aluminumandash | [glencola] inbox

Fuck.

[The word is said softly, out loud to himself as Martin's heart rate picks up. This is bad. Something bad is happening right now. Ben is reading Cohle's private messages and pretending to be him. Why? What's going on?]

Oh, gosh! Now you're reminding me of someone else. :P
This weird old guy who came into the Institute once.
He kept going on about needing to look at the big picture in everything and broaden your horizons.
He also tried to talk to me about roller coasters???
And how he dreamed about getting flung off of them and flying.
I think he might have been on drugs, come to think of it.
I get what you're trying to say, though.
I'll try to keep my spirits up.
And work on getting out there.
Once the weather lets up, I want to start working on the waystation thing.
Any chance you're near the north end of the island?
I was thinking I could start from the farthest point from the airbase to set things up.
And if you can find any good spots to set it up?
That'd be a lifesaver.

Not sure what to think about that comparison.
Afraid I'm not really a pillar of anything.
Or... a Jekyll and Hyde?
Not that anyone's mentioned!

[ There's a bit of a pause as Rust reads over the sheer fucking drivel spouted on his behalf, wonders why he bothered, and lands on the name. Fring. Deja vu's hardening to certainty—Beth, Chile—when he's all-too-gently instructed to talk, to misdirect. ]

Ah, we moved on from there. More to the west, pretty dense jungle. Safer that way. But I can tell you—out by the cabin, there's a bird he gets feathers from, for the arrows. Called a skua, kind of a grey-white. They're scavengers, hooked beaks. Nest on the ground. Tricky fuckers.

Now I don't know how wide they range on the island, but someone shows up, sees them—that'd be their cue to get the hell out.

Having a little trouble hearing with the thunder and lightning!
Sorry. :(
But birds. Right!
I'll keep that in mind.

Oh, one other thing, I know you're in the jungle right now, but if you do happen to go along the shore after the storm...
Could you keep an eye out for my boyfriend?
Jon.
I know it's been weeks and everything.
But with the storm and people finding things.
I found this bottle of alcohol even!
He's out there.
I know he is.
You remember what I told you about him, right?
These things don't save messages.
He's really tall, taller than me.
Like north of 6 feet.
And this really chiseled jaw, like you'd see in an old western.
Mum loved John Wayne.
God, Jon'd look hot in cowboy clothes.
Leather chaps...
Sorry!
Right, so that and then he's got this sort of windswept dark hair and skin.
Sort of Eastern European, I guess?
Dark, dark eyes, too, almost black.
I think I told you about all of those things?
But there it is again, just in case.
Promise me you'll check?
Please?

[He's hoping, again, that Cohle might be able to guess at what he's going for. Say no to the 'direction' that's wrong.]

Edited 2023-08-16 05:28 (UTC)

[ The device is yoinked from Cohle's hands once again as Lalo reads over it, and snorts derisively.

At first.

He keeps reading. Thunder crashes in the background, but Lalo seems oblivious. His eyes dilate just slightly.

Cohle knows, right? He's gotta know. Lalo feels the deep sting of embarrassment at that realization. Suddenly conscious of just how close his and Cohle's bodies are pressed — out of sheer necessity, for warmth — Lalo reads Martin's missive with rapt attention.

He hadn't paid much attention the first time, when Martin was talking about Jon, but now, pink in the cheeks, he reads. A gust of wind howls behind him somewhere, but as his eyes dart sideways to look at his hostage, there's a slightly dreamy look before he turns back to the device, typing quickly. ]

Let you know if I see 'em. How'd you two meet, again? Did you tell me that before? Don't remember. No way to take notes on this thing.

Edited 2023-08-16 17:05 (UTC)

[...?

What? Martin squints at the message, confused. Is this Ben again? Trying to test him? Did he tell Ben about meeting Jon? He should have kept better track of that. Or maybe it's Rust fishing for another direction? Why does this have to be so complicated? They need a 'I'm in distress' phrase.]

At work.
It was after I'd moved down south to London.
Can't remember if I told you about being up in Manchester.
That's where I'm from originally.

He was actually my boss.
But we didn't start dating until we both quit the Institute!
It was never weird or anything.
I accidentally let a stray dog into the Archives on my first day and I ran into him while I was trying to find it.
'Mr. Sims' was not happy about that.
He gets this adorable little furrow in his brow when he's puffing himself up to yell at you.

[ He never told "Ben" about Jon, not directly, but it's a safe bet that there's a chance "Ben" knows about anything you've said publicly, to anyone.

The dog story is typical boring meet-cute shit, and Lalo rolls his eyes. The shit about Jon being his boss is kinda hot, though. An unhealthy power imbalance is always sexy as hell. Lalo looks again, hopefully covertly, at Rust. Then at Martin's previous message about leather chaps.

He thinks about John Wayne. Cohle's South Texas accent.

All of it inspires thoughts that make Lalo hate his own sexuality a little bit, but that doesn't change the fact that he is enjoying it, on some level. He's trapped, torn between the desire to hear even more - 'is he a good kisser? who made the first move?' - and knowing Cohle would never ask those kinds of questions or care about the answers. ]

Ok. I'll keep an eye out for him. Thanks for the info. Gonna hit the hay. Take care.

[ His heartbeat is racing. He can feel the blood rushing to certain parts of his body and has to adjust, to make sure Cohle can't feel it. ]

You, too!
Don't get swept away.

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