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[crazyequalsgenius]

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Action - Backdated to just after Scratch said he wanted to Talk

[tolduimapsycho]

Helloooooooooo....

[It's extraordinarily little time between when the apartment number is given and when there is a knock and greeting at the door. Not JUST a knock, either - a cheerful shave-and-a-haircut number, strong and sharp. When the door is opened, it will reveal a grinning, disheveled "Alan Wake," sporting no shoes, an unbuttoned black waistcoat with no blazer, and carrying a half-consumed bottle of scotch in one hand.

He looks delighted, rakish, and sleazy all at once, but tries to keep at least a measure of manner in his posture. At least until he gets let in.]

Guess who's just two doors down, neighbor?

[crazyequalsgenius]

"Mr. Wake," Jim calls out, loud enough for appearances without being obviously performative. "Come on in."

He's lounging on the couch with the computer in his lap, a bottle of almost-empty orange sports drink and a bag of pretzels on the table beside him. Shoes, socks, coat, tie, and dress shirt have all been discarded on one of the two nearby chairs. A tote bag of Lighthouse donations sits nearby, disheveled enough to tell that he's already rummaged through the offerings.

"My hospitality's shite right now," he says with a roll of his eyes, his tone that of a kid who had to stay home sick on field trip day. "But have a seat."

[tolduimapsycho]

The door swings open, he strolls inside...and the moment the door is shut behind him, the act rolls away as easily as if he had just taken off an overcoat. Even in the trap house, there had been a measure of facade - just in case someone had walked around the corner - but now the sense of Wrong is visible, palpable. Nodding his thanks, he slinks into the living room, unceremoniously throwing himself into the offered seat.

"If you had hospitality to give, it'd be wasted on me anyway. Save that shit for people who require humanity." He winks, uncorking the bottle in his hand and taking a swig straight from it. Dark eyes flick over his current companion for a moment, sizing his current state up.

"House caught up with you, huh? I got out with just a couple scrapes and bruises, but I didn't hard reset the way you did."

emeto dialogue

[crazyequalsgenius]

It's almost uncanny, the way Jim's own Wrongness slips out at the same time as Scratch's, like some invisible hand had reached out into the apartment and flicked a large, cartoon switch that said EVIL MODE.

"Dying three times will apparently do that to you," he said, his voice sliding down in a mocking tone for a moment. "All told, I'll take this over the alternative, even if I did forget something for the privilege. I don't suppose you feel like sharing that bottle? My wholesome happy welcome wagon care package only came with cheap electrolytes and if I take one more sip of salty fake orange, I'm going to upchuck."

cw: alcohol use

[tolduimapsycho]

Jim doesn't have to ask twice - the bottle is thrust in his direction with a chuckle. "That's why I brought it, pal. Figured you could use a drink. Talking works better over booze anyway, I figure."

Once the bottle is passed, he leans forward, elbows on his thighs, hands fidgeting together. He's not nervous - not at all - but he does seem to seek sensation at all times, in one way or another. Dark eyes watch his new friend carefully, more animal than man.

"You forgot something? That happens?" A beat, and then - "I guess if it happens to me, odds are good it won't be my own memories I'll lose."

Why not lay his cards on the table?

[crazyequalsgenius]

"The whole doppelganger thing," Jim acknowledges: it's clearly not a guess. He takes a long drink from the bottle and sighs in satisfaction at the burn. It cuts nicely through the haze of exhaustion that had settled over him, and helps him think a bit better for a moment. Clocking Alan's age was child's play, but figuring the rest out was more a shot in the dark, drawing inferences from what he had already heard and read.

"If most of the memories are his, you must not have been ... yourself for very long at all, giving yourself those kind of odds. Man in his late thirties, early forties ... and you only you for ... what, a year at best? Maybe two?"

if you noticed me misclicking and replying in a new thread no you didn't

[tolduimapsycho]

"Got it in one," he laughs, lounging back in his seat and crossing his ankle over his knee. Perceptive guy, but then he HAD nearly immediately told the story of how he had stolen the crown jewels for shits and giggles. There's a reason the Herald of Darkness is kicking it in his living room, willing to let him in on the fun.

"Couple years or so, I think. Time flies when you're having fun, you know? Before that, I was just...part of something much, much bigger."

Leaning forward again, he sticks out his hand, moving in as if for a handshake.

"Listen - you're too smart to bullshit. I feel like we're on the same page. I like you. So...let me introduce myself for real, huh? I sort of don't have a name. Not one the human tongue can say. But...Mister Scratch is about as close as someone can get."

His grin is too wide, his eyes too dark.

"Nice to meet you for real."

[crazyequalsgenius]

"Jim Moriarty," he says with an equal sort of dark glee. "Much the same. The name I gave you earlier is an alias. Has a whole persona with it, too. No one's going to expect a thing. ... So then ... are you a demon or something?"

He wiggles his fingers and adapts a pose of mock horror. Whatever Scratch is, he's as limited here as any of the other people he's heard whining about how they can't do what they used to. Being human is a point in Jim's favor for the moment, as strange as all the alternatives seem to be.

[tolduimapsycho]

"Of course they won't. Humans are, mostly, stupid as shit. Present company nonwithstanding."

The question is meant with a loud laugh, a shake of the head - he doesn't seem offended, but he's quick to correct, animated in the gestures of his hands.

"Nah, not a demon. Older than that. Much older. I'm a piece of something very, very, VERY old. Part of the plan was replacing the hack when he got taken under, so...I got plucked out and shaped into all the most fun parts of him. All the bad rumors, y'know?"

He takes the bottle back, takes a healthy belt from it.

"You have a chance no one usually gets, buddy - you can ask me anything you want. So shoot."

[crazyequalsgenius]

"Bold of you to think I wouldn't ask anyway," Moriarty says with a wink. But he's been thinking about this, and there are questions he'd normally ask.

But then there's the fact that none of this, other than standard mores of human behavior, is normal. And Scratch knows that, too, he's quite sure. So, the question is the same one he's attempting to answer minute by minute.

"How much is different for you, here: what did the Fog God nick from your bag of tricks? . .. And how are you planning on surviving as a fish out of water?"

[tolduimapsycho]

"Sure. I just want you to know what a treat it is."

He grins, arrogant and amused all at once, waiting for the question...and when asked, he lets out a little sigh, passing the bottle back.

"Oh, pshhhh...basically everything. I can handle the light better than I could before, but...powers? All gone. Didn't used to get hungry, or tired, or anything. I could Take people. Control shit. Had to go along with the Narrative, to some extent, but...otherwise? Pretty free reign. Not now.

There's disdain in his tone - he doesn't seem like he much enjoys being human, when it comes down to it.

"I'm just waiting not to be human again, first off. I've been here before, see - last time, I got turned into a centaur. Kinda cool. But then I blinked out, and next thing I know, I'm human again stuck in a fucking closet.

But otherwise...I'm gonna do what I'm supposed to do, probably. Wreck Alan Wake's shit. Now I just have other havoc I can cause, too. And once you're a monster, murder is just kind of...expected. You get a pass on it.

I like that part."

[crazyequalsgenius]

"Fine by me, but I'm used to being the special one." Girls, girls, you're both insufferably egotistical, we get it. Jim winks as he takes the bottle back, deliberately letting his fingers brush Scratch's a bit more than necessary. Nothing is more magnetizing than evil, and Scratch is exuding it in spades, which means Moriarty is completely engaged in the conversation: something that's rare and wonderful for him. True connection of any kind is so sparse that it's requiring all of his self control not to act like a starving man in the face of it.

He savors every word of what he's told, and finds that he actually empathizes with the feeling of being reduced. Even if he doesn't have the sort of powers Scratch did, his power lay in information, in contacts, in control. And all of that is gone. He still isn't sure how much of his vast knowledge even applies here. Rage threatens to lock and shudder every muscle in his body just at the thought of it -

But then the other shoe drops: he's one of the people who's been and gone. Jim has only met a couple of them, so far, but the concept absolutely fascinates him. Sadly, it's the same story he's gotten from them: one moment, monstrous, the next, wham, human in the house of traps. One more mystery to unravel.... another frustration on the pile. Once you're a monster, murder is just kind of ... expected.

Jim's discomfort and simmering anger shifts slowly into an indulgent smile. "Yeah, me too. Everything else is hot garbage, though. ... Can we rewind a tad? What was that about a narrative, sounded like maybe with a capital N?"

[tolduimapsycho]

The graze isn't missed - Scratch lets it linger, licking his lips a little as his dark eyes slide from the bottle of whiskey to hands and finally to Jim's face. Yes. He's enjoying this too, and he doesn't bother to hide the fact. It's good for him, too, being honest like this.

He watches the journey that the other man goes through over the course of his words, the range of emotions, the questions flittering though his eyes. The Herald of Darkness likes inquisitive humans. He likes talking about himself, about things most can't comprehend. Or most don't want to, anyway.

That smile is returned with one of his own, head nodding at the question.

"Yeah - of course we can.

Back where we came from...the Darkness can give people power. Artistic people. Creators. It looks for ways to get out. Alan Wake...was one of those. And since he's a writer, his manuscript, his Narrative has been something we've both been bound by.

I can't step too far away from what he's written, and neither can he.

Or...we couldn't, I guess."

[crazyequalsgenius]

Even though Scratch had lost his power, then, he was free in a way he hadn't been ... and so, it seemed, was Alan. Which raised a question he'd been waiting for the right moment to ask:

"So if you aren't bound to each other anymore, why live with him? Free entertainment?"

[tolduimapsycho]

The question is one Scratch, admittedly, probably could have guessed was coming...but it doesn't make it any easier to answer, really. He takes up the bottle, taking another hearty belt of whisky to give himself a moment to think.

Not that he thinks too hard. Best not to.

"...Eh...yeah. Pretty much. I've had one job, so long as I've been what I am now.

Now I get to fuck with him where more people can see. Why would I pass up the opportunity to wreck his life in a whole new world, y'know?"

[crazyequalsgenius]

"It's a remix," Jim says in agreement and understanding. He can also guess at what's underneath: the same sort of thing he's struggling with. The sort of thing people like them don't admit even under pain of death ... that they don't know what to do.

At least misery and company get along, and under the right circumstances, that could be a lot of fun. God knew he was fond of a good unfounded lash-out, and the humans of this place were used to it, expected it, even.

"I've been thinking ... we can get away with a hell of a lot under this 'I can't help it I'm becoming a monster' clause."

[tolduimapsycho]

"Exactly. Same shit, new locale. Mostly."

At that last bit, though, any pensive behavior vanishes in favor of a fresh wicked grin, a leaning forward of his body as he passes the bottle back. "Hell YEAH we can. It's pretty much a license to kill, because us poor, hapless monsters have to eat. We just can't HELP it."

The grin broadens further.

"Especially with new powers we're not used to growing in. Miss my old shit, but looking forward to seeing what my new toolbox looks like."

think this is a good spot to wrap this one?

[crazyequalsgenius]

"I have to admit, that part's got me the most curious of all," Jim says, taking the bottle back. Having not had any powers to speak of to begin with, the potential to end up with something out of a pulpy horror novel seemed like a novelty.

Raising the bottle to Scratch in a toast of sorts, he winked. "Here's to new friends."

Yeah!

[tolduimapsycho]

"It'll be fun watching you get handed superpowers, I think. Something tells me...I don't think you're going to be boring with them."

Scratch leans back in his seat, lounging, his crocodile smile fixed and toothy over his glittering dark eyes. He tents his long fingers in front of him, lifting his chin a little in acknowledgement of the wink.

"Yeah.

To new friends...and all the trouble they can get up to."