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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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.

Yeah. And when you're a broken, hurting creature ... you look for familiar things.

Makes sense to Heather, really... and all things considered, she's just glad that Cooper didn't wind up getting ATTACKED.

She shakes her head a little.

"No, it's okay... I mean..." She laughs a little bit, almost nervously. "I wasn't... expecting it, but..."

She does understand, though. Hell, if she'd seen a charred-up, rotting version of HIM, she'd have demanded an explanation even SOONER. ... Although...

The smile becomes a small frown and her brows furrow briefly. Thoughtfully.

Then she shakes her head and starts to stand up.

"Gimme a second. I'm gonna wipe the table down and ... get some more coffee." She peers into the pot. "I think this one got some salt in it."

He gives her an apologetic smile and does keep that mild concern about him .... UNTIL her very last comment, which actually has him making a face. You know, the typical face face, the oh ew-kind that's probably much more common in children than adults.

"I'd still take that over a fish", and it's in a kind of handwave statement but he still sounds very decisive on that particular point.

Never drink coffee that has been anywhere near a fish, as he'd specifically instructed Diane. Because that is a bad idea on all accounts. He could taste that fish for hours. It had been a nightmare.

But he does perk up when he realizes that the girl is still a waitress and is thusly supposed to take his orders because he's a paying customer, and he leans back to smile at her.

"How about a bear claw, while you're at it."

... it's amazing how quickly he can de-age when it comes to food, really. That probably came out sort of like if he'd been a teasingly bossing around older brother kind of person.

The dark, unwelcome thoughts that had come drifting back into her mind towards the end there aside, she looked back over her shoulder at him as she'd started to turn away from the table, brow raised.

A... fish?

... 'Kay Cooper.

But the second comment gets a smirk.

Oh, she sees what you did there. She COULD get on his case for not using the magic word, buuuut well, he is a paying customer. Not like Henry. Who keeps on trying to bum free food off of her because she works there.

"Gotcha. One bearclaw, coming right up."

She swipes a dry napkin across the table to collect whatever nastiness had spilled there during all that coffee-pouring and shaker-emptying, then disappears into the back with the coffeepot for a moment.

And while she's gone he'll bring Diane up to speed. He doesn't tell her much, just the gist of it. Alessa and Heather are or were the same person, remind me to fill you in on the details.

Not that she's likely to ever remind him of anything here, and he knows that, but he likes the idea that she will.

Pressing a button and putting the little recorder back into the coat pocket he proceeds to literally twiddle his thumbs as he looks out the window. He thinks about Heather, Alessa and fire because it's worth to think about and because he'd rather think about that than the Red Room.

She reappears a moment or so later with what seems to be a fresh (fishless) pot of coffee and a plate with a couple of donuts on it. One is the requested bearclaw and the other, what looks like the Johto equivalent of a Boston Cream.

She sits back down and plops the plate down on the table before producing a clean mug and pouring herself a clean cup. Without salt or pepper. Because really, those just don't go with coffee.

"There. Enjoy. ... But the chocolate one's mine."

They really, really don't and Cooper is very grateful that the coffee is normal. And black. He scoots his own cup in her direction in a quiet request for a refill as he picks the bearclaw up with an easy "Thanks".

Looking very happy, no less. It's been a while since he had one of these. And he loves them so he bites into it aaaand there's that wide smile that's reserved for damn fine things.

Yes. Good.

C:

"I would pick this kind of bearclaw over chocolate any time", he says after swallowing that mouthful and setting it down again to go for a complimentary sip of coffee (assuming she DID pour him any but she's so far perfectly adept at her job). And hey, it's true, because his favourite is jelly anyway.

"Speak for yourself, this thing's got cream filling."

She does indeed pour him a cup of coffee, before setting the pot down and reaching over to snag a veritable handful of creamers and sugar cubes from the little pot at the end of the table. After all that, she's in the mood for sugar too.

Oh come on Heather, coffee is to be had black.

He sips his coffee joyfully and continues to eat the bearclaw in silence, the lull of the conversation natural and to him rather comfortable, even if he does look at Heather slightly differently. With new awareness comes new perception, after all, but she looks okay.

She also looks like she's thinking but he doesn't take specific note of that right now, because so is he.

HEY SHUT UP MR. SWEET TOOTH, DON'T JUDGE ME.

She doesn't find the lull particularly uncomfortable either-- and although she it probably doesn't even occur to her to think about, it's one of those things to be thankful for. That the silences after that conversation could still be okay, and not totally awkward.

But there's still something on her mind, and much like that unpleasant metaphorical fog that's been hanging over her ever since she woke up after the amnesia (in fact, because it's part of that very same fog), it's not letting go.

So once she's finished the pastry and downed half the cup or so, she sets it down and sort of clasps her hands on the table in front of her.

"Hey, Coop."

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