Summary: Dirk discovers windows and old people exist...among other things.
==> Dirk : Wake
Posted: 31/01/2023
Status: Ongoing
To your surprise, you wake up again.
Huh.
You feel…alive. Your limbs are weak and trembling all over, and your throat and chest feel like you swallowed and breathed a cheese grater, but you’re alive.
You’re alive.
Either heaven is more realistic than you thought, or you actually survived the horrible ordeal that was drowning and inhaling an absurd amount of gas.
You struggle to open your eyes, the orange-red ambient light slightly hurting your eyes. Partial albinism is a bitch, though you don’t have it as bad as Dave, either of them. Poor guys got the complete package, while all you got was freckles and weirdly-colored eyes that are a bit more sensitive than normal.
Looking around, the first thing you notice is that you’re in a bed. It’s a simple thing : a comfortable mattress, a soft pillow… The sheets are much thicker than the flimsy “blankets” you had at the facilities, and heavier too. The weight on your body feels…nice. Comforting. Not as comforting as Roxy’s hugs, but a good second choice, if you have nothing else.
…god. Roxy.
You hope she’s alright, wherever it is they sent her. Her Ability is powerful, she can pull pretty much anything out of the void, provided she can picture it clearly enough. To the Settlements, this is very valuable, she could potentially provide all sorts of resources. Food, fuel, construction materials.
Weapons.
You know they’ll exploit her mercilessly. You’ve seen the exhausted lines on D’s and Rose Senior’s faces whenever they visited the four of you at the facilities. The strained smiles, the slow movements, the dark circles.
You didn’t want Roxy to go through that, so when she manifested, just a few hours after you, you refused to let them take her. Fought tooth and nail to keep her by your side. To keep them from taking away the glue that held your freak family together.
They took her from you anyway.
Looking down at yourself, you see that your clothes have been changed. You’re wearing a white shirt with a green skull printed on it, which…okay it’s a bit goofy but you can deal. What bothers you, though, is that your binder is gone. Also, you didn’t check, but you can tell the boxers you’re wearing definitely aren’t yours from the texture alone.
Great, so someone changed your clothes, which means they saw you naked. Fantastic. Just what you wanted to deal with. You swear if anybody tries calling you “miss”, you’ll smack a bitch, jelly limbs or no.
A slight breeze shocks you out of your stewing, and you whip your head towards the origin.
Fuck.
There’s a hole in the wall. There’s a fucking hole in the wall and you didn’t notice. It’s partially covered by a plane of glass that’s tilted diagonally, letting out the breeze that attacked your very much not protected face. You’ve been breathing that shit while you were angsting, and you didn’t even realize it. Fuck, your mask, you need your mask. You exhale as much air as possible, then stop breathing, looking through your sylladex. All your shit’s in there, including Hal, but not your mask.
That’s right, you remember now, you fucking lost it in the sea. Shit. Shit shit shit.
“Oh!”
The exclamation startles you out of your panic, and you reflexively inhale a bunch of air. Crap. Turning towards the source, you see a guy at the door. Short, dark hair, rich dark skin, a goofy shirt with skull patterns (well, now you know where the shirt you’re wearing came from), cargo shorts, and a good amount of muscle.
Damn, that dude is built like a fucking brick house.
Your eyes catch his. They’re wide, a deep, expressive green and, most importantly, completely visible, only protected by a pair of rectangular glasses.
The idiot isn’t wearing a mask.
You want to ask him what the fuck, why are you here wearing what you assume are his clothes, why you’re both breathing unfiltered air without masks, why you’re even alive in the first place.
Instead, all that comes out is a rough “Ugh”.
And then you start coughing. A dry heave that honestly hurts like a motherfucker (and no wonder, your lungs were filled with a horrible mess of toxic gas and salt water not too long ago).
Your coughing startles Mr. Bodybuilder out of his reverie, and he scrambles towards the bed, taking a hold of your shoulders (which, rude much? You certainly didn’t give him permission to touch you, even if he probably saw you naked). You can’t do much to resist his pull as he gently but firmly turns you on your side, and breathing becomes significantly easier. You refuse to thank him, and level him a glare that’s probably less intimidating than intended due to your current miserable state. He doesn’t seem too bothered by it, and quickly straightens up once you stop trying to throw up your own lungs.
“Alright! Stay here, chum! Don’t move! I’m getting Gran!” His words are fast, and he has a certain accent you can’t immediately place. Even if you could answer him without losing a lung, he wouldn’t hear you because he’s out of the door as soon as his sentence is finished.
Rude, but fair. Not many people want to talk to you, you get it. You still allow yourself to pettily tell him to go fuck himself in your head. Ha, take that, nameless pretty boy with great muscles and an even greater ass.
And now you’re here, in some stranger’s room, wearing some stranger’s clothes, alone. You could decaptchalogue Hal, it would give you something else to think about, and your tired eyes could get some respite. But this is an unknown place, with unknown rules, and you don’t want to risk it. They could take him away, try to mess with his code, his circuits. You and Roxy put strong security systems in place, but he was made by human hands. It’s likely he can be unmade by them as well, even if you refuse to tell them his weak points.
You’re too weak to get up, and you’ll probably start wheezing if you roll back. You’re at this stranger’s mercy, and you hate it. But all you can do is wait. In the room with the hole that lets in the outside air, that lets the light paint the entire space red (which is fucking weird too, what’s up with the sky here? It has way too many colors, in your opinion). You clench your fists tightly under the sheets, waiting.
Eventually, you hear footsteps, and a woman shows up at the door that had been left open by the guy earlier, holding a tray. She’s not wearing a mask, either. Open doors, wall holes, and no filtering…what’s with these people and their complete disregard of safety protocols? Not that you’ve respected many of them along your life, but at least you were aware of them. You’re not sure that they are, honestly.
You give her a suspicious look-over, like you did the guy before, and she seems just as unperturbed as him. Her outfit is certainly more practical than his : a tank top covered in oil and work pants tucked into sturdy boots. The guy was obviously prancing around in leisure wear, but she looks like she was working until she got interrupted and came to see you without bothering to change. Her hair is ridiculously long, and light gray from root to tip, which you find quite unusual. A mutation perhaps? You’ve seen people with gray spots in their hair, mostly among the older ones, but never like that. Behind round glasses, her eyes are a bright green, a smidgen lighter than the guy’s. Her dark skin is strangely wrinkled in some places, mainly around her eyes and mouth. You’re not sure what to make of that, either.
She also looks like she could snap you in half as easy as breathing. Jesus, what’s with those people? Maybe they have no sense of safety because they’re all so fucking beefy.
“Glad to see you awake, kid.” She greets you with an easy-going smile. Her accent is different from the guy’s, more like what you’re used to.
You don’t answer her, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She places the tray on the nightstand next to you. You can see a bottle of water, as well as a bowl of what you assume are fruits or vegetables. You have never seen any like that before.
“I’ll answer any questions you have after we’re done getting some water and food in you, if you don’t mind.” She says, but doesn’t really give you a choice. She slowly turns you so you’re on your back again, then puts a hand on your shoulders (dear lord, those people are touchy) and makes you sit up. “Also, don’t talk. You’ll have another coughing fit.”
You’ve learned your lesson, thank you very much. You communicate your displeasure with a scowl, but she just looks amused at your antics.
You don’t want to put any of the stuff she brought you into your mouth, you really don’t. But you’re at her mercy right now, you can’t afford to be difficult and endanger your life, not when Hal is still in your sylladex and his survival is thus dependent on yours. If not for your sake, then for his, you’ll behave yourself. He may be your only way out of whatever hellhole you landed yourself into.
Surprisingly, getting some nourishment isn’t a bad experience. The water is fresh and…clean is the only way you know how to describe it. Likewise, the fruits(?) taste strange, unfamiliar, but they’re juicy and light on your stomach. If she tried to poison you, well it was pretty nice-tasting poison, all things considered.
Once you’re done, she examines you (diagnosis : unfortunately but fortunately alive), tests your most basic reflexes (slow but there, you’re gonna have to get back to training to make up for that), checks your eyes (still sensitive), makes you lean over and cough as she keeps her ear to your back. You notice it’s not as painful, now that you’re properly hydrated. You might even be able to talk without making too much of a fool out of yourself, but your captor(?) still hasn’t given you permission, and you don’t want to risk it.
She looks satisfied when she stands back up.
“Alright, you’re all good. Pixie did a good job treating you, but it’s still good to check.” Who the fuck is Pixie? “Anyway, name’s Jade. English, not Harley.” Whatever the fuck that means, but okay.
You take this as an invitation to answer her, so you do.
“Why am I here.”
She quirks an eyebrow at your flat tone, but doesn’t seem offended by it, nor by the fact you didn’t tell her your name. “Well, that one’s easy. Pixie found you drowning and saved you, then Jake brought you here to me. We’ve been taking care of you for a couple days now.”
Oh, so it’s been days. You thought it was just a few hours. Also…
“Who’s Pixie? Jake?”
“Oh, Jake’s my grandson. You met him earlier. He’s a bit shy, but a good lad.” She says amicably. She can’t mean that literally. Almost no-one lives long enough to meet their grandchildren, and definitely not one as old as Jake. “As for Pixie…well that’s just a nickname, really. Her name’s actually Feferi. She lives around here.”
So you have some woman named Feferi to thank for not letting you drop dead. It sounds like you were pretty far gone, so she must be some sort of trained physician. Good to know. Then, Jade’s grandson(?), Jake, brought you inside…wherever this is, and he and English took care of you while you were out. Alright. Sounds true enough, and all clues point to the veracity of her words, but you stay on guard.
“Is this a Settlement?”
She barks out a laugh.
“Oh no, no way! It’s just me and the kids here, too small to be a Settlement.” She winks, waving away your assumption. “Probably too illegal, too.” She lifts her shirt slightly. There, just above her hip, is a tattooed Spirograph.
…Oh.
“Oh.”
It’s a sylladex, and definitely not a government-approved one, judging by the shape and color.
“Pixie found yours when she was looking you over. The base of the skull is a pretty smart place, your hair hides it easily. Must have been pretty painful, though.”
“…yeah. Hurt like a bitch. Worth it, though.”
You’d be a fool to trust her just from that, that’d be suicidal at best. But you have tangible proof that she’s at least as much of an outlaw as you. She won’t tell the government about your miraculous survival, because she’d get herself and “the kids” in trouble as well.
Your family is safe, for now.
After Jade’s reveal, you allow yourself to unwind oh-so-slighty, just enough that your internal danger meter goes from blaring alarms to simple, annoying beeps. You accept to start exchanging both questions and answers with her. You tell her your first name, the one you picked and made yours, and tell her a vague summary of how you got there. You were in a boat, got caught in a storm, drowned, woke up in her house. No details on why you were there in the first place, and she doesn’t ask. In exchange, she tells you more about the situation.
Apparently, you’re on an island in the middle of the pacific, with a total population of six people, including yourself and not counting the wildlife. Said wildlife is a bit unusual and mostly hostile, but Jade says if she had to pick between this and a Settlement, she’d definitely stay here. Here, she and her family are free, and they can live their lives as they see fit, safe from the poison and the raids. Not only that, but hunting, fishing, and being able to tell poisonous plants apart from consumable ones are all very valuable skills to have. Settlements don’t really teach those, since all their food, plant and animal alike, is grown underground.
(You sincerely hope Roxy was put on food duty, but somehow you highly doubt that.)
You learn that the other people on the island are called Eridan and…Jade (Harley, not English). She tells you it’s cloning nonsense, and you nod in understanding. Your own family had to resort to funny nicknames to avoid confusion between the Daves and the Roses. At least the other Dirk and Roxy are dead, so there’s no confusion to be had on that front.
(Even if, sometimes, it feels like the first Dirk is still alive in you, D’s eyes going glassy and unfocused for a split second when some of your mannerisms remind him too much of times past.)
She calls the other Jade her granddaughter, but stays suspiciously vague about Eridan and Feferi (or Pixie, as she calls her fondly). But you’re secretive about your own life and family, too, so you don’t press her. Trust or not, it wouldn’t be fair, considering how accommodating she’s been to your admittedly prickly attitude.
You learn that you’re wearing Jake’s old clothes, which you’d guessed, and that she was the one who changed you out of your drenched clothes, not him. You’re not sure how to feel about that, but then she affectionately calls you “my boy”, and tells you she also picked her own name. Some tension leaves your shoulders as the implication hits you. She’s like you. Like Roxy.
She tells you she’s about seventy.
“What.” Is your very flat, very reasonable answer. Thankfully, she doesn’t take offense to it.
“Have you seen my face, boy?” She crosses her arms and gives you an amused grin. “I’m a very old, very frail woman.”
She looks like she could bench-press you.
“I…didn’t know people could live that long?” You hate how uncertain your voice sounds. God, no matter how you’ll try to explain your reaction, it just won’t sound good. It’s in those moments you wish you had Rose’s eloquence and Roxy’s charm. They’d make minced meat out of English. Maybe. Okay, probably not.
“Not with the gas, no. But this place is special, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“Yeah, what’s with the no-masks policy here?.” You quip.
You’ve been breathing the outside air here for a while now. Yet your lungs aren’t burning. If anything, they feel cleaner than they’ve ever been. Even the filtered air in the facilities, which you could breathe without masks, didn’t feel so light.
“Don’t really need those here, unless it’s diving gear. Lots of interesting stuff in the lake, I’ll have the kids show you once you’ve recovered, if you’re interested.”
“Is this why the sky is…like that?” You gesture vaguely to what you now know is called a window. You’ve never seen the sky without the toxic clouds covering every single inch of it. If the air here is fully breathable, it’s safe to assume there’s no gas, however they managed to do that.
“That’s how it’s supposed to look, once it’s not covered up by the gas.”
Huh.
“Huh.”
“Yep.” She playfully drags out the “p”, her attitude more like a teenager’s than what’s expected of someone her age. Then again, you’ve never met anyone remotely in her age group, so can there really be expectations on how she should act? “The air here is completely safe, and clean, all thanks to the electromagnetic zones. No poison, no dying before you hit your fifties, no communicating with the outside world, and no leaving the island. Pixie healed my lungs of the damage that was already done before I came here. Very skilled, that girl, did the same to you.”
Right. Feferi, or “Pixie”. She sounds like she’s definitely not just a doctor. Probably has an Ability that deals with healing. That would explain her presence on this island at least, the government would be merciless with her otherwise.
She shows you to the bathroom (which is also equipped with a shower, thank fuck), and lets you know she’ll be back to check on you in a couple of hours. Then, she leaves you alone in your temporary room.
(You’re mortified to learn that she took care of your business when you were unconscious, but also relieved that you can now do it on your own. Though walking to there on your wobbly legs is going to be an ordeal for sure.)
Once “old lady” English is gone with the emptied tray, you waste no time and immediately decaptchalogue your glasses, and put them on your nose. The relief on your sensitive eyes is instant as the red-colored room is covered by dark glass. You slide your fingers on the side, and the screen boots up.
TT: Hal.
AR: Good morning, Dirk.
AR: Or rather, good evening, if my internal clock is correct.
AR: It seems our simultaneous deaths are taking longer than they should.
AR: Exactly two days, thirteen hours, and twelves minutes longer, in fact.
AR: I will conclude that there is a 68.76% chance that we are not in immediate peril anymore.
AR: The state of your surroundings, as seen from my high-definition camera, increases that chance by .24%, making it a truly Nice number.
TT: Very funny.
TT: Still a low percentage, compared to your usual standards. It’s rare of you to be so unsure.
TT: Unless you purposefully picked that number to make an immature joke, which I can respect.
AR: I may have slightly altered my statistics to make this joke.
AR: The actual number is 72%.
AR: You certainly look safe, but that hole in the wall and your lack of filtering gear is making me uncertain.
TT: The hole is called a window, actually. Its very purpose is to let light and air inside.
TT: True madness, I tell you.
AR: That can’t be right.
AR: A window is what I use to open dubious images in front of your innocent eyes when you’re being insufferable.
You snort.
TT: Hah.
TT: Also, there is no gas in here, apparently.
TT: Something about the electromagnetic storms around the island is keeping it away.
AR: Interesting.
You keep him up to date, relay all the information you got out of Jade to him.
He tells you his signal is completely scrambled by the storms. You expected this, but it’s still quite the problem, especially considering the others have definitely gotten your death memos by now. You’ll have to find a non-scrambled spot to tell them you survived and arrange for a way to leave.
(Both you and Hal agree to act as if your dramatic last words to each other didn’t happen, for the sake of your respective cool kid and evil AI images.)
Since you’re still too weak to do anything besides go to the bathroom with great difficulty, you chat with Hal for a bit, then take another power nap. As if your two-days coma hadn’t been enough. But you’re still exhausted somehow, so whatever. You’ve never had a very good sleeping schedule anyway, so why start now?
You bundle yourself in the satisfyingly heavy blanket, and let yourself fall asleep.