History Obliterates [closed]

[singthesong]

Steven is finally gone, and the Balladeer is alone with himself.

He needed this. He hates to be alone, but he needed this. For days the knowledge (and lack thereof) of what he's done has been crawling under his skin like a physical itch - the one assassin he should be most familiar with, and all he knows is what Greta relayed to him second-hand, from a search somebody did on their cell phone. It's funny. It's really very funny.

One way or another, he ought to know everything about this lost assassination. Either it's his job, or it's his. So once he's alone, he takes himself to a library and gets out every reasonable book he can find, plus a few documentaries on DVD. There seems to be a lot of ridiculous conspiracy theories surrounding the whole thing; sadly, he can't quite convince himself any of them could be true. If Lee Harvey Oswald was a patsy, the Balladeer would never have any connection with him at all.

(The stop at the liquor store is an afterthought, a whim built on memories of a thousand morose drinking sessions he never joined. He wonders bitterly if Sam would laugh, and buys whiskey the man could never afford.)

He goes home and spends the day reading. At some point, he opens a bottle. He meant to eat something with it - that helps, right? - but instead he ends up putting one of the documentaries on to watch. He just needs to know.

He loses track of time.

Comments

[singthesong]

"Oh, no." The Balladeer seems a little surprised at the notion. "Why would they? They don't know."

Actually, he's not certain of the climate anymore. Back home, he'd have had a much better read on peoples' current thoughts about assassins; as it is, he hasn't been thinking about it at all. But it was only fifty years ago. He's living with the children and grandchildren of the people who would have formed his lynch mob given the chance.

And, mostly, they've just been concerned. "That's mostly what they think. I didn't come up with a story about it, but I haven't been telling them otherwise either." He frowns faintly. "Sort of what I do with most of my life." To everyone. Like with everything, the story's bizarre enough that he's not sure they'd even react poorly right away. It might take a little while for people to realize they should.

[andhiswife]

She'd meant something more along the lines of 'pestering for details,' but of course people wouldn't - not the locals, anyway. The Balladeer's injuries might be impossible to ignore, but that doesn't mean New Yorkers would go so far as to actually question him. On the other hand, if she hadn't known what had happened, she probably would have been relentless.

Maybe it's just as well. He can let them think what they want, and save himself the additional trouble (and heartache) of having to explain the whole mess over and over again.

"Well, your life is a little hard to understand," she says, not unkindly. "And with the way some people here feel about people like us, it's not always a good idea to be too...," she wrinkles her nose, "forthcoming." Even without all the Oswald business, she wouldn't blame the Balladeer for keeping his origins to himself. It's not as if she launches into her background with the check-out woman at the grocer's or what have you. Then again, all of her actual friends are fellow Rifties. She hasn't been mingling with the locals as much as the Balladeer has.

Regardless, it's not worth dwelling on. "I told Iman I'd show you a movie," she says with far more sobriety than she actually possesses. "D'you want to watch one?"

[singthesong]

"Ah, yeah? I dunno." The Balladeer waves his glass, watching the alcohol slosh. "Most've my busker friends know I'm not from around here." To say the least - he may not sing his own his life story, but he's not as cautious as some about telling people he came from the Rift. That would require too many lies; he can hardly even remember the name on his own ID half the time.

Those are his only real local friends. It seems like a lot of people to him, but he knows his perspective is skewed. "But you know. Lots of ways to become a busker." Some of them have pretty interesting backstories of their own. You don't dig too hard.

And, speaking of, a movie would be a good change of pace. "Sure. What movie? The only ones I've got are..." He turns to look for the Oswald documentary, only to see that Greta's moved it somewhere. "...not good."

[andhiswife]

Greta wrinkles her nose. She wouldn't have them watch one of those miserable things; that ought to go without saying. "Noooo, no," she says with a little frown. "Not them. 'S on Netflix. We just have to... get to it."

So, it's just a matter of making that happen. She stares at the darkened television screen for a moment, as if hoping it might turn on and connect to the internet as a personal favor to her, then turns her head to cast about for a laptop. "How do we get to it?" she muses, as if it's a far more intriguing puzzle than it really is. She supposes she could just use her phone in a pinch, but the screen's awfully small, and one of them would have to hold it unless they came up with a way to prop it up.

[singthesong]

The Balladeer follows Greta's gaze, watching the TV. It sure is doing a whole lot of nothing.

"I don't know." He imagines he's more comfortable with technology on the whole than Greta, but a lot of it is still pretty new to him too. As far as he knows, the Internet did not exist in Hinckley's day. He knows how to use his phone, and the Internet by extension, but he hasn't made much of a foray into other gadgets just yet. "It's online, right? So..."

So, he doesn't actually own a computer. He'd thought about it, but really - it's a lot of money and he's hardly ever at home to use the thing. Come to think of it, that might be why none of the movies at the library were checked out. You can just do that sort of thing online now!

"Do you have a computer?" he asks, a little sheepishly.

[andhiswife]

"No," Greta admits, ducking her head. She's thought about it. Iman has pointed out on more than one occasion that the Internet is the best resource for learning about this time and place, and it would be easier to read things on a larger screen (and type things on a larger keyboard). But they're appallingly expensive. She still has moments where the size of her own modest stipend makes her feel a bit dizzy, and she'd have to devote - at the very least - a substantial portion of one such stipend to a computer. It's too much; the thought makes her break out into a sweat.

But she has her phone, and Iman has added the little Netflix app to it. "We can make do!" she decides. "I've got a little speaker to plug into my phone, and if we take turns holding it, our arms won't get tired." See, there's a nice plan, all laid out. Greta sets her drink down, then wobbles unsteadily to her feet. "I'll be right back! Just going to nip down the hall, quick as you like."

[singthesong]

The Balladeer frowns a little at the note of embarrassment on Greta's face. Laptops seem so commonplace in this decade, but it's not like you need one. "I don't either," he adds, probably unnecessarily. "They're a lot smaller and - and cheaper than before, but they're still pricey."

And hey, obviously the phone is good enough! He shifts, moving to let her out a little easier. "I can find a thing to hold it up!" he decides. "Like a stand?" Phones aren't all that big, so it ought to be simple enough to find something to prop it up against. He rises to his feet, waits for the sudden unsteadiness to pass, and then steps around the couch into the kitchen, still holding his drink. Maybe there'll be something useful in here.

[andhiswife]

"Yes!" That's the spirit! "Teamwork! You'll make a stand, and I'll..." she pauses a moment, then nods. "I'll get the speaker thing."

Right. She nods again, decisively, then heads back to her apartment. Ruckus gets a ruffle between the ears and a fond, "Who's a good girl? D'you know where the speaker went?"

The dog sniffs at the air, then gives Greta a level, unimpressed look.

"Oh, hush," she replies. "I've only had two. I just need the speaker thing so we can watch a movie."

Ruckus heaves a far bigger sigh than Greta thinks is warranted, then pads over to the coffee table and nudges at the portable speaker with her nose.

"See, it was easy," Greta says, picking up the speaker and toddling back out the door. "Back later."

Inside a minute, she's letting herself back into the Balladeer's apartment with the portable speaker held aloft in boozy triumph. "I've got the speaker!"

[singthesong]

The Balladeer, meanwhile, continues his drunken search of the kitchen while Greta is away. It's a distracting room to be in right now; he ends up grabbing what few snacks he has around as well. You eat snacks with movies! It's just a few bags of chips, but it's more than he'd have had before Steven. Things like child adoption really force you to stock your pantry.

But after tossing the snacks over onto the couch, he gathers up a few things for phone-stand-making. When Greta returns, he's sitting on the couch again, balancing his own phone on the coffee table with a pair of mugs. "Heeeeeey!" he calls cheerily over his shoulder. "I've got the this!"

[andhiswife]

Greta beams. "You got snacks!" she says with glowing approval. And he sounds so happy! This is going to be fun.

She toddles back over to the couch to admire his handiwork. "How's it holding up?" she asks, almost sitting down on a bag of chips before catching herself and moving over a bit. Pulling out her own phone, she starts to prod at it, calling up Netflix and looking around for the search function. It takes her a few haphazard tries to find the film in question (probably because she's actually focused on the task), but once she's got it, she looks back up at the Balladeer's improvised phone stand. As if seeing it for the first time, she gushes, "Look what you made!"

[singthesong]

"Yeah!" If the Balladeer notices that she's repeated herself, he doesn't show it. It's not much of a structure, but it's likely the most productive he's been all day. That's sort of sad, so he decides not dwell on it. "Here, just put your phone there - " He removes his own and indicates the spot where it was. " - and it's good!"

He may not be great with technology, or have a thing to play Netflix on his TV, but he knows the red screen when he sees it. Has she picked a movie already? He shifts to crane his neck at the phone. "What're we watching?"

[andhiswife]

Once she has the speaker plugged in and turned on, she leans forward to prop her phone up in the vacated space. "It's a - an am--" she pauses for a moment, grappling for the technical term and failing to seize onto it. "... One of the ones that's all drawings," she says instead. "It's got a forest spirit and a book, and it's beautiful. You'll like it. It's called the Secret of Kells."

She stays where she is, adjusting the volume until it's loud enough, then she leans back against the couch cushions. The screen is absurdly tiny, far too small to appreciate the artwork, but at least the music will sound all right. But still. "It's so small," she says, starting to giggle under her breath.

[singthesong]

"Ohhhh, like a - a Disney movie!" the Balladeer volunteers, leaning in to watch the opening screens. "I've seen a few of those. Oh, but not. That's a different company."

He doesn't know much about animations, really. Or movies? But this looks different from the Disney ones. "It's pretty," he comments appreciatively, then snorts. "It's like a pretty little postage stamp!" Maybe some other time they can watch it bigger.

[andhiswife]

She'd just about composed herself, but when the Balladeer compares it to a postage stamp, she starts giggling all over again. "Shush," she says in a tone that might have been scolding if not for the laughter. "It's perfect. Eat your snacks." She tugs him back against the couch cushions so she can resume leaning against him, then opens a bag of chips and angles them his way.