[Log] Tired of Sleeping (open, one closed prompt)

[henchgal]

Who: Meredith and Y'all
When: Early half of October
Where: Apartment B1, ADI Offices, a cafe in town
Summary: Meredith dealing with sleepy-song related brain-fog, getting frustrated with herself
Warnings: Minor memory loss/brain fog, may lead into discussion of self-esteem, perfectionism and disability issues.


1. The Bird on the String is Hanging (Closed, B1)
Meredith left three, almost four hours ago to go do the groceries. Any attempts to text her while she's out may lead to the discovery that she left her phone near the french press, which she failed to clean out this morning. It's not like her, really it's not.

And now she's finally back, but what she lays out on the kitchen counter are hardly really groceries. To wit: a tub of caramel popcorn, a bag of Halloween candy, one whole frozen turkey and a single box of cereal. Even she seems confused by what's sitting there before her, staring at the turkey as if it'll explain itself.


2. Clean, Quilted Heart (Open, ADI Offices)
It's slowly getting worse, the slip-ups, the moments when her mind stutters and exhaustion makes the decisions for her. Perhaps the worst incident comes on a workday, when Meredith shows up to the ADI office not only without makeup, but still in her pajamas. She looks...sloppy. It's not like her, given her usual attention to appearances, her need to be just so.

But she's torn between going home to change and just riding out the day. "Perhaps I need to just keep an emergency change of clothes here at the office."

It's a lighthearted comment, but she feels almost as bad as if she'd walked out without any pants on.


3. I Wonder When I'll Be Waking (Open, Cafe in Town)
Coffee solves a lot of ills, right? Meredith's at a cafe out in town, trying to deal with her exhaustion in the way that tastes best. But she's been staring blearily at the menu, holding up the line for several minutes. Perhaps she might need a rescue or someone to just say 'a coffee, please' on her behalf, because between the frappe-machi-mocha-cinos, she's totally lost the plot.


X. I Just Can't Hear What He's Saying (Wildcard)
Please hit me at darkersolstice or darkersolstice#9463 to discuss, but all wildcards are welcome!

Comments

[ployboy]

The bird goes in the fridge.

Triumphant, Tim smirks and hops on the counter, evidently still working on those silly things called Manners. He swings his legs once, and then his phone's in his hand. "I'll cover it. It's fine. I'll text Malcolm for his order."

The smirk is gone, but there's something quiet and pensive and not unkind about him. "You're not usually so open about..." Her worries? Self perception? Utter lack of self esteem?

And then, because he is who he is and because they are where they are:

"Tell me I'm wearing a blue shirt."

It's some ugly mustard yellow colored thing draped over his bones.

[henchgal]

"Your shirt is blue, your hair looks good all mussed up like that and your taste in music is fantastic. It's not that I'm incapable of lying, I'm just not up to masking. I even went into the office earlier this week without makeup."

Beat.

"And in my pajamas. It was bad, I forgot to get dressed."

[ployboy]

Wow, point taken. Tim runs a self-conscious hand through his hair. It catches in a snare at the base of his neck. Okay, point very well taken.

"Not everyone is cut out for masking up."

He swears there's a reason he latched onto that, of all things. Tim lays his phone down. Pins Meredith Idlewild with a concerned apprehension.

"Sooner or later, something's going to give," he informs. "Maybe that's all that happened. You can regroup."

[henchgal]

See, even on her bad days, Meredith knows the difference between masking and masking up, and as she catches the latter from Tim, there's an almost curious expression that crosses her face.

But she doesn't say anything about that. Just...lets him know she heard that with her expression, and responds to the rest of the words. "What if I'm too tired to regroup?"

[ployboy]

Oh.

Oh.

Belatedly, he catches his mistake. God bless Meredith for her very generous out, which Tim can't pin as being conscious or just good(?) timing. Is there ever a good time to feel so wrung dry?

He taps his a socked heel against the wood of the cabinet. "Then you ask for help," he offers. "Take a break. It's easier said than done. But it's... necessary. Everything is a team effort. Everything."

[henchgal]

"But Tim, if I ask for help, people will see me as a burden." Her tone makes it a joke, because if it's a joke then he won't look deeper into it seriously, right? Riiiight?

[ployboy]

Jesus Christ, Meredith.

Tim smiles, understanding sparkling behind his eyes and there's the silent reproach of Jesus Christ, Meredith on the tip of his tongue. Self-deprecating humor. It's an art. Tim's no artiste.

"Is that what you think? Because I can get a sword fitted to your cane. You can stab anyone who makes you feel that way."

[henchgal]

"Careful, I'd kind of love it if you did that. Did you know Winter's been teaching me to use the cane for self-defense?"

But she sees through that smile, and she ducks her head.

"My boss back home is an asshole. The asshole. The king of assholes."

[ployboy]

He... did not know that. It's the grogginess in the air, but Tim frowns. And explains, "I can fight with a staff. There's modifications I can make. An actual hidden sword might be too unwieldy. But we'll figure it out."

Just one more thing to his to-do list.

And it gives some welcome pause before he ventures, "I take it you don't have much of a choice in whether or not you work with him."

[henchgal]

She gives a wibbly-hand gesture and a tiny shrug.

"It's complicated. I know more about him than he'd like to be out of his control. Besides, the company actually has pretty decent health insurance, and I need that."

[ployboy]

Like he said, not much of a choice. Unless: "Say you could find the same benefits, pay, position, all of it-- with anyone else. Would you take it or stay?"

Unless she's hooked on that not-quite-blackmail she hinted at.

[henchgal]

"Would that someone genuinely be able and willing to protect me? If so, why? What benefit do they get from having me?"

She's not hooked on the blackmail, she's just utterly out for her self-preservation, whatever that means.

[ployboy]

There's no way for him to answer her questions, and not because he can't deliver stream after stream of platitudes. He can guess at people's actions, he's made himself a master of that, if only to save his own skin. The intentions behind those actions, though-- that's tricky. And maybe something to someday unravel to some therapist who's in over their heads.

It's Detective 101, as taught by the Dark Knight:

Who benefits?

"If Bel-- if your boss is such an asshole, then what is so special that makes you stay?"

They've covered hours and pay and a robust health insurance.

"What is he protecting you from? Or what are you protecting him from? What's the angle you're approaching that whole relationship from?"

[henchgal]

She purses her lips. Inhales through her nose, watching him for a moment.

"You're a vigilante, right? Not sure if you consider yourself a sidekick or a hero, but you're a masked crime fighter. One of the good guys. Right?"

Because if she deflects hard enough, maybe he'll stop pushing and just leave her alone.

[ployboy]

Bingo.

Sucks to be the one explicitly called out first, but Tim figures an even playing field is what she had promised before, anyway.

He... nods.

It feels like a betrayal.

(To who?)

"If anyone else asks, I'm just some wayward Sherlock Holmes enthusiast," he drawls. And it's really hard, you know, so he hopes she doesn't mind it too much, his guard wanting to flare. Tim reels it in and keeps the new wariness as lowkey as he can: he searches her, her hands, if there's any twitch to indicate a pressed trigger. Searches the trail from the apartment door to the kitchen where they're conversing, to see if anything is too out-of-place. But it's just them. Same as always.

"I want to help people. So I do. I... want to know how I can help you, and I need to understand you better to be able to do that."

--and he smirks, crooked and shy, and adds, "Not that you don't kick ass without the help. But there's a puzzle piece I'm missing. It's driving me crazy."

[henchgal]

Well, at least he didn't try to hide it. She relaxes slightly, and decides not to draw this out longer, harder, because she believes him when he says he wants to help.

"My boss is the Dastard. He knows that I know--he rescued me once from a hero type who kidnapped me to inform me about his secret identity. But I'd figured it out before that. It's not hard, when you're always covering for someone when a supervillain is active. I don't help him with his schemes, beyond making excuses for why he isn't in the office and being the best damned personal assistant I can be for his business."

It's strange, she's almost afraid that will be enough to make him pull away, enough to make him hate her. When did she become the sort of person who cared what a teenager would think about her?

[ployboy]

Dastard, Tim muses, is so on-the-nose he finds it hard to stay straight faced. But he does, because he understands just how serious this is. For the both of them. But that hero type is beyond irresponsible, and Tim can't hold back the small noise of protest.

Endangering civilians and making a big reveal of a secret identity for... recognition? Glory? So Meredith's old boss was that Super-guy. Her new one--

"There's someone... a few someones, like that in my world."

Parallels, right?

"But Luthor won't even try to hide who he is, he likes the worship too much."

He tap-tap-taps his heel against the wood of the counter. It complicates a lot, to have a threat over her head. Or so he'd assume.

"Your boss... rescues you. You now work for him. He trusts you enough to pin some... pretty heavy responsibilities on you. Are you scared he'll hurt you, if you just... walk away?"

[henchgal]

"I'm more worried about being killed than being hurt. I'm very used to hurting, Tim." It's blunt, but if she's going to be honest, it's time to be honest.

She lets out a big old heavy sigh.

"Does any of that matter while we're here? And if I vanish back home at some point, you're not going to be able to help."

[ployboy]

Heard.

Tim nods. "Of course it matters. Whatever he's made you believe, fear-- it's affecting you here, too. You're not a burden. You'll never be one. Not to anyone or to any mission that should matter to you."

Because god forbid he be the one to believe everyone could link hands, and then achieve world peace. But he is good at... curating, y'know? Sometimes.

He's frowning. But he's mostly always, nowadays. "And if you vanish back home, you shouldn't think that... you can't... rescue yourself. Easier said than done, right? But I'd bet on you."

It's like some swirling, anxious pull that always makes him blab when it's-- genuine stuff, like this. Tim scratches idly at the crook of his elbow. He never knows how honesty... works. "I'll do better. We'll figure it out, remember?"

[henchgal]

"Together? We'll figure it out together?" See, for her, having someone who she finally trusts enough to admit everything to? That's so important, she can't even explain it. She's been desperate to not be alone with her secrets.

[ployboy]

"Team effort," he repeats, if only to be painfully adolescent A.K.A. a bit of an ass. But it's good natured, and even his level gaze is soft.

If she voiced it, he'd get it. The secrecy? How it takes and takes and takes? But all he can do is assume he understands. Tim wonders if she'd be the touchy-feely kind. Alas. Any heartfelt hug is put on hold. "I'm not Batman. I have friends. You're one of them, and you're not going to be alone through this. Not if you don't want to be."