.~{:-:[ The Final E's Log ]:--------—:}~.
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Doug has given his testimony to the police about what happened. Honestly, being Young White and near 21 has its privileges; whatever happened here, the cops buy that these two were just trying to help. No mention is made of the M-Word.
So after they've carted those guys off, Doug is in another part of the cemetery, sitting on a gravestone. The blood on his shirt has dried and gone sticky, and he looks tired, his eyes faintly sunken. "Urk. Long night."
*
"Ya darn right about that. Aint exactly what I was expectin'. I thought that e'ryone 'round here would be nice and quiet." Sam chuckles at the little…dead people humor. "So…what was all the…latin and so on?"
*
"Oh. Well I was just yelling at him, that's all. He said 'to live is to fight' and I told him… well," Doug wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, "I told him… um. Well, 'From an angry man', which means basically… Says you, and then I gave him an old line about how war is seductive and uses men up, and then I told him no man should be the judge of his own cause. And then 'bovis stercus' is… ah, literally translated, 'Bullshit'. Nobody spouts platitudes at ME in Latin and expects to win that game." He looks up at Sam, and says, his eyes open in the dark despite how tired he looks, "So. Third time being the charm and all… what's on your mind?"
*
Sam takes a few loping steps and then leans against the gravestone that Doug is up on, resting both arms on it, then his chin as he looks up at Douglas. "Oh…well. I was gone cuz I got arrested. Its fine. I dint kill no one or do anything too bad. Just…wrong place, wrong time…havin' a little too much fun." He smiles.
*
Doug is quiet for a moment. Finally, he says, "Sam, I'm disappointed." He leans back, and then says, "Disappointed that I wasn't there to land in jail right next to you. At least then you would've had somebody to talk to." He cants his eyes down, and grins. "Hey man… I had to flee Italy in the dead of night because I got too friendly with the wrong man's daughter. I'll tell you about it, sometime… but this girl…" He whistles, slowly. "I knew she was a mobster's daughter. I just didn't *care*."
*
"I spose you fit right in, huh, flappin' yer tongue in Eye-talian? So…no trips for you, /noted/." Sam chuckles. "I was too embarassed to call my Ma, so…I just did the time and…it was fine. Here I am again. And Jay's gettin' there. He's just sore that I left. But…I dint leave on purpose." He threaded his fingers through his hair and then turned around to lean his back against the stone.
*
Doug tilts his head, and then he moves to rest his hand on Sam's shoulder. "You always expected perfection out of yourself, Sam. Always upright, never buckling, never making a *mistake*. But life is mistakes, you know? It's messy…" He rolls his eyes. "Actually she preferred it when I spoke German to her. She loved, loved, loved skiing in Tyrol… but that's not the point. "You got arrested. I care that it bothers you, but it doesn't make me think any less of you that you spent a few months in the cooler. And I think outside of expressing his frustration, Jay will be quick to forgive you." He lets out a sigh. "I ran away. When I went to Europe. I ran away from all of it, from everything. You and Bobby and Illyana and Wolfsbane and the school and my parents… all of it. It was cowardly… I'm a coward." He sighs. "I told myself 'I won't be missed.'"
*
"You were, though. I know you don't always think you have the…best team power, but…heck, I can't recall any time when ya weren't pullin' yer weight, if that's what that was about. Man…sounds like it got kinda serious with that gal, though. Good boobs? I'm…assuming you got some. Do you ever talk to her about it?" Sam asks curiously. Look, gentlemanly behavior is only valid when there's a lady AROUND.
*
Doug tilts his eyebrows, and then he laughs. "Sam, it was like… you know that feeling when you first put your lips on a perfectly ripe plum, before you bite into it? The anticipation of taste, and juice? Like that." He's still laughing…and then he falls off the tombstone. "Oof!" Then he says, "No. Her father's not going to have me whacked but if he found out I was still talking to his only daughter he might change his mind. It wasn't serious. At least, I wasn't." He rests his elbows on his knees. "How about you? Has a woman finally captured the heart of the Cumberland County Barn-Bang Champion?"
*
"Nah." Sam answers with a smile, looking down at the fallen Doug with some bemusement. He shakes his head a little. "Its a bit hard ta see you as a player. I kinda always thought…well, that doesn't matter. Obviously, I was wrong." He stretches out his head and eyes the fellow blond. "So…how many girls you seeing at the school?"
*
Doug looks up, a small grin on his face. "Always saw me as a *what*, Sam?" He wraps his arms around his knees, and says, "None. In Europe, by myself, I was a player. Here, I'm back to being everybody's cute friend but entirely undateable. And I guess… I'm okay with that." He snorts. "No choice BUT to be okay with it, really, if you actually love people, right?"
*
Cannonball leans over and reaches out his hand to ruffle Doug's hair. "Hey, ya just need a pair a boots, ya know. They'll start seein the real /smooth you/, if you strut around in a pair a boots." Sounds about right for country logic. "Dun matter…just thought maybe ya were a little /light/ in yer shoes, so to speak." He winks and grins crookedly.
*
Doug tilts his head, and then he rests his hand on his forehead. "You thought I was—" He laughs, helplessly. "Would you believe me if I told you you're only half-wrong?" He has one eye exposed, looking upward as he talks to Sam. "Is it because of the poetry? Really… the way my power works, I can read a lot into people. I pick up on the unspoken… the beautiful and the bad. But I've met so many *remarkable* people…" He leans his back against the tombstone. "And well, I had my eyes opened wide as to what or who precisely qualifies as a *person*, which will make more sense to you soon enough. So… I'm not sure how much gender means to me at all, anymore. It's not a popular opinion. Of all the people I've shared it with… you're the first."
*
He mumbles, half-to himself, "Imagine me going to my Mormon parents and saying 'Mom, dad, my sexual preferences are progressive post-gender.' They'd have to sit and figure out what I was talking about before they disowned me!" And THAT thought makes Doug laugh, aloud.
*
"Yeah…I don't know what that means, other than, it sounds like ya like pretty well everything. The Lord has things ta say about it, but…hey, I been your friend e'en while thinkin' it, so, I obviously dun care too much. We got…people with blue fur 'n people with insect faces and so on. I'm not so sure some o' the students even /have/ a gender anymore." Sam rationalizes, in…a fairly supportive manner. "And yeah, I spose you didn't wanna mention to that mafia guy that you also liked his tall-dark-and-handsome son, eh?" Sam slides down beside him and pats his shoulder.
*
Doug tilts his head at Sam, and then he drops his arm around Sam's shoulder, and says, "I believe in God, but I'm not really sure what he has to say about anything anymore, Sam, except that we should live, and trust our instincts, and mine say 'be good to each other, and cleave to the people who love you.' He shrugs his shoulders, and then he leans into the bigger man. He's tired. "His son was fat and hairy, with terrible breath. Not the sort of guy I'd be into." He pauses. "Sam? When I said 'daughter'? …I may have meant 'wife'." He chokes back a laugh. "THAT one, I thought you might think less of me."
*
"Nah, now I just think yer /lying/." Sam chuckles. "So…dating peoples' wives…menfolk…you must live one heck of a secret life, Doug. Can I just…watch all this through a telescope or somethin'? Are you writin' this stuff down, cuz…it'll be a James Bond movie soon enough. And hey!" Sam perks up and pokes a finger where Doug's shoulder meets his chest, "you discriminating against fat, hairy and bad breathed? Those people need ta get off too, ya know." he teases.
*
Doug rolls his eyes upward. "I haven't dated any men. I may be… pfaugh, call it bisexual, but the world is emphatically not. I wouldn't jump, except for a guy I trusted." He shakes his head, and shifts, and grunts, rubbing where Sam poked him. "I don't know, would YOU like up to be the little spoon with the Blob, Guthrie? Fair is fair, right?" He laughs, and hangs his head. "I just… gotta be me, Sam. Little, geeky Dougie Ramsey, with a goofy mutant power and an epitaph that'll read 'He tried!' But I… think." He taps his forehead. "And I guess, in Europe, I learned a little about what I think you always had — that selfless, brotherly kind of love, the kind where you give everything and expect nothing."
*
"Yeah…Ahm just…teasin' with ya. I get it. Just be careful being you. There's a mafia around here too, with wives, and some a them clubs, and…it aint always safe. Can't Latin yer way outta everythin'." Sam looks across the graveyard as he thinks about the rest of it. "Lovin' the world and people is a good thing. Smilin' gets ya far."
*
Doug looks ahead, for a bit and then says "I came back because I wanted to be at the school. Even if I'm just kind of *there*," He says, "I'm happiest with all of you. And I know how lucky I am. If I vanished into the crowd and never told anyone word one about my being a Mutant, I could survive, and with my power, thrive — I paid my way across Europe by working as a translator. It may not make me a superhero, but boy can it put money in the bank." He rubs his face. "But if Mutants have to fight a war for their survival, I stand… with my *family*. Forever. I may only have a little bit to give, but I lay it down willingly." Then he looks up to Sam, and says, "Let me ask you a question, Sam — who is Sam Guthrie? Who is Cannonball? I'm not saying *you* don't know… I'm just wondering… if anybody has ever bothered to stop and ask you."
*
|ROLL| Cannonball +rolls 1d20 for: 2
*
There are all kinds of languages in the world. Obscure, dead ones. Lively, passionate ones. Holy ones. Ones made up by teenager cliques and toddlers…and Doug can read all of them. But, never underestimate the one they started with a million years ago; body language. Something about Sam's body language gives away the answer. There's a whoooole lot of 'distract' going on, with his dimples and his smile and his positive attitude and his textbook leadership, his acceptance of people, and sometimes smarmy flirting. Whoever he is…it may not be that surface that people see, and because that surface is what everyone is glad to see in the first place, not many people bother to question if its true.
Sam gets really still, then eventually looks over at Doug. "Is it important? I have a good time…that's true enough. Ahm not a liar."
*
Doug looks over at Sam, and says, softly, "No, not a liar." he says. "But that just makes the question that much more important, doesn't it? I'm still trying to figure out who I am. I imagine I'll be trying to figure it out till the day I die, you know? But just because it's an ongoing revelation doesn't mean the question doesn't need to be asked. Sometimes… we take the people we lovewho they arefor granted. Someone who I've come to care about very much calls me 'wise'—so for them, I try to be. And that's where it led me, to that question. Who am I? So who are you, Sam Guthrie? Who is my friend?"
*
"Ahm a guy who likes to have a good time…and…that's about what I've got the energy to handle for my inner…self. Money goes home to mamma, keep everyone I care about safe, maybe when I'm lucky…the people I don't know yet. Drink a little less than I was that night I got arrested." Sam smiles a little wanly.
*
Doug sighs, and his arm tightens around Sam's shoulders, gently. He says, simply, "I love you, Sam. You are a part of my language. Let that mean whatever makes you feel best. Also I am covered with some guy's blood, why am I still sitting here…" He gets up, and then says, "I need a shower and something hot to drink, probably with some of that good Scotch Doctor McCoy got from Moira MacTaggert that he thinks is safely hidden with his lab on the side. Let's get the heck outta here."
*
Cannonball stands up and holds out his arm. "Cmon…no one can get ya there faster 'n I can. Somethin' I get to brag about in this context." He grins rackishly and the spell over him is broken. The charming walls are back up.
*
Doug considers this, and then he gets a sly look on his face, and he leaps into Sam's arms. He affects a *perfect* Georgia belle accent. "Why Sam Guthrie, ah DO declare, you are just a scoundrel and a mountebank!"
*
"You have no idea…" Sam says and then, its blast off. Its a pretty rapid speed-up, but his arms are up to the task of carrying Doug like a bride and, honestly, its easier to hang on to him that way. He has trouble with the macho folks that wanna cling to his side. ZOOOOOOOOM!! Its chilly, despite the roaring fire that would cook them up if they weren't also protected by the sheild, and also fairly windy. An hour and a half drive from New York, turns into a trip of only a few minutes, but boy that landing is sure coming up fast!!
*
|ROLL| Cannonball +rolls 1d20 for: 9
*
Doug laughs, at this—it's a rare thrill, and besides, despite the chill Sam's blast-field keeps off the wind shear. Still, by the end, Doug's cheeks are rosy, but his eyes are bright. "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO~" Any landing you can walk away right? So the landing is rough, and Doug wobbles a bit, before he looks up at Sam and grins. "You're getting better. Come to my suite and hang out."
That's the thing about the Mansion — people don't just have rooms, really, they have suites. Doug's has a desk and shelves packed with books packed with every imaginable topic, and a TV. He made a detour to the lab first, and he comes back with a bottle of Ben Nevis, and a couple of glasses, which he drops on the coffee table, before he… thumps each of the couch-cushions, says "Okay." And then goes in to get a shower. "Check the TV Guide, see what's on." Because that's a thing still!
*
Cannonball sits on the couch and watches as Doug heads off to get a shower. Then he mutters to himself, "Get it together, Sam. Can't be doing /nothing/ around here." He starts flipping channels and eventually grabs the guide to see what's on. ANYTHING but the news or the weather. He watches a little of a cheesy car-chase from some movie, then flips on over to bewitched with a little grin. Harmless. Perfect.
*
Doug can be heard singing strains of something to himself while he showers off—it's one of Jay's tunes. Seems like little brother has an avid fan. Then again, Doug was always big on the Mutant music scene, such as it was. Dazzler, Lila Cheney (who's probably more blues-rock in this era)… why not? A little while later, he comes back out of his room, in a pair of flannel pajama pants, and struggling into a green t-shirt. Somebody's been doing his situps. He grabs a hairbrush and tames that yellow hair, before he says, "Oh, heck! I love Bewitched!" He drops onto the couch, and pours a dram of purloined Scotch for each of them. "I'm only gonna have a little. I don't ever want to go through your sobering-up again."
*
Cannonball flicks a grin at Douglas, "Did it work? Always worked for me." He chuckles. No changing the channel now, you know, since remotes were not a thing. They'd have to /get up/ to do any channel surfing, unless the school was more up to date. "You'd think with how much people like Bewitched, they'd be calmer about mutants."
*
"It's the wall between fantasy and reality, it makes things safe, sanitary. Witches aren't real," Doug says, before he puts his feet up on the coffee table and inhales the scent of his scotch, "…Says me to you, since we both know there's a witch asleep about four rooms down." He tastes it. "Not bad." Then he huffs out a breath. "Oh, it worked. And it drove home the lesson that I am a crappy drunk." He gets insecure, and that makes him mean.
*
Cannonball takes the scotch from Doug and looks down at it. This is a bad idea, he has to tell himself. A bad idea. He kicks back half the glass with a gulp and settles the other half in his lap. "Crappy, huh? Better than getting loose or violent, I guess. Still. Silly is the best drunk."
*
Doug shrugs, and says, "It just brings out the part of me that's on shaky footing around everybody else. I admit there's always going to be that part of me that questions his place here," He takes another tiny sip, "My use, my worth. But a little bit loosens me up just like it does anyone else." He watches Endora do something zany, and grins. "I like Endora. She reminds me of Illyana — nobody tells *either* of them what to do." He looks to Sam. "Silly drunk, huh? You never had more than a couple beers back in the day. I wonder what Silly Sam is like."
*
Cannonball chuckles and gestures to himself. "That's not me. I just think that's the best. I'm the guy that comes up with terrible ideas, then does them and probably gets hurt. You know…like…shoot fireworks out of his ass or something. That's the guy I am when drunk. The idiot." He shakes his head and then reaches out to jostle Doug's shoulder. "Everyone loves you around here. Yer fine."
*
Doug gets shook, and he laughs. "I'm starting to realize that, Sam." he takes a slightly longer pull of his scotch, then sets the glass on the coffee table to get it away from him for a bit. "So I'm sorry about the deep question, earlier. I could see that it shook you a little bit. That wasn't what I wanted to do. I just… felt like you deserved to be asked. That's all." He gives a little grin. "Does that make sense?" Then he says, "…Oho, so you're the Wild Man drunk. Maybe Bobby's the Silly Drunk. We should get him back up here from Brazil and find out."
*
"Bobby is /definitely/ the silly drunk. Believe me. Definitely. Of course its not too late to loosen up and get silly, yerself." Sam finishes off his scotch and the mumbles, "This is why I like beer…'cause you can have more'n one." He slouches on the couch.
*
Doug leans back, and then says, "I've already got a reputation as a goof. But all right, I'm a scientific thinker." Doug says, "Explain to me how I loosen up and get silly, Sam." He leans into his old friend, playfully, nudging him with his shoulder. "…Wanna play chess?" That's not silly, Doug. That's the opposite of silly. Except that you've both been into the Scotch, Sam's a trained tactician and you can read the moves people are going to make before they make them… maybe it could get a little silly.
*
"Ah dun remember how to play, so I guess that COULD get pretty silly. Where's the board? I mean like…the silly ones are the ones that tell dumb jokes, and laugh way too much, and they flirt nice. Its charming. Not gross." Sam tries to explain his thesis on drunk types. "Hey…we should make a bet on the game."
*
"Okay." Doug says. He goes to a shelf and takes down a chess set - his old one. Well-worn pieces, simple cardboard board. He sets it up, quickly. "You make the first wager. If you win…" He busily puts the pawns into place, before he takes up his scotch and sips it. "It's like riding a bike, it'll come back to you."
*
|ROLL| Cannonball +rolls 1d20 for: 6
*
"If I win…you gotta tell me which /male/ teacher you'd sleep with…at this school. If you had to pick one." Sam grins mischeviously and then leans forwards on the couch to help set up the board. He seems a little confused on which block the knights and bishops take up, but everything else he seems to know.
*
|ROLL| Douglas +rolls 1d20 for: 13
*
"You sure?" Doug says. He looks down at that, and then says, "All right… hm." Doug is quiet, for a time, as he finishes setting up his side of the board. He puts his fingertip on top of the King, as he thinks. "Okay. Um…" He thinks. "If *I* win, there's this book that just came out, that I really want you to read." He gets up and goes to his shelf, and takes down a copy of Stranger in a Strange Land. It has a bookmark in it. "I won't go so far as to say it'll change your life, but I think you'll really like it. You remind me a lot of the hero in a lot of ways." He tosses it aside. "Okay. Let's play."
*
|ROLL| Douglas +rolls 1d20 for: 9
*
|ROLL| Cannonball +rolls 1d20 for: 9
*
Sam must really want to know the answer, because he manages to put up a pretty decent game. Now, if Dougy were sober, or against a really experienced player, he'd have his ass handed to him, but its a casual game, and he's trying his best, so when he manages to steal one of Doug's pieces on the board, he doesn't really even have any idea what he's done. He just knows he had to stop that piece from taking his King.
*
Doug pauses. And he looks down. "I don't believe it." He checks the board from every angle. "We're out of moves. None of the pieces left can take the other's king. How did I *not see that* coming up?" He thinks back. "If I hadn't let you take my bishop…" He shakes his head, and huffs out a breath. "It's a draw. You have to read the book. And I have to spill my guts." He clears his throat. "Um. Okay." He strokes his chin, and sits back. "You know I have *never* thought about this?" He clears his throat. "Seriously. Um." He looks up at Sam, and says, "I…" He's hedging. "Well I *have* an answer but I don't wanna say."
*
"Just tell me its not Scott because that'd be terrible." Sam chuckles as he picks up the book. "You suuuuuure, I can't win and not have to read this book?" He arches a blond brow and tries out his dimples to see if that'll get him out of it.
*
"No, we both have to pay up." Doug sits back, and puts his hand over his eyes, before he mumbles, quietly…
Whatever the secret is, that's between Doug and Sam alone… because this is the part where we bid you, gentle reader, good night!