thisavrou_log | christmas ain't the time for breaking each other's heart.

Entry tags:

christmas ain't the time for breaking each other's heart.

Who: Ronan Lynch & OPEN
When: December
Where: The Midway Hub
What: Rare encounters with Ronan Lynch.
Warnings: Spoilers, excessive swearing, religious references, violence, sex...

week one - a wasteland oasis

[It's near the end of the first week that Ronan creates a garden.

Granted, it's a small one. He's wary of spending too much energy at once, and he remembers Andyr's advice about avoiding the attention of the others, lest they get the idea that a Greywaren would be a fun pet to keep locked in a cage, generating resources as necessary. He dreams the garden in the middle of the night, sneaking off to the edge of camp like he's going to take a piss. He picks a spot half-enclosed by boulders, and when he wakes, a stream of fresh water flows from the rocks and the area immediately around Ronan has sprouted bushes and trees bearing ripe fruit and berries.

He's still there after the camp's awoken, sitting with his back to one of the boulders, enjoying a breakfast of apples and blackberries. After days of eating nothing but junk food with Kavinsky, the fruit tastes heavenly. Or it might simply be that dreamt fruit is more delicious than anything mundane. Chainsaw keeps him company, the raven circling overhead and occasionally swooping down to steal a berry from Ronan, which earns her a cranky chiding from him.]

week two - a dead luxury car

[By the beginning of the second week, Ronan has acquired his BMW.

Recreated it, rather. Somewhat disastrously, in terms of the dreaming experience, but the resulting car nearly perfect. Most of the alterations are on purpose: wheels equipped to handle rough terrain, a bulletproof exterior that somehow weighs not a pound more than the original, a gas tank that refills itself... The only problem is that it seems to have inherited the Pig's finicky nature (which Ronan privately attributes to his longing to be reunited with his best friend, Gansey).

Ronan is a spectacular street racer, but he's never been much of a mechanic. When the BMW refuses to start, he's left to puzzle over the problem without anyone he can call for help. After about an hour of opening the hood, finding nothing, slamming the hood, and doing it all over again, Ronan takes a break. He climbs up onto the top of the thing and lays out across it, his long body draped from roof to nose. If he could, he'd be dreaming up an improved version of the sports car. But that ability's been stolen away from him, and he feels helpless in every way. It's infuriating.]

week three - a disabled weapon

[During the third week, being human becomes unbearable.

Ronan didn't think he would miss magic this much. Back home, his connection to the ley line was mostly only evident in his sleep. He never experienced Adam's waking visions or the whispering of spirits or the thrumming of energy in his veins. If anyone asked him, he would have said he felt like any other boy.

Removed from his magic, however, Ronan quickly realizes the extent to which he is no ordinary boy. He isn't even Kavinsky, who's struggling with being severed from his dreams in his own self-destructive way. Kavinsky is only a dream thief. Ronan is more than that, and he feels the difference more acutely with each passing day. It isn't simply that he can't dream. Something is fundamentally wrong with his body. It's like there's an itch he can't scratch on his brain, or like a piece of his heart has been numbed, or like his blood is flowing in the opposite direction. An endless, nameless discomfort which is the suppression of his dream half. To look at him, he might seem vaguely ill, or depressed, or faded like some of the color's gone out of him - which is worrisome, because he didn't have much to begin with.

When it's discovered that the water in the caves restores power, Ronan is one of the first to drink. He practically dives for it, on his knees and lapping it up with his hands. He looks desperate, as if he's been dying of thirst.]

week four - a very bad christmas

[By the fourth week, Ronan doesn't feel much like partying.

Being anywhere near the crowd is only getting him angry, so Ronan retreats to some private crevice around the bend of the cave. He's close enough that he can still hear the murmured voices and soft music echoing from the party, but he hopes he's far enough to go undisturbed by revelers.

Supposedly it's Christmas. Or something near that. If he was home, he'd be at the Barns with Declan and Matthew. They'd be having Yorkshire pudding and decorating a tree they cut down themselves. It would be his first Christmas with Adam and Orphan Girl, too, and she'd probably be eating tinsel or wrapping paper while he and Adam took turns chasing her away from the gifts. It would be snowing in the mountains, but they'd have a fire roaring in the hearth.

In the cave, Ronan kneels upon the cold stone and makes the sign of the cross. He clasps his hands and presses them to his forehead, bowed in supplication. He whispers to God:]

De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine:
Domine, exaudi vocem meam.
Fiant aures tuae intendentes
in vocem deprecationis meae.
Si iniquitates observaveris, Domine:
Domine, quis sustinebit?
Quia apud te propitiatio est...

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[Ah.]

[Somehow, Elizabeth's look grows a touch colder despite her smile growing at least half an inch.]

You don't think I look like a mechanic.

[It's not a question. It's been a while since someone has underestimated her, but Booker had been right-- they always do it. Even out in the far reaches of space on a planet she's never heard of, someone doesn't think she's capable.]

Get off the hood.

[In all fairness, Ronan finds very few people capable by his standards. But if she's claiming to be a mechanic, he doesn't particularly doubt that she is. With a shrug, he slides off the hood and onto his feet.]

Have at her.

[Elizabeth watches, still a little irate and determined, as he slides off the hood. She walks around the back of the car, steps very pointed, opens the drivers' side door and starts searching for the latch release. She's never seen this particular car, but an engine is an engine. Once she gets the hood open, she'll know what she's doing-- and no, she's not going to ask him where it is.]

What noise does it make when you try to start it?

None. It doesn't even click or choke or anything. It's just silent.

[When she opens the hood, she may notice something Ronan did not: This is not the engine of a 1990 BMW M3 Sport Evolution. It is the engine of a 1973 Chevrolet Camaro. Even if the details are lost on her, the age discrepancy should be apparent. It's quite corroded.]

None? [Elizabeth frowns as she pulls the latch and crawls out from under the wheel. How could it start sometimes and just be completely dead others?]

[She comes around to the front of the car and pops the hood. She doesn't even get far enough to prop it open, she sees immediately what's happening. It's like a round peg in a square hole, corrosion aside.]

[Elizabeth narrows her eyes and looks sideways at him.] Are you messing with me right now?

[She's met with honest confusion:]

What?

This car shouldn't run period. At all. Ever.

Look at this-- [She points around the conspicuous empty spaces between the engine and the rest of the parts.] This engine doesn't belong in this car. What did you do? Just try to connect a few hoses and hope for the best?

[Ronan leans over, peering down at the engine with eyebrows slightly raised. Huh. Yeah, if he thinks about it, there's something off about the way the engine looks. But since he's never been in the habit of checking under the hood of any car, he can't say whether those gaps are normal or not. Poor people exist to do that sort of work.]

I didn't connect anything to anything. It just came that way.

[And thank God poor people did, because God forbid the rich couldn't start their own cars. Elizabeth pulls a pin from her hair and starts opening up the engine casing, casting another disparaging look back at him before she starts working.]

So you salvaged this two ton paperweight?

That's one way to put it.

[Ronan leans up against the side of the car to watch her work, because he's got nothing better to do.]

Did you steal a two ton paperweight? Not a terribly smart heist, in my opinion. Unless you want to scrap this for parts.

Here, hold these-- [She holds out one of the screws for him to take.] Not that if you dropped it you'd have a bigger problem than you already do.

[He holds the screws in his palm, a mischievous little smile playing on his lips as he fails to confirm or deny whether any thievery was involved.]

It does run sometimes.

[Alright, fine, the mystery of where he got a car with a Frankensteined engine will continue on. Elizabeth knows when a question is being dodged ~~maybe because she's an expert at it at this point~~. She's just curious about what the engine looks like under the casing at this point, because the outside looks like hell.]

Bullshit. [Have another screw!] You can't just swap out engines like shoe laces, you'll destroy the surrounding parts even if you managed to make it fit. Which apparently some bozo managed to do before this wonderchild of a vehicle just happened to fall into your possession.

[Ronan looks increasingly delighted by her disbelief over the entire situation. The prankster in him loves watching humans try to figure out how dreams work, as if logic should hold any power over them.]

I wouldn't worry about the surrounding parts, as long as the engine's purring.

[It will at least be as functional as Gansey's Camaro. That is, as functional as an ancient, slightly rusted beast of an engine can get.]

[~~Not sure if fucking with her or actually trying to be helpful...~~]

[Elizabeth is very skeptical of his mood-- he almost looks like he's enjoying watching her struggle with this, instead of hoping she actually fixes it. She can't say she's a fan of being hustled like this.]

You are most certainly not a mechanic, are you Mr. Wisenheimer? [She hands him another screw and lifts off one of the piston covers.] Usually these things only work without catching fire when all of the parts are working together, not in spite of one another.

I know how it usually works.

[To... some degree.]

But this one will run fine. As long as the engine starts. The engine's the only problem.

[Because that's the Pig's problem, and not the BMW's, and it'll work because Ronan says so. Because it worked in the dream, so well that Ronan hadn't even noticed his loneliness crept into the car's design.]

[Now Elizabeth is looking at him as though he's legitimately crazy.] If you know how it usually works, then why am I taking apart your engine with a lock pick?

[She holds out the casing and points to the pistons and chambers with the pin/pick that came out of her hair.] This is rusted to hell and back. Unless you have a way of de-oxidizing all of this and oiling it up again, this is not going to start. Even if it was in the right car.

[Ronan looks at what she's showing him, but it means as little to him as anything else about the engine. He's a magician, damn it, not a mechanic.]

It ran just fine before.

[Yeah, he's going to keep saying that. But the Pig always managed to get going again. This engine ought to do just the same.]

Well-- then I'd say this planet is oxidizing just your engine at an extremely rapid rate. That's the only explanation I can offer.

[She takes back the engine cover and replaces it, then reaches for one of the screws so she can start replacing it.] There's no point in me trying to fix this. You can tell me it ran just fine until you're blue in the face, but I can't reverse this kind of corrosion.

[At least, not while they're still inside this dampening field.]

[Ronan sighs and hands the screws over before pounding a fist down onto the roof of the car. Not violently, but with a good amount of force behind his dejection.]

You piece of shit. Hope you're ready to fry.

[He's talking to the car, not to her. Ronan's not in the habit of setting random women on fire.]

[Well that's a relief.]

[Though it doesn't stop Elizabeth from staring at him uneasily as he takes out his temper on the car. Seems overkill for a car he's salvaged or stolen or whatever.]

Hey, listen-- put it in a packdisc, once were out of this dampening field... I'll take another look at it. Maybe I can do something then.

It chose its destiny. Now it's going to burn.

[But he flashes a shark smile at Elizabeth, like he finds the whole thing more amusing than genuinely distressing. No loss to him.]

Thanks for the help, lady.

[...this is a very odd young man, and Elizabeth really has no idea how to read this situation: boy needs help with car, insists certainly-nonfunctional-car can run, girl pronounces car dead, boy takes joy in torching the thing.]

[There's probably something she's missing here but God knows if she wants to know.]

[~~She does but she's getting this niggling feeling from the shark smile.~~]

Oh you're so hard on it-- don't you think it deserves a second chance to be better? We all make mistakes. [She smirks as she keeps on replacing the screws.] It's Elizabeth.

Ronan.

[As long as they're doing the introduction thing. He's still lounging against the side of the car, watching her replace all the parts, looking relatively creepy as he always does.]

I don't think she's done anything to earn a second chance. I bet there's something better around here somewhere.

[It's true, he is a little unnerving. Rough-Around-the-Edges Elizabeth can handle. Outright Grouchy she's great with. But she looks at Ronan watching her and she almost sees... Atlas. Quick with a joke and an order to put a bullet in her.]

You know, throw away too many of these and you'll get a reputation. People talk on this crew-- 'Hey, did you hear about that Ronan? Taking up with any old car then leaving her high and dry, what a rapscallion!'

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