LOG: don't forget the popcorn (CLOSED)

[ployboy]

Who: Malcolm, Meredith, Tim
When: 2 September, night
Where: Apartment B1
Summary: The gang watches Pyre's act in slow-mo, full HD. You know, for science.
Warnings: Immolation/discussion of, discussion of drugs, discussion of death, referenced child death, some graphic descriptions of burning (to be updated)

At this point, it's been about a week since he rested. Honestly, actually rested. The old memories had come back to haunt his sleep the first days the circus was in town; he'd broken a little clay pot that had done nothing to him but get in his way one midnight after a bad dream. He was still ashamed about that, still kind of brusquely ducked his head around the others when they occupied the same space. But he'd been running on fumes then, even fully skipping coming back to roost after a promising night... out.

Anyway.

Tim had told them the hype: the fame of the circus for its dangerous acts. He had all but read them all of the reviews of the Fenix Down Extravaganza. And...

The final act hadn't disappointed.

Tim's stomach had twisted uncomfortably. He had seen the other two in the crowd. He had skipped out of the tent, nearly fleeing, as soon as the lights came back on under the big top.

And now it was Dark O'clock again in apartment B1 and Tim hadn't said much of anything-- he'd been busy hauling a secondhand (but operational) computer tower and monitor to the common area. That's where the good TV is. And that's where he's hooking those cables up to, phone up and resting on the coffee table, a good looking thumb drive next to it.

He's tired, but duty calls. And, Tim comes to the conclusion with a short-lived pang of dread, he has company tonight.

God, he's sorry.

"Neither of you are squeamish, right?" He tries, navigating clicks to synchronize screens.

"If you... are, then you might not want to leave your room until I give the green light." --a beat-- "I caught it on video."

Comments

[henchgal]

Meredith is sitting on the couch, wrapped around a huge purple teddy bear, dressed in a tutu. She doesn't move to stand, but does squeeze the bear a little harder.

"I'm not leaving you two to watch it alone."

Which isn't the same as 'no, I'm not squeamish', but please ignore that.

"The show reminded me of the Torch Singer, back home. Supervillain, pyromantic sort of powers. No one's certain if she needs to sing to use them, or if it's all just for show."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm’s been off to the side watching Tim set up and once he asks the question, he understands.

Ah, that’s what this is.

“No, I’m not squeamish.” He moves properly into the room, sitting beside Meredith. “Dead bodies are kind of my life’s work. And we know that somehow this one doesn’t die.”

[ployboy]

Did Torch Singer need to douse herself in gasoline first? Tim doesn't really pause or turn to Meredith but damn, you know, he wishes she'd confirm that she can handle what's to come because

"We know Pyre doesn't die?"

It would be a sneer, but-- you don't know what you don't know. "Or do we just know he comes back?" Tim gets the screens in sync, get the thumb drive into the computer to cue up... a god-awful folder full of cleaned still frames of the Fenix Down Extravaganza's final act.

The computer is janky, in the way a quarter-million dollar supercar is janky when compared to the Batmobile.

"ADI knew what was going to happen here. I want to know if they let hundreds of spectators become exposed to the magic they warn us so much about. Or if we've been had by the great Mister Fenix."

Shocking no-one, shouting enhance! at already recorded film does nothing to make it gain quality. Tim somehow got himself a second-to-front row experience but the stills are good. Not great. Good.

On the screens, Pyre begins to walk in. A nervous, frightened man.

"I cut away the sound. We don't need to worry about ADI right now either. I don't... think the room is bugged."

[henchgal]

"I'm not sure ADI knew exactly what was going to happen, or...what was the point of sending us in to investigate? They needed something from us. They expect us to be able to figure out or see or understand something. Maybe they're relying more on those with experience from other worlds. Maybe."

Her gaze moves from Tim to the screen, expression flattening as she braces herself for the full picture.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm leans closer, peering at the image.

"You think maybe they use magic to bring him back to life? And maybe to subdue the pain that immolation would cause? Burning is one of the most painful ways to die."

[ployboy]

"Magic, Lazarus waters, something else entirely," he lists off with a... bit back yawn, which is honestly just inconvenient. It means he has to pause before clicking up some pen feature on the program. And then the feed continues, slowed but not exactly one frame at a time. Yet.

"He doesn't look like he's on something before walking out on stage?"

Guess they're doing this.

"Club drugs will give him the high but what cocktail do you feed a guy that's about to burn in front of a live audience? Or maybe he's reached nirvana. Meredith, how does the Torch Singer do it?"

Sorry, didn't realize it was my turn

[henchgal]

"He looks sweaty, though. Like, you can just see how shiny he is, even here. He seems pretty nervous, I think--not what I'd expect Nirvana to look like."

She points at the screen, then sits back. "The Torch Singer has magic. Like, she makes fire respond to her voice, as the name would suggest. So...like some sort of musical variant on pyromantic bullshit? Belcora says she--uh, nevermind."

Right, we're not revealing to our roommates that our boss is on close enough terms to know how the Torch Singer feels after a big heist or attack.

[abrightboy]

"Ecstasy causes heightened emotions, profuse sweating and an elimination or - at least - reduction of the sensation of pain," Malcolm tells them. "He looks like a man riding a serotonin high to me."

[ployboy]

Belcora is a name to remember for later, though Tim shifts just enough to pin Meredith with a look teetering between obviously sly and drily amused. He wonders if he should name drop Jeff, but the childish impulse is quickly smothered and he returns to his careful neutrality.

If it's not related to Pyre, it can wait.

"I couldn't stick around after the act," he says and the jerk even sounds remorseful. "They were allowing meet and greets with him. Did he even still smell like gasoline afterwards?"

That's where the flick is now, the sprays of gasoline.

They can all agree it was gasoline. Right? Tim can swear he still has that smell in his mind.

[henchgal]

Meredith catches that look from Tim, her lips tightening into something that's definitely not a smile. She almost looks scared, definitely not inviting Tim to ask those questions.

"I didn't do any of the meet-and-greets, so I wouldn't know. I just...wanted to get out as soon as possible."

[abrightboy]

"There aren't many substances that smell like gasoline, but it doesn't take much of it to produce the telltale odour and it didn't have to be coming from him," Malcolm muses. "There are ways it could have been real and used this... revival magic you're talking about, but there are also ways it could have been staged using technology that's been around for decades. Illusions, misdirection."

[ployboy]

"Sometimes you gotta swipe the golden idol," Tim chimes, not-- entertained by the idea of a quick swap of bodies under smoke and mirrors. A trade of a charred body for a fresh one. But he's not as disturbed by the notion as he figured. Maybe it would be a relief to learn the dead stay dead in this world.

(It should be a larger relief to learn Pyre never dies at all.)

I will be reborn and rise as the phoenix!

...is what would be heard through the speakers but. Y'know. Silence. It was all horrified screams from here on out. The man lights the match, the video flashes red with the burst of flames.

Tim flinches, and pauses. Because Meredith had wanted to get out as soon as possible from the show and, as far as he's aware, she's a civilian. He addresses her again, numb and dull, "I'm going to slow the video starting here. I want to see what burns, and if he should have died. You don't have to stay here."

[henchgal]

"I know I don't have to. I'm going to anyway. Yes, it's going to be hard, but I'm not leaving you two to watch this alone." The tone of her voice is mildly defiant. The difference here is...well, these are her boys.

Besides, she might have some insight to bring to the table, based on her experiences.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm’s attention is on the screen but he gives her a sidelong glance.

“Why do I feel like you’re more concerned about what we might do with the information than us viewing the not suitable for children content?”

[ployboy]

"If we learn it," he adds, ignoring the remark on children and supervision, feeling resolve swell at Meredith's stupid, stubborn solidarity, "we don't fear it. If we don't fear it, we don't feed the monsters."

So what's Malcolm's angle, he wonders.

Surprising himself, he figures he can ask later and expect a straight answer. Malcom-- was a straightforward guy. Tim sighs. It's half of a yawn. It's whatever, and something else for that mythical time of Later.

The feed advances. The screen plays the beginning of a man burning to death. The more flammable the material, the sooner it's gone. Even slowed, there's only a fraction of time before the man on screen begins to, well-- melt.

Usually, Tim would give himself that second to recoil, to sort through the horror and revulsion. Usually.

"Ever see anything like this before, Malcolm? It's all looking in order to me."

[henchgal]

Meredith stares silently at the screen. There's a part of her in the back of her mind that notes that it's weird that she can just sit there and watch this. Another part notes that she's probably hurting herself in the long run, stowing away her feelings like this isn't healthy.

And the main part is actually doing the watching, staring at the man on fire. She's quiet, but not because she's in shock. She's trying to catch all the details, to prove she's useful, here.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm spends all his time fighting monsters, endeavouring not to become one and looking into the abyss, as it were. His angle is protecting the vulnerable from those that would prey on them.

He’s not sure, yet, where this fits into that paradigm.

“I’ve seen burned bodies,” Malcolm replies. “The immolation of the flesh is realistic,” he tells them. “Humans are a bunch of moist hydrocarbons. Hydrocarbons burn. It’s the moisture that gives it that ‘melting’ effect,” he explains clinically, gesturing to the screen.

Oops cw referenced child deaths and getting a little graphic on burning bodies

[ployboy]

So that's where the bubbling under the skin comes from, and the rupturing of blisters. Tim nods absently, pretty sure he's heard those words before, same cadence and everything. Some zooming in, to crop out scenery and strobing lights, and Tim can make out what he's pretty sure are sheets of skin. Peeling, falling, charring. "I've seen a person burn up and personal before," he confesses.

Almost immediately, he feels like his throat's closed up, like his tongue's too heavy in his mouth, like he can feel the lick of flames against his scalp and the revolting itch of-- he runs his fingers through his hair, limp and lifeless from a long day. He can't keep it at bay, the idea that maybe this is how Hillary and Matthew Armstrong died.

Maybe some shrapnel got to them first.

Who the hell brought kids to an active

but they still died, still burned in that car.

So, no, Robin never saw someone burn, not up and personal before. Not --he'd seen a lot of burned bodies, a lot of melted bodies. He's not Robin anymore so... it tracks.

Sometimes people even rupture.

He clicks steadily through the frames, hardly pausing, a new rush of intent driving him.

"We agree he wouldn't survive this much longer, right?"

[henchgal]

"With most fires, it's smoke inhalation that kills, not actually being burned. There's not as much smoke from his clothing, but by this point the level of burns he's sustained...yes, he'd probably be dead."

Her voice is quiet, and she's curled in around her plushie like a self-protective hedgehog..

"There's some distortion on a few of the frames. You see it, right?"

[abrightboy]

“The severity if the burns to his face and head and probably internal burning in his lungs should be fatal. Would magic cause distortions in the picture?” Malcolm asks.