come_sailaway | [Semi-Open] DYWTYLM

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[Semi-Open] DYWTYLM

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.

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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.

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?"

Edited 2023-05-13 10:19 (UTC)

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.

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."

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?"

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.

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?

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.

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."

Gil looks a little worse for wear, but that may simply be thanks to the general state that all of them are in right now, combined with looking like he'd just been woken up from a nap.

"Heck yeah." No hesitation as he pulls the laces of his boots and shoves them off to leave by the door, before tucking himself down onto the couch against Gil's side, posture slouched over and legs crossed. "Sorry if I woke you up."

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.

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.

Wayne thought he'd known what to expect. After all, she'd said that she had somehow acquired a plush larva in seemingly the same way that he came across his kittens. He was not, however, prepared to see something that looked like a life-sized version of a Wayne larva looking like she's having to haul it around like a sack of clothes. There's a pause, then a quiet snort of a laugh before he reaches for it to free up her hands.

"It's bigger than you," he notes, the smile obvious in his voice. He stands back to let her pass, trusting that she could navigate the space. It's not any different from the rest of the cabins, after all.

"Most things tend to be."

She yields the soft creature to him, amusement in her voice as she gets free and follows him inside. Though it's not a place she knows by heart, the layout is the same, and it means she knows where to take up a post by the sofa. There's a quiet feeling of relief to hear Wayne's voice, to know he's there as he should be and not melting into a puddle.

"You see why I needed to keep it somewhere with room. It just showed up one day, as if it let itself in."

Fascinating as it is to watch Eleanor doing laps back and forth in the water, he needs to surface sooner or later. He can't talk like this, or use his phone inside the bag it's in after all. He ends up walking toward the edge of the pool after a while, walking much as one might on the surface of the moon, unable to swim up and out and so finding it easier just to walk back to the steps where he'd be able to sit on the edge.

He waits for Eleanor to break for air in kind, the water seeping onto the deck around him and leaving him sitting in a puddle.

"Nice helmet," is the greeting she gets.

"One tries," Eleanor answers back playfully. "The aesthetic has a certain charm." She removes said helmet and sets it into telekinetic orbit around her. "Forgive my curiosity, Mister Wayne, but - do you need air to live?"

He hadn't admitted to her that he's probably going to be more susceptible to it now, at least for a little while. He's solidified enough not to be at risk and that should be enough.

Wayne cradles the plush like a baby, its tail curled up between all of its little legs and head over his shoulder, much like he would hold a real one. He curls it into more of a ball to hold easier in one arm, reaching with the other for Helena's figure.

"Here, check this out." He holds it out for her to take and examine. "This one's yours."

"I like it," he replies easily. He shifts to lean his weight back on one hand. The question gets a blink, then a shrug. "Not really. I mean I can still die if I'm down there too long but I only strictly need to breathe if I wanna talk."

She holds her hands open to take it, her fingers running over the shape, texture, lines. It's interesting - this is hers? It feels like it was made from a nice stone, or glass that wouldn't break if you dropped it accidentally.

"I think it's so sweet...how did you know it was mine?"

Her fingertips run on the glass to "pet" the cat, as gentle as she'd be to a real one.

"I don't really know. Sort of like intuition I guess. This one's Crichton's-" He takes a little astronaut-shaped figure, its cat features hidden behind a bubble of plastic and holds it out for her to feel, then returns it to where it had been sitting. He touches each one where it rests and names off each person that they belong to. It's clear that he's touched by their presence, the fondness apparent as he describes the ones that he can. The ones that he can't, he still tells Helena what they look like. He doesn't know what a lion-dog is, but there's a large yellow ornamental one that sits on the floor beside the couch, a few inches off from where Helena is perched. That one is Gil's, he explains.

"Nah, man, you're like the one person that's never gonna be a bother doing it." Because he's immediately shifting to throw some blanket around Wayne and snuggle into his shoulder. He's definitely still immediately post-nap; he's a furnace.

"What's eating you up?"

She touches them, admires them, gives them the attention they deserve. Marks of friendship left across his life, given form by some magic, letting him know they're there. He's far, far from alone, with all of his connections - it shows, by their variety, their textures, their uniqueness. She laughs, and greets them, and pets the ones she can, delighted to bask in their presence.

And when there's a lull, she pauses.

"...I actually have something for you, aside from showing you the larva. Hold out your hand for me?"

Wayne moves to shrug off the leather jacket he'd chosen to wear rather than keeping his jumpsuit on straight, folding it loose in his lap to make room for the lap and let Gil get as close as he wants. There's a pattern on the back that looks very much like his head, though with ripples of color indicating flesh melting off.

"Lots of stuff," he admits with a soft crinkle of his brow. He's thinking about how he wants to phrase things. "Uh. First, there's this-" he holds out the jacket, "even though I know it's not gonna fit the really long arms. It's band merch. We made it ourselves."

Gil's ears prick forward, but his delight is readily available to Wayne because he's also grinning broadly as he takes the jacket to investigate. "Oh, dude, that's sick as. I love it."

Then the 'arms' comment registers and he looks back at Wayne in surprise. "Wait, you're giving it to me?"

"Fascinating. It was surprising but not unwelcome to see you down there - I shall be more careful entering in the future. With how still you were being, and, well, light refraction..."

She's not gonna say she mistook him for a diving toy.

"...You were hard to spot from the surface, but now I know the signs."

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[Semi-Open] DYWTYLM

smile.

Are you trying to live? (Sand Dollars)

be yourself

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Do you duck into deep blue safety?

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