westwhere | sa-hareth | arrival (mingle log)

He watches the man for a while, relenting somewhat as he studies him. This had been his initial idea anyway. Play up the lost child routine. The flaw is how much it actually makes his skin crawl the longer he puts on the act.

Does it really matter right now anyway? They could have already passed through here for all he knows. So he flexes his jaw, and seems to be able to successfully subdue the hostility he was indulging in.

"Hargreeves." That comes out with a held breath. He just had finally managed to gather them together, and they scatter again. It's exhausting trying to keep those idiots alive. Having said that much, he runs down the names: "Vanya, Luther, Diego, Klaus, and Allison. If you happen to run into them."

"Are you the oldest?" Mingyu inquires mildly. "Or simply the one responsibility falls to? This doesn't seem to be new to you."

Mingyu actually pulls out his cell phone and takes down the names, shaking his head mildly at 'Hargreeves'. Sounds like old money. Kid talks like old money too, that private school education.

"Do you have descriptions? And your name, in case one of them should ask after you?"

"No, it's not new," he says instead of answering completely. Neither is jumping through time and destroying the rightful span of history in the process. He's not sure yet what they did, or how, but he hasn't ruled out that his little family could create an entire new version of the apocalypse. It's one of many theories, but he knows just how talented they are at ending the world.

All the more reason he needs to find them.

There doesn't seem to be any harm in spreading their names around, on the off chance someone recognizes them. Either a friend or an enemy would be good enough at this point. He's tempted to take a seat and roll them off one by one, but the sight of the phone instantly pulls his attention.

"...Where are you from?" He's suddenly very intensely focused on the device in his hands. "What year?"

Seeing Five fixate on his phone, Mingyu gives a start, then a slow blink of interest. He's started assuming everyone is from the far flung distant past having met people who don't even call China by its modern name, cultivators, someone who still calls tuberculosis 'consumption'. And one man from the infinite reaches of space.

Hell, he hasn't even met someone who knows that Canada is a country yet.

"Toronto, Canada. May 26th, 2018. You?"

He's silent for a moment, repeating that enough times in his head until it sticks in his memory. That's the latest date he's heard so far. It would have been more of a relief if it'd been one year later, but he manages to swallow his disappointment. It's still an outlier. Another date he'll have to try to place in significance.

Answering his own question is next to impossible. An unsolvable equation for someone who has existed so long outside of his natural timeline, and it seems like he might just refuse to say until he comes up with what he told someone else.

"Before I came here I was in Dallas, Texas. November 22, 1963." He knows not everyone would remember history well enough for the date to stick out to them, and he's already busy mulling over something else. "Who were you looking for? Someone who was with you?"

Sorry, he's just not that kind of nerd. And he's Canadian. Never stood a chance. Still, something about the date does ping him.

"Pretty sure they didn't have smartphones in the 60s. Have you met someone else from my time, or...?" he ventures, studying Five closely. But he also goes on to answer the question.

"He goes by Fox. Black-Korean, 5'6", loud, energetic, most commonly can be heard saying 'oops'. If he fits the description and talking to him starts giving you a tension headache, that's the guy."

At least, that description was accurate about a year ago. Now... who can say. Mingyu almost mentions the missing arm but bites his tongue. He doesn't really think a middle schooler is going to be the one to find Fox for him anyway.

He's paying attention, more than he had initially. Names and dates that could be entirely meaningless, but he's practiced in recording them just in case. Sometimes it's a seemingly insignificant life that has the greatest impact, and anyone coming from another time has a greater chance.

"I'll remember," he says resolutely, leaving that other question hanging. He's not sure why he hesitates to confirm what he could probably guess. Because it will lead to more questions that he's not interested in answering. The issues you run into while trying to keep your story straight.

"Do you have any more tea?" Something stronger is what he'd like to say. He's just not sure if he trusts the source.

"Several blends," Mingyu replies, then carelessly adds— "Or straight liquor, if you'd prefer that."

He's not sure what straight liquor, only that its clear, doesn't burn too much on the way down, and is reasonably priced at the markets. He had better stuff before, but he's been drinking himself to sleep a lot so it goes quick.

Edited 2021-04-21 00:15 (UTC)

Five is preparing to be disgusted by whatever tea is served to him, but that last offer raises his eyebrows. If there's one thing he'd take over coffee right now, that would be it. -- And he shouldn't consider dropping his guard and accepting alcohol from strangers, but he's had a very long day. Suddenly the headache of having to solve all the world's problems gets a backseat.

"Even better." It probably says something that he's so quickly able to put aside his objections. He'll only regret it if he's joking. "I'll take whatever you've got."

Mingyu arches an eyebrow sharply at the answer. Is the kid being cheeky? Or just comes from a horribly abusive, broken home? With five siblings, well.

He has to see where this goes. So, expression entirely neutral, he fetches the decidedly middle-shelf booze, pours two glasses straight (and room temperature, sorry Five), and pushes one to his pint sized guest.

"It's strong," he warns.

To his surprise, he actually follows through and fetches him a glass. That's what he gets for making snap judgments and letting his temper get ahead of him. Some people are more useful than they initially seem.

He takes the glass that's offered and swirls the liquid around. It gets one sniff before he takes a generous swallow. The burn is enough to get him to clear his throat, and once he lowers it, he seems momentarily fascinated by the fact. Then he takes another swallow to chase it down. (Compared to what he drank in the apocalypse... it's fair to say he's not as picky when it comes to booze.)

The glance back up is belated, though the sentiment is genuine for once. "Thank you."

There is something really wrong with this kid. Mingyu himself coughed a little the first time he had a sip of the stuff he's serving up now. Frowning, he leans back a little, taking in the boy's... what, four foot frame? Does he even weigh ninety pounds? How much could someone that small drink before dying of alcohol poisoning? Killing a child by giving him straight liquor is definitely bad optics.

He refills Fives drink anyway.

"You're welcome. Do your siblings know you drink like this?"

It's not his siblings he thinks of when he makes that comment, though it might seem that way with how he looks down when he refills his glass. Dolores always had something to say when he drank. Even when he had to work for it, scavenging day and night for something worth salvaging, she seemed to have a problem with it. Funny how he'd give anything to hear that nagging voice right now.

He sniffs and lifts his head, scoffing now that he's actually thinking about it.

"If you run into them, go ahead and tell them they drove me to it." He seems to find that funny and points with his drink for emphasis, then finds a nice little spot to sit for a while. Logically, he shouldn't be relaxing. All those hours he's already spent collecting information has left him with a staggering amount of probabilities. Add that to the million other questions he should be bringing up now that he knows the man traveled here from 2018. He'll get to them.

After a quiet moment he takes another sip and considers the other again. He's definitely... interesting. -- Did he give his name? He can only remember him asking, so he decides it's about time for introductions.

"It's Five, by the way. My name."

"Five?" Mingyu repeats, arching an eyebrow. "Like the number? Vanya, Luther, Diego, Klaus, Allison, and... Five? Your parents must have hated you."

Right now, between the names and Five's general... Five-ness, Mingyu thinks it's a toss-up between 'edgy new age parents' and 'raised by a literal cult'.

"I'm Gabriel."

"Like the number." He's actually a little impressed that he remembered all of their names. Paying this much attention to him should be a warning sign, but he carries on anyway. "They had numbers too, but... well, I guess they decided they needed to live in the real world."

After he left. Five could have done the same and given himself a normal human name, but there wasn't exactly anyone else around to call him by it. Besides, he likes 'Five'. He didn't have much else left to cling to.

He frowns, trying to bring the conversation back around to Gabriel. It takes him longer to recall the exact thread he meant to pick up on, but eventually he comes up with the question. "What were you doing on May 26th?"

Actually, Five, he's just an honor student who trained himself to retain short term information after writing it down once. He notes to himself that these children all had numbers at a point, which points even more at horrifying child raising cult but that's none of his business. Hopefully the cult taught Five how to keep from giving himself alcohol poisoning.

"Nothing particularly noteworthy," Mingyu answers instead, lips thinning as he recalls what he had in fact been up to prior to arriving here. Drinking himself blind, having passed the first anniversary of Fox's disappearance which felt like a significant milestone somehow. Hope and determination starting to feel like denial. But Five is almost certainly not asking for the details of his deep depression, so he tries to figure out what exactly Five is asking for.

"Are you interested in something in my time period in particular?

Five's expression sours, and it's not from the more generous drink he takes following that answer. It doesn't satisfy him at all. Everything is noteworthy. Something that isn't obvious, some benign detail Gabriel recalls, could help to determine why he's here. Why that time. Right now he's grasping at straws, hoping that something will take shape, because the alternative... means losing control. And he can't afford that again.

He leans forward, perching his elbows on his knees as he thinks. There's an obvious answer he could go with. That the earth was scheduled to end less than a year later before they (possibly) stopped it from happening. For a few reasons, he doesn't think he's ready for that yet.

"I don't know. Maybe," he sighs. "You're unique. I'd say it's important to find the bookends, the earliest and the latest in the timeline, but figuring out your exact significance... you'd probably know more than me."

The look he gives him says as much. It's a long shot, but he could help him out here.

'There's nothing special about me,' Mingyu wants to say, but it's patently untrue. Even he knows that. He rubs absently at his wrist, at the tattoo currently covered by both gloves and sleeves.

Still, he is not in the habit of offering information about himself freely, least of all to children. But he thinks he might not be entirely opposed, depending on how the rest of this pans out—

"Tell me about yourself, then. We can trade. In fact, if you let me get a read on you, I'll tell you anything you like."

He nearly laughs at that. No, he doesn't think knowing how terrified he should be of him will earn him favors. Namely that he's 45 years older than he looks, and he's killed countless people, because that's usually what he thinks of first. And he'd rather avoid it, but he knows he'd murder this man too if he thought it'd help to find his family and get them home. -- Though he can understand why he'd be curious.

"At this point, I've told you more than you've told me." Fortunately, Five has a card to play, looking like he does. There's a lot of history he can leave out. "I was adopted. Bought by an eccentric billionaire. We were born with abilities, and he had some grand idea that we were going to save the world."

All true. Maybe he'll regret saying that much, but he's seen enough that saying he has 'abilities' isn't going to shock them. Besides, they were celebrities in their younger days, so it's no great secret. They had their own comic books and everything.

"I had six siblings. One died... a while ago. I've been trying to save the rest of them." He should feel ashamed dragging up Ben for sympathy, but it felt important to mention him since he'd named the others. Just because he wasn't around for it, doesn't mean he hasn't thought about him. Thinking that's a good enough summary, he gives him an expectant look.

"So. I can see why I'd be a target. What about you?"

It's a novelty, speaking to someone as cagey as he is. It's because of how familiar it is that Mingyu recognized stating safe matters of public record over anything more telling, if this even is that much. With someone Five's apparent age, it could be complete bullshit too. Kids like to make stuff up, and the powers, the adoption, etc., all does sound straight out of a comic book.

"You'll forgive me if I find that hard to take at face value," he replies lightly, pushing the bottle he's holding Five's way in case that makes him feel more forthcoming.

"What powers do you have, exactly? And how do they set you apart from others?"

Most people have abilities where Mingyu is from, after all.

And that was the more believable half of his history. Though once he'd gotten some distance, it did seem like a strange daydream. He'd never lost touch with reality, but he'd come close once or twice to wondering if he'd made it all up as a coping mechanism. Fortunately his sanity was unnaturally resilient, largely because he was so singularly focused on getting back.

Maybe he did think he'd just go with it, but the skepticism shouldn't be surprising. Though if he's looking for a demonstration, he's going to have to wait. Five still hasn't recovered enough to perform a single jump. Which... is odd, but not unheard of with how much he went through that last day in 1963. He's been pushing it.

"Spacial manipulation. Teleporting." Like that's no big reveal either, or anything needing explanation. There's a hesitance to say more, but instead he finishes the glass and eyes the bottle before lifting his gaze back to him. Go ahead and call his bluff. "You're the one who asked. It's up to you if you believe me."

"What manner of teleporting? Where I'm from, it's not that uncommon of a school of magic to pursue. Generally you need circles drawn at both ends and adequate magic components to power the jump," Mingyu ventures, feeling out the edges of Five's story to see how much substance it holds. More and more, though, he finds himself tempted to just take the easy route.

He weighs the pros and cons of it. If Five is telling the truth, it would be a hell of a thing to substantiate. And if he isn't, well. At least that took from the child's credibility. A few already know of his abilities, or at least that he has some if not the extent of them. It just might be worth the trouble.

He's still considering, thinking of the tattoo on his own wrist when he notices the one on Five's.

"—what is that?" he asks, pointing.

Magic. That word seems equally noteworthy and offensive. Like one he would use sarcastically when he didn't feel like wasting his breath going into detail. The Commission briefcases are magic too, to some people, so it's possible there are others with means to do something similar. Just not like him.

"It's a natural ability. I calculate the exact variables and step through a spacial rift dependent on the mass I happen to be displacing." Simply put, it takes a great deal more than magic to do correctly. It's also extremely rudimentary when compared to the intricacies of moving through time.

He has more questions about 'a school of magic' that might offer some insight. Before he does though, he looks to what drew his attention.

"What do you think?" He turns over his wrist, more so he can look at it than show it off. It's funny how the ink looks so much darker now than it did before a miscalculation wiped years away from his skin. He shrugs. "The Umbrella Academy. Dad's idea. It was supposed to unify us, or maybe just make it easier to identify anyone who thought about leaving. I wouldn't put it past him."

It occurs to him that might have been oversharing, particularly when he'd already denied having 'daddy issues', so he takes the opportunity to set the glass down. He's really starting to feel it now. Still getting used to the concept of pacing himself.

Excuse you, Five, in Mingyu's world magic also takes exacting calculations and intimate understanding of all the working parts involved. They just call it magic the way anything that runs on code and electricity 'technology'. No wand-waving here, thanks.

Mingyu listens to the explanation behind the tattoo, slipping one glove off to reveal a tattoo of a blue lotus in approximately the same place on his right wrist.

Is Five so far into his drink that his vision is swimming, or are the petals of the flower beginning to sway?

"I had this one done to help me gather information when Fox disappeared," Mingyu informs softly, reaching slowly for the boy's hand. If allowed, once his hand grasps Five's own, the flower will unfurl the rest of the way to reveal a piercing green eye.

'Show me your damage.'

Had Five known where this would lead, he would have followed his first instinct right out that door. Second guessing himself is exactly what gets him in trouble, and he's been doing too much of that for too many days. The equations get more complicated and his insomnia just makes him more prone to error. It's a never-ending cycle with no rest in sight. Having a drink is the first break he's allowed himself since... he can't remember. Even if it has made him unusually talkative about things that he usually would have brushed off.

At first he only peers at Gabriel when he removes his glove, looking at his wrist tattoo with mild interest, then focusing sharply when it seems to shift. He's so distracted, and partially sluggish from the alcohol, that he's able to take his hand before he can think to pull away.

His damage. Waking memories shift before him. That day. Young, once, he runs defiantly down the sidewalk past the Academy with his father's disapproving voice just an echo behind him. Gripping the air in front of him, he confidently pulls himself forward in time, passing through the warm colors of summer to the cool of winter, before his last jump greets him with a wall of ash and fire. Panic rises in him the same as back then when he realizes he's unable to return the way he came. He stumbles through the rubble to find his older siblings, gathered dead, recognizable to him only because of their umbrella tattoo.

Like watching a movie that skips too much to follow a coherent plot, memories mingle together at a rapid-fire pace. A ruined world shifts to a clean office, and a sharply dressed woman smiling daggers at him. Looking up at the moon split open and raining fire. Standing in the street as he listens to the distinct whistle of a nuclear bomb. That fucking boardroom littered in bodies that he tore in half just days ago.

His vision clears to a shadowy figure of the solitary man in front of him, still gripping his hand. He lashes out before his mind makes any sense of what happened, swinging a fist at the same time he rips himself free from his grasp. Words should follow, but he's only staring while his heart drums in his ears. Waiting for some kind of confirmation before he's forced to murder him where he stands.

sa-hareth | arrival (mingle log)

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