==========-< << Ambassador Apartments - Room 201 >> >-==========
Books. Lots of ‘em. That is the dominating feature of this apartment. The first room is a long rectangular space which opens into a small kitchen complete with oven, range, microwave and rickety refrigerator. No small amount of booze occupies at least half of one of the kitchen counters. The carpet is bland beige, the walls a creamier, almost white shade of the same bland beige, and the ceiling is plain white plaster. There are heavy paisley blackout curtains on the windows, which are small and offer a thrilling view of scraggly grass and the second story of the buildings across the street and parking lot when the curtains are open (rarely). But there are so many books in the main space — shoved into bookshelves that line every single wall, including one in the kitchen — that it’s hard to even see the walls in most places. The majority of the books are fiction (literature, really), but there is no small amount of non-fiction represented, on topics as diverse as Vietnam War and Jungian psychology. Plenty of vinyl records here, too.
There is a small cathode ray television against one wall, a wooden chest serving as a coffee table across from it, usually littered with periodicals and newspapers of all kinds. There’s also a big, red glass ashtray sitting here, often full. An old-school portable Underwood typewriter frequently takes up real estate on this table as well. A beat-up leather couch and matching armchair with reading lamp serve as seating. A huge old school stereo hi-fi system with big speakers, a record player, and even a reel-to-reel tape player sits on another wall nearby. What wall space is available is mostly taken up by movie posters, such as Bergman’s ‘The Seventh Seal,’ Truffaut’s ‘The 400 Blows,’ and Kubrick’s ‘Dr. Strangelove.’
Two bedrooms open off the living area with a bathroom located between them, furnished with a cheap tub and shower fixture. One bedroom serves as a home office, full of still more books, several wooden file cabinets, and a big old wooden desk with another typewriter (a bigger, slightly newer model, ooh fancy, electric!) plus a dizzying array of notebooks, folders, and stuff all over the walls. Corkboards full of index cards, maps, even what appears to be some sort of diagram connecting various figures and places to each other with string. Not far from the typewriter is a bulls-eye on the wall with ‘BANG HEAD HERE’ scrawled above it in red.
The other bedroom, presumably where the resident sleeps, is a little less chaotic than the rest of the house. It contains a queen-sized bed with a green army blanket, virtually never made, and a wooden dresser or two. More bookshelves and books in here, too, and a huge French poster for the movie 'Sabrina,' featuring Aubrey Hepburn, is hung over the bed.
It's been awhile and Jack's the first to admit that when he gives C.B. a call. And he also admits he doesn't just want to catch up - he's got something worrisome to talk about and god damn it, just hear him out okay? Something along those lines. Jack sounded a bit stressed, which is unusual, for him. Like he could really use someone to talk to.
Off work and in civilian clothes - the usual jeans, T-shirt and trainers, he brings Goblin up too. But he lets Fairy stay outside - birds inside is just weird, mostly. He knocks firmly on the door, curious to see how C.B. lives.
C.B. /always/ sounds kind of stressed, and he does when he agrees to let Jack come over, too. He lives in a mediocre apartment building a stone's throw from Cat-22. There's loud music playing from inside the apartment that gets turned down at the knock. Could be Zappa. A few moments later, the door opens, chain still on. C.B. squints out from the crack, a lit cigarette dangling from his lip. "Oh, it's you. Alright." The door closes again, chain taken off, and then opens fully, C.B. stepping aside to let Jack in. "Come on in." He's wearing a ratty red t-shirt and equally ratty red and black pajama pants. No shoes.
His book-filled apartment is messy, full of overflowing ashtrays, piles of books, empty bottles. There is a cat, a large, fluffy, gray and white Cymric cat, sitting enthroned on one of the leather armchairs in the living room. Said cat seems less than thrilled to see a dog here. C.B. glances down at Goblin and mutters, "Yossy's not gonna like that." To Jack, "You wanna beer?"
"Hey," Jack upnods through the crack when the door opens and then he saunters on in, looking around with the keen observation skills of a cop. Or a very curious friend. He squints at all the books - C.B. might remember that there was perhaps a total of 2 books visible in his cabin, but least there were some. Maybe he has a library card?
"Your place is pretty much exactly like I imagined it." He looks down at Goblin, who was on the verge of running right up to Youssarian and try to play with the feline; the dog immediately just sits down and looks a bit forlorn instead. Leaving the cat alone. "Goblin, on the other hand, loves cats. He will cuddle them and lick them so they look drenched." The ranger does move over and holds his hand out for the cat though, making soothing noises. "You're one handsome fella," he says, not in that baby talk language either. Completely serious. "Beer would be nice, yeah."
"Great, well, I'm glad I can live up to your expectations," C.B. deadpans. "I don't recommend letting Goblin near Yossarian, though. He's not a mean cat, but he's also not, uh...well, he's a cat. He's not terribly friendly." As if to prove his point, Yossarian sniffs Jack's hand but does not rub up against it. He stares directly into Jack's eyes, his own large and yellow.
In the meantime, C.B. comes over with a cold can of Naragansett Lager. He's got one for himself, too, which he's just cracked open, alternating between swigs of that and drags on his cigarette. "Haven't seen you at all in awhile," he points out, though tries to sound neutral about it.
Straightening up, not worried about a cat not wanting to make friends - that's most cats for you, initially - Jack accepts the beer and takes a rather hearty gulp right away. "Can I have one of those? Don't have a pack," Jack says, gesturing at the cigarette C.B. is smoking. Stalling the answer as he watches the younger man with a thoughtful expression. "Thought you and Frankie had some issues and you wanted to be left alone. But that's only half the truth." He grimaces, taking another swig of beer before finding a seat on the armrest of the couch. "Life's been busy and weird. I'm in some deep shit, I think, and I'm not going to back out. Tried to avoid dragging others in, but it's too late. You're already in it, I guess."
C.B. grunts and indicates the kitchen island, where there's a handful of loose rollies. But he squints at the mention of Frank. "Don't know what the hell you're talking about." He leans against the fridge, watching Jack, and then squints even more. "In any way. What the hell are you talking about, Jack?"
Jack goes to get a cigarette, lighting one up. Goblin has chosen to lie down near the door, looking longingly at the cat. But he keeps his distance.
"You were more depressed than usual. And you and Frankie acted very strange when we met up at the theatre. But that's neither here nor there, cause the real problem is that Cerise isn't Cerise," he says flatly, staring at C.B. He pauses there, to see what sort of reaction that will garner.
C.B. glances down at his feet when Jack says he was more depressed than usual. "It only had so much to do with Frank," he mumbles, but doesn't elaborate. He looks up again and purses his lips, staring right at the ranger. "So you say. So if she's not Cerise...what do /you/ think she is?"
"What was it then?" Jack asks, retaking a seat where he can tip ash off in that mostly full ash-tray. As usual, he smokes with little intensity - a good cigarette is almost a waste on him. That squint remains, the intensity in his eyes instead. Eyes that are faintly blood-shot, like he could use more sleep. "She's a copy. A fake. Put here by the asshole that took Cerise into that fucking place." Maybe he's just gone insane? He drinks the rest of the beer, cause he needs it. He hardly seem to care whether C.B. believes him or not - he just had to say it. To warn a friend.
"I, uh -- I mean..." C.B.'s face twists for a moment, almost like he's in pain, and he looks off towards the windows, even though the curtains are fully drawn. "I have issues. I told you that, didn't I?" He must be talking about his disorder. "I mean, yeah, don't get me wrong...things between Frank and I are, uh, not great..." But he shakes his head, not going into it right now as he drags off his cigarette, staring hard at Jack. "What are you talking about? /What/ fucking place?" There is an awful lot of suspicion in his tone, more than a sense of 'you're crazy.'
"I'm sorry to hear that," Jack says quietly, dropping some ash on the table. He looks down at it as if he doesn't know what to do with it, then sweeps it up and brushes his hands off over the ashtray. He stabs the cigarette out - he wasn't really smoking it anyway. "I hope you work it out." He doesn't know what to do, with relationship issues - he's never had one that lasted, himself. "I knew I should've punched you in the face, back at the cafe, that time. But I'm not very good at this." He gives C.B. a quirky smile, studying C.B. with steady calm now. "But you can talk to me about anything."
About the rest, he just shakes his head. "You know. That place where people disappear to. In Tamarack Falls, mostly. I don't know the name of it."
C.B. gives Jack a tense, pained smile in return, but...maybe there's a tiny bit of gratitude in there. He bobs his head slightly and shrugs. "Well. Thanks." Clears his throat and admits, "I'm not very good at...talking about my problems." Speaking of problems, there's this /other/ one at hand. C.B. drains his beer and presses the question. "/What/ place people disappear to? Jack, if you know something...now is the time to tell me. Specifics." His face scrunches up again. "I'm serious."
At least, they've had enough weird business together before that this topic isn't entirely crazy. Only it is much crazier than talking to animals or scrying for someone. "I don't know!" Jack answers, frustrated. "Some other realm. Another world - where they get changed to look entirely different and they can do magic things. But most don't even come out of there. They never escape." He looks for something to do with his hands now, as he always does when he gets agitated. He gets up instead, so he can pace about. "Someone called the asshole that took her a 'fairy'. But that doesn't feel like a good name to call those fuckers." He picks up a random book, and browses it without reading anything as he speaks. "I know someone who will help me try to get through to her."
Funny, but C.B. doesn't look at all surprised. Actually, he sighs -- rubbing his face and finishing his cig before finally dropping it in one of his many overflowing ashtrays. "So you know," he mutters, drinking his beer, looking anywhere but Jack. "Yes, she's gone. She's fucking gone and there's nothing we can do about it." In other words: he knows, too. "Who /thinks/ they can get through to her? Even if they could, it wouldn't help us get her back."
"Yes, I know," Jack says tiredly - but he's got a very stubborn gleam in his eyes as he snaps the book shut and puts it back down. "You don't know if it will help. We're going to try, and maybe we will fail, but least I did every fucking thing I could. Or I couldn't live with myself." He's lost steam, staring at C.B. "How long've you known about this? That she's gone?"
"It's fucking dangerous! Whoever your /helper/ is, they're gonna get themselves killed, and probably get you Taken in the process." Taken? Hmm...has Jack heard the term before? But then C.B. looks away, wandering back to the fridge for another beer. "A little while. I know for sure, now. It's not just a hunch, it's the truth."
"We're not going in there," Jack says, raising his hand in a defensive sort of gesture. And a calming one. "We're going to try to reach her through dreams. And I could use your help - not with the actual dream part, but I need info. Info on Cerise. You've known her a long time and I need personal stuff. Things that I can reach through with, in the dream." This conversation is so much easier, now that C.B. hasn't discarded it - in fact, Jack's relieved. "Fuck, I wish I'd talked to you about this earlier."
"I think this is a bad fucking idea. I'm not just -- just handing you info so you can go off and give it to someone I don't even know!" Since Jack still hasn't said who the oneiromancer is, and C.B. is a paranoid bastard. He gives Jack a sour look. "And yeah, you should have talked to me about this earlier. Who the hell even knew that you knew about us." Us?
"You shouldn't talk, you paranoid bastard," Jack points out, struggling momentarily to keep his cool. "I can't out them anymore than you would out someone, because they're-" He stops there, and blinks. Us? He holds a hand up, again in a 'don't say anything, I'm thinking'-sort of gesture. He is frowning because this is making his world view even more askew. C.B. was probably the last one he would suspect - that's how good C.B. is at hiding it. "You're one of them."
"Great deduction, Sherlock!" C.B. blurts out, hitting his head as if to say -- duh! He drains most of his beer in a go. "Yes, I'm one of them. I'm gonna /guess/ if you can't tell that, then you somehow know about us, but you're not Ensorcelled. Which is pretty weird in and of itself." Face scrunched up again he asks, "So what's your story? How do you know? Who spilled the beans? And why do /you/ think you can get involved in all this and not get fucked up in /exactly/ the way Cerise did?" His eyes are a little wide no, the way he gets when he's worked up about something.
Jack looks almost comical as he squints even harder now, as if he's trying to see past the veil that he now knows is there. That he's not seeing the truth, but an illusion. "Ensorcelled?" He's never heard that word before. He's collecting new terms every day - C.B. might realise he's just revealing more. "Ah, that thing when I can see your real selves," he says and snaps his fingers as it dawns on him what the author means. Now that the cat's out of the bag, he seems almost amused, a grin beginning to form on his lips, despite the topic. "I really can't tell you, C.B. I think you understand that I need to protect my source, right?" He says this almost pleadingly, calmly. "I can't not get involved. I just can't. I don't know when to quit."
"Someone Pledged you," C.B. says bluntly, not seeming to care what he is and isn't revealing. "Well, I'm not helping you until you find a way to tell me who they are. I'm involved whether or not any of you want me to be. And I'm not letting you experiment without knowing all of the facts. So either you find a way to introduce me to your 'friends,' or I'm out. I /know/ all of the Lost in this goddamn town, Jack." He purses his lips. "I probably already know them, and they probably know me."
"Yeah, I've made some promises," Jack agrees, nodding at C.B. But apparently not the kind where he can also see the Lost. Interesting position. "I'll talk to them," he says with a sigh. "But I only came here to ask you about Cerise, because I needed something more. A little bit more information, for a better chance. If you don't give it to me - that doesn't change anything. I'll do it anyway. However," he admits, "I guess chances are big you know each other. Can you give me a day or two? I promise I won't do anything with this before I've talked with them."
C.B. doesn't look happy about it, but he sighs. Shakes his head. "Alright." He gives Jack a long, long look. "I'm serious when I say that /you/ best be careful, boy. Cerise got Taken because she was stubborn and arrogant. Just like you." Despite the harsh words, there's something there, in C.B.'s eyes. Something kind of devastated. It's more than sad.
"I know." Jack cracks a wry grin - his own eyes are serious though, but that arrogance - or rather that stubborness - it's there. Can't deny that C.B. is right. "I will be careful." He looks at Goblin who lifts his head and pads over to C.B, giving the man's hand a bit of a nuzzle with his nose, and a whine - like he wants to reassure C.B. too. "I best get going. I'll be in touch soon as I talk with them, okay?"
C.B. frowns down at Goblin, but eventually gives him a little pat to the top of his head. "Alright." He makes that little gesture: fingers forming a circle around his eye, moved off again. "Be seeing you." That's it? Apparently, yes. He's already picked up a book and started leafing through it, though given that he doesn't have his glasses on -- the words are probably pretty blurry.
"Yeah," Jack simply responds, upnods at C.B. - and then he heads on out, Goblin padding after him - with one last longing look at the aloof cat.
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