[ Nate's lack of amusement only seems to encourage his, and the smile never fades as his chin dips back down to focus on his well-practiced smoke prep ritual. ]
Yeah, okay, you got me there. Usually way less shooting in my line of work. As in, like, none.
[ Much less compressed nitrogen, but that one's a nonzero amount. ]
It's also horrifying that you got fucking shot at, by the way, in case I haven't mentioned that. Just so it's on record.
[ A pointed glance up through whatever hair's fallen in his face.
And then he kindly offers over the product of his handiwork, because it is Customary to let the underexperienced go first. ]
[ Ian clearly did this often enough back home to be incredibly deft at the process and Nate experiences the strong urge to make another California comment. He refrains for both their sakes, because he agreed to come over but it wasn't exclusively for the temptation of engaging in recreational drugs. It wasn't even, like, 50% of the reason. More like 10%.
The company's nice. ]
Ha. You have no idea.
[ Nate has lost count of how many gunfights he's been in, which is perhaps a fact that should probably concern him as he takes the lead and the lighter. He remembers a bong in Harry's place a long, long time ago, some ridiculously over-the-top glass thing that got pulled out when Harry wasn't feeling his nicotine itch. This one is a little more similar to the waterpipes Nate has seen in Laos. ]
Can't believe you didn't wanna serve tea with your thuốc lào.
[ He says amusedly, flicking the igniter. Mouth, mouthpiece. Lighter, weed. Nate doesn't fill the chamber completely with smoke because it's been a while and he doesn't exactly trust himself or his memory of similar experiences yet, tugging the bowl out and inhaling.
He doesn't cough - the hit isn't hard enough - but the sensation of smoke in his lungs reminds him too potently of explosions and he grimaces when he exhales. ]
[ The truth of it is his smoking died off tremendously sometime in his mid twenties, from a purely comparative standpoint. It became more of a once or twice a month with his TA kind of habit, right up until the end of the world. Luke may be one of the smartest humans Ian's ever met, it's a crying fucking shame he didn't believe in his ability to succeed as much as Ian did. Not that it wound up mattering, of course, but his brain found other fantastic applications in the form of a - setting up amazing (often too severe in Ian's opinion) perimeter defenses and b - cross-breeding marijuana in a greenhouse made primarily of plastic sheeting. God bless him. The hours between 9 p.m. and 7 a.m. were the fuck it hours, and there's surprisingly little to do sans electricity or metal.
Also, Ian's coping mechanisms were shit. Largely still are. ]
Gesundheit.
[ He says lightly, because he's never heard of thuốc lào and it's a classic, timeless joke.
Impossible to miss that expression considering how raptly Ian's studying him for a reaction; interesting that he seems to find more displeasure in that than Ian's ever seen him have knocking back any kind of hard liquor. ]
Is it a taste thing or a throat thing?
[ That expression; asked while holding a hand out to relieve Nate of his burden. ]
[ He feels a little bad not immediately enjoying something that a clear and significant amount of labor went into, but it's probably better to be honest than force himself to like the flavor. If they do this again Nate is going to request something with a stronger profile, no matter how artificial, like the weenie he is. ]
Taste. Hit's not bad but it's strong.
[ He hands the bong and lighter over after replacing the bowl, apologetic. ]
One time I almost, uh, died in a burning building, so. Really smoky flavors remind me of that.
[ It's not like he's gonna take personal offense to it, he didn't create the taste or feeling of smoking pot. Nobody really likes it, except those exceptionally too-extra stoners you meet from time to time who get all braggy about it for some reason.
Ian does cough toward the end of his, but it has absolutely nothing to do with the hit and everything to do with the offhanded mention about almost dying. ]
Jesus, are you serious? Man, if I knew that I would've made you a fucking... scone or something. I'm sorry.
[ And thus Ian enters quick problem solving mode, short term and long term solutions. Step numero uno is to set the bong down and head to the kitchen to harvest a couple of ice cubes to drop in. It's not gonna solve it, but it could help. They won't make tobacco flavoring anymore but he can probably swap out SunnyD for a few weeks and mess around with flavoring drops. Really, though, it's gonna have to be a baked goods situation. That's the best answer here.
But anyway, back in his seat and with the bong nudged gently in Nate's direction on the table — for whenever, no pressure — he's gonna work on fishing out his MP3 player and flipping through it absently while he focuses on the more important part of this conversation. ]
[ Nate waves off the gesture, touched, but there's no way Ian could know. Even hearty fireplaces during winter tend to smell a little too much like burning floor ties and ceiling joists for Nate to find them excessively cozy. There's always a distant attachment to the scent of the air after a grenade goes off.
Nate watches him mitigate the issue and dig out that brick of an MP3 player, taking a minute to let the inside of his chest settle. ]
Remember that crazy lady with the cult I told you about? From my first big job?
[ He probably does, Ian's apparently got a mind like a steel fucking trap when it comes to personal details. ]
They set fire to the place after they thought they'd trapped us inside. It was this huge old chateau in France, kind of turns into a maze when everything is lighting up like tinder.
[ He ultimately settles on one that has him way too amused with himself, a tiny playful smirk quirking up at the corner of his mouth as it plays out of the headphones-turned-quiet-speakers. It's a little tinny, but he's of the strong belief that you can't really substitute listening to music with somebody out loud no matter how much fancier brain implants are.
His amusement doesn't last long when faced with the story Nate's telling, and that smirk fades out quickly into a deeply knitted brow. ]
Dude, what... the fuck is your life? Seriously, like, every anecdote you've got is the most horrifying shit ever. You're legitimately making my apocalypse look like a McDonald's ball pit.
[ By the time Ian has selected something Nate has decided to venture into another hit, wrinkling his nose this time but finding the sensation a little more muted than before with the addition of ice. At least one of them knows what they're doing. He's just setting the bong back on the table when he recognizes the tune, half a second away from remarking on it when he is swiftly waylaid.
Nate has the good grace to look a little embarrassed, scrubbing at the back of his neck with one hand. At the time everything is just a new problem to deal with: something to mitigate in the moment, an occurrence to survive. He never stops to think about it even after the fact.
It's easy to look at them through the lens of an adventure. ]
I dunno, it's just...my life? It's not always shoot-outs and falling out of planes, it's-
[ He sits up a little, trying to explain it with earnest sincerity, probably over-using his hands. ]
I've gotten to see places no one has even heard of. Places people thought were mythical, touched history that nobody's ever written down in a book. People talk about Shangri-La like it's a fictional city - it's not. I've been there. I've- I've seen the sun rise over jungle ruins that humanity's forgotten about for centuries, I've found artifacts from civilizations that we've lost. It's not just me getting into catastrophic firefights, it's...being in another place, and seeing another time.
[ Nate sits up and Ian pivots a little, twisting from forward to side facing with his knee folded perpendicular to the floor and spilling over onto the center cushion. It makes for a stable temporary base for the bong, momentarily forgotten and resting still.
It's completely, totally charming. It's the sincerity and the hand movements, but it's also just... the explanation itself. It's kind of magical sounding, actually, the whole picture Nate paints. Shangri-La and jungle sunrises, and Ian's also picturing a probably wildly inaccurate image of old ruins and sunbeams and dust.
And you know what, about being inaccurate-- ]
You should show me sometime.
[ Just floating the idea. In case it isn't clear, he nods vaguely at Nate's hands where they hover. ]
With the... thing. The memory thing.
[ Outside of nonconsensual dreams, he's only shared a memory once or twice. Experimental, for the most part. He knows how it works, it might be cool for stuff like that.
It also makes people super fucking uncomfortable, so he's deliberately casual about the request rather than demanding. ]
[ Nate gets caught up in it; he always has. Distractable and an easy target for getting too immersed in his work, Nate's evenings in bars as a younger man were usually spent nursing a single beer while trying to puzzle out something by himself, barely engaging the people next to him even when someone tried to finagle their way into his darting attentions.
He's gotten better with time, with age, but the candor and interest persists, naive only in his excitement and the possibilities of what he might find. ]
Yeah. Yeah, why didn't I think of that?
[ Stupid, slightly stubborn, already dragged elsewhere by his own imagination being reminded of the beyul near Everest. This is different, but close enough. Nate holds out his hand, palm and expression open.
When Ian takes it there's a gut-wrenching jerk, the kind of lurch in your stomach when going up the stairs at night and missing a step. The sudden pull of falling from a great height and then the realizing the floor was there beneath you the whole time. Exhilaration and freedom, the pulse of adrenaline a steady beat under the view of a long-forgotten place.
Borneo, dripping humidity and massive tree trunks blanketed with vines. The climate is sweltering and oppressive but the occasional breeze from the ocean pushes through, salty and sharp, a dark pit in the rich, black earth supported by carved columns. It breathes, washing dank air back that reeks of death and curiosity. A temple - a forbidden place - set high into the mountain in Tibet, yawning chasms chipped and draped in ice. Monstrous bells and prayer wheels creak along with the shifting of ancient gears, dread edging in on wonder.
Nate drags out before it delves too deep beyond the surface and pushes a memory of Shambhala as the trees spread and the city emerges from a blanket of mist, greenery bursting over every building, the remains of a civilization that never truly left. The air is dense and rich, heavy floral and damp stone and an undercurrent of gun smoke, a winnowing thread of fear and anticipation. The structures are intact and the foliage is thick, enormous roots spreading from the base of the central temple and burying themselves in the surrounding foundations without thought or mercy, reclaimed by nature.
Then he releases his grip, returns his hand to his lap, and the memories are gone. ]
[ It doesn't take an empathy bond for Nate to pick up on his startlement; not but a second after he takes that hand a swiftly tugged falling feeling pulls a stuttered gasp through him that hitches quietly in his chest. A little bit of momentary mental vertigo as his mind tries to reconcile the feeling and what it's seeing with the realization that he's actually still sitting on a couch. A few swimming but determined seconds pass and then he orients himself, discomfort dismissed easily in favor of curiosity.
He was definitely wrong about those mental images; blurry and indistinct yes, but aside from that even if they'd been crystal clear they wouldn't stack up to the actual sight Nate pushes into him. Courtesy of the skin to skin contact Nate gets a very up close front row seat to Ian's reaction — namely, the transference of a suitable amount of awe and wonderment. An appreciation that maybe can't ever stack up to the kind Nate has for it, but a not insignificant one all the same. They're equal parts beautiful and magical, and they're both heightened by the color Nate's emotion gives them. Some of his excitement bleeds through the memories, bleeds into Ian's skin, becomes Ian's excitement by proxy.
Then all at once they're gone, and it takes Ian a second or two to blink back to reality. His reaction, while small, is completely genuine. ]
Wow.
[ Seriously, what else can you say about that? They're once in a lifetime sights, except-- well, more than once for Nate, and now they've been duplicated against all laws of nature. ]
That's crazy. Sucks about the shooting still, but wow.
Showing people the things he's seen, giving them experiences they wouldn't otherwise have. Travel is never just for him, it's the enjoyment of the person he's with and the expression on their face when a vista stretches out before them and into the horizon. The thrill of discovery and the unknown, and Nate can't contain the bright grin on his face after the fact. He tips his head to one side in acknowledgement, reveling in Ian's reaction. ]
Occupational hazard. But yeah. Amazing, right?
[ He misses it - the adventure, and the people with whom he shared it - and it's evident in the crooked bent to his smile, the way his eyes scrunch at the edges. ]
I could show you Tibet without a memory, too. [ He adds, leaning back into the sofa again. ] The major cities have changed but the villages are the same. Kinda nice to know something's how I remembered it.
[ He's pleased by the expression on Nate's face, the size and shape of his smile is appealing as hell. He hasn't had much exposure to Nate being excited; a few brief bits here and there at the bar or — weirdly — sixty stories off the fucking ground on a crane. This is a little bit more than what he's seen so far, and damn if it doesn't catch his attention. He kind of wants to press somehow, find out what ratchets it up to an even higher level — though Nate may have just answered that question himself. ]
You wanna go, like, hang out in tibet?
[ Just to be clear, because it sounds like a spontaneous offer. Granted it's not the kind of trip that people balk at so much anymore, particularly not the displaced with their gates positioned all over the world. They could do it, actually, and they could do it pretty easily.
He's not hating the idea at all. ]
Important deciding question: can I preemptively opt out of bullets?
[ He's teasing just a little, wry, before dipping in for a second hit finally. ]
[ Someone's got jokes. Nate smacks Ian's bicep with the back of his hand, carefully not to upset the treasured bong before he inhales, and it's possible he may have made the offer without thinking, but that doesn't make it any less sincere. He's been itching to get out of New Amsterdam for weeks, needs a little breathing space, wants to diversify his socialization before he lovingly strangles his brother.
It is a big thing, he realizes, for some people. Traveling with another person. He doesn't know if Ian has been there before, or even has a remote interest, but it's worth asking. Might be nice to share something he misses with somebody who could appreciate it. ]
No bullets. And yes, Tibet. Not like- not today, but- I dunno, soon? See some old monasteries? I think your whole- [ Nate gestures at Ian vaguely. ] -everything would dig it. I think you'd like it.
[ He echoes, something gently challenging in his tone. It shifts quickly into his rendition of typical Californian stoner meets Tommy Chong, which is... terrible, actually. He's god awful at accents and impressions of anyone other than Matthew McConaughey. ]
Like, listen, man. I invited you into my casa to partake, I refuse to be type-casted. That's, like, a real negative energy or whatever.
[ Punctuated by gently plunking a bong down onto his coffee table.
But anyway-- ]
I'll forgive you this transgression in a Tibetan monastery only, and nowhere else.
[ Ian feels like the kind of person with whom a Buddhist monastery would resonate, not for his generally chill demeanor, but for his approach to so many things - engineering included. Faith-based pilgrimages aren't something that Nate can personally get behind, but there's a spirituality in art and architecture.
Elbow pressed into the back cushion of the sofa, chin pressed into the palm of his hand, his smile widens delightedly behind his fingers. The act is horrific and probably an affront to many God-fearing Californians and Nate would maybe nominate the performance for a Razzie, at best. The effects of the weed are starting to creep in at the edges and it may contribute to his poorly-hidden glee. ]
I love how flexible you are in absolving me of my stereotyping crimes.
That's one of the many ways I'm flexible, but unfortunately the rest of them probably won't absolve the other things on your rap sheet.
[ Matter-of-factly, and just a touch apologetic. Sorry, mister black market acquisition pick pocketing troubled youth.
The song changes, he pauses, then shoots an accusatory look at his MP3 player for a second. Okay, listen- ]
Shut up, shh, don't even say anything, that doesn't count.
[ He is a victim of fate and circumstance here, okay. Fingers crossed this is one of those random pop culture black holes in Nate's resume. Lots of places like that band. ]
[ Nate hums sagaciously, as though the statement were fraught with all sorts of wisdom and not the slightly suggestive implications he is almost certain Ian is implying. Fortunately Nate doesn’t have to linger for very long, because the music changes and Ian’s sudden mild panic becomes an utterly encompassing preoccupation.
Eyebrows climbing toward his hairline Nate’s teeth dig into his lower lip, a poor excuse for masking the satisfaction at Ian’s expense. He shouldn’t look pleased, but- ]
Wow. Red Hot Chili Peppers, deep cut. Should I ask what “counts?”
[ He answers brightly, conversationally, because in the three seconds he has to think about it nothing clever comes to mind.
Though, honestly, it's hard to be anything but amused when Nate's wearing that expression. Even at his own expense. He settles his side comfortably against the back couch cushion, weed finally starting to creep into the edges of everything. It brings with it a smile he's having a hard time trying to suppress. ]
Let's go back to the magical... ancient ruins part, or better yet, you do something unflattering for once. You're, like, six weeks overdue. Bring some balance back into the universe.
[ There's a lot of unflattering information he could share. His tendency to avoid emotional confrontations, the overprotectiveness of friends and loved ones he's still learning to curb, his marital fuck-ups, his ignominious death. His body count, somewhere in the low thousands at this point. His arrogance and overconfidence when he knows he's right. ]
I've never read any Shakespeare unless under duress?
[ Nate stymies and reaches for the bong again, thumbs drumming the glass before he takes another hit and exhales with a heavy sigh.
He's pretty sure it's high school when you start getting overexposed to some of the "classics," so he follows the thread to the next logical point. ]
I...didn't finish school? Dropped out in the sixth grade.
[ Ian pulls a kind of flat, disbelieving expression at Shakespeare — not because he doubts Nate's inexperience, but because... I mean, come on man? The most unflattering thing about you is you can't quote Macbeth? Get the fuck out of here.
Except it tangents off into an actual suitably surprising fact that Ian finds genuinely mindblowing. ]
Wait-- what? Seriously? Are you fucking with me?
[ Maybe he shouldn't be so surprised, he thinks Luke dropped out of high school — or maybe it was his first semester of college? Whatever the case, he knows from a place of logic that intelligence has nothing to do with formal education.
[ He replaces the equipment on the table and casts his arm back over the couch, thumbing at the joint of his ring finger for a moment while he decides how he wants to explain it. He could have easily gotten his GED if they settled somewhere stable, Sam taking a job while Nate got increasingly frustrated with classes. He doesn't remember the last lesson he got. English class, maybe? Something about The Odyssey?
Nate turns his attention back to Ian and the smile he wears is a little softer. Nothing regretful, but neither is it something to be especially proud of. ]
When we left the orphanage, I just...didn't go back to school. And then we were traveling, which made it harder. So I never finished.
[ He's been unashamedly, unsubtly curious as hell about Nate's life and his history. That attentiveness is written pretty clearly in his expression, with a subtle knit to his brow and a kind of quiet contemplativeness hovering around his mouth.
It makes sense, really. It lines up with all of the snippets of Nate's life he's gotten so far — slowly but surely filling in those blanks. ]
Huh.
[ Is what he ultimately settles on, and-- ]
That's kind of crazy, you're insanely smart, I wouldn't have guessed. I don't know if I'd count that as unflattering, though.
[ Just kind of a life thing. Then again, it's possible he's a little biased in Nate's favor. The weed isn't helping. ]
[ Nate's shoulders lift and fall, a grudging agreement accompanied with a quiet I read a lot of books, because that's really what it came down to. Sam would dig out a bunch of cheap stuff at a thrift store and inundate Nate with reading material, and Nate would in turn chase leads he enjoyed to their natural ends, branching off in dozens of directions. He liked the detective work of it, the immersion. Because of that, though, he missed out on chemistry and ended up having to teach himself a lot of stuff when it came to getting certified for scuba.
It's not unflattering enough, though. Nate opens his mouth, closes it again, thinks. Most of his stock isn't embarrassing or unflattering so much as it is sad, which isn't the kind of olive oil you want to start dipping your metaphorical bread into when you're high. ]
Oh, wait-
[ He visibly brightens, holding one finger up in a "hold, please" sort of gesture, pushes up his sleeves that he has already pushed up, and shakes his shoulders out as though preparing for an act. In one palm he presents the lighter between them, and then proceeds to wave his other hand over it - gone. Hands up, no lighter. He deftly reaches behind Ian's head and withdraws it again, visible, before twisting another gesture and presenting nothing.
Hands down, followed by a small wave at Ian's shirt. ]
[ Color him, like, instantly entertained the second Nate starts pushing up sleeves that aren't even down in the first place. He settles in visibly, a little wiggle in his seat like he's getting comfortable for whatever bullshit this is about to be.
Poof, lighter gone.
Oh shit. Is this some actual legitimate close up magic? He's fucking delighted. Absurdly, ridiculously giddy over it, too enthusiastically shoving his hand in his pocket to pull out the lighter. ]
No fucking way—
[ And if, when, he finds it he straight up throws his head back and laughs. ]
Oh my god, this is-- I am... so happy right now. This is the greatest thing that could have come from this conversation. I'm... wow.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Yeah, okay, you got me there. Usually way less shooting in my line of work. As in, like, none.
[ Much less compressed nitrogen, but that one's a nonzero amount. ]
It's also horrifying that you got fucking shot at, by the way, in case I haven't mentioned that. Just so it's on record.
[ A pointed glance up through whatever hair's fallen in his face.
And then he kindly offers over the product of his handiwork, because it is Customary to let the underexperienced go first. ]
no subject
The company's nice. ]
Ha. You have no idea.
[ Nate has lost count of how many gunfights he's been in, which is perhaps a fact that should probably concern him as he takes the lead and the lighter. He remembers a bong in Harry's place a long, long time ago, some ridiculously over-the-top glass thing that got pulled out when Harry wasn't feeling his nicotine itch. This one is a little more similar to the waterpipes Nate has seen in Laos. ]
Can't believe you didn't wanna serve tea with your thuốc lào.
[ He says amusedly, flicking the igniter. Mouth, mouthpiece. Lighter, weed. Nate doesn't fill the chamber completely with smoke because it's been a while and he doesn't exactly trust himself or his memory of similar experiences yet, tugging the bowl out and inhaling.
He doesn't cough - the hit isn't hard enough - but the sensation of smoke in his lungs reminds him too potently of explosions and he grimaces when he exhales. ]
no subject
Also, Ian's coping mechanisms were shit. Largely still are. ]
Gesundheit.
[ He says lightly, because he's never heard of thuốc lào and it's a classic, timeless joke.
Impossible to miss that expression considering how raptly Ian's studying him for a reaction; interesting that he seems to find more displeasure in that than Ian's ever seen him have knocking back any kind of hard liquor. ]
Is it a taste thing or a throat thing?
[ That expression; asked while holding a hand out to relieve Nate of his burden. ]
no subject
Taste. Hit's not bad but it's strong.
[ He hands the bong and lighter over after replacing the bowl, apologetic. ]
One time I almost, uh, died in a burning building, so. Really smoky flavors remind me of that.
no subject
Ian does cough toward the end of his, but it has absolutely nothing to do with the hit and everything to do with the offhanded mention about almost dying. ]
Jesus, are you serious? Man, if I knew that I would've made you a fucking... scone or something. I'm sorry.
[ And thus Ian enters quick problem solving mode, short term and long term solutions. Step numero uno is to set the bong down and head to the kitchen to harvest a couple of ice cubes to drop in. It's not gonna solve it, but it could help. They won't make tobacco flavoring anymore but he can probably swap out SunnyD for a few weeks and mess around with flavoring drops. Really, though, it's gonna have to be a baked goods situation. That's the best answer here.
But anyway, back in his seat and with the bong nudged gently in Nate's direction on the table — for whenever, no pressure — he's gonna work on fishing out his MP3 player and flipping through it absently while he focuses on the more important part of this conversation. ]
What the fuck happened?
no subject
[ Nate waves off the gesture, touched, but there's no way Ian could know. Even hearty fireplaces during winter tend to smell a little too much like burning floor ties and ceiling joists for Nate to find them excessively cozy. There's always a distant attachment to the scent of the air after a grenade goes off.
Nate watches him mitigate the issue and dig out that brick of an MP3 player, taking a minute to let the inside of his chest settle. ]
Remember that crazy lady with the cult I told you about? From my first big job?
[ He probably does, Ian's apparently got a mind like a steel fucking trap when it comes to personal details. ]
They set fire to the place after they thought they'd trapped us inside. It was this huge old chateau in France, kind of turns into a maze when everything is lighting up like tinder.
no subject
His amusement doesn't last long when faced with the story Nate's telling, and that smirk fades out quickly into a deeply knitted brow. ]
Dude, what... the fuck is your life? Seriously, like, every anecdote you've got is the most horrifying shit ever. You're legitimately making my apocalypse look like a McDonald's ball pit.
no subject
Nate has the good grace to look a little embarrassed, scrubbing at the back of his neck with one hand. At the time everything is just a new problem to deal with: something to mitigate in the moment, an occurrence to survive. He never stops to think about it even after the fact.
It's easy to look at them through the lens of an adventure. ]
I dunno, it's just...my life? It's not always shoot-outs and falling out of planes, it's-
[ He sits up a little, trying to explain it with earnest sincerity, probably over-using his hands. ]
I've gotten to see places no one has even heard of. Places people thought were mythical, touched history that nobody's ever written down in a book. People talk about Shangri-La like it's a fictional city - it's not. I've been there. I've- I've seen the sun rise over jungle ruins that humanity's forgotten about for centuries, I've found artifacts from civilizations that we've lost. It's not just me getting into catastrophic firefights, it's...being in another place, and seeing another time.
no subject
It's completely, totally charming. It's the sincerity and the hand movements, but it's also just... the explanation itself. It's kind of magical sounding, actually, the whole picture Nate paints. Shangri-La and jungle sunrises, and Ian's also picturing a probably wildly inaccurate image of old ruins and sunbeams and dust.
And you know what, about being inaccurate-- ]
You should show me sometime.
[ Just floating the idea. In case it isn't clear, he nods vaguely at Nate's hands where they hover. ]
With the... thing. The memory thing.
[ Outside of nonconsensual dreams, he's only shared a memory once or twice. Experimental, for the most part. He knows how it works, it might be cool for stuff like that.
It also makes people super fucking uncomfortable, so he's deliberately casual about the request rather than demanding. ]
no subject
He's gotten better with time, with age, but the candor and interest persists, naive only in his excitement and the possibilities of what he might find. ]
Yeah. Yeah, why didn't I think of that?
[ Stupid, slightly stubborn, already dragged elsewhere by his own imagination being reminded of the beyul near Everest. This is different, but close enough. Nate holds out his hand, palm and expression open.
When Ian takes it there's a gut-wrenching jerk, the kind of lurch in your stomach when going up the stairs at night and missing a step. The sudden pull of falling from a great height and then the realizing the floor was there beneath you the whole time. Exhilaration and freedom, the pulse of adrenaline a steady beat under the view of a long-forgotten place.
Borneo, dripping humidity and massive tree trunks blanketed with vines. The climate is sweltering and oppressive but the occasional breeze from the ocean pushes through, salty and sharp, a dark pit in the rich, black earth supported by carved columns. It breathes, washing dank air back that reeks of death and curiosity. A temple - a forbidden place - set high into the mountain in Tibet, yawning chasms chipped and draped in ice. Monstrous bells and prayer wheels creak along with the shifting of ancient gears, dread edging in on wonder.
Nate drags out before it delves too deep beyond the surface and pushes a memory of Shambhala as the trees spread and the city emerges from a blanket of mist, greenery bursting over every building, the remains of a civilization that never truly left. The air is dense and rich, heavy floral and damp stone and an undercurrent of gun smoke, a winnowing thread of fear and anticipation. The structures are intact and the foliage is thick, enormous roots spreading from the base of the central temple and burying themselves in the surrounding foundations without thought or mercy, reclaimed by nature.
Then he releases his grip, returns his hand to his lap, and the memories are gone. ]
no subject
He was definitely wrong about those mental images; blurry and indistinct yes, but aside from that even if they'd been crystal clear they wouldn't stack up to the actual sight Nate pushes into him. Courtesy of the skin to skin contact Nate gets a very up close front row seat to Ian's reaction — namely, the transference of a suitable amount of awe and wonderment. An appreciation that maybe can't ever stack up to the kind Nate has for it, but a not insignificant one all the same. They're equal parts beautiful and magical, and they're both heightened by the color Nate's emotion gives them. Some of his excitement bleeds through the memories, bleeds into Ian's skin, becomes Ian's excitement by proxy.
Then all at once they're gone, and it takes Ian a second or two to blink back to reality. His reaction, while small, is completely genuine. ]
Wow.
[ Seriously, what else can you say about that? They're once in a lifetime sights, except-- well, more than once for Nate, and now they've been duplicated against all laws of nature. ]
That's crazy. Sucks about the shooting still, but wow.
no subject
Showing people the things he's seen, giving them experiences they wouldn't otherwise have. Travel is never just for him, it's the enjoyment of the person he's with and the expression on their face when a vista stretches out before them and into the horizon. The thrill of discovery and the unknown, and Nate can't contain the bright grin on his face after the fact. He tips his head to one side in acknowledgement, reveling in Ian's reaction. ]
Occupational hazard. But yeah. Amazing, right?
[ He misses it - the adventure, and the people with whom he shared it - and it's evident in the crooked bent to his smile, the way his eyes scrunch at the edges. ]
I could show you Tibet without a memory, too. [ He adds, leaning back into the sofa again. ] The major cities have changed but the villages are the same. Kinda nice to know something's how I remembered it.
no subject
You wanna go, like, hang out in tibet?
[ Just to be clear, because it sounds like a spontaneous offer. Granted it's not the kind of trip that people balk at so much anymore, particularly not the displaced with their gates positioned all over the world. They could do it, actually, and they could do it pretty easily.
He's not hating the idea at all. ]
Important deciding question: can I preemptively opt out of bullets?
[ He's teasing just a little, wry, before dipping in for a second hit finally. ]
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[ Someone's got jokes. Nate smacks Ian's bicep with the back of his hand, carefully not to upset the treasured bong before he inhales, and it's possible he may have made the offer without thinking, but that doesn't make it any less sincere. He's been itching to get out of New Amsterdam for weeks, needs a little breathing space, wants to diversify his socialization before he lovingly strangles his brother.
It is a big thing, he realizes, for some people. Traveling with another person. He doesn't know if Ian has been there before, or even has a remote interest, but it's worth asking. Might be nice to share something he misses with somebody who could appreciate it. ]
No bullets. And yes, Tibet. Not like- not today, but- I dunno, soon? See some old monasteries? I think your whole- [ Nate gestures at Ian vaguely. ] -everything would dig it. I think you'd like it.
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[ He echoes, something gently challenging in his tone. It shifts quickly into his rendition of typical Californian stoner meets Tommy Chong, which is... terrible, actually. He's god awful at accents and impressions of anyone other than Matthew McConaughey. ]
Like, listen, man. I invited you into my casa to partake, I refuse to be type-casted. That's, like, a real negative energy or whatever.
[ Punctuated by gently plunking a bong down onto his coffee table.
But anyway-- ]
I'll forgive you this transgression in a Tibetan monastery only, and nowhere else.
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Elbow pressed into the back cushion of the sofa, chin pressed into the palm of his hand, his smile widens delightedly behind his fingers. The act is horrific and probably an affront to many God-fearing Californians and Nate would maybe nominate the performance for a Razzie, at best. The effects of the weed are starting to creep in at the edges and it may contribute to his poorly-hidden glee. ]
I love how flexible you are in absolving me of my stereotyping crimes.
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[ Matter-of-factly, and just a touch apologetic. Sorry, mister black market acquisition pick pocketing troubled youth.
The song changes, he pauses, then shoots an accusatory look at his MP3 player for a second. Okay, listen- ]
Shut up, shh, don't even say anything, that doesn't count.
[ He is a victim of fate and circumstance here, okay. Fingers crossed this is one of those random pop culture black holes in Nate's resume. Lots of places like that band. ]
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Eyebrows climbing toward his hairline Nate’s teeth dig into his lower lip, a poor excuse for masking the satisfaction at Ian’s expense. He shouldn’t look pleased, but- ]
Wow. Red Hot Chili Peppers, deep cut. Should I ask what “counts?”
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[ He answers brightly, conversationally, because in the three seconds he has to think about it nothing clever comes to mind.
Though, honestly, it's hard to be anything but amused when Nate's wearing that expression. Even at his own expense. He settles his side comfortably against the back couch cushion, weed finally starting to creep into the edges of everything. It brings with it a smile he's having a hard time trying to suppress. ]
Let's go back to the magical... ancient ruins part, or better yet, you do something unflattering for once. You're, like, six weeks overdue. Bring some balance back into the universe.
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[ There's a lot of unflattering information he could share. His tendency to avoid emotional confrontations, the overprotectiveness of friends and loved ones he's still learning to curb, his marital fuck-ups, his ignominious death. His body count, somewhere in the low thousands at this point. His arrogance and overconfidence when he knows he's right. ]
I've never read any Shakespeare unless under duress?
[ Nate stymies and reaches for the bong again, thumbs drumming the glass before he takes another hit and exhales with a heavy sigh.
He's pretty sure it's high school when you start getting overexposed to some of the "classics," so he follows the thread to the next logical point. ]
I...didn't finish school? Dropped out in the sixth grade.
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Except it tangents off into an actual suitably surprising fact that Ian finds genuinely mindblowing. ]
Wait-- what? Seriously? Are you fucking with me?
[ Maybe he shouldn't be so surprised, he thinks Luke dropped out of high school — or maybe it was his first semester of college? Whatever the case, he knows from a place of logic that intelligence has nothing to do with formal education.
But.
Still. ]
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[ He replaces the equipment on the table and casts his arm back over the couch, thumbing at the joint of his ring finger for a moment while he decides how he wants to explain it. He could have easily gotten his GED if they settled somewhere stable, Sam taking a job while Nate got increasingly frustrated with classes. He doesn't remember the last lesson he got. English class, maybe? Something about The Odyssey?
Nate turns his attention back to Ian and the smile he wears is a little softer. Nothing regretful, but neither is it something to be especially proud of. ]
When we left the orphanage, I just...didn't go back to school. And then we were traveling, which made it harder. So I never finished.
[ Common Core would hate him. ]
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It makes sense, really. It lines up with all of the snippets of Nate's life he's gotten so far — slowly but surely filling in those blanks. ]
Huh.
[ Is what he ultimately settles on, and-- ]
That's kind of crazy, you're insanely smart, I wouldn't have guessed. I don't know if I'd count that as unflattering, though.
[ Just kind of a life thing. Then again, it's possible he's a little biased in Nate's favor. The weed isn't helping. ]
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It's not unflattering enough, though. Nate opens his mouth, closes it again, thinks. Most of his stock isn't embarrassing or unflattering so much as it is sad, which isn't the kind of olive oil you want to start dipping your metaphorical bread into when you're high. ]
Oh, wait-
[ He visibly brightens, holding one finger up in a "hold, please" sort of gesture, pushes up his sleeves that he has already pushed up, and shakes his shoulders out as though preparing for an act. In one palm he presents the lighter between them, and then proceeds to wave his other hand over it - gone. Hands up, no lighter. He deftly reaches behind Ian's head and withdraws it again, visible, before twisting another gesture and presenting nothing.
Hands down, followed by a small wave at Ian's shirt. ]
Check your pocket.
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Poof, lighter gone.
Oh shit. Is this some actual legitimate close up magic? He's fucking delighted. Absurdly, ridiculously giddy over it, too enthusiastically shoving his hand in his pocket to pull out the lighter. ]
No fucking way—
[ And if, when, he finds it he straight up throws his head back and laughs. ]
Oh my god, this is-- I am... so happy right now. This is the greatest thing that could have come from this conversation. I'm... wow.
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