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09 June 2007 @ 11:55 pm
 
More Lost logs! I've been bad about keeping up here.

"They'll be looking for our /corpses/." (Clovis, Natalie, Wanda, Zenith)
Wanda and Clovis get very cranky at each other over outlook for the group. Cipto helps cook fish.

"That's the sort of logic that gets people killed." (Clovis, Natalie, Zenith)
Clovis and Cipto manage to interrupt Natalie and Zenith's truth or dare game. Neither Cipto nor Clovis seems to be able to say anything right in this situation.


Regardless of the fact that it is technically nearly winter on the island, the weather is gorgeous. Warm sunlight and stained-glass fragments of blue sky are visible through the canopy of jungle leaves that hangs over the area around the stream like the roof and walls of a tunnel, and the air is humid but not uncomfortably so. It could be enjoyable, if not for circumstance. Yet compared to his previous outward face to these circumstances, Cipto Rakata seems a little dimmer today. His step, though always easy, is slower than the norm as he moves from the direction of the camp toward the stream, and shallow worry lines mark the corners of his mouth and the space between his eyebrows. His eyes themselves focus upward toward those fragmentary views of sky.

Zenith is silent too, though she perks up a little at the sight of the water, and drops her bag on the bank as she pushes through branches with her good hand to wade into the water, stolen bikini and stolen cut-offs and all. "God, that feels good."

Cipto stops at the edge of the stream rather than wading all the way in, though he immediately crouches down on the rocky bank and dunks both cupped hands into the water, splashing it over his face and then rubbing his fingers against his forehead for several seconds. Only then, with water dripping from his bangs and running off his chin, he looks up at Zenith with a tired smile. "Very good," he agrees quietly. "Does your arm have less pain now?"

"Yeah," Zenith says, seeming almost surprised about that. "I guess it does. I'm just used to doing everything now so it's not bumped, I guess." She wades out into the center of the stream and then sits down, so the water isn't far to reach to splash on her face. "How are you feeling?"

Cipto bobs his head at Zenith's response. "That is good. Maybe also that will make it fix faster." He continues to crouch by the side of the stream, now cupping individual handfuls of water upward to run over the superficial scabbed scrapes on his arms. "I am, um." He squints toward the water, murmuring something in Javanese before pausing and attempting to transfer it to English. "I am healthy, but have many things to think and worry."

"Girlfriend? Family at home?" Zenith asks, naming what is obviously foremost on her own mind. She trails the fingers of her good hand in the current running past her legs.

"My family will not think I would be home yet," Cipto explains, though the worry lines deepen and he makes a few anxious clicks of his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "It is more..." His lips continue to move without sound as he adjusts his posture, slipping from a crouch to a proper seat on the ground, legs crossing. His continuation is slow and careful, his gaze fixed on Zenith as he speaks. "In Jogja last year and I am here a year later...I wonder why and what I am meant to learn."

I don't know what Jogja is," Zenith says, a little regretful to break into his train of thought.

"Oh!" Cipto appears briefly mortified. "Sorry, sorry!" He smiles briefly and shakes his head, continuing his response with no hesitation. "Yogyakarta, my city." Pause. "Java. Indonesia."

Zenith doesn't look enormously enlightened. "You weren't lost there though, were you? You're meant to learn something because you just ended up on the tropics twice?"

"No, no." Cipto's words are quick and light, not at all a weighty or pointed correction, but he follows them with a few seconds of closed eyes, one hand dangling in the water, the other held parallel to the running surface of the stream. "Last year we had, um." He manages to squint while still holding his eyes closed. "Lindhu, er...gempa bumi...er. No." He sets his jaw at the loss of word, then twitches his hand above the water and opens his eyes again. "The city was made to fall, part of it. And now this is a new disaster. The other one, it was in May also. There must be some reason."

"Oh..." Zenith winces at her world events recall skills. "Earthquake. Got it. Does it have to mean something? It could be just coincidence." She brings up her hand to touch the drops from her fingertips to her collarbone, and then feels along it, surprised at how stark it is.

Cipto's eyebrows raise at Zenith's supplying of the English word, and his concurrence of, "Yes," almost sounds pleased. That tinge of emotion fades, though, as he repeats. "Earthquake." He breathes out heavily through his nose. "Two big things so close. Maybe because I left to go to New York too soon when there is still help needed in Jogja." His tone is uncertain and regretful now, though the look he gives Zenith is more questioning than anything else. He pulls his submerged hand out of the water and pushes back his bangs. "You are from New York?"

"Washington. State," Zenith remembers to add belatedly. "Lived there for the last seven or eight years, though." She continues rubbing her fingertips absently along the line of her collarbone. "Maybe it's someone else. And we're just the innocent bystanders on the plane. I mean, me, I think it's just chance. But you know."

Cipto straightens in his seat at Zenith's theory, blinking a couple of times at her, then looking briefly up at the sky. "Maybe..." There is a weight of genuine consideration to the word. "I think we will all be stronger after, when we get back. That is like in all the stories..." He nods on this statement, though there is less certainty in his eyes. "You came there for dance?"

"Nah," Zenith shakes her head. "At that point I'd given it up because I was afraid I'd out myself if I kept it up. I came to go to school, stayed when I dropped out. Dunno. Liked it." She dips her hand and then uses it to wet her hair. "Or we could just go home and go back to normal. That would be nice."

Cipto squints hard at Zenith's explanation, questioning and considering but not at all accusatory or judgmental. He holds this expression for several seconds, then shakes his head and splashes another handful of water over his face, which serves to ease his features back into a more relaxed position. "I would like normal again also," is spoken wistfully, but after a pause, the questioning look begins to creep back. "What means 'out myself'?"

"Let people know I was a mutant." Zenith smiles very slightly, and shrugs her good shoulder. "I can't fall. I mean, I can, obviously--" Her breath hitches, and she shivers. "But when I'm conscious, and not trapped in a fucking metal tube. And you do a lot of falling in dancing at first. I would have stopped myself from falling where someone would see."

"Ahh." The syllable is quiet and drawn out in consideration and wonder; Cipto's eyes widen rather than narrowing further as he speaks. "That is a good thing to be able to do," he assesses solemnly. "And you did not fall so hard as...ah. As they..." His voice becomes audibly strained by emotion rather than translation; this cutoff is not for lack of a better word. He takes a deep breath, then wonders, "People would think about that and not about you doing good dance?"

Zenith scrubs at her eyes. "Yeah. Didn't really work this time either." She pulls the end of her ponytail over her shoulder and starts idly pulling at knots. "That's what I thought at the time. In high school. Lately, yeah, people have seemed to like what I can do when I dance, at least some of them. The ones not throwing shit."

Cipto frowns at this, then looks to the solid ground on either side of where he sits. Gravity is absolutely with him. "I think it is, ah...not so fair people do not like your dance for how you do not fall. It does not hurt people."

“How I do not fall." Zenith's lips quirk. "I like it. I should remember that. It's no less fair than the whole mutant thing." Her fingers still for a moment, and she looks at Cipto more closely, taking him in before she says anything further. "I hurt someone once. I /can/ hurt people."

Cipto manages a full smile when Zenith expresses her liking of his turn of phrase, though it slides downward into a decidedly worried look at her last sentence. "You did not try to?"

"No." Zenith is silent for a long moment. "It was an accident. I've thought about--protecting people, though. You know, like bodyguarding?" Her fingers go back to picking at her hair. "Would you be afraid of me if I said yes?"

"Ahh." This time, it's a much quieter and shorter syllable; the relaxation of most of the worry lines on Cipto's face speaks more than the sound does. "If yes..." He pauses and mouths several words before deciding to properly speak. "I would ask why. And be careful."

“To protect myself. A mugger pulled a gun on me. And when I tried to throw him, I hit a guy who was just nearby." She snorts. "You can be careful if you like. I don't really see you as the type who would be attacking me anytime soon."

Cipto's eyes widen and he cranes his neck forward as Zenith tells her story, though when she finishes, he quickly notes, "It was on accident. I do not need to be more careful. And no, I do not attack!" He lifts one hand and waves it reassuringly on the last sentence.

Zenith smiles down at her knees, and then pushes herself up, with a little gravity to help when she wobbles on the river stones with only one arm to help her keep balance. "It's getting a bit cold, just sitting there. I think I need to dry off." She heads carefully for the bank. "So what's your life story?"

As Zenith steps out of the water, Cipto pushes himself into a standing position, stretching his arms behind him, then shaking them out at his sides. "I make music," he explains in the process, smile returning and eyes brightening a little. "Do you know what is gamelan?"

“Not a clue," Zenith admits, stepping out of the water, and letting herself drip for a few moments before finding her shoes.

Cipto takes a few steps after Zenith. "It is an ensemble from Java," he begins, the phrase practiced and easy, "with gongs and metal instruments. It plays for theatre and also dance." He smiles a little wider and tilts his chin up toward Zenith. "I play it in Jogja. I came to New York for studying composing."

"I don't know any Javanese dance," Zenith says, but she's grinning. She goes over to her bag and pulls out one of the water bottles. "Composing, huh? Nice. You gonna be famous someday?"

Cipto blinks startledly at the question, then breaks into a quiet high-pitched giggle. "I do not know! That is something hard to guess!"

Zenith blinks at the laughter. "I wasn't expecting you to predict the future. I just wondered if that's what you were trying for, or if you just wanted to do it for fun, or small audiences, or whatever, you know?"

Cipto takes a moment to consider this, still smiling as he rubs the side of his index finger against his lower lip. "I want to make good music. Interesting music. I hope people would like to play it." He nods and lets his hand dangle again. "If that makes me famous, that would not be bad. But, ah. Famous is not why I compose."

"You're a better person than me," Zenith says, dipping the bottle into the flow. "I'd love being famous. Not too famous. Just famous enough. Have fans, never have to worry about money again--"

Cipto steps toward a tree under which he deposited his own load of water bottles, then picks one up and carries it to the water as well. "It would be good to not have to worry about money things...yes." He peers down into the stream for a few seconds, then considers, "Maybe a dance story about living this." The arm not holding the water bottle gestures slowly around the forest.

"It's a little realistic and not very artful," Zenith protests, but one can see the wheels turning as she goes back for another bottle. "Maybe if I ballet-ified it. Made it kinda fairy-tale-esque." She frowns, deeply. "Needs more dancers than just me, though. I was kinda thinking something based on the four elements for my next project."

Cipto screws the lid onto the bottle and wipes off the side with the hem of his shirt, pressing his lips together as he does. "This is probably on news places. It could bring fame and make people want to dance." He shrugs, then deposits the bottle by a tree and goes for another. "Elements?"

"Yeah, I'm counting on people hearing my name on the news, and then thinking of going to my show. I'm thinking maybe doing an extended run of my old one, just to capture that immediately." One last bottle, and Zenith's bag is full. "Elements--earth, water, fire, air." She counts them out by taping each finger against the bottle she's holding the water.

Cipto finishes filling his next bottle and closes and wipes it in the same manner as the previous one. That leaves only one more left for him as well. "I see, I see." He nods as well at the explanation of elements. "There are some, ah..." squint "...characters like those in wayang." The last bottle, just a disposable plastic ones, makes glub glub noises as it fills. "What was your old show?"

"Wayang?" Zenith braces the last bottle against her body for screwing on the top. "Leave the Ground Behind. It was just basically taking the normal dance steps a little farther, and then a little farther, and then--flying."

Cipto gets the same sheepish look as he did earlier with the talk of Yogyakarta. "Er. It is, ah. Theatre. With puppets or people sometimes." He holds the bottle in the water, and though it fills entirely, he continues to hold it as Zenith describes her show. The concept is really rather distracting. The gamelan musician looks at the dancer with his mouth slightly open, fully impressed. "Flying!"

There is discretion, and then there is showing off to an apparently extremely appreciative audience. Zenith's choice is clear, as she tucks the bottle absently closer to the side as she rises up off the ground, just three or four inches, to be above where her tiptoes could take her.

Cipto's mouth opens a little wider as he watches Zenith ascend. For the first few seconds, his gaze lingers on the top of Zenith's head and its relative position with the lowest hanging leaves of the jungle, but then it occurs to him to look toward the dancer's feet. The space between her toes and the ground causes him to gape more pronouncedly yet, and he murmurs in Javanese, "{Of all the things I have ever seen in all creation...!}" The words may not be understandable, but the inflection is clearly impressed.

Zenith giggles, and then sets herself down again fairly quickly. "I can actually like, fly fly when I'm not eating so little enough I can do this whole anorexic rib seeing thing when I use too much energy on powers." She glares at her side.

Cipto sets the last water bottle carefully down as Zenith comes back to earth, then gives several quiet claps before seeing to putting the lid on said bottle. The way Cipto looks at Zenith on the later part of her sentence is fairly blank and uncomprehending, but as for the first part, he's able to pull his jaw back into line in order to translate, "I have never seen a thing like that before! I think people should like to see a dance like that..."

"Their money paid for my vacation." Zenith grimaces. "That I'm not really having. It's just there's plenty who look at that and see only what I could do to hurt them. I could do it to you too." She holds out a palm slightly tilted in his direction, but doesn't do anything yet.

"Hmm." Cipto presses his lips together and dries off the last water bottle. "Maybe they will give the money back because of the, ah..." He looks at the ground, then up at Zenith's outstretched hand. "You can...it will not hurt you?"

"Couple inches, couple seconds, I'm good." And still showing off, apparently. Zenith frowns a little, and Cipto lifts off the ground, weightless.

Cipto inhales sharply at the sensation of suspension, and while his expression is predominantly of awe and delight, he squeezes Zenith's hand tightly for support. It shouldn't be tight enough to cause pain, but it's certainly tighter than one would expect from someone with small hands like his.

"Woah, chill," Zenith advises. "I'm setting you down now." She does, with decent gentleness. "Fun, huh?" She grins.

Cipto's hand releases when his feet return to the ground, and he gives them a good long stare before beaming up at Zenith. "Wow. I have never...I can do no things like that...wow." He blinks hard, then wonders, "You are still doing ok?"

"I don't want to be doing anything else right now," Zenith admits, rubbing at one temple. She starts loading her bottles back into her bag, and eyes one, contemplating drinking it unboiled, but then sadly puts it away again. "Talk to me tomorrow if you're still curious."

"Ok," Cipto offers quietly. He eyes the water bottle as Zenith does, then bends to pick up his own three as she puts it away. After a few moments, he adds, "Thank you for showing me."

"Hey, thanks for being impressed," Zenith says, perfectly sincere. "I'm an attention whore, I'll admit it." She swings the bag up onto her shoulder, and looks around for signs of the path they came in on.

"You are welcome," Cipto responds, just as sincere. He laughs quietly at the second comment, even though there is a brief flicker of incomplete comprehension in his eyes. Upon taking note of Zenith's search for the path, he too looks around, pointing with his whole arm when he thinks he sees it, then starting toward it.

Zenith is happy enough to follow rather than lead, and starts after Cipto as he heads for the path.

Zenith and Cipto talk about their artistic lives and current worries while filling water bottles. Cipto experiences reduced gravity!