Dominick "Sonny" Carisi, Jr. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ottimismo) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2016-12-15 05:12 pm
ottimismo) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2016-12-15 05:12 pm
001 ✝ there's an angel with a hand on my head
WHO: Sonny Carisi
WHERE: The fountain and the inn
WHEN: 12/14
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Nooothing? Will update as needed.
STATUS: Open
THE FOUNTAIN
At first, Sonny thinks he's dreaming.
There was a place their parents would take him and his sisters on vacation when they were little. As he got older, he learned that they were really just visiting his mother's family in Jersey, which really isn't much of a vacation at all when you live in New York. But they always got to swim in their auntie's pool while they were there, and Sonny would swim until his fingers were wrinkly and his eyes were red from the chlorine and his mother had to tell him three separate times that it was time for dinner.
He and his sisters got older. They did more sunbathing than swimming, and Sonny found he enjoyed helping his mom and aunt around the kitchen more than taking a dip in the pool.
Still, this reminds him of that, at first. The water's around him, warm to the touch, and it takes him a moment to realize he's not, in fact, dreaming, but that the burning in his lungs is real. He's drowning.
It's all instinct after that. The water presses around him, pushing him upwards, and Sonny kicks his feet, straining towards the lighter part of the water. He doesn't think about how he got in the water, or what body of water he could possibly be in. He only thinks about getting out, about breathing, about breaking the surface. And when he manages that, it's with a dramatic gasp of air, his lungs expanding painfully as he pulls in a much needed breath. One hand gropes blindly until he finds stone, gripping the edge of the fountain.
A fountain. He's in a fountain. He blinks water out of his eyes, pushing his sopping hair back with one hand. It occurs to him quite suddenly that the water wasn't warm, but that he was numb. It's sleeting, and it stabs at his exposed arms painfully. He's aware that there's a backpack strapped to his back, but more important, where the hell is he?
"Hello?" he calls out, and he can't even be bothered by how silly it feels.
THE INN
Eventually, he gets some answers, though not very many. And in the process of that, he manages his way to the inn, where he changes into dry clothes that are apparently his and sits down beside the fire to warm up. His hair's an unkempt mess and his bones still feel cold, his eyes tired. He's hungry, too. But he's too busy thinking for anything like food or sleep.
He tugs his backpack into his lap, digging through it a second time to review what's inside. Like maybe it'll hold more answers than it did before. This is what he does, though. Review, and review again, and again, until something looks different, until you notice something new.
After all, he is a cop.
WHERE: The fountain and the inn
WHEN: 12/14
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Nooothing? Will update as needed.
STATUS: Open
THE FOUNTAIN
At first, Sonny thinks he's dreaming.
There was a place their parents would take him and his sisters on vacation when they were little. As he got older, he learned that they were really just visiting his mother's family in Jersey, which really isn't much of a vacation at all when you live in New York. But they always got to swim in their auntie's pool while they were there, and Sonny would swim until his fingers were wrinkly and his eyes were red from the chlorine and his mother had to tell him three separate times that it was time for dinner.
He and his sisters got older. They did more sunbathing than swimming, and Sonny found he enjoyed helping his mom and aunt around the kitchen more than taking a dip in the pool.
Still, this reminds him of that, at first. The water's around him, warm to the touch, and it takes him a moment to realize he's not, in fact, dreaming, but that the burning in his lungs is real. He's drowning.
It's all instinct after that. The water presses around him, pushing him upwards, and Sonny kicks his feet, straining towards the lighter part of the water. He doesn't think about how he got in the water, or what body of water he could possibly be in. He only thinks about getting out, about breathing, about breaking the surface. And when he manages that, it's with a dramatic gasp of air, his lungs expanding painfully as he pulls in a much needed breath. One hand gropes blindly until he finds stone, gripping the edge of the fountain.
A fountain. He's in a fountain. He blinks water out of his eyes, pushing his sopping hair back with one hand. It occurs to him quite suddenly that the water wasn't warm, but that he was numb. It's sleeting, and it stabs at his exposed arms painfully. He's aware that there's a backpack strapped to his back, but more important, where the hell is he?
"Hello?" he calls out, and he can't even be bothered by how silly it feels.
THE INN
Eventually, he gets some answers, though not very many. And in the process of that, he manages his way to the inn, where he changes into dry clothes that are apparently his and sits down beside the fire to warm up. His hair's an unkempt mess and his bones still feel cold, his eyes tired. He's hungry, too. But he's too busy thinking for anything like food or sleep.
He tugs his backpack into his lap, digging through it a second time to review what's inside. Like maybe it'll hold more answers than it did before. This is what he does, though. Review, and review again, and again, until something looks different, until you notice something new.
After all, he is a cop.
no subject
It was a wonder the MI6 still insisted so strongly on keeping their claws in him, really. Goodness knew he wasn't going to be able to pull off the hapless kid act for much longer, he was already 15 and only getting older with each passing day.
He taps a finger lightly on the side of Sonny's bag, tilting his head to one side with a sigh that he mostly means. Laundry wasn't exactly something MI6 or Scorpia had prepared him for, and maybe it was a tedious thing to be bothered by, but sometimes the tedious things were the only thing that kept you sane. It was a predictable chore, at least. Repetitive.
Comforting even, maybe? "I suppose I had to learn how to do laundry some day, I just wasn't imagining this being the scenario when I did." He smiles a touch wryly and shrugs one shoulder in his own, red colored scrubs. "Though I suppose none of us really did. The color coding thing is a little concerning, though, I wonder what that's all about."
Alex makes an effort to keep his tone light for the last comment, no matter how much the issue of the color coded scrubs honestly sets his nerves on edge. He's not going to be happy until he figures that one out. Probably not even after that, if he's honest. Happy is... complicated these days.
no subject
He realized it before he ever showed up here and started coping by treating the situation like some sort of standard investigation. He realized it back home, with the last few cases that left him feeling he he'd been punched in the gut, wounded and a little breathless.
The job ruins a lot of good people. It makes them paranoid, pessimistic, unable to form healthy relationships. Sonny always swore he wouldn't let it happen to him, but lately, he's not sure.
"Yeah, I noticed that," Sonny says, glancing at Alex's red color scrubs. "I guess I got lucky — I don't have to worry about accidentally turning my socks pink."
It's a joke, his tone as light as Alex's, but the thought itself is a concerning one. Their clothes are different colors, like they're being sorted somehow. Sorted by what and by whom is the real question, but he's already gathered that nobody's figured that out, either. It's hard to figure anything out when they're all trying to survive.
no subject
He's far more concerned with the insinuations of such a color system, and the lack of camouflage such a bright color affords him, particularly with all the snow lately.
With a sigh he settles his elbows on the edge of the table, dropping his chin to rest on them at the same time as he sits down across from Sonny, everything done in a single, fluid motion. The movement of a person who knows how use his body to his benefit. Eight years of karate and extreme sports had to result in something, after all. Something Alex wasn't always able to hide, unfortunately.
"It's incongruous, isn't it?" He says.
no subject
"Yeah," he says, taking Alex's wide-eyed question at face value. "Just be careful when washing in warm water. The colors will bleed."
That's definitely something he learned the hard way when he was in college. Because up until then, his mother did his laundry for him.
"A little bit," he admits. "But I feel like we're all sort of out of place in a place like this."
no subject
Out of place, was a good word for it. But in all fairness, Alex can't remember the last time he didn't feel out of place somewhere. And maybe that was the connection? "I wonder if this is supposed to be some sort of large scale social experiment." Alex muses, mostly to himself, because even when he's steadfastly refusing to investigate or stick his nose into anything, he still can't help but be curious.
"Like the Stanford Prison Experiment."
no subject
A social experiment. That had been Sonny's best guess, thus far. At least, his best guess short of magic, which he's still refusing to believe in, despite everything. A social experiment, though, where they've been drugged and relocated to some remote location with very little means to survive. It's the only thing that makes sense to him.
"I had the same thought," he says, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. "I mean, it's the only way this could happen, right?"
no subject
Not that a large scale social experiment wasn't as strange a reason as any to go to such questionable lengths but. Somehow it was still one of the least terrifying alternatives none the less. "Though I suppose in the end it's going to be almost impossible to get a clear idea of why without first knowing who's responsible.
"Don't you think?"
no subject
But, Sonny has to admit, this is already complicated. There's a lot of unanswered questions, and a lot of things that just don't add up. It's a timeline with a lot of holes, and truthfully, Sonny would rather be trying to figure out some he-said-she-said case than trying to figure out whatever mess this is.
"Maybe," he agrees. "But I've solved a lot of cases and a lot of whys without knowing the who's first. I think it just depends."
no subject
Then again, Alex had always been trying to prevent something from happening not, you know, catching people after the fact. In this particular instance, Alex can see how both approaches might apply. After all, part of the crime has already been done, but Alex isn't naive enough to think that this is the end goal of whoever brought them all here.
There's something coming. And Alex isn't sure if he has it in him to stop whatever that is. Not anymore.
"Are you good at your job?" Alex asks softly, and it's not an insult or a challenge when he does. It's such an honest and bald-faced attempt to seek some sort of comfort that Alex is immediately mortified at his question and buries his face in his arms to avoid looking at Sonny when he realizes what he just did.
no subject
But Sonny won't deny him the comfort, either.
"Hey." His first instinct is to reach across the table and put a hand on Alex's arm. It's what he'd do to a victim or a scared witness. He refrains, though, instead just leaning forward a bit and softening his tone. "I know this is a rough situation to be in, but try not to worry too much."
Easier said than done, he knows, so he continues before Alex can respond. "I'm very good at my job. And so is the rest of my team. We'll get out of this."