a drowsy wind blows [open]

[goodweather]

Who: Phil and friends
What: Post-excursion things, hanging about
When: Post-excursion & through August; John’s, ice sculpting, Spring mantle swag
Where: Around
Warnings: Possible references to injury, drowning, etc. from the event; will label as needed

i. we vacantly gaze on the infinity of waves

[for darcy]

Once he chokes down the panic attack, he's on his feet. At least the cabins aren't so far from the infirmary.

It’s a blessing that Security and Darcy are cabin neighbors. He stops by Security’s since it’s first in the hall, but—sounds like there’s already company, and the cabins aren’t big. And Darcy was the one that was losing his mind. So he shoots a text, and knocks at Darcy’s door.

“You there, Darts?”

ii. and the cadence of our gaze

[for security]

The text:

I came by but your cabin seems to be full as it is. I didn’t want to crowd you, but I’m not far.
Tell me when you want me and I’ll come when I can. Busy morning.

iii. becomes our thoughts among the waves

[for erin]

The text comes two days after everyone comes back. It takes him three hours to send.

Hey, hope you’re doing okay. Let me know if you need anything.

Also, can we talk? Heavy topic. Just a lot of feelings.

And he meant to write more, but he doesn’t know what else he could possibly say off the bat.

iv. and i thought i could just dip my toes in

[for CR]

The day they come back is rather squarely dedicated to his closest, but when he can, texts are sent out to those he knows.

Checking in?

v. didn't think i'd lose my soul

[john's]

He’s there in John’s, like he always is. The pauses are a little longer between pieces for the first two weeks or so, more labored, but he plays just as well as he always has.

He’s also scribbling on his book a lot more, but that’s just because of this month’s repertoire.

vi. in this silver asylum

[kitchen]

Someone has put up a sign saying “Do Not Disturb” on the door of the kitchen’s walk-in freezer. This is because Phil had amassed many many ice cubes, and is busy at work fusing them together with his frost powers and carving an ice sculpture of a swan.

This is likely in poor taste, but the kitchen freezer is the only place he can do this without it melting immediately on him. If someone walks in anyway, he’s just gonna look up and say, “Sorry, did you need something?”

vii. but i let myself disappear

[around]

And any time else, he’s at his usual haunts: the library, the lounge, et cetera, doing any manner of reading or painting or such. It’s not very unusual, except that the keen-eyed might notice that his waking hours have gotten slightly more regular.

And if they are that keen, then they’ll notice something else: he has one more shadow than he should.

When the ship lights are dim or he’s walking around in the evening, the picture is clearer. There’s a strange light that’s cast across him, a dim and orange in glow that shifts and sometimes disappears as though he were passing under rows of old electric street lamps, casting an additional shadow to however many he has at the moment. The air seems to warm or chill whether one stands on the side of his light or his shadow, but it’s not a true temperature. More like a feeling. The end of the night verses the waking dawn, maybe.

The Lost will recognize it for what it is: a Spring mantle, awake at last.

iv. oh, lull me to sleep, oh, opium vacant waves

[wildcard]

[ any other ideas? hmu!!!! ]

Comments

i

[saltwaterlungs]

"Yeah," they call back, voice no longer hoarse from screaming, "I'm back."

Vance and Gwen have already greeted them back to the world of the living, but it's a relief to hear Phil's voice.

"Door's unlocked."

[goodweather]

He puts a hand on the knob, and—oh. Oh yeah.

“Uh, one sec. I’m gonna change.”

A few minutes later he pads in, door shutting behind. Though the wound is gone, his wing still looks all sorts of fucked, and there’s faint marks of blood on his palms and under his talons. There’s some on his front, too, although he hasn’t got a clue where that came from. Maybe something fell on him after he died. At least he has a fresh shirt on.

His grays are gone. His blind eye is still there. He doesn’t seem to have noticed.

“Hey,” he says, with the weight of stone. “How are you holding up?”

[saltwaterlungs]

Darcy, in turn, has clearly already showered. There wasn't any blood on them from their death, but their hair is drying in the subtle waves it does when they don't straighten it. Long again. They've changed back into their pyjamas, because it's not like they're going anywhere today.

They wince a little on instinct at the eye. If it's permanent, then... something. They don't even know what, but it makes their heart hurt to see it.

"Fine," they answer, ducking their head a little.

"I mean-" because that's a shitty non-answer, "I'm... okay? I don't- I came through okay. How about you?"

[goodweather]

When they wince, he frowns and sort of pats down his wing somewhat ineffectually in an attempt to get the feathers in order.

“Fine, I guess. Everything’s in place.”

He comes around and sits down, glancing at the mess of the bed that’s usually perfectly made. … Huh.

“I mean… I don’t know.” He can’t even begin to think about himself right now. “I don’t mind drowning as much as some of the other ways I’ve gone, so it could be worse, but I know for you…”

Deep breath.

iv.

[light_mischief]

All 206 pieces of me accounted for. Are you coping well?

He knows better than to ask "Are you okay?"

[goodweather]

As well as i can expect to.

How did your science experiment go?

[light_mischief]

In one sense, fantastically well. Now I know what happens when you dump 15 pounds of ice into a deep fryer, and that I can die via explosive force.

I did accidentally take Watson with me, which makes this the second time I've unintentionally murdered him. That wasn't ideal.

[goodweather]

Sounds like you owe an apology.

I think I might, too, but then I think you would have gone ahead with it regardless of me.

v. didn't think i'd lose my soul

[moonlesstides]

It's the music that lures Grace in, as she does not otherwise haunt the various bars. Her delight at seeing the gentleman Phil whole again is tempered by an uncharacteristic awareness that he is doing something...that is not to be disturbed. So Grace takes a chair, making only the sounds of phantom water that follow her everywhere, and she waits, watching Phil's hands with a sense of wonder and curiosity.

[goodweather]

Unfortunately, he has his ears unburdened today, and the sound of water pulls him to attention immediately; he looks around frantically, glancing from corner to corner before realizing that there's... there's no leak. It's just Grace. Ah.

He smiles, if a little uneasily, and offers a wave. She's one he's going to want to talk to in a moment. Not now, though. For now he just shakes off the nerves and goes back to the music.

[moonlesstides]

Grace winces when she realizes she's interrupted Phil, but waves back - and when the song starts again, she returns to listening. Only when it closes out does she clap as best she can, fist-into-palm; no answering old koans for her today.

She rests her harpoon across her lap, pressed into her thighs, in case Phil would like to sit without feeling threatened.

[goodweather]

The conversation they're about to have is not going to be an easy one, and so he's reluctant to leave the piano when the piece finishes. He's tempted to simply slow into another. It would be more than excusable. He's already on stage, after all.

But he has a responsibility, and if not now, then when? Grace is not unkind. Not... not to him, anyway.

His fingers lift from the keys, and then he turns. "Hey, Grace. How have you been?"

vii. but we let ourself disappear

[blacksludgeaffair]

It's not just the one extra shadow around him in the library that evening, as a mote of inky night slithers down the wall across from him.

"Frrrriend Phil... glows...?"

[goodweather]

"Oh, shit--" He flinches back in surprise before realizing it's just the weird goo guy. About glowing, he looks about at himself for a moment, before remembering--oh, okay, yeah. He kind of does.

"Oh yeah. Not on purpose. I don't know what this is, but it doesn't seem to be doing much, so I guess it's just kind of... there. I don't know."

It looks nice, which is always a bonus for a man as vain as him, especially since he's been feeling more uncomfortably aware of his blind eye than usual. One doesn't make up for the other, but it helps.

He holds out his hand for the goo to land on if it likes. They've established this boundary, it should be fine, right? "Haven't seen you around in a while, big fella. How've you been?"

[blacksludgeaffair]

It stretches across to his outstretched hand, slinks over to and across him, settling in as a sort of wrap around his upper arm.

Strange feeling. Wasn't there before. It is not harming Phil?

[goodweather]

"No, not that I can tell." With the symbiote on, he resumes his walk around the library, browsing for something remotely interesting. All the murder mysteries he's picked up lately have been desperately mediocre so he's thinking about a change of pace.

He doesn't miss how it didn't answer his question, either. He has no idea what its alien priorities are, but it does seem concerned about his well-being and good relationships, so he thinks he can draw some conclusions from there. Even if it's just because its whole existence relies on other people.

"It just seems like an aura." He thinks about Erin, a close friend and the most notable example he can think of, the snapping smell of sex and gunpowder that follows her at all times. "I picked up a package from Sundries and then this started happening. Those do that sometimes, giving people new abilities or powers or... changing them somehow."

[serialskiller]

The response comes a bit later.

Hey. Promised Cass she’d get the wake-up. Do you want to meet up food? Or something.

[goodweather]

Give Cass my best. Yeah, we can meet up food. Maybe later this afternoon?

That should give them plenty of time to square business with their other loved ones.

[serialskiller]

Yes. Buffet? Easiest pick.

iii. becomes our thoughts among the waves

[crushed_pearls]

Always got time for you buddy. Where you need me and do you want alcohol?

[goodweather]

Tauva please. Or Bobby B’s, whatever you call it. I’m almost certain I’ll be drinking.

[crushed_pearls]

I will be there in twenty. If you can use your sense of working vision to pick out an apple whiskey that would be amazing.

Erin'll be there, right on time, with a concerned look on her face.

iv

[saltwaterlungs]

It's a night like any other, while Darcy's staying over. There were muted arguments about sleeping arrangements initially, which resolved in them each taking half of the bed, each begrudgingly, neither being able to agree on who should take the couch. But it was kind of nice, too. Hearing the steady rhythm of Phil's breathing against the creak of the ship. Darcy kept over to his side as far as possible, to not sap Phil's warmth or intrude on his space. Not quite asleep, but not quite awake either.

[goodweather]

Sec was right, of course. Sleeping with another in the room has been slowly but surely shifting his schedule back into place. Easing it, de-fragmenting it, but… all the same, slowly. It’s a comfort, not a balm.

When it happens, there’s very little sign. All that happens is his breathing gets a bit funny for a moment. Then a jolt of movement, subtle but full-body.

Phil rolls over and slaps a hand against the spot of his nightstand that he always keeps empty. Then he pauses, and then he sighs quietly as he realizes why nothing’s there and why the bathroom light is on. He shifts position, resettling, hoping he didn’t just wake Darcy up too.

[saltwaterlungs]

Darcy startles, naturally, eyes squeezed shut and hairs on the back of his neck standing up on end. It takes him a few moments to process that it didn't hit him, and then he carefully turns his head to look over his shoulder, back towards Phil.

"Y'okay?" he creaks, whisper-quiet.