Summary: Dirk takes a well-deserved shower.
==> Dirk : Wake 2 : Electric Boogaloo
Posted: 19/02/2023
Status: Ongoing
Author's note: Please bear with me while I get the hang of writing a longfic, I'm more used to oneshots. :')
As always, the dark city is void of any life. Despite the presence of the many buildings that were definitely intended to house thousands of people, the streets are empty. Unmoving, as if frozen in time. Quiet, too quiet. Your breath, even controlled as it is, is too loud in your ears. Any step you make would echo through the entire city, too loud in the deathly silence.
So, you float.
You have no destination in mind, you just want to move, do something. You’re antsy, as you always are, here. You wish there was some sort of noise; the pitter-patter of quick steps on the paved streets, the chattering of neighbors, the clanging of gears.
Any sound that would drown out the whispers.
They are the only ones alive in here, as far as you know. This entire place is dead, has been since before your heart even started beating.
Somehow, you know this.
You think they whispered this information to you in your sleep, like they do to the others. It’s nice of them to keep you all informed, but something about the way their unworldly words squirm into your brain like parasites makes you queasy. What do they gain from you knowing those things? What do you gain?
You glance up at the emptiness. Darkness is normal in these parts, they whisper to you in deafening murmurs, but not like this. Even this far out, you should be able to see the blue glow of the battlefield in the distance.
But it was not meant to be. There is nothing there, no hope, no life, only the pure emptiness of deep space.
You can’t even see that so-called “golden city”, so far out, with no light to make it shine as it should. You only know it exists because of their murmurs.
Why do you even listen to them? Why do they even speak to you in the first place? You’ve been resisting them the most, they tell you, the Seer’s mind would be much more welcoming, more malleable.
Maybe they’re simply lonely. Perhaps you are, too.
For what else is there to do in this ghost town, but for abandoned Gods to speak, and for a lost Prince to listen?
***
As usual, you wake up groggy and confused, with no clear recollection of your dreams. At least you have them, unlike the others. For the longest time, you all thought it was because you were clones, that maybe the whole process broke something in your brains that stopped you from dreaming. That theory was quickly debunked, though, when you started dreaming at 13, even if hazily. But it only brought up more questions. Why were you the only one to dream? And why were your dreams so strange? But nobody ever found an answer.
When you open your eyes, it’s the middle of the night, exactly 2:05AM according to Hal. Next to you, a different tray is on the nightstand, full of more of those unknown fruits and another water bottle. On the tray is a piece of paper with a message written in light green, telling you to eat everything as soon as you wake up from your “little nap”. The handwriting is all curls and curves, decorated with cute little hearts. For such a jacked lady, she sure has an adorable handwriting. Or maybe it’s someone else’s? You have no idea, it’s not signed, and even if it was, you recall that there are currently two Jades on the island, so it wouldn’t be useful.
Hal informs you that “old lady” English came by an hour ago with the tray. He also tells you that she stared at the glasses on your face with a bit too much interest. The screen is one-sided, but he’d turned it off anyway just to be sure she didn’t see anything reflecting on your skin. Still, you both agree that you should captchalogue him the next time you go to sleep, just in case she gets a bit too curious about them. You genuinely don’t think you could wrestle the glasses out of her hands even at full strength, so better be safe than sorry.
You eat the plate of fruits and drink the provided water, and then drag yourself to the bathroom. Your power nap was thankfully effective, even if it fucked your sleep schedule. Your limbs feel stronger. Not quite enough for any activity that requires more effort, but enough to move around without flopping around the place like a puppet without strings.
You feel restless.
First order of business is changing out of those clothes, though.
Good thing you captchalogued your supply bag as soon as the boat took off, back then. People on board had gawked at you for that. You’d just used a sylladex in front of everyone, clearly without governmental authorization. But others had just looked at you and nodded in approval, then captchalogued their own stuff. You weren’t the only one with an illegal sylladex there, what with half of you being known criminals.
Granted, you hadn’t packed much in your bag since you knew (expected, low-key hoped) you would die, but you’d at least bundled a change of clothes. No binder, you’d left those at home and asked the others in your “death memos” to give them out to those who might need them. But hey, a simple training bra will do the trick well enough, and they’re easier to move around with anyway.
(And well, if you interpreted Jade’s words correctly, you won’t need to bind to avoid being called “miss”, anyway. No need to restrict your breathing, or to lower your voice beyond what’s comfortable for you. No need to go above and beyond just to be called the right name.)
You make a mental note to ask Jade where she put the clothes you were wearing when you washed up on the island. Surely by now they should be clean, considering all the time you spent unconscious. You know your mask is lost to the sea, never to return, but you really liked your jacket. It was just thick enough, and the texture was really nice. It’d be a shame if you lost it forever.
The shower is fantastic. The water heats immediately, the pressure is ideal, the pipes barely make any sound, and you don’t feel itchy afterward. Also, the shampoo makes your hair feel so soft and smell so nice. You’re in love. You could spend hours in there, but you stay reasonable and only stay one.
Once you’re out and dry and your hair is styled in its usual spikes, you quickly get dressed in your own clothes (thank fuck you brought underwear, this was the most awkward part of wearing Jake’s old things).
Most of your outfit is pretty basic : just a shirt, sweatpants, and socks. Your shirt is the ugliest thing. You made it with the others at the facilities, it was originally a simple white tank, but you used permanent marker in your respective favorite colors to draw random shit on it. It has Dave’s funky-looking characters, Rose’s terrifying yet strangely familiar tentacle monsters, cute pink cats by Roxy, and a bunch of weirdly muscular horses drawn by yours truly (for the irony, of course). You made four of those, one for each of you. It’s an abomination. It’s your favorite thing. You’d planned to die with it.
You put Jake’s clothes at the end of the bed and your glasses back on your nose. The lenses turn transparent to make up for the fact that it’s night and there’s no light to shield your eyes from, and a subtle night filter is applied so you can actually tell where you’re putting your feet.
You figure, if you’re stuck here for an undetermined amount of time, you might as well have a tour of the house. Jade didn’t tell you it was forbidden, didn’t give you any rules really.
(To be fair to her, she probably didn’t expect you to be out and walking around already, but whatever, you’re awake now and desperately need to stretch your legs.)
Leaving the room, you notice that you aren’t on the first floor. The hallway is covered in old-looking paintings, strange statues, and various baubles in all sorts of colors. From where you are, you can see seashells, tiny wizard statues that Roxy would squeal at, all sorts of potted plants… It’s all very eclectic, and you wouldn’t be surprised if all the island’s inhabitants contributed to this collection. The paintings depict a diverse array of people, from what you assume are “nobles” in fancy costumes, to people who look more like Jade and her grandson (ancestors, perhaps?). One of them, still old but in better condition than the others, depicts a man in hunting gear, holding some dead animal as a trophy. It’s distasteful, but multiple things catch your attention.
One : he looks strikingly like Jake, but older and with quite the prominent mustache. Jade mentioned “cloning nonsense” when she gave you the low-down, so it’s safe to assume Jake is a clone, like you and the other Jade are. You can’t help but wonder how and why they got cloned, if they’re living in hiding from the government. How did they get a hold of the tech? Or did they use to live in a Settlement, and only left afterward? Jade spoke like she knew Settlements personally, so you’d normally believe that last statement to be true, but the house looks like it’s been lived-in for a long time, so what’s the deal here?
The second thing that catches your attention in this painting is the man’s lack of filtering gear. Even after meeting English and getting an explanation as to why people here don’t use them, it still shocks you. You associate lack of masks on the outside with sharp burning in your chest and likely imminent death. The gas doesn’t mess around, that shit is deadly. It’s so deadly that, even with the masks, it always kills without fail. There’s a reason Jade was the first old woman you ever saw, everyone else tends to die before they even reach their fifties.
The third is the color choice. Most of the piece looks like a realistic rendition of what you assume to be a real scene…yet the sky is a bright blue color, adorned with white things you assume are clouds. The painting could have been made on the island, but then that begs the question : who painted it? When?
There is a small plaque underneath the artwork, engraved.
J. Harley, September 13, 1955
You…figure the last number is the year, but you have no idea what to make of it. You don’t use the same calendar. How long ago was this painting was made? You once tried getting Hal to find the old servers and get a hold of the old calendar, among other things, but his reach was too weak to go all the way up to the satellites. You’re pretty sure the troll ships are jamming the signals as well.
Maybe you could ask Jade later. It’s her house, so there’s a chance she knows.
There are stairs leading both up and down; you focus on the latter. You make your footsteps so light they’re inaudible, just like Big D taught you. You won’t go full ninja-mode on them quite yet, since you’ve been led to believe you’re some sort of guest here. Even so, you make yourself sparse on principle (and also because it’s ass o’clock in the morning, and you have at least some decorum).
The wood under your feet is old, chipped in some places. You don’t think it’d be wise to walk on it barefoot, and are glad you thought to put on socks. You walk slowly, freeze when one step threatens to creak under your weight, then continue down very carefully when it doesn’t.
The decoration downstairs is just as eclectic, now with the addition of various mounted animal heads (yuck), what appears to be armor, and…you think they’re puppets? They are life-sized, and all laid on the couch in front of the fireplace. There is a bigger one, holding a rifle, propped up directly in front of the (thankfully unlit) fireplace, looking ominous and also very familiar.
This is an almost exact replica of the man in the painting, mustache and all.
…You decide to vacate this room ASAP, vaguely creeped-out.
You enjoy puppets just as much as the next guy, but this is a tad too much for you. They’re too realistic for your tastes, not whimsical or fun enough.
(You still mourn every day the loss of your childhood toy, Cal, who some shitty kids destroyed when you were small, because they thought he was “creepy”. Your Bro had offered to get you some materials to make a new one, but you could see he looked relieved to see him gone. Perhaps Cal was yet another thing you had in common with your “original”. Another thing that haunted him.)
And really, those things just look like corpses, and you’re very much not a fan of that.
So onward you go.
The architecture of this house is weird, and it’s hard finding your way around it. You’ve found a bunch of rooms, going from multiple living rooms to a kitchen, to, again, multiple storage rooms, and you’ve yet to find the fucking entrance. You remember your earlier thought, when you were still out of it, that this was heaven, but boy were you wrong. This is hell. Eternal limbo. Fucking purgatory or some shit. If you can’t find any door leading to the outside in the next room, you’re jumping out of a window— oh there it is.
It’s right there, a wooden door with fancy engravings. Multiple pairs of shoes are laid out next to it in various sizes. On the wall is a coat hanger, again filled with coats and jackets of all sizes, some of them in more disrepair than others, oh and there’s your jacket. And your shitty but well-loved sneakers. Man, they were quick to make you settle down here for the long haul, huh?
And, in front of the door, barring your exit, is a huge animal. Some sort of canine? You aren’t sure which kind exactly, there weren’t many animals in the facilities, other than cattle. All your knowledge is theory obtained in the books Rose Senior smuggled into the facilities. Its ears are pointed, and its long fur is pure white. Its eyes are hidden in its fur, but you’re pretty sure that, if the beast was once asleep, it isn’t anymore. Its ears pivoted in your direction as soon as you got closer.
You…don’t think it’s wise to force your way out, so you slowly reach over to captchalogue your jacket and shoes, and walk back to leave the animal alone. It doesn’t react beyond following your position with its ears.
You go back to one of the living rooms and look out the window closest to you. It’s dark out, but not as dark as it could be. The ground is lit up by a soft, blue glow, outlining the dirt and grass. You can see spots of light high into the clear sky, and can’t help but wonder how it even works. Does the electromagnetic “bubble” surrounding the island go that high up into the sky, or are the toxic clouds closer to the ground than you initially thought? It’s not like anyone was ever able to find out how high they go, what with the miasma causing spontaneous combustion in most motors.
You can see the house (mansion?) is very elevated, almost as high as the mountain you can see in the background. Below is miles and miles of trees then a massive lake, in the middle of which stands another tall structure with a strange, round roof. It looks like a creature, some sort of amphibian? Either way, jumping from the window like you’d thought about earlier seems like a bad idea. So you just stand there and observe.
As you ponder the landscape, you hear movement behind you. Steps, one pair, relatively heavy, and definitely not trying to be inaudible. Not the animal, then. You tilt your head slightly in their direction, letting them know you’re aware of their presence. You stay alert, but keep your stance relaxed and non-hostile.
“Oh, hello there.” The words are half-whispered, in respect of the current unholy hour, but you recognize the vaguely flighty tone and strange accent of the guy you briefly saw the day before.
You turn fully to face him, and sure enough, there he is. You take the time to observe him more closely, now that he’s not fleeing from you, uncaring of his very obvious nervousness under your intense stare. He’s almost your height, just a bit shorter, but what he lacks in height he more than makes up in muscle mass. He keeps his dark hair cropped short, swooping at the front. Looking at his face, there’s no denying that he’s his grandmother’s grandchild.
He’s wearing green running shorts as what you assume is his sleepwear…and not much else. It’s his house, all freedom to him, but still. Not much is being left to the imagination here.
“Sup.” Is your extremely concise answer. You’ve never been a small talk guy, and you’ve already gotten a lot of information from Jade earlier. Unless he has a specific point, you’re not interested in discussion with him.
You’ve been called rude before. You just don’t see the point in talking to say nothing. The others understood, and were perfectly fine just existing in the same space as you, doing their own thing while you did yours. Good times.
“Ah, um,” he fumbles, intimidated by your curt answer. “It’s nice to see you up and about! If a tad unexpected! Not that it’s a bad thing, just…!”
“Sure.”
“Right!” He wrings his hands in front of himself, a nervous gesture.
“Right.”
The following silence is awkward at best, but you don’t care about filling it with words. Actually, you think it’s a bit funny to see him visibly struggle like this. Thankfully, your face remains perfectly blank, hiding any amusement you might feel at his expense. Nothing is breaking that perfect Strider poker face today, that is a promise.
His eyes briefly look down to your shirt, and he seems surprised. Whether it’s because of the horrendous drawings, the fact you’re wearing clothes he never saw, or your almost non-existent prime Strider Boobage (Dirk-Exclusive)™, it’s unclear. So you make a point to look at his own current state of “dress” and raise an eyebrow.
He blinks, and then seems to finally realize that he’s pretty much standing half-naked in front of a stranger.
“Oh, oh bollocks. I’m so sorry, this is very,” he gestures wildly, flustered, “very inappropriate. Not at all gentlemanly of me. If I had known you were up and about, I would have dressed a little more decently before going for a midnight snack!”
“Would you?” You ask flatly, unimpressed. He literally didn’t realize until you silently pointed it out to him. Man, this guy is a mess, huh.
“Ah, well. I’d like to think I would have! But realistically, I’d probably have forgotten. Pardon me, mister, we don’t really get guests that often, here.” He smiles timidly. It’d be cute if he wasn’t practically in the nude.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
More like never. You don’t imagine a lot of people wash up in here, most probably die way before reaching the island, either from the agitated sea or the storms. Case in point, you have yet to hear anything about your travel companions somehow making it here. For better or worse, you’re probably the only survivor on the entire ship.
You decide to stop thinking about it.
He lifts a hand and offers it to you with a grin.
“I’m Jake. Jake English.” You knew that, but decide not to mention it.
”…Dirk.”
You don’t take his hand. He lets it hang there a few more seconds, then takes it back sheepishly.
”…Alright then, Dirk. It’s nice to finally meet you.” You don’t answer, so he continues. “Would you like something to eat or drink? I’m going in the kitchen anyway.”
Your answering hum could be positive like it could be negative, but you do follow him into the kitchen. There are a lot of things in there that you’ve never seen before, whether it’s meat or vegetables, or even drinks. Probably all made from species unique to the island. It’s nice, but you don’t know what you can actually stomach among those new foods, and you just ate and drank earlier, so you don’t pick anything for now.
He tries to chat with you some more while he snacks and you just stand there. You admire his dedication to filling the silence with his words while you just give him one-word answers, and eventually take some pity on him and answer his most mundane questions. You keep all details about you and your family private, but he doesn’t let it bring him down, simply happy that you’re finally (sort of) participating in the conversation. He seems perfectly happy talking about himself anyway.
You do mention you like fucking around with robotics and, to a lesser extent, programming (that was always more Roxy’s thing).
“Oh, you’ll get along great with Jade and Grandma, then!” He exclaims, slightly too loud for the unreasonable hour. “They both love tinkering with all sorts of mechanical doodads! I’ve tried my hand at them a couple times, but I think I’m just not very good at it. Adventuring is more my thing, always armed, of course.”
He says that last one like some sort of inside joke you don’t get. Those tend to fly over your head, so you just nod and hope your reaction was appropriate. He doesn’t seem annoyed or offended, so you figure you did fine.
Eventually, he finishes his unidentified snack. There is another beat of silence, before he awkwardly tells you good night. He asks you if you need help getting back to the guest room, and you flatly tell him no.
He pretty much flees upstairs, and you congratulate yourself on mostly not fucking up this social interaction. Mostly.
The white creature is awake and sitting by the stairs when you reach them. You keep your gaze on it your entire way up, carefully climbing the stairs backwards to not lose sight of it, but it doesn’t do anything. It just stares at you the entire time. Sizing you up, like you’re doing. Or, you think it does. Still can’t see its eyes.
But you manage to reach the guest room without any issue, and close the door. You would lock it, but you have no idea where the key is, so you don’t. You keep an eye on it while you spend the rest of the night occupying yourself by fucking around with your sylladex.
Morning comes soon enough, and you can’t help but think it’s been a while since your sleep schedule has been this fucked.
Author's note: Okay so Jake is being his usual charming self so it's definitely not gonna be a slow burn. Not a fast burn either, but more like a medium roast. I don't even like coffee.
What was I saying again?