open RP: the unpopcorning of Simon Tam

[superfraternal.livejournal.com]

There were a few things about Simon Tam that other people probably didn't get -- other people, with the exception of his sister, who was always an exception to every rule. (Being an exception to every rule only cemented her conviction that rules were made to be broken, Simon suspected; and he wasn't exactly fighting that, was he? Now he was breaking all the rules too. For her.)



First off: He loved his sister. That much was probably obvious. But he didn't love her that way. He could perfectly well live without her, even. That wasn't self-delusion, that was plain fact. He'd gone to university, he'd gone to medical school, he'd worked; he'd had a life of his own, separate from River.

If he had not built a life of his own, it would have been no sacrifice at all when he gave it all up to rescue her. It would have been much easier. She wouldn't have anything to feel guilty about. But the fact was, he had built a life, the way he always expected he would, the way he was supposed to do, and it had made him happy. He'd been happy on Osiris. He'd been happy in Capital City. He had a rewarding career and some colleagues who were pretty good friends, and he kept in touch with his old buddies from med school, and sure, he hadn't exactly gotten engaged yet, but he planned on having a house and a family sometime within the next ten years definitely.

He had given up a lot, and River did feel guilty about it, though he wished she wouldn't. He would always remember with sadness the night in that godforsaken hillbilly settlement when River said to him: I made you be here. I remember everything. Offering him berries she'd gathered, touchingly resolute, I wanted you to have berries. Because they're good. And they're sweet. And you make me better. A small bit of sweetness, all she could gather, all she could find. A token to stand in for all the sweetness now beyond his reach.

The berries weren't the real gift, though, as far as he was concerned. It was that moment of lucidity, of her understanding. Understanding was hard to come by.

That was another thing. Simon understood it was really not all too healthy, the way he was living these days. Packed onto a spaceship with a bunch of smugglers -- yes, they were nice smugglers, and they'd come through for Simon when he needed them, he wasn't disputing that! Nor would he say he'd have it any other way, under the circumstances. It was the best the Tams could hope for -- no, even better than he could've hoped -- because they couldn't afford to settle down on some backwater planet, sitting ducks for the Alliance (two by two, hands of blue, and he always shivered when he remembered that). Still. The fact remained that this situation, this life on Serenity, was unstable. What River needed was stability and peace. She needed serenity with a lower-case s. She needed someplace she could really recuperate.

On Earth-That-Was, for people with tuberculosis there had been sanatoriums. Seaside resorts, oases of healing air. For rich people with tuberculosis, all right, no disputing that either. That was the kind of place River needed. Her limbic system had been stripped. Simon didn't think he could really get anyone without medical training to understand how utterly gorram excruciating that had to be for River. She couldn't not feel everything, couldn't not read everything. Here she was in a floating capsule full of tension, everyone living in one another's pockets, everyone always worrying about a heist, or unhappy about one another's behavior, or seething with unresolved desire (ahem, captain and Inara, even socially-inept Simon can tell you want in one another's pants). Not ideal for convalescence, given River's condition.

More, Simon understood the present living arrangements were unhealthy for him personally. Once he'd had a life. Now River was his life, and that wasn't good for either of them. He lived in constant agonizing hope. Every sign of improvement made his heart leap; every sign of deterioration was like a horse had kicked him in the stomach. Because once she got better, all this could be over, or at least could change. Once she got better, well enough to hide ... then maybe they could go to ground.

(Maybe that was self-delusion, that bit there. Maybe they'd never be able to settle, with the Alliance after them. Simon had to believe that one day they could. His frayed nerves needed that.)

And he knew River could read him, every time. Could there be any pressure worse than that for her, knowing that so much for him rode on her recovery, when she herself was powerless to force recovery? He knew it had to be a species of torture for her too. Indeed, he suspected it might be detrimental to her health. He feared she'd push herself too far for his sake. She'd always been an overachiever to the nth degree, after all. She'd never known failure. The Academy had taught her despair, but it had not broken her spirit. Hence Simon's hope; hence Simon's anxiety. She'd work hard to get better, maybe too hard, and maybe she wouldn't be able to compensate for the effort.

Living like this was being like a hamster in a wheel. Every day was the same round of worry and fear and hope and worry. Every day was pain. It didn't help that he couldn't fit in with the people on Serenity. They gave him more acceptance than he had any right to expect, yet he couldn't remake himself into a person who'd know how to read them. If he had a dime for every time he put his foot in his mouth ... The things he'd said to Kaylee alone made him blush, and not in a good way. Every other girl I know is either married, professional, or closely related to me, so you are more or less literally the only girl in the world. He'd meant it as a joke! A ... a way to diffuse the tension between them, that captain-and-Inara kind of tension. Something he didn't want River picking up on either, for that matter. He watched Kaylee's face turn hard and he understood he'd said something seriously wrong, and yes, he understood why, but it was too late then. And he was always saying things like that.

Thought experiment: buddy from med school somehow becomes accessible through a closed channel, safe from Alliance, a clear channel of communication for Simon to talk about stuff like this. What would buddy say? Well, Simon, they're neurotypicals. What can you expect? But that wasn't the right way to approach the problem either. Elitism had its comforts, but pernicious ones. Mal Reynolds wasn't stupid. Kaylee Frye wasn't stupid. The barrier between himself and their understanding wasn't one of intellect. It was ... a cultural difference, all right. A socioeconomic difference. He was a fish out of water -- no -- he was a koi tossed into a stream of salmon. He'd experienced more self-doubt since boarding Serenity than he'd felt in his entire life up until that point.

He was a very, very capable man. A very competent man. A man with specialized skills. He just hadn't been born and raised to the kind of necessity these people lived with. That was all.

Now he was learning about necessity. River was teaching him. The Alliance was teaching him. Every day was a pop quiz. He'd always tested well under pressure. It was just ... tiring.


This was the Simon Tam who'd gone to sleep one night (was it night? In the black, it was always night) in his bunk on Serenity. This was the Simon Tam who woke up, still in the middle of that timeless night, still in his pajamas (soft grey trousers, no shirt).

Only he was sitting on the floor now, and it wasn't the same floor. It was a stone floor.

Also, he was covered in something slick. Oil? He reached up to feel his head, to make sure he wasn't bleeding from the scalp or anything, half-expecting to find some kind of cranial trauma. His hair was clotted with the grease, sticking up in clumps. It didn't smell like engine grease.

It smelled ... like ... popcorn?

Comments

[biblerewrite.livejournal.com]

There was dirt under her fingernails and grass stains on her knees, and she knew Simon was awake.

River walked with purpose but without haste, right back to where she had started, smelling of popcorn, to meet kittens and a strange boy who made the flowers bloom and sing. She would tell Simon these things and hope he would smile.

She laughed when she saw he was covered in butter.
"No kittens to greet you, but I'm here." She said as hello. "Did you sleep well?"

[superfraternal.livejournal.com]

Absently he rubbed his greasy eyes with greasy fists, then winced at the realization that wasn't going to do any good. "Mei-mei? I think I'm dreaming."

[biblerewrite.livejournal.com]

"I'm not. You shouldn't be. It's better than dreaming." She crouched in front of him, grinning into his greasy face. "Dreams aren't covered in popcorn butter."

[superfraternal.livejournal.com]

He stuck the tip of his index finger into his mouth to test. "... It is butter. Real butter."

More butter than anyone in his current life-on-the-run could afford to waste smearing all over a person.

"... River?" He didn't want to upset her, but. "We're not ... among cannibals, are we?"

[biblerewrite.livejournal.com]

"Ham sandwiches aren't made of people," this was said maybe a little more defensively than she meant it to be. A surely wasn't a cannibal.

"I woke up the same way. It's arriving."

[superfraternal.livejournal.com]

"No," he said slowly, "ham sandwiches aren't made of people, you're right." A joke about long pig came to mind. It was clearly inappropriate and unhelpful. He shook his head, hoping the motion might jumpstart his thoughts in some kind of figurative nonliteral way. "Arriving where, River?"

[biblerewrite.livejournal.com]

"It's a school of magic. Entirely illogical and irrational." She sat down in front of him, cross-legged, drumming her fingers on her knees. It was rather difficult to get the right words out to tell him what he needed to know.

"There are good things here. Good people and good places. A garden where the flowers sing. Hogwarts."

[woocha.livejournal.com]

Wishbone smelled popcorn!

That meant a new person. Wishbone poked his nose in.

[superfraternal.livejournal.com]

Was Wash somewhere around here? Black-market beagles ... Yes, Simon knew this wasn't a beagle exactly. This was a terrier.

"Hello, little guy," he said to the dog. Am I sure I'm not dreaming?

[woocha.livejournal.com]

Hi! Welcome to Hogwarts! I'm Wishbone! Probably didn't help the not-dreaming.

[superfraternal.livejournal.com]

Simon put his hands to his head, one on either side, just behind the ears.

"How'd you get in my thoughts?"

[woocha.livejournal.com]

Thoughts? Wishbone tilted his head. No, I'm talking.

[superfraternal.livejournal.com]

"You're talking." Clear skepticism, in that. "Canine anatomy isn't conducive to talking. Your mouth wouldn't have the right structure ..."

Something occurred to him. Oh, this is not good. "Were you an experiment?"

[edomedpeddler.livejournal.com]

Heading outside, his case jingling softly on his back and geta clacking softly along the stone floors, Kusuriyuri was beginning to think he should not be surprised to see students arriving in this odd manner, covered in butter and smelling oddly. This one seemed somewhat familiar in a way he could almost place, but not quite. "Are you well?" he asked softly.

[superfraternal.livejournal.com]

"I'm not sure," Simon answered honestly. "I could be a lot worse off, I suppose."

Never mind that he was now being addressed by a person who looked like he'd stepped out of a painting in Gabriel Tam's art collection.

[edomedpeddler.livejournal.com]

Kusuriyuri inclines his head slightly. "That could be so," he allows. "And, you know where you are?" he asks. Those who arrive are generally disoriented, but there is no sense in giving information that is already known.

[superfraternal.livejournal.com]

Simon gave a hesitant nod. "My sister told me. I'm at a magic school, apparently."

[edomedpeddler.livejournal.com]

"That is so. If I may, your sister is?" Kusuriyuri thinks he knows, but would rather be sure.

[superfraternal.livejournal.com]

A curious welter of emotions at that: instant suspicion (why do you want to know?); instant pride (there's no one like her); instant worry (she hasn't gotten into any danger here, has she?). Instant happiness at the remembering she's here and in one piece.

"Her name is River," he said, hesitant still. "Why?"

[rosecasson.livejournal.com]

Rose likes:
popcorn, socks with stripes, giraffes, catty rabbity squirrely things, friends, felt-tips, ink, oil pastels, mermaids, curry sandwiches, sherbert lemons, toffee as long as it's not fudge hiding, fresh cake, feathers, red, films where there is not speaking for five minutes at some point and her family.

Rose does not like:
Performance art. And Daddy.

Simon is only one of these two things. She comes across him and looks disapproving. 'Are you trying out interpretive dance? You should put some clothes on, if you are. There are some people here,' she adds with an air of one wise beyong her years, 'Who will take a buttery chest to be an open invitation.'

[superfraternal.livejournal.com]

Simon winces. "I hope I'm not trying out interpretive dance. I certainly didn't intend this," he says to the serious small child. "I ... really don't intend any open invitations. Except an invitation to lend me a shirt. Which ... I'd be surprised to receive, given that the shirt would be ruined by butter as soon as I put it on. This is all wrong. Let me start over. Hello. I'm Simon Tam."

[rosecasson.livejournal.com]

Rose says her name is not odd, but it is, and 'Tam' is an odd a name as 'Permanent', maybe.

'I'm Permanent Rose Casson,' she informs him, 'and you ought to be washing or maybe taking a tapestry down to wear instead. They're not any good. It's alright. Did you just wake up here?'

[superfraternal.livejournal.com]

"I seem to keep waking up here," Simon admits, running a greasy hand through his clumpy hair. "At one point I did go wash up. My sister showed me where Ravenclaw House was, and where the baths were. Next thing I knew I was right back here, where I started, the same way I started. I don't think it'd go over well with whoever owns the tapestries if I were to put one on," he objects to her plan. He's starting to get highly embarrassed. His face turns a little pink. "Maybe a tarp or something like that. Something that can be ... cleaned with a hose."

[rosecasson.livejournal.com]

'Like you keep having the same day? I had that; it was called school. Never mind. See if it goes any better this time.'

Rose has no time for embarrassment. 'There might be a bathroom around. You could st--borrow a towel.' She likes him better, though; he has a sister who is obviously more capable than him, sort of like her and Indigo. 'Just for a bit. I'm not in Ravenclaw, but I like the blues it has.'

[superfraternal.livejournal.com]

"More like I keep having the same fifteen minutes." Now that he thinks about it, the implications there are all kinds of disturbing. Temporal loop? "Well, not exactly the same. I meet a different person every time."

Permanent Rose's matter-of-fact confidence is oddly reassuring, even if she does keep embarrassing him by pointing out his buttery shirtlessness. "You ... like the blues?" That's a kind of music, right?