of the first time he saw the stars unveiled by atmosphere. "C'mon, y'all," he urges, but there's nothing impatient about it. Almost coaxing....and he's already pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket for Itz's wound.

Grant really has a 'bring all my peeps home' mentality but also? His boss is a FUCK LOAD better at this than he is. The skatepunk looks to Vyv and gives his hand a squeeze following Spaceman Cavanaugh through the door. The other side is... dark. The 'stone' Glows. It's also got dirt on it from the mud and snow and this, he can't explain makes him sad to a point of distraction but his brain is slightly off wheels in track right now. Instead of handing it to Vyv a little ruined he brushes it on his sleeve...licks it so it's 'clean', and dries ti off on his sleeve before handing it back to Vyv apologetically. Looking to Devlin and then Itzhak first he looks to the other three, "They need help" First? Light. Lets get some fucking lights up in here.

Did. ...did Bax just lick his voice? That (and okay maybe the question of whether he gets to speak normally again) is actually enough to distract Vyv momentarily from their surroundings, that sense of being surrounded by a night sky. It's a thing of wonder, it really is, but on the other hand, Bax just licked his voice. But hey he doesn't have it back yet for the shocked and/or dismayed exclamation of the younger man's name that would probably have happened otherwise, so there's that.

He takes it gingerly, and one can almost see the thought: is he going to have to put it in HIS mouth to make it work? Thankfully, that doesn't seem to be the case, as it immediately begins to melt into his hand. He coughs, once, the now-empty hand lifting to touch his throat. "That's-- " he says, and it comes out aloud, if strained, "...that's better. Thank you." The other hand hasn't released Grant's, and it gives a squeeze, now, rather than focusing on the particular way of cleaning off the voice-rock. For the moment.

Back to taking the place in properly, as well as the other (Joseph seems to be tending to Itzhak, everyone else looks all right, surely that's fine) and the inhabitant, who gets the most wary appraisal. Maybe the book should, after the last one he met in a place through a door, but the shadow-people are more recent. "Maybe." He raises his voice (his voice, hooray) slightly to greet the figure: "Hello."

Yeah.. door time looks good to Devlin. And something interesting in his path that is shinny, not a coincidence perhaps? Devlin makes a grab for it as he moves for the door. Hopefully with the brief lead he has created with his collision, he is able to make the grab and dash successfully.

Itzhak crosses the threshold in two long strides and immediately doubles over, coughing and gagging. He croaks a horrible sound, but when he straightens up, tears of physical distress running down his face, it's suddenly clear that that's him talking. He sounds like he's got the world's worst sore throat, like a bullfrog thinking it can talk like a man.

He wipes at his eyes, shaking his head sharply. Oh, Joe's offering him a hanky. He takes it with a grateful flick of a glance and gingerly presses it to the split over his cheekbone. The rocking figure seems familiar, because that's the way he rocks when he's utterly, uncontrollably overwhelmed. Sympathy bubbles in him, caught somewhere between all the flares of the scars on his heart. "Hey. Hey, it's okay," he says, but it comes out croaky and awful and he grimaces. "What's wrong? What's your name?"

He's not a power at this like Ruiz. But Joe has some of the mental discipline....and now he's reaching out with it, after patting Itz on the shoulder. "I 'magine they might not be able to hear or understand physical speech. 's why they needed our voices. But I'll try on both fronts," he says. "Hey there," he says, even as he drops that thought of peaceful, well-intentioned greeting into the mind before them....or tries to.

Grant says in tired, absolute honesty, "I didn't want you to sound all gravelly." He looks him over and then the others and catches it. Ooohhhh! He signs <<Hey shadow-me. It's cool. Those guys? Us? Not hurt you. You ok. you?>> He is interpreting his vision best he can, but at least a few of them here get the gist. The space immediately around them has a streetlamp glowing down on them...without the actual lamp so there's that at least. Looking to Devlin he reaches out with a hand, not signing, but to invade the man's personal space with a hand to finish brushing the dirt off the back of his shoulder and giving it a reassuring pat. Looking to the shadow he watches for the answer. Might not have a voice, but one isn't always necessary to be heard.

"I'll try to sound sufficiently smooth," Vyv murmurs to Bax, albeit unfortunately a bit more gravelly-toned than usual despite the skater's best efforts. Well, give it a while. Surely it'll wear off?

His hand manages not to get dislodged from Bax's even in the moments where it gets recruited for a sign, which are slightly more awkward ones. But hey, history shows it's a good way to prevent him from running off and therefore a perfectly logical precaution to continue to take. And for no other reasons. His free hand does lift, though, in a sort of mirror of the shadow-being's -- not stay-back-don't-hurt-me, but stay-calm-we-mean-no-harm. Which, at present, he doesn't. Not if this one's not going to try to steal any of their voices or bodies or--- generally selves.

The others seem to have the attempt conversation more or less under control, so far, though, and there's another interesting facet here; he leans a little, trying to get a better look at that book.

Suddenly Devlin finds he is able to speak, his voice sounding as if a gravel truck dumped a load through his throat and it lived... "Damn... who knew.. watching Star Trek payed off." He takes a breath as he's patted, "Any one got something to drink.. please be bourbon.." He then swallows and coughs a little. "What the fuck is going on with those duplicates? At least we don't die on contact."

Itzhak croaks, "Air--" cuts off, wincing, which makes his face hurt, which makes him wince more. He signs back to the being. Air fingerspelling it out, and then dark, fanning big hands out like he's casting shade, literally. While signing he whispers. "Air and Darkness."

He's pleased, at first, in his easy-going way. Everyone's made it in, everyone's got their voice back, and contact thus far seems peaceful.

Until his reaching out is greeted that way. Joe stiffens, despite himself....and behind the glasses, there are tears in the blue eyes. Meaning or unmeaning, this being has sunk a knife between his ribs. "She says......they're pages of her. Corrupted by them." Then he looks away for a moment, blinking, "The....them. The unmakers? Something like that?" A glance back. "You're a black hole?"

Grant looks to Devlin and then back to Vyv. "You got your flask on you?" He may! Looking to teh Shadow creature Bax pulls his hand up and as if pulling on a ceiling fan light pull chain pulls the light back a bit watching this. When Joe says something about being a black hole? OH Bax's spine relaxes and signs in understanding <<Totally feel ya bro. Been there. Those days you don't know what meening you have like everything's jsut siphoned out of you and you're this shell everyone else pushes around and it's like 'should I have gone to law school?'>>

It's cold out there in the 'real' world at present. And tweed is good for being more forgiving than most about the line of the fabric if the pockets are genuinely used. Vyv may not have been paying full attention to Devlin's request when made, but the more specifically directed inquiry from Bax does pull his attention away from the book enough for a petite leather-covered flask to make an appearance and be passed the medic's direction. Not bourbon, alas. Armagnac. But it's quite good armagnac, so there's that.

More of his focus is, honestly, on the book and on the shadow-being's signing -- and Itzhak's. He wasn't there himself, but Hyacinth gave him a very thorough update on what he'd missed, later, as only a strong Mentalist can. "Air and Darkness," he echoes, voice also rusty, signing with his free hand, "...wind and shadow. 'There is no light that does not cast shadow.' Yes?" That image is familiar from his own direct experience, as well, and he looks from the being to the book to the door behind with the other shadows lurked. "Pages. So you're the book, yourself, then? ...and a black hole?" That image does seem to fit with what he knows of them, and if anyone here should identify one on sight, it's the retired spaceman, yes?

Devlin catches the flask and takes a pull. "Thanks. It will do." He sounds a lot better now. "Sorry to hear that," he says to the shadow. "Is there any way we can help with those," He hooks his finger to the door. "Thanks, Vyv." and tosses the flask back to the man.

Javier's been lurking near the entryway since they stepped through. Determined to bring up the rear of the party; and then cautious, once he spotted that book lying there. He knows that book. He's seen it before, and he tries to tell Joe not to try reading it, but he's far too fucking slow for that. Moving toward Itzhak, he gets an arm around the musician and jostles him lightly while murmuring something in his ear. Dark eyes on Cavanaugh the whole time. "Corrupted?" he repeats, jaw tight. "What, are we supposed to.. un-corrupt it, then?"

Itzhak slings an arm around Ruiz's waist, leaning into him. He's rattled, both having rung his own bell and having heard those things the corruption of his self said to him. No good--only fit for fiddling in dive joints--let down your friends, your lover-- he bumps his head against Javier's, breathing hard. Struggling to pull himself together.

But when the being of Air and Darkness asks? There's no hesitation. The scars on his deepest self ache, throbbing echoes of those words worthless worthless worthless and he nods, eyes closed. No good? Worthless? He'll show you.

By giving away to the Book every note of the mind Song he's got.

It hurts, in a way that has his breath shivering out of him, for all that he holds his head up and focuses on the being. Itz and Javier know it, know the sound of it, of that sense of him holding himself steady like a rider reassuring a nervous horse. "Yes," he says. "You're a page of the book? You are the book? Those are....corrupted reflections?"

"And how do we refill? What do you need? Light, mass, life?" It's both metaphorical and literal, on so many layers. Joe turns to look at the others, "Stars? If we're singularities too, what...." Starstuff, indeed. Eat your heart out, Sagan.

Grant is a little bit under a mental siege tonight and is still humming with electricity. It's not something he's big on; a small hum and occasionally the SNAP! of a GFI tripping in the grand scheme of hings. He's trying to figure out the 'why' and the 'should' and he is trying to take in all the information but it's all out of order. Naturally his tired awareness latches onto the first thing he's recognizing, "We're stars?" and then the Baxter in teh room asks, "Yeah but... what will you do with it?"

Itzhak's given a firm, lingering squeeze with the arm Javier's got wrapped around him, before the cop extricates himself and paces closer to where the being stands. Curious, to an extent that borders on hungry; and yet he's not jumping to give this being anything yet. Grant's query gains a terse nod of agreement. "Replace.. what? What the fuck do you mean, refilled? What will that do to us, if we accept?" Because he's sure as hell not volunteering any of that blazing power of his own, without knowing a little more, apparently.

Vyv didn't really expect the flask to be tossed back to him, so it's not the most elegant movement he's ever made. Still, at least he catches it and it's not embarrassingly graceless, just a touch more clearly sudden than he might have preferred. "Quite welcome," he murmurs, tucking the thing away again, and he watches the shadow-being as it signs.

"'We' as in all of us here are singularities, or 'we' as in... books behind doors are?" he inquires, speech and sign again, "And, in that case, what precisely are you and what do you need to be? What will happen when you're refilled, and, yes," a tiny inclination of his head toward Joseph, acknowledging his question first, "what would you be refilled with?"

Itzhak rumbles an exhausted sigh, rough from the way his voice was ripped from him then none-too-gently replaced. "So go ahead." He sounds like he's talking through a throatful of gravel. "Exist. Be. Everyone got that right. Even a book."

His Song has changed, with those wisps of plasma. Not his mover's Song, that is as powerful and vital as ever. His reader's Song is diminished, limp like a wrung-out shop rag.

It doesn't help that he's still hearing it speak in his beloved's voice. Joe looks....tired, old. He unashamedly wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, and sighs. Then he's doing as Devlin did, and pouring out not one particular flavor of the Art, but the power at the root of it. It's only been his for a handful of years, lent not owned.

Not as fast or impetuous as Itzhak, but just as sure. He lived dull and unseeing most of his life, he can do it again for a while.

It's different for Javier than for either of these men he calls his lovers. Rarely a man to make snap judgements, decisions with far-reaching consequences borne from emotion. Always that sniper's patience to him; that thinking three and six and twelve steps ahead. It's different for him, though, because when he gives. When he gives..

"Si." His voice is steady, power already threading out of him in gossamer-fine wisps that break away like beta particles ionizing off of him. Like maybe he is some kind of star looking for atoms to fuse. "Lo haré, entonces."

..when he gives, he gives it all. He has no other power left to him, but what his mind can do. And giving that away? Leaves him bereft.

Leave it to the damn Baxter in the room looking at this going is this a good thing, or should we close the book?? Trying to shut it might help and hinder saving people as a whole. But what the fuck does Grant know about making these decisions other than he almost threw away his ability to 'wake up' over getting some aliens off a turtle? Itzhak though makes an excellent point, whether intending to or not, that it'd be terribly hypocritical of him now. this might be the most emotionally sober thing he's really said all night signing back <<You can strip some of the shine?>> He uses the sign for glass and metal and 'glitter'. <<You don't get to take my voice.>> Which in his case for the majority of the day is really his ability to communicate when there's too much noise and the people around him don't fucking sign. Sorry, book, but no you can't have his telepathy. The glimmer? Sure, all but what he needs to jump start things.

Vyv read the entire EULA for those desiring cards from the travelling Veil library. He is not generally one to rush in to unknown agreements. Nor is he usually the easiest person in town to push on an emotional level. Still: the repository of one of their Arts, a volume of all the information of it, the, indeed, hows and whys, and what has been and perhaps can be? That... is of interest.

"If we give of ourselves to refill you, will it flow back to us again?" he asks, still in both speech and sign, "How might we find old pieces to cleanse, or new ones to add? How would we recognize those? And... when you are rewritten, can we read you?" A small pause. "How much do you need, in order to be refilled?" It isn't a 'no' on giving of his own talent-- at least, not yet. In fact, there's a sense almost of taking stock of it, as one might check one's bank balance before sending off a check to someone in need. He just isn't signing that check quite yet. Not until those other answers come.

It has to hurt or it won't work. That rule from the days of Gohl guides Itzhak here. That Song that wasn't his innately but grew in him for love of others; gone, poured out in a sacrifice so fast that he'd had no idea what it would do to him. Whipped on by the words carved in blood on his soul, he'd just done it. Like he'd just laid his violin down and crushed it beneath his boot.

But this has a reward and not like Gohl's. A woman shape forms, herself, a person, a something and a someone. Itzhak can't smile at her, not with this new hole gouged in him and half his face bruised and bloodied from his own fist. But, without daring his ruined voice, he bows to her, his elegant soloist's bow.

He should be proud that he's helped. But there's only that tired, bitter look on the pilot's long face. She speaks with her own voice now, but it's no longer the voice he'd give nearly anything to hear again. Joe simply nods, once. Waiting, and not terribly patiently.

Vyv is still curious about the old and the new, but the rest -- and for some reason, particularly the assurance that they can read her though she may not (or may!) hold anything they don't yet know -- settles what was left of his pondering, and he nods. "A good start is, tautologically, a good start," he says, voice still not back to normal, and he takes a breath, letting what he knows of the relevant Art flow into the pages, to be recorded for posterity. Such as it might be.

It leaves him feeling a bit wobbly, hold on Bax's hand tightening a moment as he takes another breath, then a third. "Thank you for the, mn, warning. Any recommendations on how we might best try to interact with them should we be the ones to run across them?" There's one he can't help thinking might not be best pleased to see him. Then again, especially if it's like a tantruming child, the feeling might be particularly mutual in any case. "And if you do have any thoughts on the cleansing of old and finding of new...?" That seems the most likely way to truly add to it, as well as to get the pages filled while those present still breathe.