Where the Streets Have No Name

[Star]

He waited, silent and patient, for her words. It would be OK if she changed her mind. Especially after all the weird that had happened since it had first been brought up. Those Green eyes reminded him of the brackish fen waters. It was a little odd to realize this was the longest he'd looked at her.

When the words came, he nodded, remembering, then listened. Small cues gave away his thoughts, little tics around his lips and eyes, eyebrows and forehead. Words bounced around like a pinball, hitting bumpers of curiosity, surprise, confusion, anger, and everything in between.

It was a lot to take in. Honestly? He couldn't. Not all. He could feel puzzle pieces finding matches, edges coming into focus, snippets of of pictures here an there -- and he intuitively knew it was his mind's flawed attempt at understanding. Without a frame of reference, it tried to digest the little bits that it could, trying to trick him into accepting something incomplete as understanding. And how could he? It was vastly different that it was the definition of incomprehensible. Even from the beginning, when he'd assumed the dime referred to a juvie center, or jail.

Amazing, and tragic. Not ha ha hand to the head swooning tragic, but Holy Cow Does Stuff Like That Really Happen tragic. He'd been arrested once or twice. Maybe more. But never long enough to begin to understand that amount of time except in the most trivial, terrifying way. The mind is a prison for the unwary or weak. Proof? Anything can become habit in six months. Try it. True fact. To constantly rebel? Amazing. Not stupid wow this dee-jay's set is amazing but the legit Mind Blown Amazing.

In a real sense, it was humbling. Could he have done it? Would he have fought for so long? Kept picking himself back up and trying again? Humbling, and terrifying. They'd joked about Asp being the Terminator. They'd all been wrong. Avis? Relentless.

Simmering below the roiling thoughts and feelings was the warmth of anger.

"You want the breadlines for the people that don't have anything. Or had it taken it away, or are lost... not the, uh, entitled." The words sounded inane, but thoughts were coming together and he was trying to understand. Truth? It would take him days, or weeks, to assimilate the information. Maybe that's what his words had meant? That he was trying.

His brow knit in confusion, and he shook his head slightly, trying to understand what her changed position and eyes were saying. He was having one of Those Moments. You know? That Say Something moment, that later you'll think of a million better things you could have said that were better than what you actually said.

"Thank you... for telling me. It kind of explains a lot. And I have more questions? But they can wait, if you want. And... I think you're pretty amazing. For all of that... and then being where you are."

Because Soul crushing.

[Avis]

"I'm pretty sure it's why I'm here, actually. Or part of it anyway. It wasn't the catalyst, but I think it was the crucible for, ya know, stripping the Lie away." She sighed quietly, through her nose, her body becoming slack, like a rope that had been quivering with strain, only to have the weight at it's end disappear. There was conflict she saw in Star's eyes, but not that kind that said "holy fuck, how do I get away from her now?" Not the kind that was filled with pity, or shame for being interested in her, or distaste, or any of the other tempest of possible forms of rejection. But she didn't see any of that, and that was more comforting than any hug. But, just as the anxiety and tension bled away, so did the threads of electricity that had buzzed through her, fueled by the stress of the evening.

"And it's ok, Star. I don't want to wait. I'd rather try and explain everything now. Give you, ya know, all the info. I just, it seems better that way. But, if it's questions about why the breadlines, I don't know. It just seems right to me. Entitled or not didn't really factor into it."

[Star]

Watching her go slack made him realize his shoulders had tensed again. Tense in the way that even if he made a conscious effort to relax them, they'd slowly tighten again. His back was going to hurt tomorrow. Actually? He'd probably sleep in. He'd been up and down more in the past half hour than an entire night of drinking vodka and Red Bulls.

He was also relieved she didn't mind more questions. Leaving the conversation where it was?

"No, but yes? I mean, no to the breadlines, but yes to the first thing? That was what I was wondering. If you woke up before or after... you... escaped." Escaped. It sounded so strange to say. Was she still a fugitive?

A hand drifted up, pausing her, and his brows knit together again. It had been jarring -- a surprise, to hear her say 'Star'. And a little... frustrating. Except more than that. Disgusting? Not at her. At everything. That they could have these moments, and share, and still be wrapped up in another Lie.

"And. My. Uhhhm." He swallowed. Dry, loud. Because Warlock. "My name's Chris. Well. Christian."

He didn't expect her to reciprocate, and maybe it was just an offering since she'd bared so much. That he trusted her. Or maybe it was tearing down another Lie. Maybe it was a little more selfish. Maybe. Maybe sometimes when you See someone, someone who matters, you want them to See you. Or just hear them say your name, instead of something you thought was funny.

He didn't know. But he wanted her to know.

"But, ah, when you woke up..."

Because that was the question.

[Avis]

Her brow furrowed, in confusion, and surprise. For him to share his name with her? Even after everything that she'd said? The fact that it was only part of his true name didn't even matter. It was still an offering of himself, an offering of openness, a symbol of the lack of barriers he was placing between them, at least in this moment. A kernel of her mind wondered if, perhaps, that was what was truly happening. Maybe it was a faint, a barrier made of half truth so she wouldn't pry into him, instead. For a moment, the thought seemed entirely too plausible, and the Visus Draconis suddenly loomed in her mind's eye, tainting Star (Chris?) in its shadow, but she rejected the notion. He wasn't lying. She could see it, she could trust him. To doubt him would just create a new set of barriers between them. It was just a reflex of her own fear, her base desire to hide, to stagnate, to ignore the conflict and the struggle before her. Well, she wouldn't give in to that cowardice. To that weakness, and vulnerability. She would trust. She would choose openness.

"When I woke up I was out of the Asylum. I'd broken out again. For the last time, obviously. I'd been having, or watching, I don't really know how to say it, but I'd been experiencing the Shadow Play for a while, and because of it I knew that if I escaped one more time, I'd become free. Free of all the chains and locked doors, and the cage of my own mind. So, I did. I got out again, and I decided to leave the state. Ya know, get distance between myself and local databases and stuff. I got into a bit of trouble hitchhiking, though. I, uh, I ran into a parasite," she explained, her expression growing dark as she thought back to the evil she'd encountered, and had let live.

"Some guy decided that instead of giving me a ride, he'd rather take my freedom away again. He tried to kidnap basically, and I think it was seeing the face of evil again that woke me up. My soul found it's way through Pandemonium, and then when I got back into my body I used what I'd learned up there to break out again, and I stole the guys van, which I kinda mentioned a while ago. Then, using the van, I got to Chicago, and I eventually found the Consilium there. That was a couple years ago," she finished, looking to Chris.

[Star]

He shifted awkwardly as her expressions changed. Fingers fluttered, then took refuge in crossed arms. It wasn't a gesture he made often -- even if he were unaware of the well-known connotations of such body language, he just rarely felt the emotions that triggered it. For a few moments, he wrestled with the nervous tic of embarrassment, second-guessing his offering. Like wedding cake at a pizza buffet: was it too much? Inappropriate?

He hadn't really thought about it, but now that he did, he could see it as being Weird. Or Creepy. After they'd talked about figuring things out, suddenly: Name. But it wasn't like that, and he relaxed as she began to speak. Whatever she'd wrestled with, it was taken as it was meant, and not left to be gawked at and made an Awkward Thing.

Something eager and interested lit up his eyes as her Awakening was described. He even leaned forward, a little. The Shadow Play. It fascinated him. If he had any regrets about his own Awakening? That it had been sudden, with all the warning of a piano falling out of the sky. But hers? Too. Cool. And kind of funny, too, since he'd alluded to the 'Lady of Shalott' and almost talked about 'The Cave'. Shadow. Play.

He was a little jelly. Not the See-Bad-Things-Happen-To-You jelly, but the Man-That-Ice-Cream-Looks-So-Good jelly. It made him more curious. Were some given to see Truth more readily than others? Souls that could pierce Lies? Nature. Nurture. Maybe it was her experiences. He wanted to know more.

Surprise replaced the interest, and he leaned back again, literally taken aback as she continued. It was unfair. And awful. And the flicker of anger lit again, along with a protective urge that was silly, because it was over, but was all bundled up in their We that he couldn't help or dictate.

"Did you kill him?"

The words came out with cool certainty, a tone few had ever heard from him. Because Smiley's People. But it came out now, because whatever her answer would be, it was the right question.

[Avis]

"No," she admitted, eyes dropping to her feet. "I got out when they were off doing something else. I just wanted to get away. Later, when I'd adjusted to being, ya know, Awake, I thought about finding him again, but I never did. I probably should have. I don't know. If I ever catch someone like that in the moment of their crime in the future, I won't hesitate, but when time passes after a crime, things get different. It starts to seem more like murder and less like justice." She shrugged, shifting the weight of futility on her shoulders.

"It's part of why I joined the Talons. It was like the final confirmation of the truth I already knew about the world. How, when you get down to it, there's just all of our made-up bullshit sitting on top of the primal world, and in that world, violence is king. Society is great and all, but when someone brings violence into the equation the only thing that matters is your ability to reciprocate it. Otherwise you break, die, or become enslaved. I hate it, but it's true."

[Star]

"Not... always?"

They saw the same things, but reacted differently. Not completely. But that wasn't a bad thing. He'd wondered, at why she was a Ungula instead of Visus, and chalked it up to whoever found her. But -- that wasn't it. There were fundamental differences between the two Orders, and laid bare in the moment. Different isn't bad -- just... different.

He drew in a breath. It didn't come smoothly. His throat felt tight, as tight as his eyes. Justice. Murder. To her, only separated by moments. And yet, in the next breath, she spoke of violence, as if it were unavoidable. Like she couldn't see the dichotomy, or understand the beauty and grace of the distinction. It was humbling. He understood the distinction. Saw the truth of it, and always had, and was a Guardian because of it.

"Some people," he swallowed, "Become more. In the crucible. And it's a terrible, awful thing, but, it happens. But it doesn't mean there isn't a better way. I'm not justifying it. But."

Like her. Truth was important, but so were Lies, if they led to Truths. And that crucible? Just because she'd become more in it, didn't mean he wouldn't do what she hadn't, for her. He shivered.

"I... I don't know how to say it," his eyes skittered away, and his head shook slightly. "Without making it sound like it's okay, things like that, because it's not. At all."

Besides? Talking about light needing darkness was so freaking trite, and he didn't want to trivialize what she'd been through. His head ducked, looking at his shoes.

Justice.

Murder.

"It amazes me. That... you wouldn't... hunt them down." Warlock. She could Find them. His words became softer, almost a whisper. "Not... in a bad way. A good way."

A hand fluttered, fishing in the air for words. He wanted to tell her how humbling, and inspiring it was. She was. To go through so much, but Know. He had no illusion: she was an Arrow, and spoke of Violence like the Weapon she was -- but a weapon with a sheath. Beautiful. To him.

"You said part. What's the other part? Of why you joined?" he asked, looking back up at the pale, drab girl from a violent playground.

[Avis]

Breath flowed inward. Paused for a beat. Left again, empty of words. They seemed to be beyond her now that they had returned to the crux of her story, the genesis of her path to awakening. That was why it was at once both the easiest shard of her history to tell and the most difficult. Especially now. Especially when all the rest was already revealed, seared by the light of exposure. She'd already hinted at the event when they'd first broken bread, and she'd told most of it to Asp in the hopes that it would help her friend discover more about the nature of violence in the world, but how could Avis speak of it now? How would she fit this final shard into place so that the window into her past was complete? She didn't know, but looking at Star, at the fluidity that lived in his hands and the understanding that dwelt in his keen eyes she found her surety and determination folding back into place, just as his words gifted her with the place to start.

"The reason for why I joined is the same, for both parts. Together they form the reason, so don't expect to hear that change. What's different is that this is what started the path that lead me here. The Crucible, like you said. I just told you the middle and the end of it, and I don't know how the beginning will sound, now that it's coming to you last, but it's the most important part and I think it might help you understand why I've never hunted anyone down. Not yet, anyway." She paused again, taking one last look at the shimmering, fanciful reflection far below them before turning her full attention to the Star inspiring the telling and the tale being told.

"Anyways, the other part is this: when I was eleven, people broke into my house and they tortured my parents to death. They made me watch so I would know the face of murder, and they're also the ones who made most of the chicken scratches all over my arms and back and everywhere else," she explained, a strange intensity seeping into her voice. "That's why I got sent to the Asylum, but that's also what first stripped the Lies away. That was the flame that started the Crucible; and no matter how horrible it was, I know that without it I wouldn't be here. For whatever reason I needed it to, like you said, become more. And I--I'm really thankful that you understand that," she confessed, something coming loose behind her eyes, letting drips of water begin to fall out.

"The reason why I haven't told anyone this is because most people assume that it makes me less, that the Crucible destroyed too much, and that there's not enough to salvage. And I don't just mean sleepers. Chicago proved how blind a lot of us still are, no matter how many fucking arcana we might know, so I learned to keep my mouth shut. Coming here, I don't know, I thought it would make it easier since no one would know. But, now you do." She sniffed, her jaw setting, the tears going ignored. "And because of it, and because of what you said, now I'm wondering what was your crucible? What was it that let you understand?"

[Star]

He didn't ignore the tears. The fluttering hand moved slowly, jerkily, as he reached up to brush them away. How long? How long had it been since anyone had done that for her?

He'd wanted to look away. To follow her gaze down to the water, and leave his there. For distance. He'd known, by the time she'd looked away, what she was going to say. He'd seen it. All the puzzle pieces? They fit. All the jagged, bloody edges. His thoughts bounced and splintered, like dropped glass, one of them wondering if she knew. Her Sword. The other slivers were less coherent, more emotion than thought. The icy dread that began at the base of his spine when she began speaking again slowly rippled and rolled up his back until it took root at the base of his skull when she finally made it real by saying it. He'd known. But it wasn't real. Not until. It wasn't a shiver, but more of a small flinch, when the dread latched on to the memory of her Sword and the intense words before slowly detonating.

Did he understand? No. The Crucible? Yes. Hers? No. To be cut and torn away? He. Could. Not.

His head shook slightly, wanting to deny that anyone in Chicago would treat her like that. It appalled, and angered him. To have been through so much, then locked away, and then blamed for it? Such blindness. The stupidity and arrogance. Another reason he was a Guardian.

"You're... not alone. Anymore."

He head shook again, but this time both an affirmation and denial: that she was not, and would not be. Not just the We. More. All of the Veiled Threats. A memory of her pulling him into the crowd of Arrowlympics. She'd never let go of the potato. And even if the We changed, and the Threats dissolved? She'd know. That it wasn't going to always be the way it had been. That was the 'anymore'.

A breath clawed it's way out, and he felt the cool streak of a tear tracking down his own cheek. Let it.

He grasped at her question. More than a segue, it was a lifeline out of the horror and outrage of her Crucible. He needed it, before he crushed her tight in a hug and made silly promises that he could never keep about nothing bad ever happening to her again. The ragged breaths that came out of his swollen, tight throat turned into a soft bark of laughter.

"Mine's so dumb. It's stupid," he tried to explain, a smile and shake of his head warring with his reaction to hers. He didn't want to say it. It seemed like profanity in the sanctity of her ordeal. But she asked.

"I... uh. I electrocuted myself and fell off of a telephone pole."

Yes, there was more, before and after, but this Angel Awoken by Falling.

[Avis]

Her body went still when the hand fluttered up, but she let it make contact, let warm flesh brush the salt water away. The tenderness in the gesture, and the feeling of hands, so expressive they must have their own language, against her skin almost caused the rest of the dam to break, and a flood of tears to start, but no more flowed. A stillness fell over her features while she fought the urge to just let everything fall away, but after a moment and a sniff, life crept back in, and her hand sought out his as it fell away from her. A squeeze of thanks passed through her grip: an indication of appreciation, and a desire for contact. His touch had been comforting, and she sought it again, but it was also painful, another of the endless reminders of the conflict inherent to life. Being this open, this exposed, this connected to her past, it made her vulnerable. It threatened to make her weak, and that terrified her more than thoughts of gunshot wounds or things that crept in the Dark. But the promise he'd given, that she wasn't alone, she was desperate for it, hungry for it in a way that would probably never be satisfied, so she would risk it. She risked her life and her health every morning that she recognized herself as a Talon, so really, how much worse was the danger in risking her soul?

When a tear fell down the plain of Star's (Chris') cheek, she knew the answer. The risk didn't matter. Nothing was worth more. She turned toward him, stepped so close to him that their feet touched, and brought up the hand not binding his to brush his tear away, returning the gesture, and the sentiment. For a moment, the urge to lean closer pressed on her, and she felt what was almost an electricity drawing her to him, but the desire to hear what he had to tell, to learn more about him was stronger than her desire to complete the circuit of their lips, so she stepped back again, still holding his hand.

"That sounds like it was terrifying," she said, eyes brimming with honesty rather than teats. "And I--I don't know how to say this, but I'm not surprised. Not that that happened, that's not what I meant, but-um-you still work with electricity, and probably heights too, and I'm not surprised that you do, even after that happened. It's amazing, but that just seems, ya know, like you. Starfighters don't have any boundaries, do they?" Okay, so hat was horrendously, disgustingly sappy, but she didn't exactly have experience with these kinds of talks, not when one side of the conversation wasn't quoting out of a psych manual. She'd get better, as with everything else, once she had practice. For now, a limited degree of expression was all she had to work with. Hopefully Chris was okay with that.

"And that's what landed you in the hospital, wasn't it? That's why you were trapped, with four white walls, a roof, and nothing to keep you sane but to play with little pieces of things? That's why you know Matter?" Her voice was imploring, but there was no judgement. It was more like she was hunting, no, hoping, for a particular answer. One that would lead them to a stronger connection.