[It's not an unusual thing to find a variety of people up at ridiculous hours for one reason or another. A good portion of the Barge has reasons not to sleep well. It does tend to be quieter overall, though, which is why Alexei often ends up on the Deck slowly working his way through a cigarette when he can't sleep.
There are others around, yes, but he's not exactly expecting company. His head tilts a little when he hears footsteps - light as they are - and he blows a stream of tobacco smoke casually over the side of the ship.
Faolan gets a glance from the young man casually positioned against the railing. In this light his eyes are so dark as to be black, the pupils entirely hidden, and his hair is a semi-wild mop that he idly pushes a hand through as he acknowledges the other man's presence. His voice is fairly distinct - crisp and slightly roughened by smoking, with a light accent.]
[Not being able to sleep is nothing new for Faolan. It is true that he is still adjusting to his new room — having a room of his own in the first for that matter - but he has slept in far worse places. Truthfully, it is his mind that will not let him settle, but that is a whole other matter entirely.
If he were at home — if home is what he is to call it — in White Hill, he might simply walk the halls of the fortress, check the perimeter, report in with the guards. Work, put his mind to task so it could not meander down the dark paths it was determined to seek out otherwise. But here, with his scheduled assignments and all his so called “freedoms”…
A prison is a prison, no matter how they dress it up, and Faolan is…struggling. Inside his own head. With his thoughts. His dreams. His demons. His chest is tight as he stumbles out into the deck, desperate for at least the illusion of fresh air. Tilting his head back to try and breathe, but the sky is wrong. It’s all wrong and—
His head snaps to the side at the sound of the other man’s voice, instantly on alert. He looks, frankly, like shit. Dark circles under his dark eyes, and his clothes hang too loose on his frame, like he has only just gotten over a long illness. (Or, as the case may be, out of a long stint in prison…)]
Fine. [An obvious lie.] Thought I could do with some brisk sea air. [A joke.]
[All feelings Alexei would entirely understand. Regardless of how relaxed he seems these days, there was a time when he jumped at every shadow and never felt safe, reacting to the sense of insecurity with anger and lashing out at anyone who looked at him the wrong way.
He won't say he doesn't still have a temper - it's part of his personality - but it is more managed now.
When the reply comes he studies Faolan for a moment or two, taking in his appearance and demeanour and the all too obvious lie.]
Mmh. [He replies softly, the noise light and held in the back of his throat. Like knows like - he recognises this kind of jumpiness - and there's another brief pause while he taps some ash off his cigarette.]
[Faolan watches the other man carefully for a long moment, before determining that he hasn’t interrupted anything too private here. The question swiftly clueing him into why he might be up here himself. The cigarette is unlike anything of Faolan’s time, but they do have pipes, and Faolan supposes the premise is the same.
He shakes his head at last. In his experience, smoking muddles your mind, and for all that he’d prefer to be able to simply relax, he needs to keep his head clear. He may not be on the job just now, but he can never allow himself to turn it off. Which means no drink. No drugs. It’s maddening really.]
Never got the taste for it. [Another white lie. Faolan steps up to lean against the rail, far enough away to be able to continue their conversation but still give the both of them some space to themselves.]
[For Alexei it is mostly a bad habit, though even he wouldn't deny he smokes a lot more when he's nervous or stressed. He leans against the railing again when Faolan seems content to join him, just watching the 'scenery' pass by for a minute.]
Hard to keep a sense of time here sometimes, don't you think?
[There's another little drag after he casually asks the question.]
[Faolan tips his head back to gaze up at the sky beyond, if sky is indeed what one would call it. He supposes that there are stars, but try as he might he cannot recognize any of them, and they seem to change positions, sometimes even within the same night. And there is hardly any light, not from above at least. For a man who measures life in turnings of the moon, it is nigh impossible.
Of course, he could hardly admit to such a weakness to a stranger. He could hardly admit it to a friend. So instead he replies:]
[What Faolan does say, coupled with how obviously rough he looks, tells more than enough of a story for the time being. Alexei doesn't press it because he would have hated that too.
Instead, he nods and hums thoughtfully.]
It sure does.
[No denying that. Even in the position he's in now, it still asks a lot. He's hardly comfortable with his 'status' or anything about it.]
[Faolan raises an eyebrow at the question, before offering the other man a shrug. He’s been running into a lot of issues like this lately, and it’s hard to explain that which you don’t understand in the first place.]
A turning of the moon. As opposed to that of the sun. It is how we measure time, where I am from. I know no other way of explaining myself.
[He leans more heavily against the rail.]
No moon, no recognizable stars, no sun. No earth, no water, no trees save the ones growing inside the ship. It does not make sense.
[Nope, still doesn't make any sense. He's also not entirely sure if Faolan is being obstinate about it on purpose, or he really doesn't understand what is being asked.
It's not really worth the argument, he supposes. If the guy hasn't figured out how to measure time on the Barge yet then he's clearly not been here for long either way.]
Y'know, where I'm from, we have huge ships that fly through space. Like this. [A gesture to the stars slipping by in front of them.] And this place is still weird as hell to me.
[Space. An equally strange and new concept to Faolan. He tilts his head back to look up at the stars above them, whatever constellations they may be, trying to picture it. Flight on the whole.]
If it were not for the fact that we find ourselves exactly in the situation you describe, I would think you were mad. As it is...
[He takes in another breath, letting it out slowly. By the gods, he is tired, but sleep will not come easily, not even at the best of times.]
It is myself I am questioning most, these days.
[Though if he's being honest with himself, he would have dreamt himself a far worse prison into existence, so he supposes this is the lesser of two evils, all things considered.
But enough about him. This has already been far too much for his comfort as it is. He turns to he man at his side once more, with a studying eye.]
I assume it has been longer for you. [He quirks a smile.] Despite the circumstances we both find ourselves in, at present.
[Out on the deck, in the middle of the night. Unable to sleep. Both in escape, or perhaps in search of something yet unfound.]
[And while he knows many people who have been here longer than that, it still feels as if it's been more than long enough. He leans against the railing as well, finally finishing off his cigarette and idly putting it out.]
Was actually set to leave a few months ago, but... things changed, I guess. [A small sniff.] Doesn't mean I like it here any better. Place is fucking awful.
[Faolan’s eyebrows furrow slightly at that combination of words, before he raises one at the other man again.]
You hate it here, and yet you chose to stay.
[There is a question in Faolan’s words. And a story in the other man’s explanation, he would assume. Something must have kept him here, and Faolan doubts it is anything so flimsy as a whim, if he had been given the chance of escape.]
[The lesser of two evils. Faolan supposes he understands that sort of a choice, although it is unfortunate. If he were offered a choice to go home…
Well, that would mean that he had done something to earn it in the first place. Or something to seek it out. He dislikes this place greatly yes, but because it has removed his choice. And his choice had been at the time to cease to exist entirely, so…
He does understand. He offers the other man a nod after a moment.]
Which finds us both here on the deck in the middle of the night, I suppose.
[He grins a little as he says that. It's hard to tell if he's entirely serious or not, but there might just be something about his demeanour that would tell someone like Faolan that he's not messing around.
[Faolan raises an eyebrow again at the other man. There's clearly something there behind his words, even if he's choosing to hide a truth behind a laugh. Faolan's met more than a few men who handle their pain that way. He's known to crack a joke here and then, himself, although all in all it's much easier not having to answer questions if you don't let anyone close enough to start he's found.
Handshakes aren't really the same thing for Faolan that they are in more modern times, but he reaches out to grasp the other man's hand as it is offered. Less of a shake and more of a clasp of hands and arms.]
[The greeting doesn't seem to faze him, and he claps his free hand lightly against the side of Faolan's arm before letting him go.]
Ochen' priyatna.
[A brief smile before he goes back to leaning on the railing. He was not joking about the trauma, but sometimes it's easier to just make light of it while also being open about it... because he doesn't, at this point, see any reason why he shouldn't be.]
Mostly up here 'cause I've had a weird sleep pattern for a while. You taken a look around the library yet?
[Faolan has trauma of his own, but is decidedly more... Cagey about it. Any emotions are a weak point, a target on his back. When he's on a mission, half the time he is either traveling by himself, or under cover and posing to be someone else entirely. His own trauma is baggage he cannot afford, and is best left boxed up in a secret corner of his mind and left untouched, for the best of everyone involved.
He has no idea what the other man has said to him, but he supposes it does not matter in the long run as he turns to other topics. The library, for instance. Faolan side-eyes him before shaking his head at the question.]
I cannot say that I have.
[In truth, Faolan has spent the better part of his free time vascillating from severe depression and dedicating himself to investigating this Vessel and how he might be able to get himself out of here -- and nothing about a library has indicated there might be any answers there-- but he's not going to admit that to someone he's just met either.]
[He'll get used to that. The random little Russian phrases, and the cursing. Especially the cursing. At least the tone he speaks in makes it evident enough that it's not some kind of insult.]
One of the first places I started spending any time here.
[After he got past the initial fury about being here at all.]
[Faolan shrugs slightly at the question. He's not exactly an open book even at the best of times, and this is certainly not one of them. But Alexei doesn't really deserve any poor treatment from him, at least as far as he knows, and so he supposes he can at least offer some form of an answer.]
I work in the kitchen. Dining shift.
[He runs a hand over the railing, tracing the line of the wood.]
I spend time in the greenhouse.
[He glances up at his companion.]
I meet with my Warden and try to adjust to the idea of this place.
[He shifts his weight against the railing. Honestly, he never really understands people who voluntarily work canteen shifts or custodial, but if they want to feel useful...]
How's that last part working out for you? Some "Wardens" here aren't worth the breath it takes to say the title.
[Faolan shrugs slightly. Honestly, the verdict is still out a little on that one for him on how this is going to go for him, but he suspects that is more his fault than Anduin's.]
He is... A kind man. Supposedly there are others who have 'graduated' underneath his watch. I expect that I am lucky to not be stuck with someone else who is far less understanding than he.
[Especially if you're the sort of person that they are, not that he knows yet of the number of similarities between himself and Faolan.]
I spent most of my time as an inmate here completely rejecting the system. I still do, even though I somehow muddled my way through it. And yeah, I know there's an element of fuckin' hypocrisy in the fact I'm still here.
[Still here. Doesn't like being called a warden, but still here.]
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deck, 3am
There are others around, yes, but he's not exactly expecting company. His head tilts a little when he hears footsteps - light as they are - and he blows a stream of tobacco smoke casually over the side of the ship.
Faolan gets a glance from the young man casually positioned against the railing. In this light his eyes are so dark as to be black, the pupils entirely hidden, and his hair is a semi-wild mop that he idly pushes a hand through as he acknowledges the other man's presence. His voice is fairly distinct - crisp and slightly roughened by smoking, with a light accent.]
You okay?
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If he were at home — if home is what he is to call it — in White Hill, he might simply walk the halls of the fortress, check the perimeter, report in with the guards. Work, put his mind to task so it could not meander down the dark paths it was determined to seek out otherwise. But here, with his scheduled assignments and all his so called “freedoms”…
A prison is a prison, no matter how they dress it up, and Faolan is…struggling. Inside his own head. With his thoughts. His dreams. His demons. His chest is tight as he stumbles out into the deck, desperate for at least the illusion of fresh air. Tilting his head back to try and breathe, but the sky is wrong. It’s all wrong and—
His head snaps to the side at the sound of the other man’s voice, instantly on alert. He looks, frankly, like shit. Dark circles under his dark eyes, and his clothes hang too loose on his frame, like he has only just gotten over a long illness. (Or, as the case may be, out of a long stint in prison…)]
Fine. [An obvious lie.] Thought I could do with some brisk sea air. [A joke.]
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He won't say he doesn't still have a temper - it's part of his personality - but it is more managed now.
When the reply comes he studies Faolan for a moment or two, taking in his appearance and demeanour and the all too obvious lie.]
Mmh. [He replies softly, the noise light and held in the back of his throat. Like knows like - he recognises this kind of jumpiness - and there's another brief pause while he taps some ash off his cigarette.]
You smoke?
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He shakes his head at last. In his experience, smoking muddles your mind, and for all that he’d prefer to be able to simply relax, he needs to keep his head clear. He may not be on the job just now, but he can never allow himself to turn it off. Which means no drink. No drugs. It’s maddening really.]
Never got the taste for it. [Another white lie. Faolan steps up to lean against the rail, far enough away to be able to continue their conversation but still give the both of them some space to themselves.]
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[For Alexei it is mostly a bad habit, though even he wouldn't deny he smokes a lot more when he's nervous or stressed. He leans against the railing again when Faolan seems content to join him, just watching the 'scenery' pass by for a minute.]
Hard to keep a sense of time here sometimes, don't you think?
[There's another little drag after he casually asks the question.]
Never really liked that about it.
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Of course, he could hardly admit to such a weakness to a stranger. He could hardly admit it to a friend. So instead he replies:]
This place asks quite a lot of us in general.
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Instead, he nods and hums thoughtfully.]
It sure does.
[No denying that. Even in the position he's in now, it still asks a lot. He's hardly comfortable with his 'status' or anything about it.]
Haven't been here long, have you?
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Can’t imagine where you might have gotten that impression.
[Faolan lets out a soft sigh.]
As you said, it is difficult to measure time here. But it has not been long, no. No more than the turning of the moon, by my estimate.
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[An equally dry smile in return. Small talk is stupid but often a necessary part of conversation, and he's not always great at it.]
I'm gonna take a guess that you mean a month, but how long is that for you?
[There is a good chance they are not even from the same planet, after all.]
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A turning of the moon. As opposed to that of the sun. It is how we measure time, where I am from. I know no other way of explaining myself.
[He leans more heavily against the rail.]
No moon, no recognizable stars, no sun. No earth, no water, no trees save the ones growing inside the ship. It does not make sense.
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It's not really worth the argument, he supposes. If the guy hasn't figured out how to measure time on the Barge yet then he's clearly not been here for long either way.]
Y'know, where I'm from, we have huge ships that fly through space. Like this. [A gesture to the stars slipping by in front of them.] And this place is still weird as hell to me.
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If it were not for the fact that we find ourselves exactly in the situation you describe, I would think you were mad. As it is...
[He takes in another breath, letting it out slowly. By the gods, he is tired, but sleep will not come easily, not even at the best of times.]
It is myself I am questioning most, these days.
[Though if he's being honest with himself, he would have dreamt himself a far worse prison into existence, so he supposes this is the lesser of two evils, all things considered.
But enough about him. This has already been far too much for his comfort as it is. He turns to he man at his side once more, with a studying eye.]
I assume it has been longer for you. [He quirks a smile.] Despite the circumstances we both find ourselves in, at present.
[Out on the deck, in the middle of the night. Unable to sleep. Both in escape, or perhaps in search of something yet unfound.]
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Over a year.
[And while he knows many people who have been here longer than that, it still feels as if it's been more than long enough. He leans against the railing as well, finally finishing off his cigarette and idly putting it out.]
Was actually set to leave a few months ago, but... things changed, I guess. [A small sniff.] Doesn't mean I like it here any better. Place is fucking awful.
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You hate it here, and yet you chose to stay.
[There is a question in Faolan’s words. And a story in the other man’s explanation, he would assume. Something must have kept him here, and Faolan doubts it is anything so flimsy as a whim, if he had been given the chance of escape.]
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[He knows how it sounds, but he also knows he is by far not the only person who feels that way and is still here regardless.
His shoulder lifts in a shrug.]
Bad as it can get here... Bad as it is... It's still better for me here right now than going home.
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Well, that would mean that he had done something to earn it in the first place. Or something to seek it out. He dislikes this place greatly yes, but because it has removed his choice. And his choice had been at the time to cease to exist entirely, so…
He does understand. He offers the other man a nod after a moment.]
Which finds us both here on the deck in the middle of the night, I suppose.
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[He grins a little as he says that. It's hard to tell if he's entirely serious or not, but there might just be something about his demeanour that would tell someone like Faolan that he's not messing around.
The young man shrugs, offering a hand.]
Alexei.
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Handshakes aren't really the same thing for Faolan that they are in more modern times, but he reaches out to grasp the other man's hand as it is offered. Less of a shake and more of a clasp of hands and arms.]
Faolan.
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Ochen' priyatna.
[A brief smile before he goes back to leaning on the railing. He was not joking about the trauma, but sometimes it's easier to just make light of it while also being open about it... because he doesn't, at this point, see any reason why he shouldn't be.]
Mostly up here 'cause I've had a weird sleep pattern for a while. You taken a look around the library yet?
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He has no idea what the other man has said to him, but he supposes it does not matter in the long run as he turns to other topics. The library, for instance. Faolan side-eyes him before shaking his head at the question.]
I cannot say that I have.
[In truth, Faolan has spent the better part of his free time vascillating from severe depression and dedicating himself to investigating this Vessel and how he might be able to get himself out of here -- and nothing about a library has indicated there might be any answers there-- but he's not going to admit that to someone he's just met either.]
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One of the first places I started spending any time here.
[After he got past the initial fury about being here at all.]
So what are you doing with yourself all day?
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I work in the kitchen. Dining shift.
[He runs a hand over the railing, tracing the line of the wood.]
I spend time in the greenhouse.
[He glances up at his companion.]
I meet with my Warden and try to adjust to the idea of this place.
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[He shifts his weight against the railing. Honestly, he never really understands people who voluntarily work canteen shifts or custodial, but if they want to feel useful...]
How's that last part working out for you? Some "Wardens" here aren't worth the breath it takes to say the title.
[Alexei has Opinions.]
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He is... A kind man. Supposedly there are others who have 'graduated' underneath his watch. I expect that I am lucky to not be stuck with someone else who is far less understanding than he.
But it is not easy. To be here.
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[Especially if you're the sort of person that they are, not that he knows yet of the number of similarities between himself and Faolan.]
I spent most of my time as an inmate here completely rejecting the system. I still do, even though I somehow muddled my way through it. And yeah, I know there's an element of fuckin' hypocrisy in the fact I'm still here.
[Still here. Doesn't like being called a warden, but still here.]
But when I first got here? I was mad as hell.
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