[Venkman's life is, in essence, a collection of poor decisions that he desperately hopes will eventually cancel each other out and leave him in a state of relative stability.
Case in point- in a moment of pure impulsive stupidity, he injected himself with a plasmid relatively early in the month just to be contrary to one Kim Kitsurugi. Considering the fact that Kim isn't the one currently fighting off ADAM withdrawal symptoms, it's safe to say that this is one point wherein the cop was right about something.
For the record, Venkman is furious about that.
It's not long before the powers fade, replaced by cold sweats, nausea, and shakes, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out he's going through withdrawal. It sucks, but Venkman's plan is twofold- get the plasmid out of him, and ride the rest of the symptoms out until they go away. Injecting himself with more of that shit isn't gonna do anything but make him crave it more.
Step one isn't exactly easy, but he's successful. Step two is a bit more nebulous. See, even with the plasmid gone, he still has ADAM in his system. Poisoning him. And nausea turns out to be the least of his concerns. Paranoia bubbles up again- not as potent as it was on the Titanic, but it blends wonderfully with the heightened aggression. He's not a stranger to anger, of course, but this is different. It's something raw, and every perceived slight against Venkman has him fighting the urge to turn things physical.
And once the strings manifest, he gets to deal with all these fun withdrawal symptoms and the emotional pain of distance from the people on the other end of his red strings.
Unfortunately, the man at the other end of a silver string gets to experience it too. In a muted, distilled form, of course. But it's there. And even if Kim isn't initially curious about who's at the end of that string, he'll probably find himself compelled to figure it out at some point, just to find out who's giving him secondhand sickness and why.]
[Kim Kitsuragi has had a dull headache in the back of his mind for the past few days. It's more than just a headache--it's almost as if he's dealing with a hangover, except he hasn't consumed any alcohol to warrant any of these symptoms. He hasn't taken any of those plasmids, and, in fact, has been keeping his distance from them. Eliminating the impossible would mean that the only probable cause of this would be from these awful, invisible strings that seem to be attached to his fingers.
Kim has several strings attached to his fingers--one red, a few blue and gold, and one silver. The red one seems to lead completely outside of Rapture, so there's no point in chasing after that. The silver would be the easiest to follow after the red, so, after a day or two, he steels himself and begins to follow it.
As he continues to follow the string through the halls of Rapture, the pain seems to grow more intense to the point where he has to stop several times and lean against the wall, just to collect himself again.
Eventually, as he grows closer, the string slackens. Kim turns the corner to look face to face with Peter fucking Venkman. He stops, caught off guard, but it's clear that the silver string connecting Kim is tied around one of his fingers.]
You?
[He sounds...simultaneously incredulous and irked beyond belief. It's not helped by the fact that he feels like he's coming down with the flu.]
[This is one of Venkman's worse days, symptom-wise, which means Kim finds him holed up in his and Ray's shelter instead of out and about in Rapture. He's spent most of the day curled up in a pile of old, tattered blankets- the closest thing to a bed they have here- but he's at least ventured out of this veritable nest to grab a bottle of water.
He's turning the corner himself when he nearly walks right into Kim, and Venkman jumps, immediately going on the defensive-]
What the fuck-
[Venkman actually starts to cock his fist back, only recognizing just who he's about to punch in the face just in time. He freezes, but does not lower his hand- unintentionally giving Kim a clear view of his red strings, should he happen to care about that.]
... Get outta my not-house. You don't have a warrant.
[He will hit a guy with glasses. Especially right now.]
You act as if everything I do is an attempt to arrest you or find some fault in your actions.
[Frankly, he's kind of tired of it.
Kim takes a small step back, but otherwise doesn't leave. His eyes flit towards the red strings tied to Venkman's hand, but he doesn't acknowledge them. Not something to question right now. Kim stands there, staring down at the bedraggled man before him, Venkman may hear bits and pieces of Kim's thoughts. The words flit in and out of his head like a patchy radio signal.
Red strings...why silver? Questions first.]
I take it that you're not responsible for the strings, then. [He rubs his temple. Where the hell did this headache come from?] Are you alright? You look a bit off.
What can I say? NYPD hasn't inspired a lotta trust in me.
[I'm used to cops trying to fuck my life over.
If Kim tries to chase that thought for even a second, he'll get snippets of Venkman's perspective from back home- humiliation and fear and pure, boiling rage when Lieutenant Frump trespassed at the firehouse, accusing him of crimes he hadn't committed- This is a nightmare. I'm living in a nightmare. What's stopping him from breaking in again?- prickling of unease and hatred on various occasions the Ghostbusters found themselves tossed in prison- They're gonna shut the containment unit off again, and then we're all fucked. Why do they always forget Gozer once they've got a chance to take us down a peg?- and at the core of it all, the absolutely faintest wisps of memories- Dad says we're moving again. He won't tell me why, but I know. Police cars have been parked across the street a whole lot lately. They're watching us.
Venkman furrows his brow at the thoughts he's picking up from Kim's end- they feel strange, like they didn't come from him, but they're just vague enough for now that he doesn't question them. Yet. He does, however, finally look down and notice just where his silver string leads.]
... Oh, you're kidding me. [So I was right about what silver means.] ... You think I'd tie myself to you? Intentionally?
[He doesn't answer the question of how he's feeling directly, but his thoughts of a few days prior betray him- How long should withdrawal symptoms last? It was only one dose, so it shouldn't be that bad, right? Comparatively, at least.]
[Focus. He has to maintain focus. It's hard not to look back on his own experiences with the RCM when his brain is invaded with a flurry of anti-cop rhetoric. Watching his fellow officers completely ignore an old woman's pleas for help--This is why the residents of Revachol don't trust the RCM. This is why they look for the Union for help. A slightly more, ire-laden thought comes bubbling to the surface, something from a few years back--Humiliating. Fifteen years of hard work, and only a diagnosis to come of it. Not even a promotion....]
Obviously not. If you'll excuse me, I'm not particularly familiar with how these strings work.
[His tone comes close to frustration. It's just the headache. The thoughts that manage to come through cause Kim's brow to furrow. They feel...foreign. Not entirely belonging to him. Like the headache that seems to ebb and flow every few seconds. Almost as if--
He glances down at the string attached to his finger. Right. Supernatural shit that seems to pop up everywhere in this goddamn place. Kim lets out a faint groan, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. God, dammit. He's not going to leap to immediate conclusions, but it's hard not to at least consider it.
There are faint memories accompanying this idea--a bedraggled man with a red face and terrible mutton chops saying "There must be some sort of dark, sexy, supra-natural twist to this, Kim." and the resigned, exasperated thought that follows--No. Absolutely not. Where the hell does he even get these ideas? We haven't even gone to examine the body yet.]
You injected yourself with a plasmid a few days ago, right? Have you done any more since then?
[Ok, these thoughts definitely aren't his. And unlike Kim, Venkman has no qualms with accepting the supernatural and, thus, the correct source of these thoughts.]
Fuck. Telepathy? Really, with you?
[Hey Kim, if you can hear this, admit that all cops are bastards. Also, who's the guy with the mutton chops?]
Red string of fate. Red leads to romantic soulmates, silver is- obviously- enemies, blue and gold I dunno for sure yet. Lucky you. You get to share a title with ol' Dickless.
[I've definitely hated other people more than you, but you're probably the guy I like the least in this dimension, it makes sense.]
It's none of your fucking business. [A beat.] But I only injected myself with one.
You think I wanted this to happen? Believe me, I hate this outcome as much as you do.
[My thoughts are private. Thank you very much.
Kim doesn't answer the question about the mutton chops, but if Venkman digs, he'll be able to hear thoughts from a few months back--Finally, the detective seems to be sober enough to actually talk about the case, though his gait is still inconsistent...He introduces himself as Raphael Costeau, which is most assuredly a fake name....
As for the strings, Kim briefly glances back towards Venkman's hand--the one that he saw boasting three red strings. Three? I would expect one or two, but...three?]
Well, whatever you did, it seems to be affecting me as well. [Like the goddamn headache. It makes it even more difficult on filtering his thoughts and clamping down on preventing Venkman from listening in on anything he doesn't want to be heard.] Do you need any supplies? Food, water, that sort of thing?
Jesus, your police sound worse and worse. You guys let a drunk guy going under a fake name be a detective and work with you? How are you even surprised by how much I hate cops? And-
[That's when Kim begins to contemplate his red strings, and Venkman's reaction is to violently recoil back. His expression is venomous, and everything from his body language to the snippets of his thoughts make him seem more and more like a cornered wild animal. Don't you even fucking dare. Oh, God, if he even thinks about who's on the other end of the strings, Kim can pick up on it- clear your mind, Peter, don't think about them or anything else incriminating.
Bizarrely, Kim will get a vague flash of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man in his head.]
Too bad for you. I'm the one dealing with it firsthand, d'you think I care that you're getting the aftershocks? And I don't want anything you've got to give me.
[You don't have any reason to give a shit about me, except your own well-being. Tough. Maybe I'll self-destruct a little more just for you.]
[Venkman gets the mental equivalent of someone backing away from a ticking bomb, reluctant to disarm it any further without it blowing up in their face. Kim actually takes a small step away from the man, slightly taken aback.
How much of this is actual hatred, and how much of this is from the withdrawal symptoms?]
It wasn't my choice to work with him. [He tries to keep his voice level, despite the frustration clouding his thoughts.] He was stationed at a different precinct.
[Some sort of alcohol-induced amnesia. He had to ask me what money was, which was...incredibly worrying. At least he actually does his job, which can hardly be said about the other officers...]
That is an incredibly dangerous idea. You've only rewritten your DNA once, and it seems to be having a severe effect on you.
[What did training say to do in a situation like this? Nothing useful, that's for sure. You had to learn it all from personal experience and by reading books the old-fashioned way. Like they don't even care about the people they're supposed to protect and only serve to clean up the bodies.]
Is anyone else aware of your current condition? Anyone you trust?
[The answer is automatic, and it's surprisingly honest. Venkman's brain is scrambled up horribly, and he genuinely can't tell anymore how much of anything he feels is influenced by the lack of fresh ADAM in his system. He knows he already disliked Kim, but he can't tell if he was always this furious with him. He can't tell how much of his paranoia is justified.
So Venkman errs on the side of caution, and doubles down on his mental defenses. What little he has left.
Get that guy to rehab, man. And yeah, I'm aware of the irony in me saying that. Don't give the drunken amnesiac a gun and put him in charge of "protecting people".
At Kim's last question, Venkman stares him down, wary and guarded and unbelievably tense. Carefully, he answers:]
Yes. Someone knows.
[The thoughts about the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man grow stronger as Venkman deliberately tries to think of anything but the man who conjured Stay Puft in the first place.]
[He lost his gun, too. Even more worrying than the amnesia. There's no way he would've escaped disciplinary action if not for the fact he's here in Deerington.
Kim folds his arms, still trying to mentally distance himself from Venkman. He doesn't understand the sudden fixation on the strange, cute mascot--well, besides the fact that he's obviously trying to hide something, but it's not the contents that he questions, but the means used to hide it. A memory buried in the deep recesses of his mind, one that Kim doesn't even consciously summon to the forefront of his thoughts--"Hey, Kimball, you gotta stop working so hard. The boys are headin' out to this great place where you can pick up some chicks after work. Wanna come with?"
He hates that nickname. Hates it with every fiber of his being. He hates the sheer unprincipled conduct of his coworkers and the fact that he's stuck with them. He turns back towards the blinking pinball machine to avoid the question.]
I'm going to assume that whoever they are, they can take care of you.
[Something else. Talk about something else, turn off the road before you travel too far.]
I'm curious--were you actually able to use the plasmid's abilities before it wore off?
[The word "chicks" spark a sort of bitterness in him, as well as more paranoia- why that memory? Does he know, somehow?- but Venkman quickly and aggressively beats that thought back down before he can dwell on it.
Venkman latches onto the new ammunition he has against Kim and throws it right back at him.]
That's right, Kimball. So why're you still here?
[The plasmid worked, alright. But it wasn't worth this.]
[Kim's reaction to the nickname is instantaneous. His shoulders tense up and a grimace appears on his face. His first thought is to ask how Venkman even obtained that information, but that quickly gets flooded with a series of other old thoughts.
"So you're the pinball policeman? God, I'd love to see the other cases you get put on. Some kid lost their stuffed toy down the sewer? Gonna solve the mystery, Kimball?"
A game that required no skill and a childlike affinity to flashing lights, and he trained for nine months for this stupid case. Him, a thirty-eight year old man--
"--Trauma-and-Stressor Disorder. It's not official by any means, but....--"]
Don't call me that. [He practically snaps at Venkman, voice is unusually harsh. He's trying to rile you up, stupid. Just ignore it. It's not as bad as what he could have said. He exhales sharply, bringing his hand to his temple.] I'm still here because I am concerned about your condition, and it would be highly irresponsible for me to simply leave you here alone.
[Regardless of how much I would prefer to leave, professional duty comes above all.]
[Venkman's triumphant for a bit, glad to have finally gotten a rise out of Kim, up until the snippets of Kim's memories hit him. He wonders why a memory discussing trauma comes to Kim's mind when he uses that nickname, and while he doesn't have anywhere near enough context to conjure up why, Venkman does realize that they might be connected. And for the first time this whole conversation, he genuinely feels bad.]
Sorry.
[His voice is just a little softer, the bite having gone out of it. If I'd realized it was that bad, I wouldn't have said it. He's an asshole sometimes, sure, but there's lines he doesn't feel like crossing, even with people he truly despises.
The edge comes back to his tone when he speaks up again.]
I don't need your concern. Or your pity. So take your "professional duty" and shove it.
[Does he even know how terrifying it is, to have a cop snooping around your home, refusing to leave, badgering you with questions? At least people like Frump had superiors, people who might keep him in check. He's got no one to answer to. He could do anything he damn well wants. Not like I can stop him right now.]
[It's not the name. It's something different. Something he considers embarrassing, something that Venkman will never find out about, because it was Kim's own fault for not weathering it.
I feel like the more I stand next to you, the worse my headache gets. Kim's brain feels like it's about to explode from the sheer amount of information and the fact he's trying to hold two conversations at once. It doesn't help that the pain from Venkman bounces around in his skull and gets amplified. He needs some way to block all this out, like how Venkman used that strange mascot to prevent Kim from seeing his thoughts. Over the next few seconds, Venkman gets a steady drone of some long, boring novel that Kim read once upon a time--the Revacholian equivalent of "War and Peace".]
Fine. [He glances around at the dilapidated surroundings, taking in the blankets and supplies. The Kim-narrated audiobook doesn't stop, but his defenses are likely weaker than Venkman's (probably) practiced mental barrier.] I'll leave, since your condition seems to become worse the longer I stay here. I would appreciate it if you told me who was helping you so I know you're actually being cared for, but it's not necessary. Does that sound good to you?
[Still. It's connected, isn't it? To whatever Kim wants to keep hidden, which he's not going to try to look into. Kim wants to keep a secret, and Venkman's no stranger to that. He'll at least extend him that courtesy.
Venkman hardly even noticed the headache until Kim mentions it to him- it's been such a constant of the last few days, he's starting to forget what it was like to live without it. Not only that, but he's spent this whole conversation fueled by adrenaline and rage. With the possibility of Kim finally leaving, some of that fight is going out of him, and he can focus again on the way his head pounds, of how much effort it's really taking to keep his body upright.
The sound of Kim mentally reciting the driest shit he's ever heard this side of Egon does not at all help, and Venkman grimaces, fighting through the feeling of his skull splitting in half to take another potshot at Kim.]
Plead the fifth. 'm not telling you shit.
[Though before Venkman can cling to Stay Puft once more, something flashes in his weakened mind, a memory tinged with quiet, tired pleasure- Venkman curled up against someone, one of the other person's arm's around his, his face pressed into their chest as he breathes slowly, evenly- almost asleep. He eyes the hand laced in his, and how short the red string connecting them is, now. He knows the other person is asleep, but he raises the hand to his lips and kisses it on the knuckles anyway, gently- a gesture that winds up being more for his own benefit than for the other's. Every part of his body and mind hurts, but he has this, and for now, it's enough to keep him going. To keep him alive. And he knows they're not safe, here, not really, but at least they're together. He closes his eyes.
Kim almost certainly doesn't catch the full memory- only a snippet of his thoughts during it. But once it's done flashing through his mind he'll find Venkman is shaking- either from the illness wreaking havoc on his body or fury, it's hard to tell. Probably both. He takes a step back- more of a stumble, really- and leans one hand on the wall to keep himself standing.]
[The phrase Venkman states is utter nonsense to Kim--he doesn't know what the hell the "fifth" is, though he can assume that it's related to law enforcement in some way. He doesn't have time to ruminate on this, though. The lieutenant simply crosses his hands behind his back, turns around, and proceeds to walk away without another word. His footfalls echo through the hallway as he retreats.
He tries to keep his mind on other things--police radio codes and signals, how the engine of a Coupris Kineema creates the distinct sound that so many people complain about, the mechanics of the cranes that lift cargo crates in the harbor. But this headache makes his fingers itch to reach for the cigarette he knows is in his pocket--the cigarette he saves for his nightly ritual of going over the day's events. Would it be worth it to break his own rules to deal with the pain?
The doubt is enough to make Kim's barrier falter slightly, and Venkman's thoughts inadvertently seep through the cracks. Kim's response rises instinctively, but it's...likely not what Venkman was expecting. It's uncharacteristically envious in tone. With how easily it seems to bubble to the surface, it doesn't seem to be the first time Kim has said this to himself.
He has something that you've always wanted--something that you'll never have.
The lieutenant is gone from Venkman's immediate presence, but his thoughts take some time to fade.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sometime after 2/11 (cw: drugs, addiction symptoms)
Case in point- in a moment of pure impulsive stupidity, he injected himself with a plasmid relatively early in the month just to be contrary to one Kim Kitsurugi. Considering the fact that Kim isn't the one currently fighting off ADAM withdrawal symptoms, it's safe to say that this is one point wherein the cop was right about something.
For the record, Venkman is furious about that.
It's not long before the powers fade, replaced by cold sweats, nausea, and shakes, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out he's going through withdrawal. It sucks, but Venkman's plan is twofold- get the plasmid out of him, and ride the rest of the symptoms out until they go away. Injecting himself with more of that shit isn't gonna do anything but make him crave it more.
Step one isn't exactly easy, but he's successful. Step two is a bit more nebulous. See, even with the plasmid gone, he still has ADAM in his system. Poisoning him. And nausea turns out to be the least of his concerns. Paranoia bubbles up again- not as potent as it was on the Titanic, but it blends wonderfully with the heightened aggression. He's not a stranger to anger, of course, but this is different. It's something raw, and every perceived slight against Venkman has him fighting the urge to turn things physical.
And once the strings manifest, he gets to deal with all these fun withdrawal symptoms and the emotional pain of distance from the people on the other end of his red strings.
Unfortunately, the man at the other end of a silver string gets to experience it too. In a muted, distilled form, of course. But it's there. And even if Kim isn't initially curious about who's at the end of that string, he'll probably find himself compelled to figure it out at some point, just to find out who's giving him secondhand sickness and why.]
no subject
Kim has several strings attached to his fingers--one red, a few blue and gold, and one silver. The red one seems to lead completely outside of Rapture, so there's no point in chasing after that. The silver would be the easiest to follow after the red, so, after a day or two, he steels himself and begins to follow it.
As he continues to follow the string through the halls of Rapture, the pain seems to grow more intense to the point where he has to stop several times and lean against the wall, just to collect himself again.
Eventually, as he grows closer, the string slackens. Kim turns the corner to look face to face with Peter fucking Venkman. He stops, caught off guard, but it's clear that the silver string connecting Kim is tied around one of his fingers.]
You?
[He sounds...simultaneously incredulous and irked beyond belief. It's not helped by the fact that he feels like he's coming down with the flu.]
no subject
He's turning the corner himself when he nearly walks right into Kim, and Venkman jumps, immediately going on the defensive-]
What the fuck-
[Venkman actually starts to cock his fist back, only recognizing just who he's about to punch in the face just in time. He freezes, but does not lower his hand- unintentionally giving Kim a clear view of his red strings, should he happen to care about that.]
... Get outta my not-house. You don't have a warrant.
[He will hit a guy with glasses. Especially right now.]
no subject
[Frankly, he's kind of tired of it.
Kim takes a small step back, but otherwise doesn't leave. His eyes flit towards the red strings tied to Venkman's hand, but he doesn't acknowledge them. Not something to question right now. Kim stands there, staring down at the bedraggled man before him, Venkman may hear bits and pieces of Kim's thoughts. The words flit in and out of his head like a patchy radio signal.
Red strings...why silver? Questions first.]
I take it that you're not responsible for the strings, then. [He rubs his temple. Where the hell did this headache come from?] Are you alright? You look a bit off.
[More than a bit, actually.]
no subject
What can I say? NYPD hasn't inspired a lotta trust in me.
[I'm used to cops trying to fuck my life over.
If Kim tries to chase that thought for even a second, he'll get snippets of Venkman's perspective from back home- humiliation and fear and pure, boiling rage when Lieutenant Frump trespassed at the firehouse, accusing him of crimes he hadn't committed- This is a nightmare. I'm living in a nightmare. What's stopping him from breaking in again?- prickling of unease and hatred on various occasions the Ghostbusters found themselves tossed in prison- They're gonna shut the containment unit off again, and then we're all fucked. Why do they always forget Gozer once they've got a chance to take us down a peg?- and at the core of it all, the absolutely faintest wisps of memories- Dad says we're moving again. He won't tell me why, but I know. Police cars have been parked across the street a whole lot lately. They're watching us.
Venkman furrows his brow at the thoughts he's picking up from Kim's end- they feel strange, like they didn't come from him, but they're just vague enough for now that he doesn't question them. Yet. He does, however, finally look down and notice just where his silver string leads.]
... Oh, you're kidding me. [So I was right about what silver means.] ... You think I'd tie myself to you? Intentionally?
[He doesn't answer the question of how he's feeling directly, but his thoughts of a few days prior betray him- How long should withdrawal symptoms last? It was only one dose, so it shouldn't be that bad, right? Comparatively, at least.]
no subject
Obviously not. If you'll excuse me, I'm not particularly familiar with how these strings work.
[His tone comes close to frustration. It's just the headache. The thoughts that manage to come through cause Kim's brow to furrow. They feel...foreign. Not entirely belonging to him. Like the headache that seems to ebb and flow every few seconds. Almost as if--
He glances down at the string attached to his finger. Right. Supernatural shit that seems to pop up everywhere in this goddamn place. Kim lets out a faint groan, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. God, dammit. He's not going to leap to immediate conclusions, but it's hard not to at least consider it.
There are faint memories accompanying this idea--a bedraggled man with a red face and terrible mutton chops saying "There must be some sort of dark, sexy, supra-natural twist to this, Kim." and the resigned, exasperated thought that follows--No. Absolutely not. Where the hell does he even get these ideas? We haven't even gone to examine the body yet.]
You injected yourself with a plasmid a few days ago, right? Have you done any more since then?
no subject
Fuck. Telepathy? Really, with you?
[Hey Kim, if you can hear this, admit that all cops are bastards. Also, who's the guy with the mutton chops?]
Red string of fate. Red leads to romantic soulmates, silver is- obviously- enemies, blue and gold I dunno for sure yet. Lucky you. You get to share a title with ol' Dickless.
[I've definitely hated other people more than you, but you're probably the guy I like the least in this dimension, it makes sense.]
It's none of your fucking business. [A beat.] But I only injected myself with one.
no subject
[My thoughts are private. Thank you very much.
Kim doesn't answer the question about the mutton chops, but if Venkman digs, he'll be able to hear thoughts from a few months back--Finally, the detective seems to be sober enough to actually talk about the case, though his gait is still inconsistent...He introduces himself as Raphael Costeau, which is most assuredly a fake name....
As for the strings, Kim briefly glances back towards Venkman's hand--the one that he saw boasting three red strings. Three? I would expect one or two, but...three?]
Well, whatever you did, it seems to be affecting me as well. [Like the goddamn headache. It makes it even more difficult on filtering his thoughts and clamping down on preventing Venkman from listening in on anything he doesn't want to be heard.] Do you need any supplies? Food, water, that sort of thing?
[I am trying to fucking help you, God dammit.]
no subject
Jesus, your police sound worse and worse. You guys let a drunk guy going under a fake name be a detective and work with you? How are you even surprised by how much I hate cops? And-
[That's when Kim begins to contemplate his red strings, and Venkman's reaction is to violently recoil back. His expression is venomous, and everything from his body language to the snippets of his thoughts make him seem more and more like a cornered wild animal. Don't you even fucking dare. Oh, God, if he even thinks about who's on the other end of the strings, Kim can pick up on it- clear your mind, Peter, don't think about them or anything else incriminating.
Bizarrely, Kim will get a vague flash of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man in his head.]
Too bad for you. I'm the one dealing with it firsthand, d'you think I care that you're getting the aftershocks? And I don't want anything you've got to give me.
[You don't have any reason to give a shit about me, except your own well-being. Tough. Maybe I'll self-destruct a little more just for you.]
no subject
How much of this is actual hatred, and how much of this is from the withdrawal symptoms?]
It wasn't my choice to work with him. [He tries to keep his voice level, despite the frustration clouding his thoughts.] He was stationed at a different precinct.
[Some sort of alcohol-induced amnesia. He had to ask me what money was, which was...incredibly worrying. At least he actually does his job, which can hardly be said about the other officers...]
That is an incredibly dangerous idea. You've only rewritten your DNA once, and it seems to be having a severe effect on you.
[What did training say to do in a situation like this? Nothing useful, that's for sure. You had to learn it all from personal experience and by reading books the old-fashioned way. Like they don't even care about the people they're supposed to protect and only serve to clean up the bodies.]
Is anyone else aware of your current condition? Anyone you trust?
[This isn't about the threads.]
no subject
[The answer is automatic, and it's surprisingly honest. Venkman's brain is scrambled up horribly, and he genuinely can't tell anymore how much of anything he feels is influenced by the lack of fresh ADAM in his system. He knows he already disliked Kim, but he can't tell if he was always this furious with him. He can't tell how much of his paranoia is justified.
So Venkman errs on the side of caution, and doubles down on his mental defenses. What little he has left.
Get that guy to rehab, man. And yeah, I'm aware of the irony in me saying that. Don't give the drunken amnesiac a gun and put him in charge of "protecting people".
At Kim's last question, Venkman stares him down, wary and guarded and unbelievably tense. Carefully, he answers:]
Yes. Someone knows.
[The thoughts about the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man grow stronger as Venkman deliberately tries to think of anything but the man who conjured Stay Puft in the first place.]
no subject
Kim folds his arms, still trying to mentally distance himself from Venkman. He doesn't understand the sudden fixation on the strange, cute mascot--well, besides the fact that he's obviously trying to hide something, but it's not the contents that he questions, but the means used to hide it. A memory buried in the deep recesses of his mind, one that Kim doesn't even consciously summon to the forefront of his thoughts--"Hey, Kimball, you gotta stop working so hard. The boys are headin' out to this great place where you can pick up some chicks after work. Wanna come with?"
He hates that nickname. Hates it with every fiber of his being. He hates the sheer unprincipled conduct of his coworkers and the fact that he's stuck with them. He turns back towards the blinking pinball machine to avoid the question.]
I'm going to assume that whoever they are, they can take care of you.
[Something else. Talk about something else, turn off the road before you travel too far.]
I'm curious--were you actually able to use the plasmid's abilities before it wore off?
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Venkman latches onto the new ammunition he has against Kim and throws it right back at him.]
That's right, Kimball. So why're you still here?
[The plasmid worked, alright. But it wasn't worth this.]
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"So you're the pinball policeman? God, I'd love to see the other cases you get put on. Some kid lost their stuffed toy down the sewer? Gonna solve the mystery, Kimball?"
A game that required no skill and a childlike affinity to flashing lights, and he trained for nine months for this stupid case. Him, a thirty-eight year old man--
"--Trauma-and-Stressor Disorder. It's not official by any means, but....--"]
Don't call me that. [He practically snaps at Venkman, voice is unusually harsh. He's trying to rile you up, stupid. Just ignore it. It's not as bad as what he could have said. He exhales sharply, bringing his hand to his temple.] I'm still here because I am concerned about your condition, and it would be highly irresponsible for me to simply leave you here alone.
[Regardless of how much I would prefer to leave, professional duty comes above all.]
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Sorry.
[His voice is just a little softer, the bite having gone out of it. If I'd realized it was that bad, I wouldn't have said it. He's an asshole sometimes, sure, but there's lines he doesn't feel like crossing, even with people he truly despises.
The edge comes back to his tone when he speaks up again.]
I don't need your concern. Or your pity. So take your "professional duty" and shove it.
[Does he even know how terrifying it is, to have a cop snooping around your home, refusing to leave, badgering you with questions? At least people like Frump had superiors, people who might keep him in check. He's got no one to answer to. He could do anything he damn well wants. Not like I can stop him right now.]
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I feel like the more I stand next to you, the worse my headache gets. Kim's brain feels like it's about to explode from the sheer amount of information and the fact he's trying to hold two conversations at once. It doesn't help that the pain from Venkman bounces around in his skull and gets amplified. He needs some way to block all this out, like how Venkman used that strange mascot to prevent Kim from seeing his thoughts. Over the next few seconds, Venkman gets a steady drone of some long, boring novel that Kim read once upon a time--the Revacholian equivalent of "War and Peace".]
Fine. [He glances around at the dilapidated surroundings, taking in the blankets and supplies. The Kim-narrated audiobook doesn't stop, but his defenses are likely weaker than Venkman's (probably) practiced mental barrier.] I'll leave, since your condition seems to become worse the longer I stay here. I would appreciate it if you told me who was helping you so I know you're actually being cared for, but it's not necessary. Does that sound good to you?
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Venkman hardly even noticed the headache until Kim mentions it to him- it's been such a constant of the last few days, he's starting to forget what it was like to live without it. Not only that, but he's spent this whole conversation fueled by adrenaline and rage. With the possibility of Kim finally leaving, some of that fight is going out of him, and he can focus again on the way his head pounds, of how much effort it's really taking to keep his body upright.
The sound of Kim mentally reciting the driest shit he's ever heard this side of Egon does not at all help, and Venkman grimaces, fighting through the feeling of his skull splitting in half to take another potshot at Kim.]
Plead the fifth. 'm not telling you shit.
[Though before Venkman can cling to Stay Puft once more, something flashes in his weakened mind, a memory tinged with quiet, tired pleasure- Venkman curled up against someone, one of the other person's arm's around his, his face pressed into their chest as he breathes slowly, evenly- almost asleep. He eyes the hand laced in his, and how short the red string connecting them is, now. He knows the other person is asleep, but he raises the hand to his lips and kisses it on the knuckles anyway, gently- a gesture that winds up being more for his own benefit than for the other's. Every part of his body and mind hurts, but he has this, and for now, it's enough to keep him going. To keep him alive. And he knows they're not safe, here, not really, but at least they're together. He closes his eyes.
Kim almost certainly doesn't catch the full memory- only a snippet of his thoughts during it. But once it's done flashing through his mind he'll find Venkman is shaking- either from the illness wreaking havoc on his body or fury, it's hard to tell. Probably both. He takes a step back- more of a stumble, really- and leans one hand on the wall to keep himself standing.]
Get out.
[Of his head? Of the building? Probably both.
Definitely both.]
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He tries to keep his mind on other things--police radio codes and signals, how the engine of a Coupris Kineema creates the distinct sound that so many people complain about, the mechanics of the cranes that lift cargo crates in the harbor. But this headache makes his fingers itch to reach for the cigarette he knows is in his pocket--the cigarette he saves for his nightly ritual of going over the day's events. Would it be worth it to break his own rules to deal with the pain?
The doubt is enough to make Kim's barrier falter slightly, and Venkman's thoughts inadvertently seep through the cracks. Kim's response rises instinctively, but it's...likely not what Venkman was expecting. It's uncharacteristically envious in tone. With how easily it seems to bubble to the surface, it doesn't seem to be the first time Kim has said this to himself.
He has something that you've always wanted--something that you'll never have.
The lieutenant is gone from Venkman's immediate presence, but his thoughts take some time to fade.]