kore_logs | when it's all said and done

Entry tags:

when it's all said and done

Who: Ned and Daneel
What: The sun is down, the power is out.
Where: House 20
When: Day 100, twilight

The old adage about not knowing what you have until it's gone seems particularly relevant to Ned tonight. He'd thought things were bad enough with just the food shortage, just the lack of communication with the outside world, just the ignorance of where they are and who brought them here, just the occasional bout of horrific nightmares or monstrous transformations. Now, it would seem, they are going to have to learn to live without electricity, as well.

Perhaps, he thinks, walking back towards the house, it won't be permanent. Perhaps the power will be back in a few days and things will return to normal.

(But he'd heard stories from the older residents, about how the food used to be replenished. That had changed, and there were no signs of things going back to the way they used to be. So to hope for anything other than the worst possible scenario seems like foolish optimism, to him.)

Ned gets back a few minutes after the sun has set, as light is rapidly fading from the air. He lets himself inside and reaches for the light switch automatically, hand pausing halfway there to drop back down again. Under one of his arms is a bundle of wood, destined for the fireplace, if only he can manage to get it lit on his own. Ned can navigate easily enough - he has a good sense of the space and where things are that would get in his way - but once he's at the fireplace, he is at a bit of a loss. He has vague and distant memories of family camping trips when he was young, but it's been years and he doesn't remember much. How should he arrange the wood? How does he check that the chimney is open and he won't end up getting soot on everything?

There's a packet of matches in the hall, he remembers; perhaps it is best to start there.

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The dark troubles Daneel little, though he truthfully cannot see, either. He remembers with perfect clarity where everything is. While he had daylight, he had thumbed through the romance novels he's been perusing, but now that it's too dark to see, he's had to abandon that pursuit.

He both hears and senses Ned's return, and -- carefully -- moves to go greet him. This is a troubling situation, and even if he's not certain of his place in this relationship, he knows that he has to keep a care for Ned.

"Let me help you, Ned," he says, more as a way of announcing his presence than anything else. His voice is low and soft in the darkness.

Edited (riding in cars with boys) 2013-08-10 19:22 (UTC)

Daneel's careful movements are, unfortunately, also rather quiet. When his voice comes from out of the darkness, surprisingly close behind Ned, he jumps, whirling around. Even though he quickly recognizes Daneel's voice, his heart is racing from the momentary fright, and he claps a hand over it.

"Sure," he exhales, grateful for the offer, but much moreso for the company. Easy enough for him to feel melancholy and isolated, even without the aid of quiet and darkness. But, as per usual, just being around Daneel makes him feel a bit lighter, a bit braver, makes him hold his head a bit higher. "I was going to start a fire, but I've never actually done it before, so I was just sort of winging it."

"I did not mean to frighten you, Ned."

Daneel steps close, and he finds Ned's elbow with his hand. If the time seemed appropriate, he would just wrap him in an embrace, envelop him. That is something that is sometimes done in the romance novels, and it seems legitimate to him.

"I have never made a fire either, but I will assist you. Are you cold, or is it merely the light you wish?"

"Just being silly," Ned waves away the scare with a smile that is only just visible in the dimness of the hallway. When Daneel asks if he's looking for light or heat, he answers, "A little of both?"

He is glad for the contact as he quickly grabs the matches from where he saw them last, fumbling around in the dark hall closet. He doesn't like it, has never been fond of putting his hands where he can't see them, or know what he's going to touch. But of course he doesn't complain, because that would be silly. He's a grown man. Grown men shouldn't be afraid of the dark, and he isn't - for the most part.

"I don't think anyone's very fond of dark, mostly-empty houses, do you?" The lack of lights, the way the shadows erase the mundane details of lamps and wallpaper and scuffs on the baseboards amplified the emptiness of the house, made it all the more present to Ned that there ought to be more people here, suffering through all this. He wonders what Jesse or Galen or Kenzi would be doing if they were still here, and feels a stab of loss. "They're creepy, and depressing."

Edited (HOWLING WITH LAUGHTER BEST TYPO) 2013-08-11 10:22 (UTC)

Creepy and depressing is hard for Daneel to understand, but there's a sense of loneliness, perhaps, possessed by a house that was once full of people and now longer is. He knows, too, just how it makes Ned feel, and how very unsettled he is.

"Possibly not," he agrees. He stays close to Ned, just a breath behind him. It's... not sensible to hover over Ned like this, merely because there's a lack of power, but he knows all too well the slow decay of amenities. He's witnessed it himself.

"But there is no danger that will come to you while I am here, Ned. You may be sure of that."

Edited (rat-inflicted premature posting) 2013-08-11 16:29 (UTC)

Daneel may feel that his hovering isn't sensible or justified, but Ned is certainly glad of it, and the reassurances that come with. Power outage and anxieties aside, he has to smile. To have someone in his life, saying things like that to him, meaning them, is never going to stop being thrilling to him. He's spent so long calculating the dangers, knowing that on his side of the equation he could only rely on himself and himself alone. But now that's no longer true.

"I am sure of it," he says, leading the way back into the main room, to the fireplace. He's opened up the glass doors and arranged the wood as well as he can, but something tells him it isn't going to be as simple as just throwing a match in.

"Do we need, uh, paper or... sticks, or something like that? To get it started?" Daneel said he'd never started a fire before, but he still might know how, in theory. Ned really ought to spend more of his time in the library, picking up what survival skills he can. Ned had never really thought that the power might go out, that knowing how to start a fire might be a thing he ought to read up on.

"I believe paper or other easily combustible material would be helpful."

Daneel considers their options. There is, of course, the romance novel he has been reading, but that seems somewhat... wasteful. The book is not truly his to destroy, and may still contain useful information.

"I can perhaps fetch some of my drawing paper," he volunteers. "That will be effective for starting a fire. Unless, perhaps, you have something better in mind?"

Because he's unwilling to leave Ned alone even that long.

"I'm sure we can find something more disposable than that." Ned isn't really sure if he means paper that has already been drawn on or not, but either way he objects. Daneel could need that paper in the future. Ned doesn't want him to give up the opportunity to use it, just because he's a little chilled and a little uncomfortable with the dark. "There's a whole shoebox full of old receipts under the bed in my room. I'm sure whoever was keeping them isn't gonna need them anymore."

Ned, assuming that he ought to be the one to get them if he brought up the idea, starts heading in that direction, eyes open wide against the darkness. It strikes him to ask, "Can you see in the dark?"

"While many robots possess infrared vision, I do not."

Daneel rests his hand on the curve of Ned's back, intending to accompany him on this errand. Pointless on the face of it, perhaps, as no serious harm is likely to occur on such a short journey, but nevertheless he's there to offer aid, protection, support in every sense.

"My night vision is no better than yours, I suspect. That sort of ability was sacrificed in me for the sake of realism. At present, I would find it very useful, however." Daneel considers his options. "But I will fetch this box for you, if you wish."

Ned privately thinks that he wouldn't mind infra-red vision right now, either. But he doesn't quite like the way that Daneel is offering to go and fetch the box for him. Fetch, like a dog or a servant of some kind. Recently, he's been letting Daneel take care of him perhaps a little more than he ought to. It made sense at the time: he was injured, then he was sick, then saddened by the loss of some of his friends. Ned doesn't want to abuse Daneel's willingness to help, though, so he suggests, "We can go look for it together."

Unlike Daneel, he doesn't have a perfect memory of the dimensions of the hall, so he has to reach out with his hands as he goes, waiting for his fingers to bump into the wall and trailing them there as he approaches his door. He opens it and hesitates a moment at the pitch darkness inside. The curtains are thick and drawn, not letting in even a sliver of light. After that pause, he steps in, walking forward until he bumps into his bed.

As he lifts the sheet and blanket out of the way, Ned laughs faintly and says, "Wonder if they've got an infrared setting on the cameras." It would make sense - otherwise, why would they cut the power and deprive themselves of the ability to observe their captives. Besides, they'd probably been watching all through the night before this, too. The thought makes the back of Ned's neck prickle, and he shivers.

He asks, "Uh... do you mind feeling around for it?"

"Certainly."

Daneel gets down on his hands and knees to root around under the bed. The box is simple enough to find, and he draws it out. It's too dark to see the contents of the box, but feeling around in it produces the satisfying crackle of paper.

"I have found it. It should be possible to light a fire now."

"Hooray, teamwork!"

With Daneel here, and the prospect of a cozy fire in the near future, Ned doesn't worry so much about the dangers and inconveniences of the power outage. He can think about that later when the food starts to spoil, when he needs a shower and there's no hot water, when the temperature drops as night sets in. For now, it's manageable, and just the littlest bit fun. He has to let it be a little bit fun, he thinks, or else he isn't sure he'll be able to stop himself from falling apart.

"Let's give it a try."

He bumps into the doorframe with his shoulder, laughs, corrects the direction of his steps and makes his way back to the living room with Daneel in tow. "Bet they don't have power outs on Aurora, do they?"

"Please be careful," Daneel says. "Power outages are certainly possible. If maintenance is not sufficient, or an accident occurs, then equipment can certainly malfunction. Most estates have backup procedures, however, and inconvenience is kept to a minimum."

He follows Ned back, glancing up at a camera as they go. He can't see it, but he knows where it is.

"I wonder if power has been lost to the cameras as well. Interfering with the cameras has never been wise, but if, even temporarily, it were possible to tap into the camera power system, it could be useful." Daneel pauses. "If they, too, are nonfunctional, then that is useful information as well."

'Inconvenience is kept to a minimum' sounds about right for Aurora, as far as Ned's heard. No doubt those backup procedures would involve robot labor, carried out in some quick and discreet way so that the estate owners barely even noticed anything was the matter. When Ned thinks about that, he feels (though he wouldn't admit it) rather glad that he isn't like them, that he can adjust to a lack of electricity and find the fun in it.

"Do you think we should check?"

Ned knows that tampering with the cameras is in some ways asking for trouble, but they usually weren't replaced for hours. Still, he's hesitant, reaching out in the darkness to set a hand on Daneel's arm.

"What if it... I don't know, what if it's booby trapped and shocks you, or something like that?" He's torn between his desire to know, to let Daneel investigate, and his concern for Daneel's safety (even if Daneel isn't as concerned for it, himself).

Daneel considers it. The risk is a valid point, he knows that. He already did. And Ned is fretting, he does not want Ned fretting over him. Now will not be the time for this.

"I'm not sure that at present we're equipped to deal with the cameras safely, but it may be worth exploring in the future, with the proper safeguards."

Later. There will be time for it later, if the power does not come back on immediately. He hopes it does, but it could also be some time.

"Let us light a fire and think of the matter later."

Proper safeguards sounds like a good idea to Ned. Daneel's thought about the cameras is a good one, but more suited to the daytime, to planning and caution.

"Yes, let's." Ned makes his way towards the fireplace, keeping hold of Daneel all the while, feeling around before sinking to his knees and starting to take receipts from the box, crumpling them in his hands and laying them on top of the firewood. He really hopes it doesn't have to be any more complex than that. It shouldn't be so hard, should it?

Pulling the book of matches from his pocket, Ned strikes one and drops it quickly onto the top of the stack of sticks and receipts. For a moment, it looks like the match is going to go out without lighting a damn thing, but then one of the edges of the paper starts to curl, and slowly but surely, the orange glow spreads. Ned strikes another match for good measure and lights the pile from the other side, wondering if he should blow on the thing to encourage it, or if that would put it out altogether.

"I think it's working?" he announces, half-hesitantly, turning a small smile on Daneel, whose face is starting to stand out a little clearer against the darkness, in high contrast and flickering shades of dark yellow.

Edited (hedgehog antics) 2013-08-14 08:36 (UTC)

"I believe it is."

The flames move from paper to wood, dimming slightly as it transfers from a quickly consumed fuel to a more significant one, and Daneel leans down to blow encouragingly on it. He might not have done this before, but he knows that fire is a chemical reaction, and it requires oxygen as part of it. Embers flare bright, then the flames lick up around the wood anew.

"I think it will burn unattended, now," he says after a moment, "so long as we provide it with fuel."

"Perfect," Ned says. He's got a little more wood for burning set aside, but not very much. He'll just have to make the most of the fire, while it is here.

So he sits down on the rug, right there in front of the fire, staying close so he can benefit from the heat in addition to the ever-increasing light that it is putting out. He pulls his legs to his chest and wraps his arms around them, locking his fingers together and propping his chin on one knee. There's something hypnotic and soothing about watching the flame as it begins to curl its way along the sides of the wood, about hearing the occasional crackle it produces.

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" he murmurs, absent-mindedly, half to himself.

Is it? Daneel isn't sure how he would define beauty. That which is good, perhaps, and the fire is good, providing warmth and light and comfort for Ned, so perhaps it is beautiful. He wouldn't have thought of that description, though, that particular word.

He sits very near Ned, placing one hand on Ned's shoulder. "I am glad you find it soothing." "Soothing" is a much safer statement for him to make, compared with "beautiful." It's an incredibly human way of describing it, one that seems a little beyond him. "Is there something else I can do for you? I am... I am concerned. I wish you to be as comfortable as is possible right now."

Ned knows that aesthetic judgments aren't really Daneel's strong suit, feels a quick twinge of regret for phrasing it the way he did. Of course, he thinks, Daneel probably still has a sense of beauty, but one that operates in a different way, and in response to different stimuli, than a human one. There's nothing wrong with that, as far as he's concerned. But he worries, on occasion, that careless talk like that from him will make Daneel feel self-conscious and insufficient, the way it has in the past. He's not forgotten all the times Daneel has let his insecurity show: even if he wouldn't call it by that name.

Which is why when Daneel says he's concerned, Ned takes it seriously. He scoots a bit closer to Daneel, shaking his head and smiling. It's a brighter smile than Daneel has seen from him since before their housemates vanished.

"No concern necessary. I'm perfectly comfortable." He tilts his head, brushing his cheek against the hand that Daneel put in his shoulder, a small gesture of affection. Then, because he insists on treating Daneel as his equal, even if he knows the power outage doesn't effect him in quite the same ways, he asks, "You?"

The question is irrelevant to him, but pointing that out... is awkward and unnecessary.

"I am well, Ned."

And more or less, he is. He's concerned for Ned, concerned for the outcome of the situation, but he himself? He's okay. It's those around him he's not sure about.

But with Ned a little closer, Daneel shifts to put his arm around Ned's waist -- carefully, in case it isn't welcome just now.

"I am properly functioning and we have solved the immediate problem that this outage provides. At the moment, that is a good thing."

"Good," Ned echoes, staring still at the flames as they grow in size and brightness. Daneel's right that they've only solved the most immediate of problems, but Ned's learned to take things one step at a time, here. Who knows what else might have changed by the morning. No use making plans or fretting himself unduly when it is all out of his grasp, anyway. Oftentimes, that total lack of power alarms him, but he can't imagine feeling alarmed right here and right now. He has to snatch these moments of happiness when they are within reach, or else he would get so miserable he isn't sure what he'd do.

"I know I haven't been around as much these last few days," he says, quietly. It's important to him, at least to explain his absences, even if Daneel wouldn't reproach him for them, even if he doesn't think it's his right to feel entitled to a certain amount of Ned's time and attention. "With Charlie missing Meyer's been a bit of a mess, and I promised I'd look after him if something like this happened, and it's hard to do that when I'm not there." A logical enough argument, and one that he thinks Daneel will understand. Daneel gets that sometimes it is important to look after other people; all the same, Ned has missed him. It seems too silly to say so: they'd still seen one another, but not for as long. Even he isn't clingy enough to admit that so easily.

"This is good of you," Daneel says at once, and without jealousy. "I have met Meyer, though not Charlie. He offered to teach me to play poker, but I declined. I can understand it must be difficult for him to cope, if they are friends. I am glad you are able to provide some comfort for him."

It triggers something he's been thinking of, something he's been reading of in the battered paperbacks he brought back from the library. He's been wondering how to apply this knowledge, but he seizes now upon the decision simply to ask.

"There is something I would like to ask you, Ned." And for once, he's not asking if he can ask the question; he's simply going to ask it, after announcing his attention and pausing long enough for Ned to interrupt and deny him. It's a small distinction, but an important one. "I have been researching human relationships, lately, and I have come to the conclusion that a major part of romantic relationships is the taking care of one's partner." A pause. "I don't mean to imply that this is your intention towards Meyer Lansky."

Though, truthfully, if it were, Daneel would gladly step aside.

"But it does seem that a major part of the the literature I have found consist of one party -- most typically a man -- takes care of and provides for the other party -- most typically a woman. Traditional gender roles are irrelevant in our case, of course, but the pattern remains. There is nothing I require for my own well-being, so that leaves me in the role of caretaker. At the same time, in this place I am not capable of providing for you the way is common in these books, and if I could, it would do you no good."

He is, unfortunately, very serious.

"I am concerned that my efforts will be insufficient, even if you don't believe this to be the case at present."

When Daneel starts to speak in that particular grave tone of his, Ned is momentarily worried. He is expecting a serious question - and in a way, it is. For a brief moment he thinks Daneel is jealous of Meyer, or making suppositions about their relationship that are entirely incorrect, but then Daneel corrects that notion before he can even voice it. Once he hears what this is really about, Ned laughs. He knows he shouldn't. Even if Daneel insists he doesn't have a sense of pride to be wounded, it seems cruel. All the same, he cannot help himself. He dissolves into giggles, leaning heavily against Daneel and then burying his face in Daneel's shoulder, grinning from ear to ear, shoulders shaking as he tries to get a hold of himself.

"I honestly don't even know where to start," he says, voice rich with amusement and a little breathless with laughter. He wipes the moisture from the corners of his eyes and says, "You're so sweet sometimes, you know." Daneel might not see it that way, but Ned doesn't care. He can find it sweet enough for the both of them.

"Am I right in assuming that the, the ah-" he breaks into another fit of giggles, wonders if the stress from the power going out and the last few days is fueling some of this borderline hysteria of his, "-literature you were using for your research was novels of the romance persuasion?"

When he has Daneel's confirmation, Ned shakes his head sagely, still grinning fit to split his face. "That's your problem right there. Romance novels are not, I repeat, are not meant as instruction manuals." It would seem that Daneel at least came across some rags-to-riches ones, rather than anything involving pirates or savages or misunderstood brooding men, possibly with motorcycles. He meets Daneel's eyes, flushed with laughing, asks, affectionately, "Were you researching because of me?"

Laughter is... not the response he expected. He looks at Ned evenly, rather confused. "Yes, I was. I wish for you to be happy, and I don't have the experience to ensure I am behaving appropriately for a romantic relationship."

It's simple in his mind, logical. Apparently he's wrong, too, so he's going to have to work out what he actually needs to do to accomplish what he means.

"If they are not meant to be taken as an example, then what is the purpose of them?" This is a valid question to him. Mere entertainment isn't a strange concept to him, but why should something be entertaining if it's so completely false?

Whatever his mistake is, though, at least it's somehow "sweet."

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