Logs:Eternal Progression

Eternal Progression
Dramatis Personae DJ, Polaris	2021-11-09 "Why didn't you tell me?"
Location <NYC> Chimaera Arts - Dumbo
This is just one of the many abandoned warehouses in DUMBO, and like many of them it has recently changed hands. Unlike most of those, however, it does not have some corporate developer's sign out front promising a transformation into luxury condominiums or a boutique shopping center or the latest concept restaurant. Instead it's marked by a piece of weathered but wildly colorful plywood propped up on a stack of broken pallets, which reads "Chimaera Art Space!" above "chimaera.org" in smaller letters. The warehouse is moderately large and decorated with graffiti art in various styles--some of it recognizable as the work of renowned local street artists. A pair of monstrous scrap metal sculptures, perhaps still works in progress, flank the entrance. The building itself has undergone significant renovation recently, complete with wiring, plumbing, and a modular partitioning system. The grounds, too, have been cleaned up, ramshackle fences torn down and rusting detritus removed in favor of reclaimed (and brilliantly repainted) outdoor furniture ringing an impressively engineered firepit. It's gotten very late, and Chimaera is quiet. Actually quiet, for once; the courtyard deserted, the roof empty, the kitchen dark and cleaned, partitioned studios closed and tidied. There's one light on far in the back of the warehouse, closed off in the sorely-neglected-of-late woodshop, a soft steady rasping coming from back there. Alone in the space, DJ, in jeans and a short-sleeved heather-grey tee, lightweight flannel thrown over a sawhorse in deference to the unseasonable weather, is sanding down a sturdy cabinet, near to completion -- though it's been started in one hand and clearly finished in another the final product actually looks quite decent. He's slow, as he works. Steady. Very quietly humming to himself, though not a tune that's easy to place. Polaris is walking from the direction of the subway, her steps unhurried. Her hair falls in loose green waves that frame her face which, without makeup, looks almost unhealthily pale. She's wearing a purple tee shirt emblazoned with a firey bird taking flight with broken shakles half-melted off of its flame-blue talons, black jeans, heavy black boots, and her usual assortment of accessories rich in polished steel, black canvas motorcycle jacket slung casually over one shoulder. She stops in her tracks at the sight of the warehouse's single lit window, pulling out her phone to check the time, and it's another few dubious seconds before she resumes her approach. Inside, she hesitates again in the darkness of the common space, then finally makes her way toward the light streaming from the woodshop, knocking gently on its open door. Her eyes flit over the cabinet, then up to its current craftsman. "Hey." DJ looks up from his work with a slight flush in his cheeks. He sets his sander down, dipping his head in acknowledgment. "You're here late. Usually -- have the place more or less to myself, about now." "Yeah." Polaris looks down, blushing. "Sorry. I couldn't sleep and--well, that was hours ago and it's not a very interesting saga. I didn't actually come looking for you, but it did occur to me you might be here." She makes herself straighten up, cheeks still burning. "Maybe it should have also occurred to me you'd rather be left alone to your work. Just, once I got here it felt weird not saying hi. Or something." "Oh!" DJ's flush darkens, creeping out toward his ears. He wipes his hands against his jeans. Shakes his head, glancing at the cabinet he's been working on. "Yeah -- I mean no -- I mean, you're welcome to stay. I just -- it's easier without all the questions and expectations and -- you're fine, though." After a moment of consideration, though, he frowns, uncertain. "Wait, you were -- did you need something? Besides sleep. I -- wish I knew how to find some of that." Her blush has not actually faded, but Polaris manages a slightly crooked smile. "I already knew the secret of the furniture magically getting finished overnight." She steps inside properly and leans against an unused work bench. "I had been meaning to ask you--a couple things, actually? But with the training and the raid and the..." She waves one hand vaguely in the air. "Anyway, now it seems maybe kinda...like, I already got an answer from the mission presidency. Probably not suppose to go soliciting second opinions from friends but." Her gaze drops again. "I dunno. I really value your perspective." "What, you didn't think there were woodworking elves living in the warehouse?" DJ leans back against his work table, attention fixing on Polaris. "Oh? What did they tell you?" His smile is a little crooked. "What did they tell you that you want me to contradict?" "I guess your late night woodworking doesn't preclude elves." Polaris looks around, searching the woodshop for hidden elves. DJ's addition to his question catches her off guard, and she actually laughs. "Oh gosh! The accuracy." She pushes a tress of hair behind one ear. "So like, I'd gotten through the multiple baptismal interviews, and after all the hand-wringing over whether or not I'm spiritually ready, I really didn't expect to get stuck on a technical point of the procedure itself." She spreads her hands wide, frustrated. "In the D&C it says to call the candidate 'by his or her name,' and they interpret that as 'full legal name', which means they won't baptize me under my real name." "Which they, though?" DJ's brows pinch together, his fingers curling down harder against his work table. "See, you just have to shop around until you find a brother who isn't a jerk. I could make a very solid doctrinal argument that a baptism isn't valid unless they use your real name. Point me in their direction and I just might find myself in an arguing mood, too." Polaris cants her head slightly. "I think pretty much all of the teaching missionaries are gonna defer to their leader. But if you think you can change the mission president's mind, that would be amazing." Her wire rings curl and flow across her fingers. "He's been really nice and really patient, I just don't think he gets why this is important to me. Ironically, he calls he 'Polaris'!" "I can be pretty persuasive," DJ replies. After a small hesitation, with a small shrug, "-- and if all else fails, I don't need to convince anyone. I can baptize you perfectly well myself, with your right name." "I appreciate that, but wouldn't it only count if..." Polaris trails off, frowning. Then her eyes go wide with realization and she slaps a hand to her forehead. "Ohhh, right! You are a priest. I mean, I knew that, but. You know. Ex-Catholic." Her smile is small but warm. "I appreciate that without qualification, then. And I really appreciate the respect. So many people--human, mutant, whatever--insist it's 'just a nickname' no matter what I tell them." "I feel like respect should be a baseline, but --" DJ shrugs again, turning back to his cabinet. He doesn't return to sanding it; just runs a hand lightly over one surface. "I imagine it gets tiring constantly having to explain yourself. Justify -- who you are." His voice is just a little bit wry. "Be glad if I can spare you even a little of that." "Thanks." Polaris's smile also goes wry. "Lucky me you've got such a vivid imagination." She follows the path of his hand along the surface of the wood. "But seriously, though? Your testimony on Sunday--I'm glad you felt able to give it and I feel so blessed to have shared in it. I hadn't thought I was dancing around..." She sweeps a hand up and down in DJ's direction to indicate his general person. "...who you are. But there's so much more to that than calling you by the name you choose, or not treating you like your alter ego." Her hesitation is brief, her head bowing slightly when she continues. "I think I've done you a disservice only talking about the world you came from when you volunteer." Her gaze settles on his empty left sleeve. "I wanted to avoid causing you more pain, but I never asked whether you wanted or needed to talk about your family, your friends, your joys, your sorrows, your faith..." She looks up to meet his eyes, her own wide and earnest. "Those things made you who you are. And I'm sorry I wasn't sensitive to that." DJ's eyes open wider, startled. He swallows -- lifts his hand to curl his arm around himself -- drops his hand back to the wood he's been working. "Oh," comes as just a quiet breath, at first. His eyes, a little brighter than they were before, lower, not quite meeting Polaris's gaze. "They made me who I am. There are so many hard things about this world but keeping all of that inside --" He shakes his head once. "It -- it doesn't make it easier." Polaris averts her eyes, too, though not far. Just back down to the cabinet. She transfers her leaning to DJ's work table, closer but no longer facing him directly. "I got a pretty vivid imagination, too," she says softly, "but I don't think I can imagine that. It sounds hard. It sounds exhausting. It sounds lonely." Her hands clasp each other, fidgeting restlessly. "The other day, out in Montauk..." Her lips press together tight, and she shakes her head. "Not that I hadn't wondered before that." "Still, I figured it was unlikely I would survive this long in any world, and vanishingly unlikely for us to up in the same lab in more than one." She works the CTR ring off of her index finger, cupping it in the palm of her left hand. "But then--I mean, most powers work pretty different, even if they're superficially similar, right?" Her breathing slows and she closes her eyes. The ring in her hand shifts minutely, rolls onto its heaviest face, then very slowly and very unsteadily lifts up--just an inch above her hand before it drops back down. "Silver and copper," she says, with a great deal of wonder and just a touch of pride. "You knew the other me, didn't you?" "People do meet other ways than -- getting tortured together." DJ is very still. His eyes pull slowly up to watch the ring in its wobbly journey, then lower again. His hand presses harder down against the bare wood, shoulders dropping in time with the ring hitting Polaris's palm. His exhale is shivery at the inevitable question, and the silence that stretches before he speaks is, perhaps, already its own answer. Still, he does find his voice eventually. "It was college. Not the labs. We would have been married four years this summer." Polaris raises one eyebrow, but gives an acquiescent nod. Then goes very, very still. The silver ring does not move now, but all the steel tools hanging on the pegboard start rattling violently. "Married," she echoes. "You--but--" Her shoulders hunch and she shuffles a step away from him. "You asked about my name! Okay, maybe she went by Lorna, but God, how can you even look at me? I told you about me and Dawson, why didn't you--" This breaks off abruptly. Then, quiet and determinedly even, "Why didn't you tell me?" DJ's eyes snap to the tools, his hand reflexively dropping to his side as he straightens. In the next moment he's forcing himself out of this defensive posture, hand back flat on the table, a deep breath deliberately drawn in and released. "It was hard to look at you, at first, but you aren't her." His voice hasn't raised out of its careful calm, but he's watching the tools, now, and not Polaris. A small furrow creases his brow. "You didn't ask." Polaris grits her teeth, and the rattling quiets. "Fuck," she says, flatly. "What the everloving actual fuck. I know I'm not her, but--" The rage in her voice is barely contained. "You knew--you know things about me no one should. Or maybe not--shit." She runs a hand through her hair, starts pacing, then stops only two steps in. "I'm so fucking mad why am I so mad--I'm not going to hurt you--fuck!" Tears brim over and she wipes them away with entirely more force than necessary. "Did--have you even talked about her? With anyone? Were you just going to hold that in forever? Would you have told me if--" She closes her hand around the silver ring and starts pacing again. "I thought I was being kind, that it was easier for you because you didn't know me--the other. Me." "Who would I have talked about her with?" DJ's eyes have stayed on the tools, but he pries them away, slowly returning to look at Polaris. "People don't ask. They don't want to know. Nobody's asked, and the times I do mention home it's just --" His jaw tightens, shoulder tensing. "I probably wouldn't have told you, no." His voice doesn't raise, but his eyes are narrowing, the tension not leaving his posture. "Why should I have? Why do you think I owed you her memory?" Polaris stops pacing mid-stride so suddenly she stumbles. "Me. Jes--frak I would have listened. I wanted to know. I want to know you, I just thought--" She slumps, eyes downcast. Very small, "I should have asked." Her arms cross over her chest, tight. "I'm sorry. I--" Pivoting much too fast, she studies him with a sudden unnerving intensity. "Was she--did she--she didn't end up there, did she? Prometheus?" She looks down at the ring in her hand. "Right. Sorry. You don't owe me shiii--anything. You're the one who lost your wife." "You've had all year. If you wanted to know --" DJ's hand turns up in front of him, then drops back down. "But people don't. It's so much easier to pretend I'm some kind of upside-down Dawson if none of you have to hear about my world, my life, my family, the wife and children I --" His laugh is a rough thing, short and humorless. "-- I didn't lose, I left them. They told me the world was dying and I --" His hand lifts, presses hard to his eyes. "Sorry. This is. Probably not what you came here for." Polaris scrubs her hand down over her face. "Look. I'm sorry." She clenches her jaw again, but drifts back toward DJ. "I said I wanted to know, then immediately freaked the heck out when you told me, and that's fu--unfair." One of her hands settles on the opposite end of the cabinet, then scrunches up against the semi-smooth wooden surface. "I came here because I didn't want to get plastered and go home with a stranger. I was glad I found you because you're important to me, and I swear it isn't because of him. At least, not anymore. I wanted to do better by you and I wish I had more to offer and I wish I wasn't such a mess, but. This is what I've got." All the vehemence seems to leave her at once, and she blinks at him, horrified. "Did she know? Did anyone, on that side?" DJ's breath comes out all in a rush, hand dropping back to support him as his posture abruptly crumples. His head turns aside, eyes squeezing shut and his breaths slower now. One-two-three-four. Out-two-three-four. "It was all such a mess," he finally whispers. "I didn't know what..." He stops, swallows, tries again. "Get pulled into another world, told there's a hole into yours and it's going to swallow them both if you don't..." He shakes his head. "Once they figured it out, explained it to me, that I had to stay here, I didn't. Go home. I told a friend, I left a message for them. I didn't think I'd be able to go through with it if I saw them again. I'm not that strong." The only profanity this explanation draws from Polaris is a barely voiced "fuck". She lifts her hand to her mouth, then drops it. Her eyes have gone even wider than before, but she seems abruptly calm. "I'm so sorry. The fact that you could do it at all? That's unimaginably strong. It's horrible you had to make that choice, and maybe it's not much of a choice at all, but you still saved the world." Her brows hike up. "Two worlds? That's...I mean...thank you." She circles around to his side of the cabinet, reaches for his hand, hesitates, but does not draw back all the way. "Hey. DJ. Do you wanna sit down? Might make it easier to breathe." It's hard to say if DJ registers the thanks; his expression doesn't change, he doesn't acknowledge it. Just keeps his eyes closed, just breathes hard and slow -- he does sit, though, when prompted, blinking abruptly into a chair (also very recently finished) and dropping his forehead into his hand. "I wanted to tell you," he admits. "When I saw you -- when you started confiding in me. But I -- I didn't --" He swallows again, looks back up at Polaris. "I didn't know you. I just felt like I did. And if I listened to that feeling, that thing that keeps drawing me to all these people and places I don't -- quite -- know -- if I treated you like I knew you when you were a stranger then..." Here he falters, grasping uncertainly for words that don't easily come. "You heard my testimony Sunday. But you don't know how hard it was to get there. I've asked and asked and prayed and prayed and nobody wants to talk about what it means that this world exists, my world exists, they're almost -- not quite -- mirrors of each other, you exist, he existed -- are we different people? Are we the same soul split across universes? Some kind of trial run for -- I don't know. I'm trying to live like I'm a real person, like my family were real people who mattered and I don't even know if any of that's -- fudge." His face presses into his palm, breath hitching in one ragged gasp. Polaris follows DJ as she pulls another chair from across the room and unfolds it without touching or so much as looking at it. She sits with one leg folded under herself and braces her elbows on her knees, not looking at him directly. She nods to indicate she's listening, but does not answer until it seems certain he is finished speaking. "I don't think you treated me like--like you knew me, but it's so hard to tell because I also felt like I knew you. I tried to treat you like I would any brother, but you're rad and kind and thoughtful and--pretty much the sort of person I'm usually drawn to. It's not easy to separate that from the ways you remind me of him." She folds her hands together and settles her chin on them. "This might be theologically wack, but what if eternal progression doesn't just happen over time, but across space--in all the innumerable worlds?" Her wire rings unbend themselves into a series of hoops revolving around each other in the air. "All the worlds that can exist, do, so that our souls--or pieces of our souls, or whatever--experience all the lives that we could possibly live." The wire hoops join, one by one, into a torus of interlocking rings. "But maybe it's as much about needing to know the meaning as needing your community to recognize it's a question that's important to you and should be important to us." She straightens up a little, lips compressing. "Do you want a hug?" DJ scrubs at his eyes; they're red, damp, when he drops his hand to watch the aerial dance of the rings. "If that's so," he replies softly, "then each of us, we're all just reflections of the same persons striving toward exaltation. And we --" He swallows, lowers his eyes, the thought unfinished. "Oh --" The offer seems to startle him; for a second he just looks wide-eyed at Polaris before he remembers to answer. "I think so, yes." "Maybe." Polaris bows her head, her voice also soft, now. "I don't know how one life, no matter how long or full or holy, can be enough for us to learn what we need to learn." The ring of rings floats down to settle in the palm of her hand. "If Heavenly Parents could give us every chance in eternity to play and rest, hurt and heal, struggle and triumph--to love, and return to Them whole and strong and wise in ways even They didn't expect? I'm not a god or a parent yet, but I hope I'd want that for my children, someday." Her smile is very faint, but she scoots her chair closer to DJ's and pulls him into a tight embrace. This time, the shaky breath DJ lets out sounds closer to a laugh. He wraps his arm back round Polaris, leaning into the hug for a few breaths. "-- that's the first thing anyone's said to me," he says when he pulls back, "that makes any part of this nightmare sound like it has a silver lining."