Operation: Lonely Heart

[lysistrategic]

The island or its masters has, in its infinite reach if not wisdom, seen fit to provide Joan with a wet bar, well stocked with single malts, gin, vodka, vermouth, crisp Chardonnays, light Pinot Grigios and a few excellent bottles of Opus One and two bottles of Perrier Jouet Belle Epoque that she promptly pushed to the back of the cabinet to keep for some very special day. That she can't imagine what might constitute such a day here on the island, unless Annie and Auggie, or Emily and someone, get engaged or married, matters not at all. She doesn't want the regular reminder of the person she most wants to appreciate them with.

The single malt she pours tonight is reminder enough, as is the fact she's brought an additional empty glass and the bottle, down out of the hut she shares with Emily onto the rocky outcropping on the beach. The moon is up, the breeze is warm, and her bare feet curl against the rock from beneath the gauzy empire waist rose dress she wears.

Joan's not usually given to flights of fancy. She's not poetic by nature, not in the flowery romantic sense, even if she has a private love of poetics compliments of David Bowie, Sting, and their ilk. But tonight, she has it in her to hope that, somehow, by breeze or moonlight on water or the call of the soul, her husband hears the call of an empty Scotch glass waiting for him. "I miss you, Arthur," she says softly with a sigh, then drinks and wishes she were romantic enough to believe he might be summoned as simply as Elijah.

Comments

[iliketodruitt]

John hadn't purposely, or at least consciously, chosen to walk by Joan's hut, but perhaps some corner of his mind was worried that she would disappear again and he would be blamed again. It was not nearly realistic, he knew that, but it wasn't a complication that he needed.

He had seen before where she lived and so was surprised to see a new addition to it, some sort of bar out front. It was actually a rather pleasant addition, one that he imagined would be very well suited for relaxing evenings and afternoons on the beach.

"That is quite a nice bar," he said, wandering a bit up the beach to make casual conversation with her. They hadn't really talked since she had returned, since she had doubtlessly learned who he was, and he thought it best to get that talk over with now.

[lysistrategic]

"Isn't it?" Joan answers, somewhat mildly, although she does have a beef with him. Rather a large one, since he neglected to mention when they'd been sight-seeing Victorian London that he'd once been Jack the Ripper. Certainly she understands why he failed to mention it, but finding out from Ms. Freelander after her dinosaur adventures had been less than pleasant. "Apparently the island or its masters felt guilty for the pound of flesh its dinosaurs took from Emily and I."

She gestures to the spot beside her, quite unafraid of John Druitt, Jack Ripper or otherwise. She's armed and she has a two glasses and a bottle of single malt for weapons. "If you like single malt, I'll pour you some. With the proviso that you have some fairly serious explaining to do."

[iliketodruitt]

"I suppose that is only fair," John said, moving up toward the bar. He considered Joan a friend, or at least someone more than an acquaintance, so it was only fair that he be honest with her. It would likely cost him the relationship, as accepting as she was of the stranger things he wasn't so sure if 'an energy creature made me do it' would go over well with her.

"Ask anything you'd like and I will answer."

[lysistrategic]

While she considers the question - and how to phrase it so it's not a CIA interrogation, or at least not noticeably a CIA interrogation - Joan pours two fingers of an exceptional and well-aged single malt. It's not as old as John himself, obviously, but the quality, even if he doesn't know the maker, is unmistakable.

She holds the glass and meets his gaze through the semi-dark illuminated only by the moon and the single bulb from the porch on her hut up the beach. "You might start by explaining the somewhat extraordinary tale I heard from Miss Freelander when Emily and I returned from our Paleozoic adventure. Do me the courtesy of not avoiding the truth no matter how fabulous it may be."

[iliketodruitt]

"I already told you that I would answer anything you like," John said, sipping the drink. It was excellent and put him in a good mood. He would have told Joan his story just as payment for the drink.

"In Victorian London, the actual Victorian London, there were five of us who were working on the very cusp of the latest scientific discoveries. Most prized of all was our research into a species that had been wiped out a long time ago, you would call them vampires. We had obtained a sample of blood and found that if we injected it into ourselves, it gave us very unique abilities. My ability was that to teleport myself and anyone I was touching anywhere I wanted by converting my body into pure energy. What we did not realize, until over a century later, was that at some point when I did this, a being of pure energy... bonded with me. Even I hadn't realized it at the time, I was only aware of becoming far more... mad. More vicious. To my great shame and at the unfortunate cost of innocent lives, I could not control my own actions. I found myself wanting to kill the woman I loved. I couldn't stop myself, but I... redirected my actions to several girls who worked on the street. I became known as Jack the Ripper."

[regenerated]

On the nights like this, when the moon comes out and shines its pale blue light over all their surroundings, Claire often sneaks out in the evening for a stroll or two, drinking it all in. Somehow, the island manages to completely change from day to night, the first hopeful and the second eerie and shy, both all too beautiful not to visit time and again, setting the memories firmly in her mind. Tonight, she manages to slip out without Mr. Muggles noticing, probably her saving grace as she runs towards the beach, pajama pants flapping about with the breeze that rises as she draws close to shore. Once close enough that her footfalls won't reach the hut, she breaks into a run, thankful to her reflexes for remaining sharp as she leaps over patches of sharp grass and runs into the water with a loud splash, laughter high in her throat as she twirls around and glances at the stars, turning and dizzying above.

It's not until she looks down to head back that she notices the woman sitting on the sand, and only the surrounding darkness keeps her face from shining an unbelievably bright shade of red.

"Oh god, sorry, I didn't know anyone was here," she apologized, feeling like a heel, and not for the first time that month. "I really should've kept my voice down, um. I can go find another patch of beach or something."

[lysistrategic]

Well before she's noticed, Joan is watching the young woman. She remembers what it felt like to be that young and that carefree. There are still days - were, before she landed here - that Joan indulges that feeling of possibility, that sense that she might be anyone or anything, even though so many paths have already not been taken. Her vacuum cleaner certainly knows her secret soul from how she sings to it, and many backroads between D.C. and Pittsburgh have heard her windswept musical confessions.

She smiles, single malt set on her knee while she watches, a little wistful, but mostly a little envious. And when the girl approaches, she shakes off the apology with a single toss of her head and a decisive gesture.

"Not at all. If I wanted quiet or privacy, I have a hut of my own. Please, stay if you like. I'd offer you a drink, if you were...oh, but you probably are on the island. Would you like one?" That's something difficult to get used to. "I'm Joan, by the way."

[regenerated]

She smiles with a slight exhale of relief upon realizing that this lady isn't irritated at having her night interrupted. No one owns the island, or any of the beaches, true enough— but Claire doesn't want to be that person who causes noise pollution and prevents people from enjoying a calm, quiet night. Shyly, she ducks her head, brushing her hair out of her vision as she declines with a polite wave of her hand.

"Oh, no, I... I'm good. Believe me," she grins with a slight roll of her eyes. "I did the whole drinking thing a couple of times to enjoy the novelty of it, but that really quickly wore off. Which isn't to say that people can't enjoy it— obviously— but it's not so much my thing."

Crossing her arms behind her back, Claire's smile widens. "And I'm Claire. It's really nice to meet you."

[lysistrategic]

She's really very pretty, Joan thinks, without a trace of make-up or any effort to show herself off. It's refreshing and so is the unselfconscious smile - and the very self-conscious behavior it doesn't really contradict. Claire's a teenaged girl. She's the quintessence of undecided. It's sweet.

"It's nice to meet you, too, Claire," Joan says immediately and it is, actually, very nice to meet someone so guileless and genuine, like Annie, ten years ago. "Would you like to join me or are you feeling too pent-up and restless to sit?" That's warm and maybe a little bit conspiratorial. Maybe she'll get up and walk with Claire instead, but Joan's curious to see how she'll take the invitation. Teenagers and adults can be an uneasy mix at best and Joan's not very practiced at it, despite her sisters' having daughters.

[ladyanomaly]

Emily's been wandering all day, trying to find a place where the significance of the day will not find her. It's absurd that she should be melancholy. She has no sweetheart to miss. Her husband is dead and she and Matt had only just begun to find an understanding. The fact that she'd loved him didn't make him hers.

But she can only walk so far and there is no part of the island that is distant enough to outrun the ache that she feels nevertheless. She returns home with her hands full of flowers, because while she cannot have love, she at least can have beauty.

Joan and her empty second glass do not immediately invite interruption but after a moment's hesitation, Emily intrudes anyway. "Good evening, Joan."

[lysistrategic]

"For me?" Joan asks lightly of the flowers in Emily's hands. "You shouldn't have, though they're lovely." As is Emily, and under different circumstances, in a different time or place, she might well have been very pleased to receive flowers from her.

"Will you join me?" That she hasn't yet greeted Emily properly isn't meant as a slight. It just seems pointless to be so formal with her roommate of all people, and one of the few people she will truly miss whenever she leaves this godforsaken island.

[ladyanomaly]

"Yes, thank you." Emily smiles and seats herself by Joan. She looks down at the flowers in her hands, smells them and shakes her head slightly. "I picked them while I was on my walk. I suppose I hadn't thought yet about what I was going to do with them. Just gathering them was reason enough. It's not often I see such things in February."

After a moment, she offers them to Joan. "Since you liked them."

[lysistrategic]

"I think we'll have to get used to the fact that February has as little meaning on the island as do the laws of nature," Joan replies but her smile as she takes the flowers from Emily is much warmer than the words would suggest. She's grown very fond of her, and not only because she reminds Joan of Meg sometimes. As now.

"Thank you. It's been awhile since my Valentine's Day flowers were a gift from a beautiful woman." She sets the flowers beside her, careful to keep them loosely bunched, and lifts the bottle as well as her eyebrow in question. "Would you like a drink?"

[thinkimstrange]

Jonas couldn't sleep. After Daniel had explained the holiday to him a few days ago and their picnic with Sam earlier in the day, he had been thinking about Valentine's Day. What it meant to Tau'ri and why it never would exist on Langara or in Kelowna. It had been an oddly difficult concept for him to understand but he was starting too.

And oddly enough, it was making him lonely. He couldn't say he'd ever felt something like that and even though it wasn't exactly part of the culture he'd grown up with, it was starting to sound appealing. The more he saw it practiced here on the island, the more he was starting to wonder what it would be like.

So, he was wandering the island late at night and somehow ended up on the beach. He saw a light and instinctively headed towards it. When he saw who the light belong too, he could help a smile of recognition even if it didn't fit your mood. "Good evening Joan."

[lysistrategic]

There are, Joan reflects, very few people on this island she would want to see in a moment like this. But of those she wouldn't specifically want to see, Jonas ranks near the top of the list of those she doesn't at all mind seeing.

"Good evening, Jonas," she offers, almost warmly considering her mood. "What has you out wandering the beach at this hour?"

[thinkimstrange]

"Thinking I'm afraid." He said with a smile and a small shake of his head. He wasn't sure at the moment exactly how to explain so he decided to deflect the conversation for a moment. "You certainly are up late yourself. Everything alright?"

Jonas stopped himself from asking if she'd had a good Valentine's Day since it looked like it wouldn't be well received and it still sounded strange coming from him.

[lysistrategic]

"Never anything wrong with a good think." Joan smiles pleasantly as she unfolds her arms from around her knees to make more space on the flat rock for Jonas if he wants to sit. "I've been doing the same. Enjoying the moonlight and the gifts the island's seen fit to give me."

She gestures to the bottle and the empty glass. Certainly it had been a symbolic gesture, but she didn't mind sharing. Arthur would probably rather she have a pleasant drink with a nice young man than brood. As long as it was only a drink and as neither she nor Jonas probably had ulterior designs on the evening, so it would be.

"Would you care to join me for a drink?" she asks, avoiding a direct answer to the question of whether she's all right. She is, and she is not, and the ways she is not there's nothing that may be done about it anyhow.

[chesspolitik]

As usual, Anatoly had lost track of time playing chess in the rec room and when he had realized the sun was setting low in the sky, he had packed up his chess set in preparation for the trip back. When he got outside, the evening felt much too lovely to simply hurry to his and Lex's hut so he decided to take the long, meandering way home. Perhaps he would even run into Lex along the way and they could go the rest of the way together.

The beach was absolutely beautiful in the twilight and it took him a few moments to realize he was not alone. He saw a woman there and curiously ventured over. She didn't seem familiar but that didn't necessarily mean she was a new arrival.

"Good evening," he said once he got close enough. "I apologize if I am interrupting you."

[lysistrategic]

The yes, of course you are that rises in Joan's chest at being caught pining for her husband is immediately displaced by a mild and entirely genuine, "Not at all," as it is a public beach and, really, company provides a welcome distraction from inescapable mourning.

When she actually glances up, she finds an attractive younger man with a riot of curly hair who reminds her terribly of Josh Groban, who she and Arthur had seen in London and again at the Presidential Inauguration ceremonies. When they'd been introduced, Joan had smiled so brightly Arthur had teased her terribly about having a crush.

Her smile tonight is a mere shadow of that, but it's warmer than a few seconds's acquaintance would usually merit from her. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"

[chesspolitik]

"It is," Anatoly answered warmly, relieved to hear that he was not intruding on a private moment. "I am not sure what it is that is so different from other nights here but it seems especially lovely tonight. Perhaps I am only being sentimental."

"I don't believe we have met before," he said, setting down the case so he could offer his hand. "I am Anatoly Sergievsky."

[lysistrategic]

"Are you--" Joan begins, but immediately cuts herself off. She recalls, unless her memory is playing tricks on her, that Anatoly Sergievsky was the name of the Russian in the performance they saw. But she knows well it's considered rude (with good reason, she thinks) to let on you know someone's life story from a fictional medium.

She frowns slightly, thoughtful, and then shakes her head. "My apologies. I thought I remembered your surname. One of my colleagues in Russia, but I've gotten it wrong." There's not a trace of hesitation in the explanation she gives, not a single hint of a lie. For all intents and purposes, it's true. "Joan Campbell," she offers as she takes his hand.

[just_hormones]

Aphrodite might not be able to hear the call of a heart's desire any more, but sometimes, centuries of experience as love's foremost expert transcend a lack of godhood.

She's walking on the beach, just enjoying the warm night air, when she spots Joan in the distance, and something tells Aphrodite her expertise is needed there, now. Something about the way Joan's sitting, the look on her face. She's seen it a million times, that subtle way a person's face changes when they're missing the other half of their soul. She's sure she's worn it many a time herself, since Hephaestus died.

"If it isn't the rose whisperer," she says as she approaches, smiling, though her tone is gentle and her smile soft. "Mind a little company?"

[lysistrategic]

Aphrodite - who claims to have been the goddess of love, and as much as she would like to discount that, Joan can't; if she's going to accept space travel from Jonas and wormholes and dinosaurs from Emily and energy beings from John, she must accept this as well - isn't exactly the company she's looking for tonight, to the extent she might've been looking for any. Then again, maybe she's exactly the company Joan summoned, with the way this island seems to function.

She offers a mild smile, not uninviting, but fairly obviously not an expression of her mood from the way it doesn't light her eyes at all. "Not at all," she lies smoothly, because it's hardly the other woman's fault Joan's mourning on a public beach. "Would you care for a drink?"

[just_hormones]

"I'd love one," Aphrodite says as she perches on the rock next to Joan; these days, she takes offerings any way she can, even if that means they're only offerings because that's the way Aphrodite chooses to see them. She's got no Ares to balance her, so she's gotta have some scraps of worship, even ones she invents herself, or she's gonna go all Caligula-bait again. "Got something on your mind? Or were you just enjoying the evening?"

[lysistrategic]

"A little from column A, a little from column B," Joan answers obliquely but truthfully, while she pours the former goddess a glass of single malt.

When she sets the bottle down and hands the glass over, she cocks her head consideringly. She's never been the sort of woman to talk about her marital issues with her friends or to pour out her heart to a bartender, but as she sips from her own glass, she decides it's disloyal to Arthur not to acknowledge how she feels, especially to Aphrodite.

"My husband," she begins, feels the well of emotion starting to overflow and cuts it off with a decisive flick of her fingers as if she's shoving it away. "We rarely had time for vacations or enjoying warm nights at home--" And they'd been in a bit of a tiff when she arrived her, not one that would've lasted, but it weighs on her. "This past Valentine's Day made me a bit nostalgic."