Larry Trainor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
negative_man) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
lastvoyageslogs2020-09-14 07:03 pm
negative_man) wrote in lastvoyageslogs2020-09-14 07:03 pm
Entry tags:
03: Cuckoo, Part 1
Who: Larry, the Negative Spirit, Egg, you
What: Larry and the Spirit discover their precious bundle of joy. ...Sort of.
When: At the start of the flood
Where: On the deck outside the greenhouse
Warnings: None that I can think of!
Whoever or whatever is handing out the eggs must know what they're doing, because Larry's ends up on the deck right by the greenhouse. He's just heading up for his shift around midday when he feels the first tug on his mind. He's been hearing about this all morning from others, and on the network -- and all morning, he's been thinking, thank God that's not me. He'll stick with plants. He's good with plants. He doesn't need another small, sentient, vulnerable being relying on him; been there, done that, fucked it all the way up.
So when he hears that first faint psychic cry, all he says is: "Nope." And he turns on his heel, ready to retreat to his--
The Negative Spirit bursts from Larry's chest, a crackling bolt of blue lightning, and he drops to the deck like a puppet with its strings cut. After a beat, it dives back in, and Larry gets up with a groan. "No," he says out loud. "It's a bad idea." He shakes his head, starts to move towards the stairs, and--
The Negative Spirit bursts from Larry's chest, a crackling bolt of blue lightning, and he drops to the deck like a puppet with its strings cut. After a beat, it dives back in, and Larry slaps a hand against the floor. "We're not doing this," he snaps. "Do you hear me, pal?" He pushes himself to his feet, takes a deep breath. Looks back at the egg. Looks at the stairs. Cautiously tries to edge--
The Negative Spirit bursts from Larry's chest, a crackling bolt of blue lightning, and he drops to the deck like a puppet with its strings cut. After a beat, it dives back in, and Larry immediately jumps up, breaks into a run--
Burst, lightning, drop, dive.
And Larry lets out a frustrated shout, sits up, and sinks his head between his knees. "You're not convincing anyone, fella," he seethes. "You're just pissing me off."
He's aware they have an audience. It's not the first time, and he's sure it won't be the last, despite his best efforts to keep their whole thing relatively quiet. So now he's got some explaining to do -- and then a fucking egg to parent.
((OOC: If you want to know what this looks like in practice...))
What: Larry and the Spirit discover their precious bundle of joy. ...Sort of.
When: At the start of the flood
Where: On the deck outside the greenhouse
Warnings: None that I can think of!
Whoever or whatever is handing out the eggs must know what they're doing, because Larry's ends up on the deck right by the greenhouse. He's just heading up for his shift around midday when he feels the first tug on his mind. He's been hearing about this all morning from others, and on the network -- and all morning, he's been thinking, thank God that's not me. He'll stick with plants. He's good with plants. He doesn't need another small, sentient, vulnerable being relying on him; been there, done that, fucked it all the way up.
So when he hears that first faint psychic cry, all he says is: "Nope." And he turns on his heel, ready to retreat to his--
The Negative Spirit bursts from Larry's chest, a crackling bolt of blue lightning, and he drops to the deck like a puppet with its strings cut. After a beat, it dives back in, and Larry gets up with a groan. "No," he says out loud. "It's a bad idea." He shakes his head, starts to move towards the stairs, and--
The Negative Spirit bursts from Larry's chest, a crackling bolt of blue lightning, and he drops to the deck like a puppet with its strings cut. After a beat, it dives back in, and Larry slaps a hand against the floor. "We're not doing this," he snaps. "Do you hear me, pal?" He pushes himself to his feet, takes a deep breath. Looks back at the egg. Looks at the stairs. Cautiously tries to edge--
The Negative Spirit bursts from Larry's chest, a crackling bolt of blue lightning, and he drops to the deck like a puppet with its strings cut. After a beat, it dives back in, and Larry immediately jumps up, breaks into a run--
Burst, lightning, drop, dive.
And Larry lets out a frustrated shout, sits up, and sinks his head between his knees. "You're not convincing anyone, fella," he seethes. "You're just pissing me off."
He's aware they have an audience. It's not the first time, and he's sure it won't be the last, despite his best efforts to keep their whole thing relatively quiet. So now he's got some explaining to do -- and then a fucking egg to parent.
((OOC: If you want to know what this looks like in practice...))
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"...you need help with that?" she asks, in a quiet, steady voice. By which she means do you need me to kill it, even though she has no idea what the power is that's toying with him or what she could possibly do about it.
It's back, though, it has him tight. So she has to be a little bit circumspect.
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But instead he sighs and shakes the clouds out of his head, pushing himself to sit up. "No. Thank you. I'm all right. It's-- complicated."
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The offer is open.
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"Wait-- what?"
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And then - better change the subject, let it percolate out of attention of whatever is in him. She flicks her eyes up for a moment, indicating the strange starry sky with gaze and chin.
"It don't hurt, it's not like real light, if that's why you're all wrapped up." Dancy herself never went that far - in the Florida heat it would have been unbearable - but she burns in a speck of sunlight.
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Okay, the last part at least makes some kind of sense. Let's start there, he thinks. "It's not," he says. "That would be... intense. But trust me, you don't want me to take them off."
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Who are you, and what are you cursed with?
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He hesitates, because that's a complicated question, but in the end he has to admit:
"No. I don't."
Because even if he could, he can't. He'd rather look like this than show his real face.
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She keeps scrutinizing him, solemn and red-eyed.
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He finally inches over to poke at Larry with the wooden end of his mop, like one might a dying animal in the road or something. It seems safer than prodding him with an actual part of himself. Especially if he is as dangerous as he... thinks the guy ought to be, with energy of that color bouncing in and out of him.
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"What the hell?" He jerks away and hastily gets to his feet, tugging his coat nervously closed. Underneath, there's a hint of the same blue glimmer. Does mop handle = threat? Neither man nor symbiont is sure.
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His eyes dart around the air surrounding Larry, like he expects the light to make a reappearance. "What is that."
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Whoever this guy is, he's just plain freaked out, Larry realizes with a jolt of mixed emotions. He takes another step back, pressing a hand to the glimmer. "Easy, fella," he murmurs.
Then he sighs and straightens a bit, holding his hands up. "We call it the Negative Spirit. It's... hard to explain, but it won't hurt you as long as you're not hurting anyone else."
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He eyes Larry's chest, now, where he's hiding the glow. "Never had that in a gun?"
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"A gun?" Larry echoes, plainly confused. "No. I'm not sure how that would even work."
The glimmer subsides entirely at this point; apparently, the Spirit is convinced there's no threat here.
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A pause. Then he actually asks, "Why was it doing that?"
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"It wants me to pick it up." So does the egg itself, apparently, judging from the increasingly insistent whimper echoing in his mind. But he can hold out against that a lot longer than being repeatedly knocked out in public. "Which I'd rather not do."
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He's a little afraid.
"I'm just-- not interested in being a part of whatever this is."
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"Yeah," Larry says. "It won't exactly be the first time I've let someone down."
If he had any hopes of leaving the deck, or even this conversation, he would. But really, they both know his resistance at this point is moot. All three of them do.
"Fuck me." He heaves a world-weary sigh and looks over at his egg, innocently iridescing in the weird light of the deck. Maybe he can at least stall. Maybe the Spirit will get bored. (Not a chance, but he can dream.) "Larry, by the way. Larry Trainor."
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"Hello Larry." He does not offer his name in return, in the probably vain hope that he won't be asked. "Why don't you want to do it. Seems easier than the last flood. Which was bugs." He's heard about it, and was glad to have missed it. Bugs crawling out of mouths. Ew.
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"Who says these things have to be mandatory?" Larry mutters. "Can't a guy opt out of raising someone else's egg?" He hunches in on himself a bit, sticking his hands in his pockets. He'll loosen up later on, once the egg has sunk its hooks into him, but he's in no mood to dig into this particular part of his past right now.
He doesn't push on the name just yet, though he notices its omission; he's just not a pusher by nature.
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"I don't even have a warden to share the thing with," he sighs mournfully, daring another glance at the egg. "Do you? Or inmate. Either way." He's not getting a super clear read on this guy.
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He doesn't get too close to Larry, whose head is between his knees and is talking to himself. But he does speak up loud enough to be heard:]
Having a disagreement?
[He's got his own egg held in a full-on baby bjorn, courtesy of Ben Hargreeves, and since Yugi himself is really short, it takes up basically his entire torso. It looks silly, but Yugi himself seems to either not know or not care.]
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[S i g h. Larry answers without lifting his head.]
You could say that. Yeah.
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In a slightly better-adjusted period of his life, he would have cared a fair bit more about it. Right now, his slight concern is altogether for the one party to this situation which seems most innocent and most vulnerable: the egg.
He starts edging over while the bandaged stranger is going through his possessed-dispossessed-repossessed routine.
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Once it stops moving, it resolves into a vaguely humanoid shape -- albeit one larger and bluer than any man, and still crackling away. It hovers between Merlin and the egg, neither attacking or defending (yet), but unlikely to let him pass.
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"...I'm not going to hurt it," he says. Human-or-better comprehension also something he expects from glowing floating things.
He opens the satchel he's got slung across his front, showing the spirit another egg, this one carefully wrapped up in a spare shirt and peeking out of the collar. See? Responsible egg parent.
"I just don't want it to be hurt. It doesn't deserve that."
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The Spirit gazes at Merlin and his egg for a long moment, apparently sizing them up. Then, it darts back to Larry, and this time actually picks him up and carries him over to what seems to be their egg. It flies a quick circle around both men, as if inviting Merlin closer -- or even giving him an instruction -- before finally diving back into its host for good.
"Ugh," Larry groans, and then startles when he realized he's been moved. "Hey! I thought we had an agreement, pal." He starts to get up, pauses when he spots Merlin, then continues more cautiously. "Uh. Hi."
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"Hello," Merlin says, levelly. "Were you just...talking to the thing possessing you?"
Because if he knows he's possessed, that's an improvement on most situations he's witnessed previously.
(The bandages are also A Look, but he's not judging.)
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And it's a bastard, and he's mad at it. So there.
"We've been together for a long time."
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That's new. Is it better than being a long-term possessee and not knowing about it? He's not sure.
"...I was just trying to make sure that your egg wasn't hurt," he says, belatedly realising that the other party here won't know what was going on while he was flat out. "And your...it...tried to stop me from touching it, until I explained. Then it brought you over here."
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"We call it the Negative Spirit," Larry says, just so the kid can stop fumbling around with it. And he really does look like a kid, doesn't he? Though Larry knows better than to judge by appearances at this point in his long life.
"And I'm pretty sure he doesn't want anyone but me touching it." Which is, in a way, valid: if there's any fucking chance of the thing imprinting on someone else, Larry is more than happy to take it.
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"That's fair enough," Merlin says, though he witnessed enough of the argument to ask: "So, you were trying to get away from touching the egg, and that's why the spirit...?"
You know, dropped you on the deck like a sack of potatoes.
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"Yeah," Larry says flatly. "You could say we have a difference of opinion about it."
It is, of course, an argument he's destined to lose, as long as the Spirit can cut his strings whenever it wants to. He gives a wordless mutter of irritation.
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Merlin can guess as much, so decides not to pursue the line of enquiry about his possession. Instead:
"It's not so bad. The eggs just want to spend time with...whoever they've chosen. They want not to be alone."
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He doesn't look down, but it's somehow clear he's talking to the Spirit as much as he is to Merlin.
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Merlin halfway suspects this may be the case, but chooses to stay on topic regardless.
"I don't know if they can," he says quietly. "This might be the kind of choice they can only make once."
Magic can be very picky without being very discriminating. Not that he's going to say that out loud.