Participants:
| Scene Title | Road Trip! |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Magnes is going through one of the time honored superhero traditions. The Crisis of Faith. There's really only one cure. …Atlantic City. |
| Date | May 6, 2011 |
He can't do it, he can't be home right now, he can't see Quinn, he can't see anyone. Magnes finally realizes it, he can't protect anyone. If the government isn't killing his friends, his alternate dimension double is trying. And now the kids, the kids are dying, even though he said he'd be there to protect them…
He's in a Green Lantern t-shirt, a pair of blue jeans, and black Chucks, very unlike his usual style lately, not even having some sort of jacket or anything on. Considering this is usually a shirt he sleeps in, it's rather stretched at the neck, and he's sitting in an alley against the wall next to Sam's Comics, head buried in his arms as he just quietly sobs.
Most people don't have a lot to do with alleys. Especially New York alleys. But Monica sees a lot of them; jumping over them, using them to get down from a roof, etc. Which is what she was about to use this particular alley for, as well. But her journey down is less… energetic than usual, seeing someone using it for person catharsis.
It's hard to say when or if she even notices that it's Magnes, when really, the girl's bleeding heart wouldn't be able to ignore someone sobbing so. So even though she's fairly quiet coming down to ground level, her hand eventually touches his shoulder softly. She doesn't even say anything, crouching there next to him, it's more just letting him know he's not alone. It's meant to be a comfort, rather than a surprise.
Magnes feels her, he knows her weight, everyone has a different weight in lots of little ways. And there's her scent as well to drive the identification home. He only looks up for a brief moment, then turns his face back into his arms. "I can't do this anymore, I give up, I'm beaten. Life has finally beaten me…"
"Oh, hun…" Monica shifts to sit next to him, her arm moving to wrap around his shoulders. "What happened? Do you want to talk?" It's all genuine, the sympathy, and seems to come quite natural to her. But then, she's just simply a nice girl, is what it comes down to. "Do I need to kick someone's butt? I'll do it. Just point them out." That's only half a joke.
"My alternate dimension evil twin with a tan is threatening to kill my friends, and…" Magnes swallows hard, leaning over on to her shoulder as tears just start to stream. "Th-the government, they… they got the kids infected, the Lighthouse Kids. Mala and Lucy, they…. they're…" He can't say it, he can't bring himself to say it, he just closes his eyes tightly and says with a cracking voice, "I couldn't protect them, I can't protect anyone."
"With a tan?" Monica blinks a little, like maybe she can't picture Magnes with a tan. But when he leans against her shoulder, she gives him a warm squeeze. "I heard about the kids." Meaning, he doesn't have to worry about explaining. She lets him cry a little longer, because it seems like he needs to get it out of his system. But it isn't too long before her fingers touch his chin, to lift his face back up.
"Nobody can fix everything. You can't be everywhere and things… bad things… we can't stop them all. You'd have to be God for that sort of thing. But we can't let that get to us. You do your best. You help where you can. You stand tall and stay brave. Your friends will have to be brave, too." Monica tugs down her sleeve some, so she can use it to wipe at his cheeks a little. "And you cry when you gotta."
"I just… it's not fair, those kids deserved to grow up, and because of this government…" Magnes gently pulls away, standing up so he can finish wiping his eyes on his arm. "Every good thing in my life just goes away, one way or another. I can't do this anymore, Monica, I just can't."
"No, it ain't fair at all. It's a sad truth, but seems like nothing going on these days is very fair at all." Monica stands up, too, her hands slipping into her pockets. "I don't talk about it much," she starts, her tone a bit more solemn, "but Katrina, you know? We lost just about everything, including my momma. Afterward, I tried so hard to help my family through it, and just… nothing went right at all. And things just… well, things didn't get better. And later, when Saint Jude nearly got what was left of my family killed, Magnes, I can't tell you how many times I've been this close to giving up. I've done worse than just not being there to protect people, I've screwed up, big time sometimes. We lose things. I think that's probably true for everyone these days, and from what we've seen, it's probably only gonna get worse. And you can step back, if that's what you need to do. Give yourself some time to absorb the idea that you're not responsible for all this stuff that happens. It isn't your fault it happens. It isn't your fault it doesn't get stopped.
"And sometimes… sometimes you'll be all alone," That's part of this life that Monica's all too familiar with, really, "But something good always comes along. There's a reason to keep on. And hey. You've got to remind yourself that you do help people. Hell, I've been there when you have."
"I'm sorry that you had to go through so much. God, I don't know what to do anymore, I really don't." Magnes reaches over for her hand, then starts to leave the alley. "I don't know how you do it, Monica, how you stay as strong as you are. I know you're not always like this, no one can be, but I know that you are strong and I admire that. Right now, I just feel like my insides are on fire, like I wish that everything would just suddenly get better."
"I wish that, too. But they're not going to without someone out there trying to change things. But at the same time, no one can do this all the time. I know it's hard to see things going bad around you and not feel like you should have done something, but you can't carry the whole world, hun." Monica does take his hand, holding on firmly, as if to make sure he knows she's there.
"I do it out of sheer stubbornness. And the thought that maybe I can make it so my little brother or my… my kids someday won't have to live in all this mess. I think about all the civil rights moments of the past, all the revolutions and fights for freedom… and I try to make those previous generations proud. I stepped into this life almost on accident one day all those years ago and now it's sorta… what I got. Which is kinda sad, when I say it out loud like that."
"Let's run away, for like, I don't know, a day, two days, just…" Magnes turns around to face her, wrapping her hand inbetween both of his now, staring with an almost pleading expression. "Life doesn't have to be this, not all the time. All of this pain, frustration, futility. Why can't we just… pretend that the world is a better place sometimes? Why do we have to rest when we win?"
Monica opens her mouth, like she's got an answer for that ready, but she closes it again with a bit of a sigh. "I don't know. I guess because everything starts to feel so urgent, I got used to the idea of just…" She furrows her brow a little bit. For all her advocacy of people taking breaks when they need them, it's pretty clear she hasn't really ever applied that to herself.
But it's just a moment or two before she breaks into a smile. "I always wanted to go to Atlantic City."
"I have two-hundred thousand dollars and a 1967 Impala, let's go." Magnes starts walking, likely on his way to his place. "I've got costumes and stuff, I can make you over a bit, don't worry about police or anything. I can fly. Let's just do this, and have the time of our lives."
"You have a '67 Impala?" If she wasn't already on board, she is now. "Do I get to drive it? I promise, I'm the best driver there is!" Monica smiles over at him, broad and nods her head, "Road trip weekend. I'm in! And we'll try not to gamble away all your money." With any luck, her ability might even give her a leg up. At least at the craps tables!
"Sure, you can drive. This'll be great!" Magnes starts running, and it doesn't take all that much running until they're at his Siann Hall apartment. The interior is a fairly plain blue couch, a wooden coffee table, and a modest entertainment center with a flat screen. Near the windows are two bookcases full of graphic novels and textbooks, and next to those are small containers of comics.
He walks into one of the rooms and comes out with a box of accessories, as well as plenty of women's clothes to choose from, ranging from costume to normal. "I sort of make clothes, not sure if I ever told you that. Keep the hair, I always liked your hair."
That bookcase is what gets Monica's attention as he goes to get the box, and he finds her running a fingertip along the spines of those graphic novels, seeming a bit impressed at the collection. There might even be a whistle.
"You never did mention it," she says, as she turns his way, "But I suppose it makes sense. Wouldn't be too stealthy to commission a secret identity's costume, I guess." She steps over, leaning a bit to peer into this mysterious box. "I'm not gonna ask why you got girl clothes in there, Mags," she notes with a crooked smile.
"I may have made things…" Magnes averts his eyes and adds, "I also may have eyed your figure as the White Knight and made a few things that might fit you eeriely well." His gaze then shifts down to his shoes, cheeks flushing a bit. "I will burst this awkward moment by saying I punched Emile Danko in the face once."
Monica liiiifts an eyebrow at that confession, making no secret that eerie probably isn't the word she'd use. But it's also easily forgiven, apparently, as his latter words do get a laugh. Not necessarily because she finds punching Danko funny (although, it is a bit), but rather the situation itself. "Just so long as you didn't sneak into my apartment to try to take my measurements," she says wryly.
"No, it's more like, every time I saw you out there fighting, I kept imagining what sorts of costumes you'd wear. I guess, well, watching you, you're kind of like a clothing muse." He motions over to the bathroom, then takes a seat on the couch. "Choose what you wanna wear, enough for the weekend, then you can change and we can pack up some things. I'll bake cookies and make sandwiches."
"I never really thought of myself as inspiration for fashion," Monica says with a crooked smile, seeing as how her wardrobe is criminally simple and all. But she takes the box and carts it over as she closes herself up in the bathroom.
It takes a bit, since it's difficult to fight the instinct to get right back into all black, but eventually she comes out again, a small stack of clothes in hand, and for once, looking a little bit unsettled. Her clothes are comfortable! And help her blend into the background! But these she's got on… for one, there's yellow involved, on a tanktop that just may be the girliest thing she's ever worn. Her hair isn't pulled back into a sensible (and out of the way) ponytail, but hanging down and all free flowing. A pair of sunglasses are even propped up on her head. And there's jeans, which isn't too abnormal, but these were cut for a girl with curves and such. Which she does have, she's just not used to advertising it. But when you're trying to look as little like Monica Dawson as you can…
"I'll have to steal a jacket, I think." The hoodie would be a dead give away, of course.
"I, uh, man." Magnes takes a moment to process, reaching into the other half of the clothes on the couch, grabbing a black denim jacket with a golden trim and matching buttons, lightly tossing it over. "Sorry, just, had to pick my jaw up off the floor and all."
Monica catches the jacket easily, even as she shakes her head at the compliment. "Clothes haven't ever been one of my better skills," she remarks, shifting her feet. It's her turn to feel awkward this time, and she employs his tactic of distraction to get out of it. "You said something about cookies."
"Oh, right, cookies! You know how to make cookies from scratch? If not, you're gonna learn now!" Magnes marches to the kitchen, reaching to take her hand again. "I'll change clothes and pack after this. Cookies, sandwiches, and I guess we can buy sodas or juice or something, we don't want to drive drunk. This'll be fun, and we can visit the little tourist traps and diners."
"Do I know? You never met Nana Dawson, obviously." Monica follows him into the kitchen, looking amused and, well, admittedly excited for the trip. It is very likely she's never actually just taken off for a weekend before. "Yeah, that wouldn't do too well in keeping us from getting arrested. Or… keeping us alive," she remarks, on driving drunk. "Oh, I love tourist traps! Especially the tourists." Which she will be one of, but whatever!
"Oh, even better, I'll make paninis. You know, like, cooked sandwiches." Magnes is grabbing things for the cookies, then just smiles over at her. "Thanks for this, Monica. It'll be nice to escape from the world for a while, for both of us."
Monica helps get things out, too, which involves a lot of peeking around in cupboards, but she's helping! Really! But his words make her pause, too, to return that smile. "I think we both could use it. And we'll squeeze as much of a good time into the weekend we can. And we'll find out if I'm any fun off duty," she ends with a smirk there, before she slides a bowl in his direction. It's bakin' time.