So Wake Me When It's Over

[crushed_pearls]

Who: Erin Peters, Close CR, and YOU
What: Aftermath of the excursion and trying to emotionally recover
When: December 27th through first ten days of January or so
Where: Cabin 134, Various
Warnings: Excursion stuff, Lost bullshit, probably talks about sex & relationships



I Wanna Start By Feeling Human [Cabin 134]

Five days Erin stays in her cabin. She's not hiding, exactly; people with whom she has standing appointments get asked if they can reschedule, or move to her room for them (SecUnit in particular is invited for sleep time). The people she suspects might worry about her get a text (I am taking some time to not be around people. My cabin if you need me.) so as not to stress them out further in the aftermath of the excursion.

After the first day, though, in which Erin is essentially a depressed vegetable, a couple specific people get texts.

Ruby

Please tell me you are back up and about. I am in my cabin if you want to talk in person but please at least send a text.

Bash

You alive buddy? You got hit pretty hard. Been worried.

Dimitri

How are you holding up youngblood? Dedue said you got the business something fierce.

Ava

Sincerely sorry to bother you but Undine does not seem to be answering texts and I am very worried. Please tell me that I have just somehow offended her and that she is okay.

Ossie

Did you call your shot on feathers buddy? We need to talk if so. Might also beg you to bring some tea to my cabin in the process.

Fire Won't Scare The Monsters Sober (Tauva, Windjammer + Closed To Siffleur)

Erin tells herself she's going to try to get back into her routine when she emerges. She doesn't. Her feet take her to the Promenade and from there to Tauva, and she spends her days haunting a table, smoking flavored cigars and sometimes dragging ass to the buffet to sustain her mortal form. She's tired. She's so very fucking tired. Appointments to spar or train go unfilled, she doesn't show up for her swim with Helena, barely remembers to go back to the cabin to sleep.

At some point, though, she remembers to take a present with her from her cabin and lurches, like a dead thing, into the Infinite Tommy Bahama with a wreath of leaves and branches clutched to her chest, looking for Siffleur.

Wildcard

As always I'm on Discord if you need me

Comments

tauva

[goodweather]

Phil all but drags himself in. His feathers are a wreck, and the rest of him looks like one too.

He grabs something from the bar, drops himself into a seat next to her and says nothing while he cuts his own cigar.

Re: tauva

[crushed_pearls]

Erin opens her box of them and hands Phil a cigar from it. "Bourbon dipped. The box seems to restock itself."

No need to bring up that he looks like shit. They both do.

[goodweather]

“Thanks.”

Cut, lit, smoke.

Phil slumps backwards in the chair—well, that’d explain the feathers—takes a sip of whiskey, and just. You know. Sits.

[crushed_pearls]

Erin puffs on hers. Is quiet, for a long while.

Then:

"I'm not sure I was ready for this to not be the big man's fault. Hits...different."

[goodweather]

Sighs.

“Some part of me figured it would’ve been too easy if it was. Even when it pointed at Skulduggery, I thought it was too easy to say he did it and that was that.”

… “Well, I was right. And wrong. I had no idea that armor even existed. … I guess that was the point.”

A sip of whiskey. “I’m getting really tired of being blindsided by magic horseshit.”

[crushed_pearls]

"Mmm. Mood. I am magic bullshit and mood. But." Erin sighs, smoke trickling out her nose. "Power is power is power. Skulduggery was very insistent in how he framed events and...I am inclined to believe him. Is the armor so different from an alcoholic unknowingly taking a drink, or a soldier waking from a bad dream with their gun to hand?"

"...Was a bit there where I really worried I'd done it. Had a break and caught some new brand of crazy, or went on a tear dreaming I was Liz still."

[goodweather]

“… It usually worries me that I can’t stand up to most of the people here. Not when it… comes down to it. At least I get to say that everyone I know would beat the hell out of me before I could become really dangerous.”

[crushed_pearls]

"...Yeah. That's some advanced anxiety, but it's not like it's better to feel powerless." Erin scoffs, mostly at herself. "You know, Eddie was wishing he had magic, early December? I told him power's basically a currency. Never finished the train of thought because I woulda ended up in an endless digression about this Shinto priestess who kicked the shit out of me in San Francisco, but...when she was leaving me in a gutter to think about my life choices she said somethin' to me that's kinda stuck, about money. Said you can't take it with you, but a lack of it will put you in debt to sorrow."

Erin transfers her cigar to her other hand. Leans back in her chair. "...I feel like that might be about more than money. Y'know?"

[goodweather]

“Everything takes moderation,” he murmurs. “It’s always possible to have too much of something. Or not enough.”

Hmmmf. “It’s not like I have nothing anymore, I know, but…”

[crushed_pearls]

"...I'm not gonna put words in your mouth buddy. But what?"

Erin scoots her chair back. Phil has the right idea with the whiskey, and she goes to the bar to order a glass of apple whiskey for herself.

[goodweather]

"It's still not enough if I want to be able to do anything."

Sure, sure, brains over brawn, ingenuity and all that bullshit. What's a snowball to a pile of evil fucked up shadow armor, or even just an actual trained swordsperson? Nevermind the crazy fantasy magic stunts the ones here like to pull?

Being moral support doesn't feel like it's enough.

[crushed_pearls]

"On a purely practical level, I can help there," Erin murmurs. She takes her apple whiskey back to her seat and seems like she has all intention of nursing it slowly. "Finding more...harmfully creative applications of your powers is something I'm equipped to do, all of my magic is weird and sideways, the inhuman strength aside. Swordplay I can also teach, but warning up front there will be hours at a time, for days, where you hold a hunk of metal and learn how to breathe correctly. No one likes that part. The students don't like that part, the teachers don't like that part, the sword doesn't even like that part. It'll still save your life."

But.

"...Are you asking for such help, from me? Or just...thinking out loud?"

[goodweather]

Phil takes a thoughtful drag of his cigar while she talks, and when he has to answer, considers.

"Both. I think."

[crushed_pearls]

"...Alright then. You'll need a weapon of your own."

Erin scoots back. Unbuckles her saber from where it rests beneath Bifrost, and sets it on the table. "In better circumstances we'd see a swordsmith. Ruby might be able to help you out there, if she still has material, but until then Bad Penny here will see you right. When we get started I'll show you how to care for her first."

[goodweather]

“I—oh. … Thank you.”

Phil carefully rests a few fingers along the blade. Like she said, he knows that ideally, they’d see a smith, and their options here are limited; and it’s not as if Erin is disarmed by giving him a blade of her own. Still, he’s… very touched.

“Darcy has been showing me steps for a while now, so you know.”

[crushed_pearls]

"Sounds like Darcy," Erin agrees with a fond smile. "She's got a passion for the discipline. And if you'd like to get better with your hand to hand, I or Peter Smith may be useful there. Mind you..."

Erin holds her free hand out over the table, palm up, and talons to match Phil's extend from her fingers.

"...Give me some time and I might have something directly relevant."

[goodweather]

Phil's brow goes up in surprise. Right, he always forgets she can just do stuff like that.

"I wouldn't say no," he says in a tone that implies that he is very much saying yes. It's about time he learned to do something better with them than catch and rip holes in his shirts.

[crushed_pearls]

"It'll be a hit minute. My hand to hand is less of a mongrel than my swordplay, it's mostly Savat. Closed fist style."

Obvious talon compatibility problems there.

"...You lose something, practicing violence," Erin warns in a soft voice. "You're high on the list of people I trust to be dangerous, but keep it in mind. Patience and compassion need to be your allies on this road, as they have been so far."

[goodweather]

Phil glances off thoughtfully, cigar smoldering in one hand and whiskey nursed in the other. There's a long moment as he rolls her words around. I'm doing it to protect people, he could say, but then, don't most? The blood is still had. Eye for an eye, tooth, claw, and nail. If he can take on the responsibility, it won't be one he can walk away from.

Erin, at least, can tell that he takes her warning seriously.

"I just don't know what else I'm supposed to do."

[crushed_pearls]

"I tend to agree with the old proverb that it's better to be a warrior in a garden than a gardener in a war. But I'd be remiss not to warn you about sword-law." Erin sighs, and sips her own whiskey. "It's your choice. I even agree, but."

But.

"One of us should tell Darcy or we'll both catch hell when she finds out."

[goodweather]

Oh, right. He distantly recalls that she and Erin are not on the best terms. "You mean that I asked you to be my teacher? Better that it's from me than you. She'd understand, I think, even if she didn't like it."

Halloween was a shitshow.

[crushed_pearls]

"Nah, not that you asked me. That you didn't ask her."

The difference is key. Darcy is a proud and fierce lass, and pride doesn't bow to logic.

[goodweather]

"Oh. No, see, I did ask her, and she is my teacher. My first one. She still has that over you. I'm in Fight Club and she's been teaching me how to use a sword, I just... want more. Need more, I guess, I don't know, maybe it's dumb, I--"

Phil sighs. As he talks, his voice begins to raise. "I need more... I need to work. I need to be busy, and I have--I can't just keep using my time on nothing like this."

[crushed_pearls]

"I understand. Though we do still have whittling." Erin's smile is only a little forlorn. "...Same day as fight club would be dumb, over-training will hurt you both literally and metaphorically. Catch you Saturdays up on the sports deck?"

[goodweather]

"We do have whittling," he says, nodding. "Saturdays. I can do that. Should I bring anything?"