come_sailaway | last night i dreamed i met myself at a tango [open]

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last night i dreamed i met myself at a tango [open]

Who: Phil and Friends
When: The rest of May
Where: around
Summary: entering his mitski depression era
Warnings: self-neglect, self-harm, starving on some; see specific prompts

i. and i asked my younger self for a dance [meta] (cw: self neglect, accidental self harm, starving)
[ As soon as it's all over, Phil's carefully-curated schedule and structure finally collapses under the weight. This should have happened a while ago, if he's being honest. Like something had smashed on the floor behind him, leaking all over and into his shoes, and he's only now turning around to look at the mess. But there's no helping the deep-seated disappointment he feels in the utter collapse of his self-regulation, the one that took decades to find the ability to put together and maintain, and about a year's worth to tear apart. Yeah, yeah, that year has been full of some real devastation, but... still. Not all of it. He should be better than this, he should.

After the fallout of that whole insanity, he cancels all of his obligations. (They need a break too.) He sleeps for eighteen hours. And then he does the worst thing, and this is how he really knows he's lost it: he doesn't eat for two days. He stays in his room, talking to nobody and doing nothing. Every time he even thinks about approaching the door of his cabin he feels like his gut is full of wet sand, so he just... doesn't. It turns out that no amount of avoiding cutlery or railings is enough to really keep him safe from himself. (God, especially with these fucking talons. He keeps scratching himself by accident right now and it is really not helping things. He's already gone all the way and shredded a pillow and stuffed it into the trash can. He'll... take it out later.)

In Punx, he was never able to starve to death, but there'd be weeks of loops where he just wouldn't bother. It all reset the next morning anyway. Phil hits that familiar point of hunger, and then he hits the point where he isn't hungry anymore, and it doesn't matter enough for him to want to leave.

Not until he stands up and his whole body trembles with the effort, and he thinks, oh, I really need to eat something. ]

ii. but myself didn't have time for me (buffet, night) (cw: light injury)

[ At five in the morning he stumbles from his cabin. Shaky, hurried, sleep-deprived, and uncoordinated, when he kicks the door shut behind him, he's walking before he can notice that it's closed on his feathers and they're wrenched out of him. ]

Fuck, [ he hisses under his breath. ] Ow, fuck. Fuck. Shit.

[ He opens the door and stoops to pick up the broken feathers. Two primaries. They're huge. The neglect of his wings is an open secret by now, but this damage is more visible than anything he's done to himself so far. Even people who aren't familiar with feathers are going to notice. What does he do with these? If he carries them outside then he risks someone seeing him with his own ripped-out feathers in hand and he doesn't want to explain himself to anyone right now. If he just throws it back inside, then next time Darcy throws herself at him, she's going to see, and she's going to kick his ass.

He does eventually leave. He gets to the deck without issue, holding them under a cardigan, and drops them into the sea. (It takes them seven minutes to reach the water.) Then he turns back, wings tucked in tight, and picks blearily through Windjammer. So. That's where he is. ]

iii. didn't have time for anyone so used up (kitchens, any time)

[ If these had gotten here a month ago he probably would've been a lot more thrilled to see this. But half of cooking is cleaning. As it is right now, the idea of going through all the steps to put something together by his own hand is mind-numbingly exhausting, but he's still here to poke through the new oddity here and there. This will make a lot of people happy, he's sure. ]

iv. so she danced alone (deck, any time)

[ You know. Sometimes instead of staring at a wall for two hours, he's staring out over the sea and the sky, perched up on a roof where most people won't be able to get to him. He's up there with his clipboard and his weather instruments and a book, taking readings every half hour. It's something to do that feels even mildly productive without feeling like too much. ]

v. and i sat in a chair, by the wall (cabins, any time)

[ He's also spending a lot of aforementioned time lying about his cabin. You can knock, or send him a message, and he'll... maybe answer. Depends on who you are and how he's feeling on that particular hour. ]

vi. all alone... staring at my phone (wildcard)

(( ooc: got any other ideas? hmu! ))

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[ Sometimes a sentiment must be worn plainly. Darcy's too worn out for games or minced words.

On some level she knows that the 'angel' who visited her was Phil. Even in her addlement on that night, she knows. The rest of her life doesn't make sense if she'd received such kindness when she'd died, even now it feels strange trying to square the circle of her loathing of humanity with what he'd said.

Faith might require proof, but it's also a sort of absurdity in itself. That Phil might have been himself and also speaking for something greater unknowingly, that's not too far to stretch from her own beliefs. It's still meaningful, even if it's not true. It's something to hold onto, like old familiar words and beads worn smooth. And there is still nowhere she feels safer than wrapped up in his wings. Phil feels safe. Not just unthreatening, but actively protecting. Is this what it feels to feel certain? To have a soft place to land?

She shifts a little, reaching a hand to carefully stroke his feathers with the back of her fingers. ]

Did you have dinner? I was going to make something, like, for myself. In a bit. If you wanted, or anything.

No, [ he lies. ] I'll help you cook.

[ Even as he offers, he doesn't move. Let them sit like this for a while longer. Let him eat his half of this moment, greedily, indulgently, let him stay, let him stay, let him hold her for a little bit more, just in the way he couldn't when his name fell onto that LED screen like a guillotine blade. Just in the way he couldn't when there were still people who needed them to move. If this greed is a sin, then fine; let him go to hell. ]

[ Darcy's sure not going anywhere. She heaves a sigh, settling in like a cat in a lap, continuing to lightly pet his wings. They're more powdery than she ever expected a bird's wings to be. But then, the shimmer of a magpie's wings always seemed to be more light than substance when she watched them on the roof of the basilica, and Phil's wings are solid as the rest of him.

What else is there to say? Speaking plainly wrings out all that needs to be said, leaving only a comfortable silence, still damp with meaning. She's not going anywhere. She's not going anywhere. ]

[ Dinner is good, after they finally allow themselves to stand. The night is loping, tired, and sweet.

And even later, Phil shuts the door of his cabin behind him, holding a pair of white fuzzy-lined heeled boots, and starts walking. ]

At some point I started buying these for her. They're her style, and her toes always froze because she wears inappropriate socks, so I figured they'd work well for her. They're the first thing I saw of her on the 3rd. She loved them. Only wore them on occasions because they get dirty easily. [ He turns them over, tapping out a particular scuff on the sole. ] See this? This is from getting attacked by a seagull. That's how I know they're hers.

I have to know how she got attacked by a seagull on the bottom of her shoe. Was she trying to kick a seagull?

[ Have you ever tried to punch a bird?

Darcy fidgets with one of the rings she's wearing- she's not bringing anything to the memorial this time, unwilling as she is to let go of any of the traces of her loved ones just yet. She presses the pad of her thumb into the teeth of one of the tiger-themed rings, knowing already that it's too blunt to draw blood. ]

They're nice boots. She has good taste.

Yes. Well, kind of. We were sitting down, and there was a bunch of them trying to steal her food and she was swatting at them with her foot because her hands were full.

[ He already has the photos of her in his wallet, and... to be honest, the boots have been burning a hole in his closet ever since he got them from Sundries. They don't even fit him. They're just... there. At least now, he might feel like they're doing something besides taking up room in a place that she's missing from. (Phil hasn't missed the way that he hasn't had a roommate in almost a year.) ]

Yeah. She generally didn't dress up for stuff, but the boots were a favorite of hers. This watch is from her, too. [ He flashes his wrist. ] Birthday gift.

[ Huh. Rita Connors, the sort of woman who kicks a seagull. Badass. Darcy nods in clear approval, wishing once more that Rita... well, in the same way as many people, both that she was here and not here. Darcy would've loved to meet her. ]

What was it... feel free to tell me to fuck off, if this is too personal. But... what was it like falling for her in the loop? With her not remembering you and everything.

[ There's a sad sort of smile there. ]

Well, at first, I didn't. You know I was a piece of work, right? Total asshole. I mean, before I went all suicidal I was fully hedonistic. I ate and slept around as I pleased. I sleazed my way into so many beds, but... not hers. I could never get her. She's too smart for that. Always saw right through me.

That was actually my first, like, realization with how stuck I was. But she's also the one who got me out. I first actually fell in love with her on that, uh... tilt-a-whirl thing that I told you about. By then, I was already used to the loop and I was sort of coming to terms with everything? And I wasn't in a hurry to actually try and date her. She deserved better than me. Especially back then. She didn't need me. Yeah, sometimes I'd wish I had more time, or that she somehow remembered the days that were good with her. But... no. It was okay. I mean, she started every day thinking I was a jerk, but she'd never talk to me like I was until I was a dick to her face. And I could always make her happy all over again.

Just knowing that she existed was enough to keep me sane. ... Still is.

[ Darcy smiles faintly at the story, remembering the tilt-a-whirl and her own encounter with shitheel Phil. There's something courtly about falling for someone and choosing to better yourself instead of just pursuing them, choosing to make them happy for the sake of it rather than any reward. ]

You know, even meeting you back then it's still like... hard for me to put together that he and you are the same person. Were. You know what I mean. Must've looked weird from the outside, ehn, one day you're like that and the next you're you now.

[ They're almost at the memorial by now, and Darcy knocks her wrist against her hip, shifting Undine's bracelet on her wrist. Oh, right, sometimes she even forgets she's still wearing it.

... ]

Are you meant to remember the bad parts, too, when you lose someone you were... [ She's meant to be the expert on death here, ] nevermind. Just thinking out loud.

Yeah. Everyone at the station thought I was either replaced by a pod person or a Russian psyop. You and them didn't get to watch the decades it took to just stop being such a jerk. Which is a good thing. It's messy.

[ Anyway. ]

Well... you're not "meant" to do anything, first of all. But in general, if you remember someone, you're just going to... remember them. All of it, the way you knew them. [ He tries not to pierce the boots with his talons. ] She means more to me than she'll ever know. She also pissed me the hell off sometimes. Sometimes it was justified, sometimes it wasn't. We fought about stupid stuff, like her driving, and not-so-stupid stuff. Like... after her mom had a fall, or about what I did to her in the loop, even though she doesn't remember.

[ Because of course you have to be honest. That last part was less a fight and more her just yelling at him, though. Which is fair. ]

Edited 2023-05-16 06:27 (UTC)

Yeah. Tell me about it.

[ It feels like a mess on her end, and she hasn't even been at it for decades yet.

It felt like a stupid question, but Phil has a way of making any question not seem stupid in how he answers it. She actually turns her head to look at him, both confused and curious, to ask- ]

You told her about it? And she like... stayed with you, after?

I did. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't easy to do at all. It took forever to even decide to, and even longer to work up the nerve to do it. But the question of it was... "do I want her in a relationship with someone who is keeping that from her?" And the answer was no.

This conversation was attached to me coming clean about everything about the loop, which happened because I kept freaking out at work and at home, and it felt like a mistake at first. Completely. She chewed me out, and for a while she didn't trust me. But I felt like I had to, and I figured that if she wanted to end things with someone like that, then, I mean, that was her choice, right? She has to do what's best for her. If I'm not part of that, then... I shouldn't keep her.

[ No ring. ]

But she still wanted to try, thank God. So we did. It was a lot of really hard conversations after that, but it was better for us to work it out. I didn't want to marry her while keeping all of that from her. And if everything did explode, it was better for it to happen while we were still just dating.

Edited 2023-05-16 08:42 (UTC)

[ Darcy falls into a pensive silence as she chews on his answer, tracing it like tributaries back to the main rivers of things he's said. About being able to be angry with people and still care about them. That undercurrent of giving people you care about space to be themselves, to feel how they're feeling... Phil has a nobility to his bearing that Darcy can only hope to emulate, hope to keep emulating where she can with the people she cares about. But there's some stinging relief to it too, that when Undine left her life... there's nothing else she should've done. It was the right thing to do, to let her walk away.

The memorial sits where it always does on the sports deck. Darcy was worried she'd need to set up some signs or a guard for it, but thus far everything has been left where it is. All accounted for. The mallet, the necklace with the snowflake and sun, the bedding. Darcy looks towards him, and rests her wrist on her sword, standing guard while he sets the boots down. ]

[ There's so many things here. There's a lot of things for a lot of people to mourn. That's one of the constants: everyone he knows is in some kind of pain.

And now here's one more: a pair of boots that he tucks into the side, beneath a leaning guitar, near the sun-and-snow necklace that he left here months ago. Phil sighs a deep sigh through his nose. What he's supposed to do now, he's not entirely sure; it's not a funeral procession, and he's not very religious, and it would feel odd to start making good on his few years of going to church as a child now. Last time he'd just dropped the necklace off and left. Now... he should probably do something a little more. Rita's worth more than that. But what, he's not sure.

He stands still, lost in thought. ]

[ When Phil returns from that liminal place between the living and the dead, Darcy eases her guard a little. Now it's her turn, she supposes; it feels like bad luck to visit the memorial and not leave something, her mind turns to superstition to soothe herself just as surely as her peasant ancestors did. Storm clouds into the wild hunt, a bed implying someone sleeping in it.

It takes her a few good long moments to undo the string around her wrist; it stings psychically, to remove the weight that has rested there for so long now. The last time Undine had tied it on was with her teeth, spit cementing it in place, that undercurrent of viciousness the girl always used to have somewhere buried. She knows it'll break the dam on everything she's been putting off. But when the bracelet sits in her hand... the other shoe doesn't fall. The light turning on the cave robs it of its sacred mystery. The terror of opening the box outweighed anything that could be found inside. There is nothing magnificent here, no great romantic wound she has to salt with her tears. It's a few pieces of string tied together by someone who loved her for a while, long ago. And the pain, still omnipresent, is dull as a toothache.

She places the bracelet onto the memorial, next to a couple of other pieces of jewellery, and steps back into line with Phil, surveilling the memorial for any sign of the dead rising back to life again. ]

I wasn't ready.

[ It's all she can think to say. ]

[ Phil watches her do what she has to do. He thinks a little about about how many of them are left since the last year. How many of them are still here, still leaving reminders in a place where they can see them, leaving them in this place, orderly and untouched, without communication to each other; solemn and understood.

Everyone is just a person. Everyone is in some kind of pain. Everyone, at the bottom of it, wants the same thing.

He thoughtlessly reaches to pull her into his side, a hand rubbing her shoulder. ] We usually aren't.

Edited 2023-05-17 01:43 (UTC)

[ She leans into him in turn, resting her head against his arm. She'd shut down entirely when Ruby had told her, had been forced to mourn when they broke up and when she found out about Undine giving her powers up and when they weren't speaking anymore. It was just all pain, all of it, all unending and incomprehensible, insurmountable, inescapable. It was drowning again.

But from this distance, it's... just pain. Like anything. Just grief. She'll shoulder it. She'll survive this. She will keep on living, as she always does, as she's always had to. They'll both lose more people before this is over. Nobody's getting out of life alive.

A silent glance up to Phil's face, and then she rests her hand on his, on her shoulder, wrapping her fingers around it. Holding on. ]

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last night i dreamed i met myself at a tango [open]

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