exsiliumlogs | [open] out of the blue and into the black

Date & Time: Throughout August
Location: Around Exsilium
Characters: Saul & TBA
Summary: A catch-all log for Saul's many business etc. meetings throughout the month. Again.
Warnings: N/A; will be updated accordingly.

[The more time Saul spends in Exsilium, the more he realizes he misses Albuquerque. And the more he misses Albuquerque, the more he realizes what he's missing isn't so much ABQ itself, but the idealized version of the city he's constructed in his head over the past four and a half months where nothing mattered but his business and his life and it was all hunky-dory, for the most part.

And then he thinks, shit. Four and a half months. Damn.

Albuquerque was perfect. People came and went, sure, but not at the same rate they do here. Back home, all Saul anticipated on the first of every month was the flipping of a calendar page. (National Geographic's American Landmarks calendar, to be precise. Francesca gets — used to get — him one every year. August would have been a photo of the Alamo at sunset, if he remembers correctly. Ha.) But here — here, each new month brings a horde of unhappy newbies and random disappearances, and there's really only so much doom and gloom Saul can take before it really starts getting to him. He used to be able to track people down. Here? He's helpless.

He misses the sunshine, all 300+ days of it. The Initiative-sponsored trip to the beach was nice, but his tan's already faded and he's pretty sure he's developing some kind of vitamin D problem. He also misses the security of having a boatload of money sitting in his wall. He misses a lot of things. Even the dust storms.

At least he has Jesse. But he can't really cling to Jesse with Walter hanging around, and then there's the problem of Jesse not wanting to be clung to in the first place. Saul can hear that stupid kid's voice in his head just thinking about it: You don't need me, yo. Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. Right now, it feels like the former. It hasn't stopped feeling that way since April.

Anyway, here's the weird thing: much as he misses home, Walter's presence has made it crystal clear to Saul that he absolutely does not want to go back to that mess. Not now, maybe not ever. He has a bad feeling, and he likes to think he's a pretty intuitive guy — nine times out of ten, his gut's right. Sometimes it's indigestion. But those are odds you don't mess with, and the chow here is just bland enough that it's much easier on his stomach than all that Mexican food.

Somehow, he got it in his head that the more he does in and for this place, the less likely it is that he'll see the sunshine and his money and his calendar and all that dust again, so he's twice as busy this month as he was last month. Three times, maybe. Training, yes; doing business, yes; fueling up on caffeine, hell yes. But August has the added bonus of new things that need caring for: his kitten. His girlfriend. His stupid-as-shit-in-hindsight idea of forming a Transport-run government.

He'd wonder what he was thinking, but he already knows. Better to burn out than fade away, right?]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Who said you can take them back with you?

[He's not trying to sound mean.

It just sort of happens.]

You could disappear just as quickly as you appeared here in the first place. As far as I know, it doesn't really sound like people get to drag others along for the ride. Or — no, sorry. I forgot. You think the ones who disappear, right? That they don't go home. You still believe that?

[She clenches her jaw.]

This is really where you want to take this conversation? This is the hypothetical you want to pursue? My brothers dying?

No.

[What he wants is for this conversation to end before he says something stupider. At least he has an excuse, now that his glass is empty.

He pushes away from the table.]

I'm getting another drink.

Be my guest.

[She stabs her straw bitterly into her drink, but her anger's mostly spent now. She just feels tired and sad and like she just...wants to cry.]

[It's probably not surprising that he lingers at the bar for longer than it actually takes for him to get his second drink. Straight-up cheap vodka, this time. (As if he'd expect to find any other kind here?)

When he returns, his head is bowed slightly, but he's looking right at her this time. Not at his drink.]

I'm sorry, Sonya.

[She folds her arms across her chest, her posture defensive, and stares down at the table. Doesn't meet his eyes. And her voice is nearly a mumble when she says:]

What for?

[That makes him huff out a sound that might pass for a laugh.]

Do you actually want a list?

[He sits. Before she can answer whether or not it's a litany she's looking for, he continues:] I'm sorry I keep treating you like this. I know you're just trying to help me; I love you for that. You don't deserve any of the shit I or Jesse or this whole damn place has been putting you through, and if I could figure out how to help, I would, but that's one of my current problem areas. I'm not so good with the fixing. Not that kind, anyway.

[The mulish look fades from her face as he gives that little speech. At the end of it, she says:]

Look, I don't get involved in things. Emotionally. You know.

[Which is a blatantly absurd thing to say with her straw crumpled between her frustrated fingers, with her mouth still dry from that two-minute rant, but...Well.]

So I don't give a shit about being...mistreated, if we're even going to say things like that. I'm a professional. It comes with the job. I don't give a shit about being put through the ringer, either. I just -

[And here she falters.]

I just want to know it isn't all for nothing.

[Yeah, that's a lot of bullshit. Saul considers calling her on it, but doesn't.]

Are we talking on the micro level, or the macro level? Because I can only speak for one of those, and I promise you're not wasting your time.

Which one's micro and which one's macro for you?

[She gives a humorless smile down into her drink.]

Sometimes it's a bit hard to tell.

Y'know what? Even I'm not sure, sometimes.

[He knows his priorities are a little out of order.

A lot out of order.

...there is no order, only Zuul.]

Well, I want macro.

[She looks down into her drink.]

I don't care about the day-to-day. I don't care about the little frustrations. I don't even care about the fucking dramabomb that is every interaction with Pinkman. I'll put up with any and all of that if it means successful resolution of this shit.

Eventually. That's the best I can do. Not now, maybe not soon, but — I'm working on it.

[Which might be part of Saul's problem. I.

He keeps dragging people into this mess, then insists on handling it himself.]

[Her response is unsentimental:]

How?

[He doesn't really have an answer for her that isn't vague.

Maybe he'll find one at the bottom of his glass!]

[She gives a heavy sigh - but her manner is a bit less severe.]

You're really bad at avoiding my questions.

I need to get over myself, right? That's what this boils down to.

Yeah.

[But she allows a half-smile:]

Though for what it's worth, we all need to do that.

I couldn't agree more.

[And there goes the rest of his drink. He sighs and settles back against his chair, folding his arms. It's not a defensive gesture — he's just getting comfortable.]

What, no thank you Sonya for your magnanimousness?

[That gets a small, quiet, reluctant chuckle out of him.]

Thank you, Sonya, for your —

[Wow okay so guess who's having some trouble getting his tongue to work with pronouncing that word.]

That.

Alkie.

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