bigapplesauce | don't get lost in heaven, they got locks on the gate [open to multiple]

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don't get lost in heaven, they got locks on the gate [open to multiple]

Existence without form or breath or shape is disorienting, the spread of atoms over a plane he doesn't recognize, with the repeated dissolutions and reshapings of an indistinct self. At one point there was pain, and the unspooling of himself into light and purpose, and for a long while there is only amorphous drifting. He hits barriers, dissonant and frequent, where once he should have crossed from one plane to another, one reality to the next, in an effortless slide of energy across the universal boundaries. It is difficult to define emotional state outside of the human context - he only knows that he is not human - but it is a state of affairs that generates confused distress.

Temporal sequencing becomes a problem.

Awareness, too, is difficult to achieve. Gradually he is able to pull together the various components that comprise himself and reshape them into something capable of perception, but doing so strikes him with a revelation disconsolate, and that is that there are no Others here - no Ancients, nothing, simply an empty plane of shifting light and bottomless dark. And he is alone.

He knows he did this, and it was for a reason. But he finds he cannot remember anything, not immediately, and when the memories trickle back with his concentrated effort they are unfiltered and unstructured and unordered until finally he can impose the alien concept of linear time upon the thing, and fully interpret what he is in comparison to what he was.

Daniel Jackson.

The name is the linchpin that generates the outward ripples, spreading from that singular point of origin. It triggers the flood of remembrance, the 'gate, Manhattan, the locked-away knowledge that was once sealed in his head but now coalesces seamlessly into the whole of him now. He cannot delineate his form by shape or size or mass, not any longer, but now he remembers, he remembers what it is he can do and how it is he can do it.

He starts small because he must, drifting as a pair of hydrogen atoms while he glimpses the city on a reduced scale. Then he builds to it, the recollection of his shape. Spectrally manifesting was never truly allowed before, but if there are no Others then he is not bound by their laws. He assembles a body that resembles the one that was human and familiar, and projects it. It takes two tries to succeed, three to sustain it for longer than a meaningless collection of seconds, and no matter what he tries he cannot force his shape to manifest with glasses. Apparently his inner self, or however he chooses to define it, does not need them.

He loses track of how many attempts he makes before he can maintain his form visibly for any significant length of time. But finally, in a ragged burst of energy, the bewildered shape of Daniel Jackson reappears in Manhattan, and there he stays.

[ooc: Daniel Ascended back during the Rift Shitfit of September 4th, and he's only just figured out how to Do Things in his new state of being. Right now he's completely intangible and frequently phasing in and out of visible existence. I've added to his handy-dandy reference post as to what he can and can't do in this state. He can also show up LITERALLY ANYWHERE so if you want in on Ascended funtimes just pick a date and a location, or Daniel can pick one, or whatever.]

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Days in the human tradition are twenty-four-hour increments based on the Earth's revolution on its axis and the perceived fall and rise of the sun. He has to remember this, and apply it to the concept of nine days and he's not positive about it, but it feels like a rather short amount of time compared to the vague everything else. The genesis of the universe. The diverging of timelines. The formation of the Earth from molten rock.

In Seth's context, from the human perspective, it feels like it might be longer.

His projection hums in mild surprise. "Didn't take as long as before. 'Course, that might have more to do with how there aren't any Others here."

"Well, isn't that lucky then?" he answers, with almost aggressive nonchalance. He has no idea what to say. No reference for how to deal with a conversation like this. He's not sure what Daniel is even here for.

He decides to drain the beer and get a new one from the fridge after all, avoiding meeting Daniel's gaze. At this point he's still far too close to sober. There's too many complicated, conflicting emotions. So many things he wants to say, yet is afraid to.

He also feels like there's something a little... off about Daniel. Not just the lack of glasses or the lack of corporeality. Daniel's always been a bit... untouchable, somehow. Out of Seth's league. But he's usually been a lot better at hiding it, being affable and relatable. Now, however, it's painfully obvious. Like even with Daniel's presence, Seth still feels lonely. Though he's not sure if that's really anything to do with Daniel, or just Seth's own feelings of shame and isolation.

And immediately, some sort of barrier goes up, prickly and distant. Daniel doesn't move his projection to follow but leaves it where it is, head at an angle. It should be easier to glean insight now, being what he is, witnessing emotions coiling and uncoiling as they happen.

Understanding the emotion doesn't necessarily help him understand its cause.

"Okay," he says slowly. "I am sorry I couldn't come sooner. But in my defense, I had just died, so." He simulates a faintly bewildered shrug.

"That's not--" he starts, then breaks off. He takes a bottle out of the fridge, shaking his head while he opens it and takes a drink, before finally turning back towards Daniel.

"You've nothin' to apologise for. M'not angry at you," he says. He doesn't even know why Daniel would think so, why he sees the need to defend himself - except of course for how Seth is acting. He's the one keeping Daniel at arm's length here.

Another thing to feel guilty about. Here Daniel is, returning from the dead, and Seth can't even treat him properly, can't even tell him he's happy to see him. He wishes he could do so with some sort of physical gesture, a hug or a grip of the shoulder, something. He really wants to hug Daniel. There was nothing left for Seth to touch after he disappeared, and there's nothing now.

"But you're angry at something?" What, the Rift? Daniel doesn't blame him for that. Daniel's angry at the Rift. He remembers every minute that was being hit by that agonizing jolt, and it hurt.

And Seth, apparently, isn't planning on getting sleep tonight if the beer is any indication. He'd been hoping he could find Seth once he'd gotten a handle on how to manifest properly, and how to navigate a city whose layout is now saturated by the visible signatures of energy he doesn't recognize. He'd been hoping he could explain it. He didn't want to make things worse.

"So, what?" His projection shakes its head fractionally.

He'll probably pass out for a few hours sometime in the early hours of the morning, once he's sufficiently exhausted. He certainly doesn't expect to fall asleep anytime soon, after this interaction.

"No, I--" Once again he breaks off, with a frustrated gesture. He is angry at the Rift, but then again he usually is. That's not really new, though it has intensified a bit lately.

He returns to the couch, leaning his head in his hand, trying to collect his thoughts. Trying to find somewhere to start. Trying to figure out how much he even wants to share.

"At myself," he says finally, gripping the bottle a bit too tightly. "I'm sorry." Once again he fails to look at Daniel, his eyes stinging a little now.

"For what?"

He can't keep the incredulous note from his voice. Again, he can't shake that sense of distance in comparison to what he was, and he can't help but wonder if this is a direct by-product of being what he is. The expansion of intuition and awareness of certain things might have come at the cost of failing to understand others, and Seth's grief - is that even the right word for it? - lands somewhere in the realm of something incomprehensible.

"What do you have to be sorry for?" he asks, softly mystified.

Seth snorts softly at the question. He has a million things to be sorry for, though he's not sure if he can articulate all of them, or how many are relevant to this conversation.

"For... I dunno. Not being as good as you think I am?" he suggests. That's definitely a significant one. Feeling like he comes up short. And not just in achievements or talents or quantifiable things, or even a basic ability to function. But basic morality, compassion, forgiveness, patience, openness.

Daniel's probably right in not wanting to descend to basic humanity again. Certainly not for Seth's sake, and Seth is foolish and selfish for even wanting it. For being upset about it, and letting Daniel see it. Forcing him to deal with it, because of course Daniel would.

"Did I miss something?" Unless he's somehow lost the ability to interpret subtext - understanding apophasis and its related mechanics had been something of a necessarily acquired skill for a linguist - he's not quite sure when the conversation took that shift. Tracking the trajectory of Seth's emotional state is easier, but without a direct tap into his mental progression from unrelated death to severe lack of self-worth Daniel honestly can't tell when he made that transition, or what logic was applied to it.

That's probably because part of the problem is there isn't a whole lot of logic involved in Seth's emotional progression or thought processes. And what little there is, he doesn't know how to articulate to actually let Daniel in on it. Half of what he's upset about isn't even Daniel's death and subsequent return, but what happened in between.

"I dunno, did you?" he asks, then draws a shaky breath and tries to focus his efforts in.. actually making himself understood. Cluing Daniel in on what's going on in his head. "I mean... Do you know what's happened to the rebel base?"

Edited 2015-06-05 18:50 (UTC)

"The Base? No, I - " He breaks away, awareness skimming the limits of its radius, but without any baseline as to how the city should look, he's completely unequipped to pick up anything out of the ordinary. "I haven't - I only just worked out how to do this."

One hand gestures vaguely at the specter. "There's a lot I still haven't figured out."

"God," Seth answers, setting the beer down and leaning his head in his hand, rubbing at his temples. He is so not equipped to explain this. He rather wished Daniel had discovered on his own, that he'd gotten an update on the recent events in the city. He doesn't want to be the one to say - if anything he wishes he could just fill in the blanks as they pertained to Seth himself.

"Right. Um," he says, straightening up a little, trying to muster the energy to recount it, running a hand through his hair. "The day you d--" He has to stop for a moment, still having trouble saying that. "The day you ascended, it was -- The Rift very active, and. Some people took the opportunity to attack Romac. And more or less completely brought it down."

He draws a steadying breath, glancing up at Daniel. He definitely can't keep eye-contact while trying to explain this. "Some days later, the same thing happened with the rebel base. I was involved. There's uh... Not much left of it."

"So you're saying you - dismantled the rifty support infrastructure," Daniel says in slow summary, mentally parsing it. He's not linking this back to Seth's original point, unless -

"You didn't kill anyone, did you?" He sounds more politely guarded than reproving, particularly since he knows full well that any sort of mass power struggle would have losses, it would have deaths, and sometimes those are unavoidable. "I wouldn't think any less of you over that, you realize that, right? I mean - I've killed people. I'm betting most of the rifties here have."

The deeply flawed and outright harmful rifty support infrastructure, to be fair. And already people are taking over the tasks these factions usually performed, like organising housing. Just... now there's a lot of smaller groups, rather than two large and overly powerful organisations rife with abuse of power.

Seth glances up at the question, giving a Daniel a brief but dark look. Specifically not denying it.

"Really?" he asks sceptically. "I'm not... I'm not talking about when you have to. I didn't. I just..." His voice breaks on the last word, and he lowers his head. Wanted to. Needed to. He had to get back at them for what they did to him.

Ah.

"You saw an opportunity for revenge - and you took it." Memories have been one of the more difficult aspects of himself to keep in check, particularly since no part of him adheres to any sense of linearity. Recollection spills back in a gradual rush, the scattered, painful memories of what was done at the hands of the Rebels.

And now that he knows what it is he should be looking for, Seth's surface discontent rings with a cold clarity. Anticipating disappointment. Which, true, Daniel can't completely deny on his part. Then, on the other hand - loss has the habit of tipping people to an edge they might not be tipped over otherwise.

Seth gives a curt nod of affirmation, staring at the floor, elbows leaning on his knees. It's not just Daniel's disappointment that's hurting him - it's his own. Because he was trying. He was trying to be a force for good, not just scraping by while taking advantage of whoever happened to cross his path. A pointless struggle, it seems. He's simply not a good person.

"I was --" he starts suddenly, picking up in the middle of his thought process. "I was trying to be better. I was trying to be worthy of you."

He regrets saying it almost immediately. But he's losing whatever little emotional restraint he has left, his chest clenching up again. Like there's a boulder resting on his lungs and heart.

"And then you, you were gone, and. What was the point in trying to kid myself?"

"Of me?" he repeats, puzzled. "Seth, that's not - that's not how this works. That's not how this ever worked."

His projection spreads its hands. "I'm - you're not being rated on some subjective scale. You made a mistake. You were at a low point."

What he'd nearly done, after losing Sha're - and what he had done even before he ever really lost her - it wasn't always forgivable. And even with the hope that he might have come back from his own death, there was no way of knowing if he would until he did. It doesn't help that Seth's likely deliberate ambiguity is making it difficult to properly discern what it is he even did.

"I know that's not how it works, or at least I should know, cos you're not interested, are ya?" he answers, running a hand through his hair again, rubbing at his hands, unable to sit still.

In the grand scheme of things, he's probably not that bad - he's not that good either, but at least he tries. But when it comes to the subjective scale that he definitely is rating himself on, he's not deserving of being with Daniel in the way that he wants. (Whether that's just because he thinks Daniel's too good for him, or because he doesn't think he deserves to be happy, well, it's hard to say.)

"Not - interested."

He's completely lost, reduced to flatly repeating everything Seth says as he starts to feel more and more like they're caught up in two entirely separate conversations. Finally, he lifts both of his projection's hands, palms out, eyes closing.

"Okay, wait. Let's - back up, okay? Can you - " His hands drop in desperate, helpless defeat. "I feel like we're discussing two different things here."

Seth leans back in his seat, raising his eyes to the ceiling. Sometimes he wondered if Daniel knew, but didn't mention it to spare Seth's feelings. But then there's times like this, where he's just... very obviously clueless.

Large part of the reason Seth had held back in telling Daniel was the fear he would lose what they already had, that their friendship would become awkward or uncomfortable. And now... well, whatever their friendship will be like with Daniel all Ascended, it probably won't make too much difference, will it?

"I fancy ya," he says, talking to the ceiling. His eyes and cheeks are hot, but probably not as much as they would be if he tried to have this conversation two weeks ago. Now it's more of a dejected admission than a hopeful advance. "I have since... well, since I met you, I guess." It had just taken him a while to realise.

Okay, so that certainly casts things in an entirely new light. And here he'd been concerned over how poorly Seth seemed to be handling it - being on a different plane doesn't cancel out who he's friends with and it never did - but he'd always been terrible at interpreting certain signals. Signals like - this, for example. It genuinely never occurred to him that this could be a thing. That muddies up the proverbial waters considerably, and it doesn't help that Daniel has no interest in - in reciprocating in that way. It goes beyond simply being mechanically unable to in this stage. It's not mutual; there's nothing he can do to change that or make it any easier to swallow.

If he could simulate sigh he would have, but as it is his specter simply stands there.

"Well," he says after a lengthy pause. "That's news."

Seth nods a little. "Thought it might be," he answers, doing his best to sound casual - even if this conversation isn't remotely casual in any respect. It's painful and awkward and upsetting and embarrassing. As much of a relief it is that Daniel isn't gone forever... Well, he'd never completely let himself believe Daniel would be, had he? What with him Ascending and all, Seth figured he'd be back sooner or later.

He feels ridiculous... Here Daniel is overcoming mortality, and Seth makes it about himself and his feelings. It's self-centred and vain and thoughtless - everything Daniel's not. But he also can't seem to stop himself from doing so.

He chances a glance at Daniel. He doesn't even look that affected. Mildly surprised, a little concerned, but barely reacting. Maybe it's something to do with the whole... not a real physical body thing. Seth turns his eyes to the table instead.

"But, like I said. You're not interested, so." He gives a shrug. Casual. It's fine, it's all fine. He feels a little like he's gonna throw up (which he doesn't think he can blame on the beer), but it's fine.

"Like you said." He steps his projection forward, relieved to find it capable of folding its arms. "I didn't. Which is kind of important, seeing as I'd be the one making the decision and all."

It's easier, now that he can see the sum of him, all the constituents and atoms and bright-beaded threads that comprise the man. It makes directness, frankness - it makes all of it easier.

"You're right," he says simply. "I'm not interested. That has nothing to do with you, and that's your pattern." He opens an insubstantial hand, tone neutral. "You self-project. You internalize. You assume that just because you don't think very highly of yourself, everyone else will come to the same conclusion. You put those words in their mouths, you - " He searches for a method of phraseology for a moment, parsing the best method to discuss what it is Seth so plainly needs to discuss.

"You're pushing your own insecurities on me, or your perception of me, so that it's my fault if I see you the way you see yourself. Which I don't, by the way," he adds in stumbled afterthought, "but it's a disservice to me that you even assume that in the first place and expect me to follow through."

Seth looks up as Daniel steps forward, a glimmer of hope that's Daniel's going to prove him wrong after all. A glimmer almost immediately crushed, and Seth has to look away at the brutal honesty of it.

There's nothing aggressive in Daniel's tone, no condemnation, but the words still sting. It's like Daniel's picking him apart, taking away all the shells that Seth's built up to protect himself. It hurts because it's true, and Seth can't conjure up any sort of defence for it.

Even as Daniel's saying that he doesn't see Seth as poorly as he does himself, Seth still feels attacked. Even if all he's doing is pointing out the ways Seth has been unfair to Daniel, Seth feels defensive. And when he gets defensive, he gets angry. Because whatever Daniel thinks he's doing, he's certainly not making Seth feel any better about himself.

"Yeah well I can't bloody help that, can I?" he asks, his tone nowhere near neutral. "That's what it means to be insecure. Why shouldn't I assume people will realise I'm a shit person? If I thought the sun shone outta my arse, then I'd also be surprised if people didn' feel the same, wouldn't I?"

At some point during this rant, he seems to have gotten to his feet. "Just because you make me want to be a better person doesn't mean I can be. And if you think it's so unfair of me to be scared of what people think of me then why are you even here?"

"Because it's your defense, whether it's true or not," he says firmly, neutrality sharpening into something more direct. "It's safer to throw up a wall that deflects people beforehand, because it's your way to avoid getting hurt."

He doesn't advance. He doesn't need to. Seth's already standing and facing his projection squarely, bridling at each statement. Daniel holds his stare, measured, even.

"I'm still your friend, Seth," he answers, exasperation leaking into the words despite his outward composure. "Dying doesn't change that. Nothing changes that."

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