route_1065 | five days after black and red collide

Entry tags:

five days after black and red collide

Who: Dale Cooper and Heather Mason
Where: The Ecruteak City Dinerrrr
When: December 14th
Summary: After those three days that were lost a lot of people probably had weird dreams about things they can't for the life of them remember. Coop and Heather are two of these people. And they've got some things to talk about. _{(..or as Kit excellently summarized it, this is AWKWARD CANON ENCOUNTERS: THE THREAD.)}
Rating: Oh umm, PG for possibly triggery conversation?
Log:

It's absolutely freezing out and the snow is falling thick and heavy when Dale Cooper makes his way to the Ecruteak City Diner, jacket collar folded up against the wind and hands buried deep in his pockets for what little warmth there is to be found there. He's not particularly used to this kind of winter despite having grown up with something resembling it - he blames having lived in California for the past nine years where the winters are, honestly, quite pitiful attempts at everything the season is meant to be.

Especially when compared to Johto. Good old sparkling completely-covered-in-snow Johto. The weatherman had announced a break in the persistent precipitation yesterday, but today's weather is another prime example of just how trustworthy those people are. The weather gods must be at odds with them. Either that or the deities have a not-so-secret penchant for practical jokes.

Needless to say he's cold and shivering a little once he enters the diner, gratefully shutting out the wind and swirling snow behind him as the little chime above the door welcomes him inside. It's warm in there - warm and quiet. Doesn't look like a lot of people felt like braving the weather to get a cup of coffee better than what the Inn can offer (which really isn't all that good, in his opinion, entirely too mild) but Cooper is a man of habit ... or standard, if you will, and if he's going to start the day with coffee it better be a (damn) good cup of the stuff.

And that's what he's set on, really. He takes his coat off even as he walks through the area to one of his favourite booths: by the windows, just a little secluded, comfortable seats. He's got a few things to ponder and brought one of his notebooks, but his first priority is to allow himself to just melt into the seat for a second there.

...and man that is sweet. But what will be even sweeter is coffee. And possibly something sugary.

Waaaiiiitress? c:

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Hm. He takes a moment to see if that'll let her gather her wits. He can't get annoyed with her BACK, because he knows enough about her and her story that this Alessa thing is probably Really Big.

"How does Cheryl fit in?"

If Cheryl was a separate half of her, would that imply that Alessa is her ... well, 'real' half? The one that lived on? The name that was replaced with Heather's?

"Cheryl is... she's--I'm..."

She lets her elbows slide to rest on the table and plants her face in one hand for a second or two, letting out a deep breath. Then she rakes her fingers roughly through her hair, promptly ruining the slightly-neater-'do she'd been wearing for the sake of the job.

"It's... complicated."

Had she told him that the LAST time they'd discussed things along these lines?

Yes. Probably.

But it bore repeating.

Well, what can he say to that?

I noticed?

He'll just stay quiet and keep his attention on her, hands still around the empty coffee cup in front of him mostly because he's got no other plays to put them.

Before she continues, she reaches out and snags one of the mugs for real, pouring a cup of her own. She was gonna NEED coffee if she was gonna do this.

"... All right, just..."

She heaves another slightly frustrated-sounding sigh. It's not that she's mad at Cooper... but man, at least the last time they'd talked about this stuff? There had been a bit more of a lead-in. ... And they'd gotten ice cream first.

"Look, you remember what I told you about Cheryl? How I w-- ... she was the part of me that I sent away, to keep safe? ... Before that, I ..."

She pauses there, looking around the diner again and lowering her voice, even though she knows good and well that there's hardly anyone there and the two of them are tucked away in an out-of-the-way booth. It's just... something she has to stay quiet about. It feels wrong otherwise.

"... Before I had to ... break in two, my name was Alessa. ... Alessa Gillespie. ... And when Dad found Cheryl and took her with him, the part that was left was... well. It was still Alessa. ... Both of us-- ... them-- ... were Alessa. It was just that Cheryl was-- ... it's complicated."

She looks up at Cooper then with a sort of pleading look, as though to say 'Does that make any sense at ALL?'

Well, it ... does. On some level. And he's already thought about this, thought about it a lot, in fact, since that conversation back in september, trying to wrap his head about it.

By normal standards it would be unbelievable. But it does make some kind of sense and he's going to accept the sense he can get out of it, because that's what he's always done and it's worked in his favour so far.

Alessa and Cheryl had been the same but separate. What she's trying to get across after that is a tangle of yarn and all he can do is try to tug gently on a few threads, or, right now, just let it lie.

"Pause for a moment," he offers softly, matching her own tone somewhat. "Take your time."

So many breaks in her speech. She's upset, one way or the other.

Edited 2011-12-18 06:12 (UTC)

It's hard to talk about.

As much as Heather's come to terms with it in her own head (... more or less...), it's virtually impossible to translate that into words that she can say in a way that make sense to anybody. The fact that she can't do it is frustrating. And a frustrated Heather is an unhappy Heather.

She takes his advice, though.

Sucking in a deep breath, she pauses, looking down at the table with her knuckles massaging her temples for a few minutes.

Then she spreads both hands.

"Okay... let me start over. Uh..."

There's another slight pause as she brings the mug to her lips to take a drink of the coffee-- ... and then freezes, eyes flicking down to the mug, and then to the rest of the little cluster of them over by the salt and pepper shakers.

... Then she reaches out to grab another one, setting it off to the side for now. But first, she sets the full, steaming one down pointedly in the middle of the table. Looking up at Cooper with a suddenly-serious expression, she points at it.

"This mug is me. It's Alessa Gillespie. Okay?"

... This is going to be the beginning of a long and weird extended metaphor, isn't it.

"Okay."

Coop's okay with long and weird extended metaphors - seriously, his entire life is practically one of those. So he sets his own cup aside and leans forwards in that subconscious show of hey, I'm listening, as well as the universal signal that says okay, I'm interested.

Okay. Here we go.

Heather grasps the mug loosely around its top with the tips of her fingers, just enough to sort of wiggle it as she talks.

"Yeah. Okay. So the mug is me-- and the coffee.... the coffee is my soul."

... Yes.

"So... I-- ... I mean, Alessa--"

A wiggle of the mug for emphasis.

"... Was in really big trouble. Because these people-- ... um..."

She reaches out and grabs the salt and pepper shakers, one in each hand, and makes them 'hop' on the tabletop a few times.

"--these really bad people, wanted to use her for ... something really bad."

She scoots the salt and pepper shakers up to the mug in a sinister fashion. Don't even ask how she manages to make it look sinister. She just does somehow.

"In order for them to be able to pull it off, first they had to make sure that she was as physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, everything-ually fucked-up as possible, so--"

Picking up the shakers, she started to shake generous amounts of salt and pepper straight into the coffee, continuing to talk as she did so.

"--and I-- Alessa-- knew that they needed her to be whole for it to work, so to try and stop them, she kinda... kinda did this..."

Grabbing the empty mug now, she set it down next to 'Alessa'. And sort of shrugged a little bit, making a vague gesture.

"You'll have to imagine that... this one is... smaller than Alessa... um. Anyway."

Picking 'Alessa' up, she emptied half of the salted, peppered coffee into the other mug. ... Then wrinkled her nose and reconsidered, pouring some of it back into the original.

"I guess it wasn't... really a half-and-half deal. It was more like... more like reaching into yourself, and-- and pulling a little piece out, and then putting it in a box and HIDING it so nobody can get at it and hurt it, but you're still YOU, even if that little piece of you is-- ... anyway, um."

She scoots the second mug away across the table.

"This is Cheryl."

Edited 2011-12-18 07:24 (UTC)

It's like watching the most distorted, twisted version of a fairytale. It doesn't help that she tells it more or less like a child herself in the same mumbling, uncertain way children do when they have to present something for a larger group and are very self-conscious.

Cooper can't help but feel for her. Not that that's new at all.

He follows the adventures of the salt shaker and the coffee and the mugs to make sure he understands (if he can avoid it, he'd rather not have her repeat anything). The things she's using are all surprisingly effective tools because he think he's getting it.

Things becoming a little clearer.

It feels like some sort of really screwed-up pageant.

Heather is uncomfortably aware that she's stumbling over her words more than she'd like to, but all she can do is keep going. It's easier doing it this way than it is just trying to force it all out in words alone, and that's the only thing that matters right now.

She doesn't look at Cooper as she continues, reaching out and picking up the coffeepot.

"Cheryl got away, and then Dad found her, and named her Cheryl."

Yes, the coffeepot is Harry.

She scoots 'Dad' and 'Cheryl' off to the edge of the table, well away from the other players in this bizarre little re-telling, and then reaches back over and picks up the salt and pepper shakers again.

"Once the people realized that they wouldn't be able to do what they'd planned with part of her missing, they-- er no. Actually, screw it."

She had started to shake them over what was left of Alessa's 'soul' again, but on second thought, in a surprisingly vicious motion, she unscrewed the top off of the salt and just... poured the entire thing in.

Which has him looking decidedly more grim. It's a very telling gesture and he feels uneasy with the implicactions. Not even just that - he's always been sensitive, perceptive, and when he thinks back to the Alessa he met it's almost enough to make him feel physically ill.

Yeah. Yeah, he gets it.

She's still not looking up at him-- mostly because she has a feeling that he gets it, and she's not sure she wants to... see that on his face.

So she carries on.

"Because they knew they had to try and lure the little bit of her that was gone back, or else they'd never be able to do it. So they kept m-- Alessa, in... well."

Now she's pouring the pepper in.

"It sucked."

As soon as the last grains dribble into the cup, she shoves it off to the side, along with the empty shakers, and then reaches back over to Cheryl.

"So that's what was going on her end. Meanwhile..."

Picking up 'Cheryl' and 'Dad', she brought them back a little closer to herself and swayed them side to side in a vaguely dance-y motion.

"Dad raised Cheryl and everything was going pretty good. I mean, you know, mom died at one point, and okay he really couldn't get the hang of cooking for a little while there, but point is, things were happy. ... Mostly."

She angled her hand forward, making 'Cheryl' droop a tad.

"See, I-- ... she always knew there was something wrong. Because even if that little piece was safe, the rest was still... back there, you know? And it just kept getting worse and worse, so around when I was-- ... when she turned seven, she was like--"

Making the mug turn to the coffeepot, she affects a high, squeaky voice.

"Daddy I wanna go to Silent Hill!"

A deeper voice.

"Okay, sweetie!"

With the silly voices, it would almost seem that she's making light of the whole thing... but there's a sour note in her voice, running under everything else-- and it's all the more obvious when she returns to her usual voice.

"So... they went."

She scoots the pair of them back in the direction of 'Alessa' and the evil shakers. Which she picks up, and makes do a small dance of delight on the tabletop.

"Which was exactly what the bad people wanted."

And in a swift swoop of one hand, along with a sort of comical (if you... forgot what this whole story was about, anyway...) 'YOINK' sound effect, she takes the shakers and sweeps 'Cheryl' away from the coffeepot, over to where 'Alessa' still sits, now more full of salt and pepper than coffee.

"Oh shit."

No, he doesn't think she's making light of it at all. It's more tragic than anything else to his ears because he can definitely hear what's going on beneath the voices she's putting on for show.

It's a little bizarre, watching the show and knowing that this is about real people and real situations and very real salt and pepper pain.

-- and the mention of 'mom' draws attention from another little memory. A woman looking for her husband and a daughter.

But he doesn't voice it - it's not important right now, and he doesn't want to interrupt the teenager.

The pace of the tale is picking up a little bit-- less in words and more in actions. Even Heather is stumbling a little less on her tongue, although she seems to be in a bit of a hurry to get it all out, speaking at a hectic pace now.

"So I met myself--"

Scooting the two mugs together.

"... And I knew I had to stop them. So..."

A brief pause, with the shakers 'menacing' the two girls, and then she makes 'Cheryl' bolt for it.

"And then for the next I-don't-even-know-how-many-hours, it was basically like THIS--"

Her hands move almost like somebody playing a really intense game of chess, except instead of an elegant demonstration of strategy and planning, she's just sort of scooting all the characters around on the table randomly, and really fast. The pepper-shaker ends up with a fork's tines stuck in the holes at one point until the coffeepot whacks the fork and sends it skittering, the salt-shaker seems really intent on talking to the coffeepot, who can never seem to catch up to the less-full mug for some reason, the shakers THEMSELVES wind up clacking violently against each other with angry, squabbling sound effects every so often, and at some point a spoon joins the mix.

"But finally..."

With the hand holding the salt-shaker, she grabs the 'Cheryl' mug and ... pours it back into 'Alessa'.

"... And then... um."

She hesitates there, sort of... staring at her motley assortment of cutlery and ceramics blankly, apparently finally lost for words on how to describe exactly what went down there. ... Even though she does remember. She remembers surprisingly clearly. But ... thinking about telling Cooper about it is just...

"... Well, that's not important to... this, I guess."

With a grim look, she sweeps most of the the assortment-- all of them (... including 'Cheryl') except for 'Alessa' and 'Dad'-- away.

"But long story short..."

Reaching back over to the corner, she pauses when she finds that there aren't any mugs left. So on second thought... she just grabs a handful of napkins, slaps them down on the table in front of her, and then pours the coffee-salt-pepper mess out onto them.

"I died. In fire."

Tossing the original mug away somewhat... roughly (it doesn't break, but it does hit the table and skid, falling on its side and rolling in a small circle), she then grabs the soggy napkins, mashes them up into an oblong shape, and holds it up, dripping.

At long last, she makes eye-contact with Cooper.

"But first I got out. This is Alessa. It's me. I'm Alessa."

Edited 2011-12-18 20:06 (UTC)

He can't say anything for a moment. Well ... it's mostly clear now. He thought he'd understood before, but with Alessa adding herself to the mix ... but that had been one hell of an explanation.

He looks back at Heather, obviously troubled. It's not so much that it was all new information as much as the way she presented it. Despite it being, well, coffe cups and cutlery, it did paint a very clear image. Hand over his mouth, the glances at the coffee-napkin-mess ... and back to her.

This girl ... her life. Damn. And though there's a lot of things in his head (how could the separation happen, why was Alessa chosen, what happened to the salt shakers) it's just not important right now. Instead he finds himself struggling for words.

And gives up.

"Heather, I ... don't know what to say." Hesitates- "But I'm very happy you survived."

It's pretty weak, but it's all he's got. And it almost comes out as an excuse, a sorry. A kind of I'm sorry that happened.

The worst part of it is that it's not even the whole story. Even now, there's STILL things she omitted entirely... but now's not the time to get into those, nor does she even particularly want to. In fact, she's sagged back against her seat, jaw set and eyes directed back down at the table.

She'd seen how he was looking at her. The pity. And it's not that pity is a bad thing-- hell, if anyone deserves pity, it's Alessa Gillespie... but somehow it still stings. Because after everything, it hurts to HAVE to deserve pity.

"It's okay," she mumbles a little bit gruffly (and a little bit hastily) when he expresses his loss for words. Dropping the coffee-napkin baby onto the table with a splat, she reaches up to run her fingers through her hair, not really caring that they're covered in coffee and salt. "It's pretty fucked-up. You don't need to say anything."

In turn, that almost sounds apologetic. Like 'sorry for laying this huge mindfuck out on the table. .... Literally'.

He lets his hands rest on the table, fingers woven together, and breathes out slowly, letting silence fall for a bit.

But after a while there's a small thing in the back of his head that bothers him and he frowns when he looks back at her, gaze having drifted out the window. Voice a little careful.

(One day, he might learn how to inhibit his persistant curiosity and need for information, his will to set all things straight. But the odds aren't all that good.)

"Can I ask you another question?"

She shrugs her shoulders a little, tiredly.

The whole story had been over in the space of five minutes or so, but it had felt so much longer... Maybe because the images running through her head as she recalled everything were nowhere near as clean and innocuous as a bunch of cups and shakers skidding around on a shiny tabletop.

"Sure. Shoot."

"How old was Alessa when she died?"

That's the little piece he wants clarified. Because she'd looked exactly like Heather beneath the charred skin and though doubles and dualities have been a thing in his life, it had never been quite so obvious. So he stresses it a little.

"She looked just like you. She had the same clothes. How is that possible?"

... nevermind the rebirth and death thing, this is clearly more nonsensical.

She looks up at the question and opens her mouth to answer-- ... and then stops. At first her brows crease... and then her eyes widen.

Oh.

Oh.

"... Wait a second... you saw her... with my clothes?"

That... changed things. Not, you know, a LOT, but it's still... well.

She can understand his confusion.

Straightening up, she sucks her lips inwards for a moment, once more starting to grind the cogs in her head to try and come up with a way to put this... into words.

For a second she made to grab for the coffee cups again, but then decided against it. This wasn't about a sequence of events so much as ... well.

"I... all right. This is... a whole 'nother thing. Alessa died when I-- ... when she was fourteen."

... Yep. zFourteen.

"But ... well, seventeen years after I was ... born again, and just after Dad was... Well. I had to go back to Silent Hill again. And... okay, hang on a second."

She pauses again to put the palms of her hands against her forehead. Trying to sort things out again.

"... When I grew up this time, I didn't... remember what happened to be back then. I didn't... I didn't remember being Alessa, I didn't remember that my first childhood as Cheryl wasn't just part of this one... I didn't remember that I'd died. ... Except that I did. Deep down, I did. I was just... trying not to. To protect myself. To ... to start new. You know?"

She peers up at Cooper through both fingers and hair, pinching the skin at her temple slightly.

"When I went back... I had to remember. I had to remember everything, and... well. There was still a part of me deep down that was afraid that... it would have to resort to something drastic to stopping what was happening. What was happening again."

She pauses for a second, and then lowers her voice a little bit, worriedly.

"When you met her, she uh... didn't come after you with a gun or anything, did she?"

It is happening again. History really do has a tendency of repeating itself, no matter the time frame. Cooper tilts his head a little as he watches her explain, then shakes his head.

"No." Pauses ... frowns. But he can't quite remember the dog. It's like trying to recall a certain word that's just at the tip of your tongue but ultimately failing. "No, nothing like that."

She lets out a sort of whoof of relief.

"Okay, good. I mean... I don't think she would've, but... you never know. Anyway, uh..."

There was a hesitation as she ran her tongue across her lips, twiddling her fingers awkwardly. It's hard to talk about this, really... she'd explained it to Rise once, and also to her father... but those were different. Rise'd had a very similar experience that Heather had been able to compare it to, and Harry just... understood.

"... Basically, I sort of... before I could take on the problem head-on, I had to sort things out with myself, first. Had to... had to let myself know that I could fix what was happening without... without needing to die--AND THAT'S THE STORY OF THE MEANING OF CHRISTMAS."

Another waitress had passed by and Heather's about-face on subject matter had been loud, instantaneous, and accompanied by a wide grin that lasted until the coworker had passed by, whereupon it returned to the more-serious look. Heather gestures awkwardly over her shoulder.

"Sorry 'bout that. Just... You know."

He can't help but look a little entertained at that once the wtf-moment of the outburst has passed.

But he probably could have picked a better spot to have this conversation - he's not sure just when they might need her for something, after all, and as was just demonstrated it's pretty public despite how few people are in it.

"Nice evasive maneuvre", he offers with that very subtle teasing edge back in his tone, just to let her know that he doesn't particularly mind (and ... it was a little funny). Not that he's not ready to quickly go back to the topic at hand.

He's still looking at her with attention, after all.

Heather's sense of humor never departs entirely, so at the slightly-teasing compliment, the corners of her mouth quirk up, accompanied by a sort of dry chuckle.

"Thanks."

Fortunately, there doesn't... seem to be much else to say.

Not without going into more detail than Heather is frankly comfortable with at the moment. She just shrugs openly, hands spread.

"What you saw was... well, me, but... was the part of me that was hiding those memories. Keeping me safe from them. ... Till I needed them, basically..."

Except that it was ALSO the part of herself that thought that death would be the easiest way out... the easiest way to make sure the sun rose tomorrow, without having to suffer further...

But she'd just leave that part out. For now.

So that's why she was looking for her, maybe? Or, well, the fact that they're the same person would be enough of a reason. There's (usually) no one you know better than yourself. You trust yourself and rely on yourself more than the people you have around you.

He nods again. He won't prod any further. He's aware there's a lot more - the fact that she said so herself is a pretty big cue and all - but he wouldn't want to push something else at her right now even if he had anything else to add. It's obviously painful. He knows about wanting to avoid that kind of stuff.

"Sorry for just springing that on you."

He's sure he understands his reasons for asking. ...because they are obvious. But it was still probably very sudden and he's just not very good at taking that into too much consideration.

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