[Semi-Open] DYWTYLM

[ablativeholopleather]

Who: Wayne and CR
What: Trying to cope with the changes around here
When: Any time after leaving The Tube Room
Where: Throughout the ship
Warnings: Depression and existential ennui


Do you duck into deep blue safety? (All CR)
Wayne practically lives up on Deck Six, where he can get a decent amount of sun, soak in the hot tubs, or go and hide out down in the bottom of the pool when it doesn't seem as if anyone would notice or worry about him with everything else that's been happening in the aftermath. He keeps to where he can have an eye out on others coming and going when he's not down underwater. Which he is fairly often, likely to the chagrin of a few that know that he does this sometimes, regardless of whether or not they know he doesn't actually need to breathe. Nowadays at least he's got a relatively simple lifeline: A water-tight bag for his phone. It's not a perfect or permanent solution, but it's better than not having it at all. It means if someone wants to get ahold of him when he's down there, they can.

Someone may also simply spot him down there as they walk by, or do laps. His yellow kind of sticks out against the blue of the pool bottom.

Do you know what it is? (Close CR)
Wayne spends more time away from the rest of the ship now than he had in the months since his arrival. Call it depression, call it self-isolation, either way, the result is the same. He doesn't leave Cabin 144 for days at a time. At least he's clean, if a little bit cluttered, his bed remaining unmade most of the time and his cat figures still sitting on every available surface. There are even a couple of new ones, by now enough that he thinks perhaps he should label them.

For now, he simply exists on his own, sometimes plucking idle tunes without the need for an amplifier, other times simply dissociating in the familiar dimness of the cabin. He won't ignore anyone that comes to check in, but they may notice the light compression patches on his skin where he's leaned his head against the side of the couch or a wall for long periods.

Are you trying to live? (Wildcard)
Wayne looks lost, more often than not these days. He's been given a lot to think about recently, and all of it comes back to the sheer, crushing weight of the anxiety. It may have shifted in form, but it is very much something that he now lives with on a more present level. And now, other people know that it's a problem. Which in and of itself is a problem.

No matter where he ends up, be it the Lounge where he'll generally be curled up with a book from the library, or staring out of a window with the most dead-eyed expression, or at Sand Dollars or Stellar in the morning, Windjammer or Mikabo in the evening, or just up wherever there's a rail that he can sit beside, arms crossed atop it and eyes out on the not-so-infinite water.

It's getting harder to be (myself) (Closed, for Gil)
They needed to talk about things. He knows that. It's hard to think when he's not around the man, and he knows it's because of the attachment that he's long since given up on the idea of it being friendly or platonic. He's nervous, oh yes, but he also realizes that he can't just say that Gil is humoring him or playing along and letting him down as slowly and gently as possible. But he needs to know where they stand in the days following the head chamber, and the hourglass chamber that they'd awoken in. He needs to see him.

can I visit?

A message sent off late in the evening, when most everyone else seemed to be about to turn in. Nevermind that he's leaning against the wall opposite Gil's cabin door, wavering back and forth on whether to just invite himself in. In the end, he opts simply to wait.

I cannot hope to give you what I cannot give myself (Closed, for Crichton)
He'd promised to fix Crichton's shattered nose as soon as he had the material for it. Unfortunately, this had taken a few days thanks to the broken new system of restocking. Maybe not long at all in the grand scheme, but at least a couple of days longer than would have been preferable. But in the end, he's found what he needed: a cupcake, with pink frosting and plain white paper. He's already headed toward where he'd last spotted his friend, and doesn't actually think to take out his phone to warn the man that he's on his way. After all, he's got a cupcake! This is phenomenal news that needs to be delivered in person!

"Commander! Guess what!"

Smile back...at me...oh please... (Closed, for Helena)
He needed to sleep so badly, he had ended up passing out in his cabin before he could actually touch base with Helena again. He'd spent so long out of commission that it wasn't for another couple of days that he messaged her, already feeling guilty over the idea that he'd managed to worry her yet again.

remember when i was talking abt the cats in my cabin
and you talked about a larva

He's looking up at the pretty frosted crystal cat that represents her, now with her name written on its underside in marker.

Comments

smile.

[decrypter]

Yes. Do you want to see it?

She had let him sleep. Let him settle in and recover, because she knew he'd need the peace and the solitude. But it was also selfish - because she had to reinforce all her seams, to be something soft and intact for others to fall against. The haze that gripped them all those first few days, that was enough time to cling close to safe places and try to settle the mind from sand and broken glass shards and chaos and ice, biting wind, snowdrifts higher than the self, it's so cold-

No, that's just her.

But still, when the text comes, she responds near immediately.

[ablativeholopleather]

yeh

They'd both needed time to collect themselves, to put the pieces back together to be better for one another. Be strong enough that they could support one-another while they were feeling particularly low. But that just meant that they were both in the same boat here, didn't it? Metaphorically speaking.

which cabin?

[decrypter]

I'll bring it to yours. I'll see you soon.

It will take her a bit to get there. Not because she's far, but because manipulating a large plush without dragging it on the floor when you are as big as it, and wielding a cane, is a complicated task. The larva is unhelpful for all of its many legs, and she half wonders if there wasn't a better way to do this. But she gets to the cabin number on her mental map, and knocks on the door with a tap-tap-tap.

When Wayne opens the door, he'll see the pair of them, the woman and the stuffed larva with the head like the moon.

Are you trying to live? (Sand Dollars)

[theotherright]

Sand Dollars is short-staffed on ghosts today, and Arthur is failing badly at making his own coffee. If you've never tried to use a commercial coffee machine before, then 'while blind and lacking caffeine' is not the ideal time to teach yourself.

Lacking an audience, he's instead talking to himself -- "No, that's not the same handle... All right, a-and the third button was... water? Yes, water. So then what does this one..." -- as he pulls and twists and nearly scalds himself about a dozen times. It's half frustrating, half almost enjoyable, and more the latter the more he thinks of it as an unhurried puzzle rather than as a barrier between himself and a caramel latte. But boy oh boy, that doesn't mean he won't jump at the chance for someone else who knows what they're doing to take over on the bloody thing.

He hears the door swing open and then shut, and pauses with his hands on completely the wrong levers, turning an ear towards the sound. Hopefully: "Is that Ava?"

[ablativeholopleather]

Wayne knew that things were strange these days, stock rotating at much less regular intervals, ghosts nowhere to be seen, people having to take the place of staff and expand their skillsets. Which, apparently, includes men like Arthur struggling to make the coffee maker. His first instinct, to make himself known and offer his assistance, is squashed down violently by the impression that if he got close enough, that the man might swing on him for his part in the debacle that had apparently ended his relationship.

Arthur's hearing might pick up the sound of a nervous swallow and the creak of leather, held breath and an attempt not to be heard. What's the point, though? He's already been noticed, and trying to pretend he hasn't will only make the man more suspicious, and probably less inclined to let him be around long enough to make himself a cup of tea.

"Nah, just me," he says quietly, his hands shoving into his pockets. "Uh...Next button over, by the way."

[theotherright]

Arthur's face goes through faint puzzlement as he tries to place the voice, then realisation, and then... it grows guarded. Much of that debacle is a blur in his memory, and trying to recall a tidy through line of A to B to C is like trying to pick light scatter out of a whirlpool; but individual details stand out and one of them is Wayne.

Arthur definitely did a lot of yelling that morning, and he wouldn't be surprised if some of it was at Wayne. Which is objectively a dick move, though one that's hard to separate emotionally from the fact that this is Crichton's friend, who showed up to help Crichton. Who is probably on Crichton's side in this conflict over what he did in Arthur's memories, if Crichton's still in the habit of sharing details of their relationship with anyone who asks. (This is unfair. It wasn't anyone who asked. It was only enough to feel like a public spectacle by Arthur's locked-down no-visitors standards of privacy.)

It flashes through his mind that Wayne's here to confront him, but he decides not to assume that. Arthur is at least trying not to be the main character.

In the end, the sheer nervousness of Wayne's response is both annoying and... chiding, in a way.

"Oh," says Arthur, a little closed-off, a little wary, a little guilty. "Right. I..." Oh god, he's being helpful. "Right. Er-- this one, you mean?"

be yourself

[breakaleginhalf]

trick question
still dont have a roomie so you dont even need to knock

It's not like he can say he's not thinking about it, either; not that he knows the depth that Wayne is spiralling is easily on par with his own. Relationships were complicated enough without one party being completely blind to the complex societal dance that composed humanity's side. He wished it was that simple.

im home rn

And honestly, the discussion is probably overdue.

[ablativeholopleather]

He hates that it has to be so complicated. Why can't he just march in there, slap his heart down on the table, and get a definite answer to the big questions?

...wait, why can't he just do that? It would make things so much simpler. They could move on to other things that humans seemed to consider important on the relationship front, too. What was required, what was useless pomp and circumstance, what they could muddle through with both of their respective experience and expectations.

Wayne only hesitates for a second with his hand on the door handle the instant he's given the go-ahead. It opens just enough to admit him then closes again as if he's trying not to disturb the quiet, posture more squared up and braced than he might have normal been.

"......Hey."

[breakaleginhalf]

It's Gil's turn to be lying on the couch under a blanket, which shifts to reveal half his face (under the Mask, it would be just his snout poking out), before he moves into a kneel and tosses the blanket around his shoulders instead.

"Hey." He takes one look at how tense Wayne's standing. "You wanna come get some blanket?"

Do you duck into deep blue safety?

[seethesun]

So Wayne here's the deal; down at the bottom of the pool there manifests a cloud of purple light. After approximately one second, Eleanor - clad in her armored diving suit, massive needles protruding from its arms - scatters the light by appearing inside it, sending a ripple through the water by displacing it.

Her porthole turns yellow as she realizes she's not alone, and then when she sees it's Mister Wayne it turns green again. Slowly she lifts a hand and offers a silent wave.

[ablativeholopleather]

Most people might immediately be alarmed by the apparition of a long, suited, helmed someone where previously there had been none. But none of them had seen the things that he had on the regular since he was very young. He knows better than to react with anything more than polite interest. It morphs into something close to relief when he realizes that he recognizes the suit, if not the helmet with its glow. Eleanor.

He can't speak up like this, so he simply lifts a hand in return. He smiles faintly, a small plume of bubbles escaping his nose.

[seethesun]

On the one hand Eleanor would like to talk to Mister Wayne and on the other she did come to use the pool. So she'll do that; Eleanor jogs at a shocking clip under the water, far faster than she logically ought to, making thoughtful circuits of the deep end

She'll surface when Mister Wayne does.

Do you duck into deep blue safety?

[actuallyawolf]

Ylva had come to swim, because if nothing else it was something different, something to get her mind off of... well, everything. This is a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

And for a moment, she stares at Wayne on the bottom of the pool, wondering if he's okay. Maybe this is normal? Unsure. She shifts into the shape of a river otter, a favourite of hers for aquatic situations, and slips down under the surface to investigate, swimming gracefully down to look him in the face.

[ablativeholopleather]

The movement around him in the water draws his attention, Wayne's eyes tracking the movement of the weird little water animal. His hand lifts, fingers wiggling a bit in the water in a wave. He doesn't recognize her, but hey, another small animal friend is always nice to have.

He can't speak like this, but he can blow a small stream of bubbles in response to her investigating.

[actuallyawolf]

Her whiskers sweep forward curiously, and she rolls in the water without taking her eyes off of him. Wayne does, at least seem fine, which was her first concern, though it still does seem a little odd.

Is he, in fact, some sort of amphibian? Is he a salamander?

Ylva circles him, then catches at his arm with her webbed paws.

sorry for taking so long to hop in!

[ss_buttcrack]

"Chicken butt?" he says, turning from his place at the rail up on deck and smiling because he already recognized Wayne's voice.

"Sorry. Sorry. Old joke."

<3!

[ablativeholopleather]

"I don't know what a chicken is and therefore that joke sucks," he replies with just as much good cheer. He's gotta give Crichton a hard time sometimes, right?

He holds up his pastry victoriously. "Look! I can fix your face now."

[ss_buttcrack]

"The joke sucks even if you do know what a chicken is." He grins boyishly, taking the light-hearted ribbing in good fun.

But now he's eyeing that cupcake like it's the Holy Grail. "You can? Hell yeah, dude. You're my hero."

wildcard

[pinballer]

Vance doesn't leave his room for a few days after the whole incident with Sparkles, but the one thing he can do in there is practice guitar. A few days of practice isn't much in the long run, but this plus the lessons from before the labyrinth make it the thing he's practiced most next to pinball.

"Hey, I've been practicing," he says, slinging the guitar strap over his shoulder and strumming on it a couple times, "Check this out."

And he starts playing the opening riff from 'Whole Lotta Love'. It's...far from perfect. But it's recognizable at least.

Re: wildcard

[ablativeholopleather]

"Hell yeah dude, lay it on me."

Wayne listens quietly for a moment, head bobbing subtly with it. He joins and builds the riff himself to encourage Vance to follow along with it. He doesn't know the lyrics yet, a lot of his brainpower has been going toward composing rather than remembering, but the riff is simple enough. And it's a good way to learn how to maintain a rhythm.

[pinballer]

He follows along, stumbling a little and getting ahead of himself sometimes. He's bursting with pent-up energy and his fingers move faster than his brain does, something that's great for pinball but not so much for guitar.

"Dammit, this part always trips me up."

Do you duck into deep blue safety?

[sabigoe]

Fio is out and about, accompanied by her levitating teddy bear Judith as usual. She was going to keep walking by the pool, with her head ducked down and trying to avoid too much interaction with anyone if they're upset with her. However, she just cannot ignore that familiar yellow at the bottom of the pool. No, she does not know that he doesn't need to breathe. And she doesn't know how to swim either...

"Mister Moon?!" She exclaims out loud in a panic. Glancing around, she's already trying to find someone that could dive down and... save Wayne. No one else is around. So... she just starts shouting at the water.

"Mister Moon, Mister Moon! Get up!"

[ablativeholopleather]

Not a lot of people on the boat actually know this about him. It's not information that he volunteers without a reason, so finding him down here like this...yeah, it's gonna be alarming.

He can hear relatively well thanks to the way his "ears" are structured, and as soon as he hears the frantic shouting, he looks up, then pushes off from the bottom of the pool, hands popping up out of the water to grab onto the edge, holding on and glancing around. Was there danger? What was happening?

"Hey little bug. What's goin' on?"

do you know what it is

[busball]

Klaus makes a point to insert themself into the lives of the people that they care about, which means knocking on the door of Wayne's room. "It's me. I'm cute and you have to open the door by the rule of bestfriendship."

[ablativeholopleather]

The door opens wide enough for his head to poke out and regard Klaus dully. This isn't even the first time someone's said that at him, amusingly enough. Decres had on occasion wormed herself into his space in much the same way.

"Sup?"