dear_mun | Muse is never happy. Mun is trying to be a responsible adult (kind of...) [SO:TL]

Hey, man. Long time no see!

You better believe I'm glad to see you. Ahah. Ha.

[Should he be wary? Probably. But who's got the energy for anxiety? C'est la vie, just let everything float onnnn by. Besides, it's not like the asshole can inflict much more damage than he already did, right?]

[Lugo thinks that if he had a weapon on hand, anything he could wish for, it would probably be a piece of wire with little handles. A simple garrot, piano wire. A cheese cutter. He feels this would be most appropriate.

There are multiple false starts before he gets a word out edgewise, but by the time he manages it, it's obscenely cold and tactless.]

I was expecting more than just the standard holes in your face. And I'm going to take a wild guess and say it's too much trouble to keep the big one shut.

[Oh come on, Lugo... cheese cutters aren't for people. Geez. And what's this guy ever done to you? He's harmless. 100% harmless.]

Ten points for the man with the scowl! You've got the freedom to be a grade A asshole, I'm free to let my mouth run wild. Let's hear it for freedom of speech, Go-oddd bless America!

[That's funny! That. Is. Funny. So he laughs about it, really takes the time to appreciate the humor. What? It isn't like he's got anywhere else to be.]

But look at you! You're alive, and isn't that just a thing of beauty! It's almost just a little surprising. I mean. All things considered.

Edited 2014-01-27 01:43 (UTC)

Funny guy.

[Lugo purses his lips and watches with sharply narrowed eyes. He hasn't moved a muscle yet, though he seems to be loosening up, relaxing enough for a hip to cock itself slightly, thrown off to the side. He is bleeding sass, while his crossed arms communicate that he's definitely not ready to get too close.

And there's still a hint of that mad-dog fixation on his face, the forward set of his shoulders. Bandy muscles at the hinges of his jaw twang and twitch just beneath dark stubble.]

I'm just as alive as you are, friend.

You got me there.

[If there's danger here, he doesn't recognize it or doesn't care. Maybe a little bit of both. Shit, everything's dangerous these days. And the world is... The world's kind of hazy, anyway. Thank the gods of fuck they've got weed over here; everything's a lot easier this way.]

You've gotta loosen up, Lugo. Enjoy your resurrection. The war's over! Eh, as much as there ever was a war. 'Slaughter' might be a better word for it. Or apocalypse? End of the world, man. End of the world.

Hey, I'd love to play you a tune, chill you the fuck out, but somebody went and destroyed my entire set-up. Not very nice, am I right? All the work I put into that. It's like you destroyed a little piece of my soul. Ahah... Along, with, you know. [He taps his forehead and mimes a gunshot, rolling his eyes.]

The way I see it, you owe me an apology.

[He lets that sit for just a moment, like a moment of a moment, before breaking into a grin.] Nah, I'm just kidding! Playing around. I know how you military guys are. Gotta burn it all to the ground. It's like a compulsion with you. That's cool. That is cool.

Edited 2014-01-27 09:17 (UTC)

Just doing what I was trained to do. You know, and taking out a little frustration.

[Despite better judgement - the little hesitation in both speech and body language - Lugo lifts three fingers casually. It's too bad, he's thinking on some level. They probably could have gotten along under better circumastances.]

Three. [He mimics the shots, one handed.] Three shots. I would have gone through all fifteen if Walker hadn't pulled me off. Can you blame me, though? You're my white fucking whale, after all. And I did go down pretty much right after that, if it's any consolation.

[He's probably never going to say he's sorry, never going to admit he was wrong - not to this guy, at least - though it's pretty clear he takes no joy in this.

There's little trust in him - Lugo's sure he might get knifed in the back if he turns it for a second - but he loosens up a little, sighs wearily.]

Your civilians got me when I was down. While I was defenseless... [His jaw tightens again and takes a good moment to unstick itself.] I got what I had coming to me.

Hey, man. No hard feelings. What's done is done. We can pretend it all happened in another life.

[He isn't exactly feeling any warmth toward Lugo - he'd been helping, after all; he'd given over use of his radio! - but there's no reason to get all worked up about it now. He'd more or less run his course over there, anyway. All good things have to end some time.

Sure. Real good. If you didn't mind the smell of burning flesh, it was a real party.]

I mean, I thought I was pretty clear with that flag - you know what 'I surrender' means, right? - but once you guys get red in the eyes... I should've known. You guys and your guns.

[He's smiling, but that thing about the eyes... That's the nauseating part. Something about what he'd started to see in the soldiers, what he'd seen in the head honcho himself (and hadn't that been a day, ahaha, the day that look really crept into the man's eyes the day things'd really start to go south, maybe, though it's hard to place time and who cares, right?). It was the way you could look them dead on and see nothing but hair-trigger tempers and helpless fury, the way you saw them coming apart inside and knew, knew with a cold certainty they'd send that ruin outward. And it was the way they turned it into logic. The way horrors indescribable could be classed as necessary strategies. The way the logic started to make a sort of sense, once you let yourself get caught up in it.

And then everything just... Broke. Right the fuck apart.

Shiiiit. He doesn't want to think about any of that. Days past, time out of mind, and none of that exists anymore, right? Not a... None of that really happened. Or it did and he... Maybe he remembers it wrong. Maybe it was all some ginormous joke or dream or maybe he just... He saw it. He did, because he remembers the sharpness of recognition remembers darting through shambled streets remembers sitting beside a man who smiled a welcome, only to disappear in a flash of blood and smoke because there was an attack, there were so many attacks, and there was the Colonel just nodding, explaining, and he was right, maaan he was onto something, he'd always been onto something, but he was also short a few screws and way off the fucking course and...

Nope. No, no. Not entertaining these thoughts anymore. So he forces a laugh and flops down on a couch in a full-body sprawl, asks his mind to drift free. Everything here is a-okay. Everything here is 100% cool. Sure. Sure, it is.]

You ever think about how it would've made a great reality tv series? The Real Delta Force. Dancing in Dubai. Or, shit, we could just stick with Survivor. Last one out alive WINS!

Ha ha, thing is, no one'd ever make it far enough to win. You get shot three times... Uno, dos, tres, adios! Or you run into the pit crew. Hehhh. They're a great bunch, aren't they? I can't really take credit for them. That's all on you and your friends. It's amazing what a little chaos and a good dose of hellfire'll do to your average Joes and Janes. Not to mention a drought. Nobody like to die thirsty.

See? I can thank you for that! I was not thirsty.

I... hope they made it. Walker and Adams, I mean. Never really got any clear answers on that one. And I haven't seen Adams around here just yet. I mean, for fuck's sake...

[He trails off, realizing that maybe just a little too much emotion is making it into his voice, then clears his throat, looks down.

God. Make a man feel bad, why don't you. Sassy bastard. Though a lot of this would normally push Lugo's buttons, get him fiery, being so far removed from the situation leaves him with a totally different reaction than it used to. Now he goes quiet, and something deep down inside him gets cold and hard. He looses feeling... and maybe even loses a bit of himself, feels low. It's showing in his posture, the far-away look in his eyes, like he's seeing something completely different than carpet, concrete or dirt.

Dubai took a piece of him. Just the way a dog goes from being aggressive to meek after he's been neutered - fat and complacent being replaced by a never-ending sense of having a target on his back, a constant need to move - it feels oddly like Lugo's had the steel pulled right out of his spine, the boyish invincibility sucked right out of his heart.

He described himself as a broken man, once. Time isn't mending him.]

Well, I guess you can look at it that way. Didn't think there was a bright side to all of this. [There isn't, and the moment it's out of his mouth, he winces like he's been hit.] Though... I never said I was a good person. Or that what I was doing was right. I was only taking orders.

I was following... I was... I didn't...

[Well, fuck it's hard to lie when you're staring right at the person you fucked up without being ordered to do so. Without being asked. In fact, this guy was Lugo's biggest sin, and one he was temporarily proud of, even though it didn't make the anger or the hurt go away. He stares for a long time, eyes hollow and black. He cringes and turns around, because where the hell else is he supposed to hide this unfamiliar, weird emotional shit.

Well, double fuck. Soldiers aren't supposed to lose their cool - or show remorse, right? All this because he suddenly realized he doesn't know the guy's name. All this because he probably had a family. All this because he didn't even really do anything wrong in the first goddamn place.]

[Oh, that's good. Was following orders, uh-huh. That's all the merry little trio had been doing; just following orders. From nobody. From the sand. From the fucked up little monkeys inside their heads. He raises himself up on an elbow for that one, gives Lugo a direct look without really seeing him (he's drifting a little now and it's pleasant to drift, and hell no he's not going to look in those eyes; that kid's fucked up, and he doesn't want to deal with any of that shit).]

Yeah? You were following what-now? You wanna try that one again?

You, friend, are a genuine comedian. [He falls back onto the couch, eyes skyward or ceiling-ward or whatever the hell the top of this space is. Maybe that's it: maybe it's outer space and he's just staring up right on past Saturn straight into the dark that never ends but heyyyyyyyyy, that's getting bleak, there.]

And if we're taking bets on whether Delta pals one and two survived the shitstorm... 'Five to one, baby, one in five. No one here gets out alive.'

[Shit, that's a good tune. He gives a laugh and hums the rest of it, fingers tapping out the beat against the couch.]

Edited 2014-01-28 23:05 (UTC)

Fuck you.

[It's low and quiet, and after he says it, the chilled silence from him is so profound that even the sound of his own teeth grinding as he tightens up his jaw seems as loud as lake ice cracking. He remains that way, shoulders hunched up, shaking visibly.

It wouldn't take much. But that's what the radio man is good at. And Lugo knows he'll get his excuse to flip out... though he's actually internally questioning whether or not he should. This is not the first time he's been indecisive, though it is a rather new feeling. Before Dubai, he never really had this problem.]

Nooooo thank you. Man, you are not my type.

Not that I'm picky.

[Mr. Hotshot Soldier's voice is a little worrisome - or, okay, a lot worrisome - but he doesn't bother to look over. Keep your eyes on the air and nothing can get at you. Isn't that the way it goes?

All right, maybe not, but it's a nice thought. He picks up the humming again, breaking the sound just long enough to throw in another remark.]

All I'm saying is, you guys were good - just think about your accomplishments! I was impressed - but you weren't that good. Nobody's that good.

I get it, alright? I understand what you're getting at. But I'm not taking a knee to some tired, old, burnt-out stoner.

[He turns again, hackles up and ready for a fight. But he doesn't push it. He hangs back, though everything about him suggests that he'd be ready to get into a tussle at the drop of a hat. Narrowed eyes watch, burning.]

Look at me. [He scowls sharply, fists clenched.] You look at me, you son of a bitch. I'm not going to apologize to someone who obviously had it coming. You guys asked for it.

[Weirdly enough, he sounds totally convinced of that.]

Your shit-head boys started it. Not us.

[Not burnt-out enough. If he could get to that point (he's working on it, he really is), he wouldn't have to deal with any of this shit. No more of those flashes that might be memories or might've been imagined; he's stopped trying to separate the two. What happened, what he just thinks might've happened... the truth is in the moment, and that's all. Yeah. That sounds good.]

Aw, I'm not that old.

[He coullld look at Lugo, but geez, he's real comfortable just the way he is. Besides, Lugo's face looks funny. Funny as in 'downright unsettling' funny.]

Little doggie's got a lot of bite.

Anyway, last I checked, no one invited you kids to the party. We were enjoying our little piece of paradise when you busted in out of nowhere, ready to get your kill on and no RSVP in sight. Seems a little uncouth, doesn't it? I'm telling ya, it's that kind of disorderly conduct that'll lead us all to ruin. Fire and brimstone, WHOAAA is we! [He throws his arms up for that, but... Still not looking at you, Lugo.]

Edited 2014-01-29 02:31 (UTC)

Your Damned shot first. We had no choice. We had to defend ourselves...

[Still genuine belief. He's biting his tongue oh a more inflammatory comment, but seems more and more agitated by what he perceives as being ignored. Still, he stands solidly - but also very menacingly - not too far off, eyes narrowed and cold. "Little dog" is definitely quite the insult to him. He chews at his lip, frustrated, at the end of his chain, yet still too... undecided, maybe, to move.]

We said who we were, said we had no intentions of harming them, and still, they shot at us. So fuck them. And fuck you too.

[Flustered, he looks around for a moment, and then slips just out of sight to try and breathe, calm himself down. He isn't trapped in the situation, that's for sure... but he also doesn't want to leave.]

Whatever you say, Lu-go.

[He doesn't buy a word of it. And he was going to leave it at that, but keeping quiet's never really been his strong suit.] You all did one hell of a job defending yourselves against those civilians. A little bit of the ol' fire-powder goes a long way, and that trick with the water? Genius.

But they were real menaces. I know, man. The way they used to sweep out their little hovel-shelters and tuck their kiddies in at night.

No. where. to. run.

[That almost leads to some more humming, maybe outright singing, but he's noticed that something's different, that he doesn't feel as if someone's trying to stare a hole through his head. What...?

Now he does raise himself enough to look around, finds that the kid's disappeared. Isn't that just like a Delta? Disappearing just as things are getting interesting. He wonders vaguely whether he should be worried. He really isn't worried.]

Hey! You running out on me? What's the matter? Don't you want to shoot me in the head first?

I didn't know... I... it was my first time with Delta. I was... I was the rookie. You can't jeopardize the mission when it's your first goddamn one.

I couldn't tell him no. I wanted this. Needed it.

[It's such a small sounding admission. Lugo curls in on himself in the shadowy alcove, hugging his knees. A few moments to catch his breath and he's already starting to realize just how shaky his arguments are, just how alone he is, and how desperately he wants the company of someone who understands him, knows what he's been through. And considering just what he's dealing with right now, he realizes that this man is the closest thing he has.

He doesn't want to leave. Yet he hates the Radio Man. He killed the guy, for chrissakes. He still doesn't know the man's name.]

My name's John. Not a military man anymore. Not Delta. Nothing. All that's gone now. I've got jack shit.

[The fuck's the kid giving him his name for? Whatever.]

Are we playing hide and seek, or is this just another thing your best bud forever and commander in chief told you to do? Because I'll tell you one thing, friend: I am not getting up to come after you.

[There's something going on in the voice of the kid alias Lugo alias John alias Shot-you-in-the-face, but he doesn't think much about it. People are always feeling things. Always breaking down, and boy, hasn't be been there? Ahaha. That's the price of being human. And causing massive amounts of destruction; it's the price of that, too. Just a thing you go through.]

This is a very nice couch. Sofa. Say, John. Do they say 'couch' or 'sofa' where you're from? Or are yours 'davenport' people?

[It's very, very quiet for a time, so quiet that it seems like Lugo may have slipped off, probably, but eventually there's the soft scratch of a boot heel, the creak of worn leather. He starts to speak, then falls silent, thinks for a moment, replies carefully, though his voice is still small and quiet.]

Old people say 'davenport'. It's a couch. Sometimes a sofa. It all depends on the situation, you know?

I'm... I'm... twenty-seven years old. I'm not a kid. But I'm not an old man either.

[It feels weird answering a question like that... almost like making small talk with a woman when he's not got a whole lot left to say... or maybe it's a little like talking in bed... right after a good night.

He doesn't really want to think of that, gags quietly. Even if it's a weak joke, Lugo still lets it fly.]

And if you're planning on asking me to dinner: no.

[He's nearly given up on Lugo - 'it's just you and me now, Couch' - when the answer comes. And, all right, there's a little relief at that. He's skilled at keeping himself occupied, but it's always better having someone else to play with. Keeps some of the, ah, ghosts at bay. AND Lugo's even playing along now. That's great! That gets a big ol' grin.]

Shit, I had a nice place picked out and everything. They make ribs like you wouldn't believe. I thought, you know, candlelight dinner, maybe a walk around the empty space here, then we go back to my place... [He looks around, shrugs.] My couch, and call it a night. Or do I say 'davenport'? Since I'm so old.

It's not a bad davenport.

Muse is never happy. Mun is trying to be a responsible adult (kind of...) [SO:TL]

fff i still owe you a response elsewhere but apparently this seemed necessary

Oh my god this is the greatest... it's like Christmas all over again!

maybe Lugo will get a special gift!

God knows he needs a new chew toy, of some sort or another.

awww man... just watch the hair, all right?

Hahaha, oh boy... gonna have to teach the puppy how to play nice.

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