The Return Journey (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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returnjourneylogs2022-03-23 10:47 pm
returnjourney) wrote in returnjourneylogs2022-03-23 10:47 pm
Entry tags:
- !backstory,
- aki hayakawa (chainsaw man),
- alice quinn (the magicians),
- blue sargent (the raven cycle),
- bucky barnes (mcu),
- claire fraser (outlander),
- conner j (original),
- ellie williams (the last of us),
- grace gibson (original),
- loki odinson (mcu),
- rhys strongfork (borderlands),
- silco (arcane),
- theon greyjoy (a song of ice and fire),
- william (westworld)
BACKSTORY: ANOTHER BORDER
BACKSTORY: ANOTHER BORDER
"Slowly, painfully, I realized what I had been reading from the very first words of his journal. My husband had had an inner life that went beyond his gregarious exterior, and if I had known enough to let him inside my guard, I might have understood this fact. Except I hadn't, of course. I had let tidal pools and fungi that could devour plastic inside my guard, but not him. Of all the aspects of the journal, this ate at me the most. He had created his share of our problems―by pushing me too hard, by wanting too much, by trying to see something in me that didn’t exist. But I could have met him partway and retained my sovereignty. And now it was too late."― Jeff VanderMeer, Annihilation
Introduction
Welcome to the backstory log for the "Another Border" simulation! Here, we play out big moments in our characters' AU histories. We've included a list of ideas below; feel free to experiment and figure out what feels right for your character's past and motivations. Consider what specific moments might have prompted them to venture into Area X!
This log is set before a simulation begins, to give players a head start on ironing out the specifics of their AUs. During this time, Peregrine life will continue as normal.
If you have any questions about the event, please ask here. You can familiarize yourself with simulation basics on our events page.
Ideas
- Your first meeting with an important or influential person.
- Doing something important for someone.
- A time you really screwed someone else over.
- A personal loss in your life.
- An injury, illness, or similar struggle.
- Domestic events: falling in love, getting married, building a home, having a child, navigating a change in a relationship, divorce.
- Getting a new job or a promotion.
- Discovering a passion.
- An important religious or philosophical moment, a moral challenge.
- An event that changed how you see the world for the better.
- An event that changed how you see the world for the worse.
- A sight you saw or place you visited that made you consider your place in the world.
- A dark night of the soul.
- Learning about the discovery of Area X.
- Getting your Area X assignment.
no subject
My god, is this working? Are they actually getting on right now?
"I'm from Texas," he answers to the tune of nah, with a casual little sway. A beat later, he shakes his head. "I'm only jokin'. No, I'm from Liverpool, mostly. Me gran moved to England, shacked up with an Irishman. Had me dad, and me dad had me. Mum's from Chicago though, so we migrated back there eventually."
Which is to say, he's from a little bit of all over the place. Clearly it's not the first time someone's asked, it's a somewhat-rehearsed summary that he rattles off easy enough. Turnabout's fair play, he figures, so he gives her a lightly assessing look.
"What about you? Don't know much about accents, but yours doesn't really sound like it's from Guyana." A playful squint. "Wait, let me guess... Peruvian?"
Obviously not. He just has a stupid sense of humor.
no subject
Swimmingly, in fact.
Blue feels a little stitch of pleasure at his approval of her stumbling along his name. Makes her want to get it right. Makes her want to press his mouth against his when he says it so her lips can learn the shape.
Woah. Okay. That's too much. Too fast. Blue makes herself take half a step back only to keep herself from swaying closer.
The first dumb joke gets him a slightly widening of her smile along with an obligatory mea culpa crinkle of her nose and she follows the rattle of his family tree with an easy bob of her head. She's never been to Liverpool. It's not the type her place her father would wish to visit and since she was old enough to make her own travel plans she's never purposefully gone somewhere without a forest.
The second dumb joke earns him an actual laugh. Too loud for the space, but bright and genuine.
"Close!" she jokes back. Her hand slips free of its pocket and joins its friend cupped loosely around her glass. The easy rapport softening every sharp edge of hers that he might remember from their first meeting. There's no stubborn jut to her chin, no bracing of her shoulders. Even her wrists and elbows curve gently and softly inwards towards her center, retracting the last vestiges of protective and sharp spines.
"Virginia," she corrects with an incline of her head. It's where she was born, though it doesn't necessarily feel like home.
"Very all-American, I'm afraid. Nothing very exciting. Supposedly, my father's family came over from Wales on one of the pilgrim ships. And my mother's side--" Blue pauses, a whisper of a frown descending on her brows. "I guess they came on a different kind of ship."
Not that they ever speak of her mother's family. They were not even a specter in the Sargent home. Sometimes, it feels as if Maura just sprung fully formed from the earth, with no attachments or memory. Marrying Arthur meant abandoning her heritage and Blue wishes she knew if it was relief or sacrifice.
"Many generations ago," she adds lightly, trying to steer the conversation back on less socially charged ground. "I don't even think it counts. We moved to DC when I was seven."
Blue knows the follow-up question (oh, why did you move?) and doesn't wait for him to ask it.
”Liverpool. Chicago. Guyana-- What brings you here? No offense, but you don’t really seem like the—” she gestures vaguely with her glass at the room at large. ”Art show type.”
The type of people who attends these things tend to have a certain Look to them. He doesn’t. Not now, and certainly not when they first met.
no subject
Would it be mad to ask her out somewhere? Ask for her number? Considering the way they met and all the strife that happened in the area between them, it's entirely possible she'd have written off the idea. Might drag out a very different type of laugh from her.
Or maybe it wouldn't. Maybe she'd say yes.
He doesn't get much by way of questioning in as she answers, but it's alright. She's still talking, still volunteering things for him, and that's a right bit better than any awkward conversational silences. He'll take whatever she gives him.
Annnd then comes the question.
He scratches at his eyebrow with a thumbnail. Scrunches up his face. Shoves his hands in his pockets.
"Ah. Well. Actually." He nods his head toward the sculpture they're standing in front of. "Thats- That one's mine."
Nothing quite like thrusting your artwork immediately and abruptly at a girl you're chatting up. Self-consciousness eats at him over that too much for him to worry about not looking like the art show type. Gonna have to circle back on that one for a little elaboration in a bit.
no subject
Many times.
If she could hear his thoughts, she might be offended at the implication that she is the kind of girl who'd laugh at someone for asking her out. No matter how ludicrous the match might seem.
Blue Sargent doesn't date anymore. Not with any particular purpose at least. It's too complicated. Too many emotions to take into account when she plans her next trip. Too much wounded pride each time she proves herself to be perfectly self-sufficient. As such, she has perfected the gentle letdown.
There's a whole it's not you, it's me-spiel to be deployed, neatly cutting down any potential relationship before it even has a chance to start.
Except--
Except.
The surprise is clear on Blue's features, her eyes cutting from his face to the sculpture, and back again. A pulse of familiar longing echoes between her ribs.
There're all her prejudices laid bare -- who would've thought? A soldier moonlighting as an artist. Or is it perhaps the other way around? -- and she'd feel embarrassed if it wasn't for the gentle amazement winding its way around her spine.
It feels like the moment at the top of the first hill of a rollercoaster, just when it begins to tip over. Stomach dropping, chest filling-- that tickle of anticipation.
"You made that?" she asks, and there's a new softness to her voice, her whole body leaning in eagerly even though she knows the answer.
The moment she laid eyes on the sculpture, she felt connected to it. Just like she felt connected to him when he walked up, a physical reminder of the rainforest. Two connections in the span of minutes when it's taken her weeks to feel any at all.
Blue Sargent doesn't date. But something about this feels predestined somehow. Fated.
What are even the odds of them running into each other here?
no subject
"Yeah," he says, trying for a tight little smile. "According to the placard, anyway."
There's a little bit of posted signage nearby with his name stamped onto it — Unnamed Sculpture by Conner Jaskulski. He's shite at thinking up the names, it's the hardest part.
He peels his eyes from her and sets them back on his work, trying his best to see it from fresh eyes. Trying to imagine it from her perspective.
"It's alright, I s'pose. Only got in because me mate's fiancé insisted. Think somebody else backed out at the last minute or something, so they had an open spot." Sure as hell didn't get it by name recognition or networking, or any particularly impressive talent on his part. Just... knowing people, is all. It's impulse to feel the need to justify his presence here, for some reason.
He wasn't going to, but he can't help himself — he has to look back at her and ask, "What d'you think?"
no subject
Whatever it is she likes to come in an empty slate. Let the work speak for itself.
Now, she shifts to find the post with the little sign. Unnamed Sculpture is better than Untitled, though not by much. His name written out — so that’s how he spells it — sends a gentle thrill through her. It’d be easy to attribute it to the artwork, but she knows it’s connected to the man behind it and she tries, very hard, not to lie to herself.
When his eyes light on the sculpture, hers join them, tracking the individual patterns as she listens (barely) to his explanation of how it ended up in the show. It doesn’t matter, though it gets added to the little list of facts and observations she’s keeping like she’s trying to catalogue a new species:
Conner Jaskulski
- born in Liverpool
- Polish grandmother
- Irish grandfather
- American mother
- Lived in Chicago
- Soldier (non-regular branch of the armed forces)
- Artist
- Secret smile
- Tall
- Kinda cute
- Friend’s fiance got him into the show
At the question, she turns her full attention back to him, her chest filled with feelings she can’t quite name. Later, she will have to sit down at her desk and carefully untangle them from each other. Set each one aside until they’re all laid out in front of her and set about naming them. Names are important. They have power.
”It’s—” Blue begins, and her words fail her. Not a common occurrence, as he might gather. She gives him an apologetic smile and lifts her shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. A preemptive apology for the imperfect word that’s about to follow.
”Beautiful. That’s not— ” Enough. ”It makes my chest ache.”
It’s the closest she can get to putting it into words, and it’s not enough.
Impulsively, she lets go of the glass with one hand and reaches out for his. If he lets her, she will take his hand and press it flat against her chest, the heel of his palm just above her heart, her own hand covering his to keep it there until she can feel her pulse intertwining with his. Her eyes find his, an open and earnest expression on her face.
”Like that. Can you feel it?” The gentle, longing ache that lives there. The soft thrill and closeness of the touch. The intimacy of human connection. That’s what she thinks of his sculpture.
no subject
Months from now, in hindsight, if asked to pinpoint it he'll be pretty sure that's the moment he fell in love with her. Of course, that's a mad thing to think ten minutes into your first real conversation with a person, so it doesn't actually occur to him. He does recognize the abrupt and widely spreading bloom of want — innocently, not salaciously, just an intense desire for her time, to see her again, more, to have a longer conversation.
And that's before she presses his hand to the flat of her chest.
Something does ache, though whether it's coming from him or her is impossible for him to say. For a long moment he just stands there, lips gently parted like he means to say something, eyebrows gone soft in a way that seems perhaps a bit puppyish. A bit gently hurt, or awed, or some combination of the two.
He intends to answer her with something normal, like thank you or I feel it too. Instead, what he blurts out apropos of nothing is, "D'you wanna go to dinner with me?"
Ah, shit. Was that- that was not smooth, was it? Also, probably a bit much. Amendment: "Or... lunch. Or coffee. Snow cones. Anything. Whatever you like, really."
no subject
Connected.
The look on his face sends a fresh ache through he and she feels it too. The sudden surge of want. For this moment to last. To hold his hand. To talk a little longer. For more.
At the abrupt question, a slow smile begins to spread on Blue’s face. It doesn’t stop at the boundaries of her expression. It keeps going until she is awash in it.
Snow cones, he offers and a certainty settles in her chest. (She hasn’t had a snow cone in ages. Wouldn’t even know where to get one.) Blue Sargent doesn’t date any more. Not properly. Not for keeps. But she is going to date Conner Jaskulski. A lot.
”Yes.” The single word bites the heel of his last sentence. The moment she thinks he might be done listing potential date activities. ”All of the above.”
Can he feel the way her heart has picked up speed in her chest?
Blue looks around at the mill of people around them. The passed trays of sparkling wine. The art that doesn’t speak to her and his sculpture that does. Then back at him.
”Now?” It’s as much question as it is offer, her whole body already yearning for the air outside. Only politeness keeps her from tugging on his hand and pulling him immediately with her. Politeness and— ”Or do you have to stay? You probably do. That’s probably a thing. Sorry, I just--”
Hate wasting time.
no subject
Better than yes, she says now.
Thinks for a second she's back-pedaling on the whole idea, until the reason why processes, and he's quick to interrupt.
"No. No, I can- I can go. We should go. If you want. I just-" he glances back at the statue for a fleeting second. Gestures at it to lamely say, "I mean, I've already seen it, haven't I?"
More than that, he's not so sure he cares what anyone else thinks about it now. He doesn't have to stand around looking at their faces as they stare at it. He's gotten the highest praise anybody in the building's likely capable of giving.
no subject
Her eyes track his over to the spread metal wings and to the gentle crowd wandering between the art works just past it. Suddenly the impulsive idea doesn't feel especially well thought out and she feels a quick stitch of guilt. It's not just that he might have obligations here, is it?
"If you're sure--" she begins. "This is your night. I don't want to take it from you."
A couple step up next to them to admire his work and without thinking Blue takes a step closer to him. She has to tilt her head a little further back to look at him. (He really is very tall. Which is going to make kissing interesting.)
"How about," she says, "we stay until the end. Have some very cheap sparkling wine together. Then afterwards, we go find snow cones or an all night diner and maybe you can show me your other pieces."
Wings like the ones in front of them don't just spring fully formed from the hands of a novice. He's had practice. So it stands to reason that he's got a body of work. Maybe showing her means photos on his phone. But maybe there's a workshop not too far away where they could go.