An Attempt to Tip the Scales (OPEN!)

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

"...It’s more a need for sympathy. I want people to feel sorry for me… When I was a kid I used to carry a safety pin around with me everywhere I went in my pocket, and when people weren’t paying enough attention to me, I’d dig it into my arm until I started crying. Everyone would stop what they were doing and ask me what was the matter. I guess I kind of liked that."'[/b]

Victor stood in the middle of Times Square. People everywhere. Rushing, always rushing, heading where? To somewhere else. He stood and recited the words in an attempt to tip the scales and shook, and he heard the interviewer ask if he liked attention, and he answered quickly, rushed, the impersonal words pouring out of his mouth louder now, nearly shouting -

"No!"[/b] He shook his head violently in protest, "I hate it when people look at me, I get nauseous! In fact, I could care less what people think about me!" A few people looked at him then, but nobody stopped. Of course they didn't. They're still going, didn't have the time of day to stop. He didn't blame them. He's just a crazy, on the streets. Now, taking a deep breath, yelling at the top of his lungs -

"When you feel bad, you go into your room and scream as loud as you can for a minute or two and then it's out of you, it's called 'catharsis!'"[/b] And the he screams as loud as he can, but it's not in his room and not just for a minute. More or less a minute? He doesn't keep track or care, he just screams. It hurts his throat and he likes it. 'The burn of everyone's eyes on me when I'm pouring my heart out into a microphone,' he silently misquotes, and he should stop screaming but it feels good.

Loud, louder, louder still! It goes on and on 'and on and on' - he gasped. No, no, not more songs. He gasped breathally between screams and then starts up again quickly. Nobody's stopped him yet. And all those people, coming out of their shows - they don't give a damn. This is a social experiment in caring; this is What would you do? How long can Victor scream at the top of his lungs in public before someone notices, really notices, and cares? Or at the very least, shuts him up.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

It wasn’t often that Peter got to Times Square. Even though he worked in a Manhattan precinct, he ended up where the youth were, and Times Square wasn’t it. So the reason he was up there was more personal. He’d been on a ...well, date was a strong word. Let’s just say he’d been drug off to a fancy apartment with his friend for the night and then he was left to hoof it back to where he needed to be. Walking through Times Square was the quickest way to get back, but he avoided the place for a reason. Everyone was shoving and moving quickly. However, he could ignore all that.

What he couldn’t ignore was the man who was shouting and howling as loudly as he could. Sure, sometimes people needed to yell, but in the middle of crowded places, they drew attention. Right then, people were stopping to look, clearly interested by the anomaly. Peter nearly walked into a man who was looking quite confused by what he was seeing. He weaved past him, wanting to ignore it, wanting to not be a cop right then, but it was engrained in him to help others and use his authority. So he made his way towards the screaming citizen, digging his badge out of where he’d hidden it in his deepest pocket, quickly clipping it to his belt. Now he was on the clock, which was going to wreak havoc with his pay stub.

“Sir,” he spoke loudly and clearly. “Are you alright?”

Of course he wasn’t alright. People who were alright didn’t stand in the middle of Times Square screaming. Still, he needed to say something. Just asking the man to shut up never worked with hysterical people.

“My name’s Peter. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

He hoped that it wasn’t anything too serious because he really wasn’t looking his best, let alone feeling like dealing with a heap of paperwork on his once-day off. He was dressed in his rumpled clothing from the night before, he smelled like someone else’s cologne, and he was pretty sure that he was sporting some blood shot eyes behind his sunglasses. It had been worth it. It always was worth it, but other people seemed to judge him for it. He didn’t need this screaming person judging him.

But now he was involved. By asking, he had made himself part of the situation. If he was going to be judged, he was going to be judged. He’d deal with that bridge when he came to it.

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

The man smelled of sex. Looked, and smelled. Couldn't be more obvious, and Victor had wanted a challenge. Obviously younger, but he had a few inches on Victor. Sunglasses - mm, he didn't like those, they were too concealing, you never knew where someone was looking at that wasn't okay. Police badge on his belt, hardly held pedestal but readable. The haggard figure was acting out of duty, then. Perhaps the goodness of his own heart as well - Victor couldn't imagine a cop that young being so irresponsible to appear as this man did so early in the morning - but that was never a purely isolated intention.

“Sir, are you alright?” Victor stopped screaming. He had barely realized he was still doing it, by the end. It had bonded with his throat, his throat was used to all sorts of things by now. “My name’s Peter. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

My dear children, I'm writing this to you so that you will not sin. Yet, if anyone does sin, we have Jesus Christ, who has God's full approval. This is John. No, no, this man's name was Peter. Victor blinked - things at the edges got a little less blurry, and more real. Though, he was being spoken to be like a child, now. Now I don't know why, but I still try to smile when they talk at me like I'm just a child. Well, I'm not a child. No, I am much younger than that.

He remembered he'd been asked a question, but there wasn't really an answer. Jeopardy! No, not jeopardy. Victor blinked. "I'm okay thanks,"[/color] Victor said, his words running together and now his throat hurt, that was a shame, but karma deemed it so. Damn karma.

"How old are you?" Taking a second look, Victor became confused. He looked mid twenties or so, but his voice sounded younger, but his face looked older, and Victor just wanted a definitive bit, to go with his definitive calculations he'd made of Peter's height and weight and mass just now.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

The screaming stopped. Thank god. Peter wasn’t hung over, but it had been abusing his ears all the same. The other man looked at him with big eyes – both taking him in, but not really looking at him. It was kind of disconcerting. Either way, he looked far from being distressed. In fact, only the raspy tone let on that the man had just been screaming at the top of his lungs.

"I'm okay thanks," the other man replied calmly, like he hadn’t been screaming at all.

Peter blinked a bit, wondering what he’d missed. Someone just didn’t start screaming and then just stop like that. Maybe he could brush it off of as his imagination, but he’d had a few cups of coffee, so he was sure that it was reality and not some pre-coffee musing. He was prone to them sometimes, after all.

"How old are you?"

Peter was puzzled by the question, but not as puzzled as the other man looked. What did that matter? The fact he was wearing a badge meant he was old enough to be in the game, but not so old that he couldn’t play anymore. Still, what would it hurt to tell the man his age? It wasn’t as if he was asking for his SSN or address or something. And with the people he’d gone home with, he’d had both things asked of him, so he knew what he was talking about when it came to odd requests.

“I’m twenty-four years old,” he replied. “How about you tell me your name and how old you are? Maybe then we can discuss why you were screaming in the street like this.”

Then maybe he could figure out exactly what was going on and move on with minimal paperwork. He wasn't about to hold his breath on it, but it was still a nice thought.

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

Peter looked confused. He was also 6'1", maybe an inch or so off but Victor had a good eye. Muscles, that increased weight, but Victor could just tell this from his arms, it wasn't as if they were stretching seems on his clothes. Victor liked Peter's body type, because it was nice and attractive, but not weird attractive. It was kind of like James, except James' thighs were abnormally large because of dancing.

“I’m twenty-four years old,” Peter interrupted his thoughts about thighs, and yes, that gave him a much better way of figuring out Peter's mass and weight, age was important. “How about you tell me your name and how old you are? Maybe then we can discuss why you were screaming in the street like this.”

At the 'tell me your name,' Victor barely thoughts twice, practically talking over the rest of Peter's sentence as he said all in a rush, "Hello I'm Victor nice to meet you," and then, suddenly realizing the second part of Peter's request with a jolt, he continued without pause between sentences, ""No, no discussion, I was just screaming, it's not a 'like this' or anything, I'm not screaming now you see. Hear."

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"Hello I'm Victor nice to meet you. No, no discussion, I was just screaming, it's not a 'like this' or anything, I'm not screaming now you see. Hear."

Peter rubbed at his forehead. “So you were just screaming for the sake of screaming.”

Well, that made no sense. Well, maybe it did. He’d read about scream therapy while he was taking Psychology at NYU. The basic thought was that if you could scream out your frustrations and aggravations, then you could let them go. Well, that was part of it. It was all part of a greater theory that if you handled everything with anger, then released that anger, you would no longer be angry, but you had to reach some level of homicidal rage before all the anger was gone forever, and that was the part that made him uneasy – catharsis or no. Homicidal rage led to terrible things, things he’d transferred out of Homicide because he just couldn’t sleep anymore. He’d never entertained scream theory, though. There was a song made about it back in the eighties, but he was pretty sure that it hadn’t sparked a following or anything. He wasn’t even sure why he was thinking about it right then. He had a real life screamer in front of him, and he had no idea if the guy was even following the psychology or if he was just plain crazy.

“Well, that made things simple. Nice to meet you, Victor,” he offered, thinking this was an odd way to meet people, but it was what it was in his line of work. “Do me a favor – next time you need to scream, could you pick a less crowded place to do it?”

He knew that telling this guy not to do something would probably not get him anywhere, but he had to at least say something. It was his duty, after all. And he really didn’t want to have to come back the next time he decided to hold up traffic like that.

"So, I'm going to be on my way, and I suggest you do the same."

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

Cop seemed annoyed. Well, that was a shame for him. Victor hadn't meant to upset anyone. He just wanted to do this and he did it, except now he couldn't really remember starting up. “So you were just screaming for the sake of screaming.”

Rhetorical comments were completely passed by Victor, and he answered seriously, "Yes, I think so." [/color]This was an investigation after all. This was the man's work; respect that.

“Well, that made things simple. Nice to meet you, Victor,” Peter said, and suddenly this was over, and Peter was finishing with a weary, “Do me a favor – next time you need to scream, could you pick a less crowded place to do it?” If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all. "So, I'm going to be on my way, and I suggest you do the same."

Victor followed him. Suggestions were optional, weren't they? Free country, America, America; land of the free, home of the brave, and all that stuff. So he silently agreed to Peter's request not to scream in public again - and really, he hadn't meant to in the beginning, he didn't think now, except when he woke up and he was here and he was screaming, there was no point in stopping - and followed the cop.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

Peter had made it several feet before he noticed that he had a shadow. Victor was following along behind him, keeping pace. It could have been a coincidence, but Peter really didn’t believe in coincidences. So he paused and glanced over at his companion, wondering how far this man was going to follow him. It would make for an interesting experiment on a boring day, but it wasn’t that kind of morning. Plus, the fewer people who knew where he lived the better.

“I guess we’re walking together, then?” Peter pointed out the obvious, adjusting his sunglasses again. “So Victor, I’m the kind of guy who likes to make conversation with the people who walk with me.”

Not talking was awkward, he found. He had nothing else to do but look at his shoes or count the coins in his pockets. When he was on his own, he didn’t worry about anything. It funny how the presence of someone else could do that to his self awareness.

“I find it’s a good way to get to know people. So, where are you from?”

The accent was hard for him to place, but it was still pleasing on the ears. He felt like groaning then. Accents were always distracting.

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

“I guess we’re walking together, then?” Asked Peter.

"Yes," replied Victor, and it was an obvious answer to an obvious question.

“So Victor, I’m the kind of guy who likes to make conversation with the people who walk with me. I find it’s a good way to get to know people. He could have done without the explanation, but Victor didn't mind, so he shrugged. "So, where are you from?”

"Geneva, which is in Romandy, which is in Switzerland,"[/b] Victor answered, because if Peter was giving clarification then he should too. he knew the only reason Peter must be asking him this is because of his accent, so he helpfully added, "The part of Switzerland that speaks French. And then I lived in London, which is in England. And you're from Montana, which is America, but you're losing your accent from there."[/b]

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"Geneva, which is in Romandy, which is in Switzerland.”

Peter blinked, a bit amazed that. He’d never met anyone from somewhere so far away. Well, at least it explained the accent.

"The part of Switzerland that speaks French. And then I lived in London, which is in England."

Alright, he knew where England was. He supposed that Victor was just very specific in everything he said. That was alright, even if it was a bit over the top.

“And you're from Montana, which is America, but you're losing your accent from there."

That one caused Peter to falter in his stride for a moment. He looked at Victor closely, wondering how the hell he could tell that.

“I am from Montana,” he conceded. “That’s a pretty good ear you have.”

But he wasn’t losing his accent. He just never used it. However, he wasn’t about to argue with a stranger over something like that. It was none of his business and he would only be vindicating it with a response.

“What brings you here from England?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation moving.

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

Peter was impressed, and Victor was glad he was, because he liked being cool, and he was now remembering the guy who had hit him for seeing too much on accident. He hadn't meant to! At the very least, Peter was much more kind. “I am from Montana,” he said, and Yes, I just said that, thought Victor, but people liked to repeat things so he let it slide. “That’s a pretty good ear you have.”

"I have two ears, but thank you," Victor said solemnly. His ears were awfully good though; they let him hear, which was important. They looked good enough on him, too. It was nice Peter was acknowledging them, because most people didn't.

“What brings you here from England?” Peter asked.

"I came with my best friend,"[/b] said Victor, smiling a little, "I think it's gone very well."[/b] Reciprocate, whispered his consciousness in the voice of aforementioned best friend. "How did you come to New York?"[/b]

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"I have two ears, but thank you."

Had this been anyone else, it would have been a sarcastic comment. As it was, Victor was kind of charming in how he said that so seriously. Everyone was quirky, but this guy was just a bit more quirky than most, he was sure.

"I came with my best friend. I think it's gone very well."

If by very well he meant that he was standing in the middle of the way, shouting at the top of his lungs, then it was going very well indeed. It made him wonder where this friend was, and whether he should be keeping an eye on Victor. Maybe it would be something to bring up when he got the guy home.

"How did you come to New York?"

And emotionally devastating questions for a thousand, Alex...

“My guardian lived here,” he replied simply. “So, where’s your friend? Why wasn’t he screaming along with you?”

Or watching to make sure that you weren’t screaming in the middle of the street...Again, something he’d ask once he got this guy where he belonged. And yes, he'd decided that now he was responsible for doing that on his way back to Brooklyn. The day was just full of fun little twists that way.

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

“My guardian lived here,” replied Peter. He'd been here a while, then. The man was old enough to be a guardian, really. Probably wasn't, if his state this morning was any indicator. But from the way he was speaking, he had a somewhat budding though inconsistent parental air to him. Worked with children, then. Explained his patience.

"So, where’s your friend?" Immediate change of topic. Either selfless or cagey; Victor valued both qualities.

"Why wasn’t he screaming along with you?”

"He's at home. James doesn't scream. Doesn't scream," Victor repeated, then blinked. Stopped walking; frozen; completely stopped up. Why was he here again? A loaded question, certainly, but on a simplistic level… Oh. Oh, James yelled at him. Didn't scream, but had yelled at him. Had lost his temper, then yelled.

What did he do? He must have done something, but Victor couldn't remember it now. He couldn't remember this morning at all, and that frightened him. When did he wake up? "Wait, am I dead?"[/b] He wondered aloud, his tone very nearly akin to worried fascination. His eyes turned to stare intensely at Peter, trying to determine what was going on. Was Peter an angel?

He raised a finger to his mouth and tentatively bit, hard. "Oh!"[/b] No, not dead, but… "Confused. I'm confused. Peter, whoever you are, get me out of - where are we again?"[/b] His face clouded with confusion; his absent memories made him begin to panic. He stopped talking to Peter, instead muttering under his breath in French, "Wait, stop it, I'm not remembering right! My mother is dead. She died a long time ago; my brothers are not, my father is not, James is not. But - isn't he, or I, or the Thing?"[/b]

It was all too confusing, because all the place-markers for his timeline: they were all messed up, someone had taken a hand to them and hit them out of order. His forehead wrinkled with thoughts and worry, and his eyes lost focus soon after, blinking rapidly and darting about. What was going on?! He was twenty seconds away from full out panicking, and - oh, that's one thing he remembered. He'd been panicking, before he screamed, and all of the thoughts from before disappeared into a mountain of discarded and caged memories.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"He's at home. James doesn't scream. Doesn't scream.”

Well, at least there would be someone there when Peter brought Victor back where he needed to be. And the fact that he wasn’t a screamer would be a plus. Not that Victor was difficult...well, until he stopped walking, looking terribly confused.

"Wait, am I dead?"

Peter blinked behind his sunglasses, gaping at Victor’s curious, yet worried, look. If he was dead, this was one hell of an afterlife. It had to be hell. After all, the damned were supposed to man public service positions in Tim Burton’s version of hell, so that would explain this. Well, most of this. Why Victor was trying to gnaw his finger off was...well....

"Oh! Confused. I'm confused. Peter, whoever you are, get me out of - where are we again?"

Well, that sure made two of them. Peter had been confused for the past ten minutes now. It was a good thing he understood French or he would have been sent for a total loop...well, understanding wasn’t comprehending.

"Wait, stop it, I'm not remembering right! My mother is dead. She died a long time ago; my brothers are not, my father is not, James is not. But - isn't he, or I, or the Thing?"

“Victor,” Peter sighed, his next words slipping into French – a sympathetic reflex. “Do you know your address? I’ll take you home, and talk to James.”

Maybe then he and James could come to some arrangement where Victor didn’t end up alone in the middle of Time Square again.

“How does that sound?”

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

“Victor."

Victor stopped pacing for a second, looking at the person who had just said his name. Who was he? Oh, wait, Peter, his name was Peter, and they'd just been... somewhere. “Do you know your address?" The French was both welcome and confusing to Victor. People didn't talk French in America, but he'd thought he was in America. Was he back in Geneva? But, no, this couldn't be Geneva, the sidewalks were too like America, but...

I’ll take you home, and talk to James. How does that sound?”

The accent. That was clarifying. People didn't speak like that in Geneva, that was America, or Canada, or something. But not Geneva. Thank God. He forced himself to take a deep breath in. So much better. Breathing was important, sometimes.

"Good," he managed in a whisper. James sounded good. But it was also frightening; why was he frightened of James? That shouldn't be right, but... oh, they'd fought. But he wanted James, now, surely he had to be forgiven by now. He was counting on it.

He realized Peter had asked for his address. What was it again? Geneva... no, New York... "I can't - I can't remember," Victor said, afraid; what if he never got home, now? "I... it's in here. At here. It's New York. It's... Manhattan!"[/b] He nearly shouted with relief at remembering. The entire address came back in a rush, and he recited it furiously before it disappeared.

Victor's nervousness still reigned heavily on his consciousness, but it was preferable in place of panic. He hadn't been so confused in a while. This used to happen all the time, and James stayed home with him most of the day. But he'd gotten better; this was better. He hadn't become violent, like he would have in the past. This was progress. Later, he would just have to thank the heavens it was Peter who came upon him, and not someone else.