Phil Connors (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
goodweather) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2022-06-08 06:31 pm
goodweather) wrote in come_sailaway2022-06-08 06:31 pm
one, i'm still sleeping, and this, i'm just dreaming it [open]
Who: Phil and you!
Where: All around the ship
What: Exploring, orienting, experimenting
When: Early June
Warnings: None yet
(( ooc: a note before you read, if you haven't seen phil's ooc post, please keep in mind that he's a CRAU! mostly this means that he has a big pair of eastern screech owl wings stuck to his back. ok bye <3 ))
three, it's flashback from when i was twenty and ate magic mushrooms (meta)
So.
He's been spirited away. It's not the same as the last time this happened. The last time, it was a whole alien planet with a whole entire city--multiple cities, actually, and he could actually arrange his whole housing, get a job, get insurance, the whole shebang. He built a whole new life that lasted for about six months before the Magic Moon Apocalypse kicked in. It's also different than the longest day of his life.
This, though unlike the others, bears similarities to both of those things: first, in all three, death was never permanent (though in the second it had consequences). Second, like the last one, people from other realities have gotten pulled into the fray.
He doesn't know what that means. It's something he'll need to get a bigger sample size for before he can draw any real conclusions on it, and he doesn't really want to.
i. four, it's some kind of reality show
ii. five, it's amnesia
iii. six, it's a stroke (wildcard)
Where: All around the ship
What: Exploring, orienting, experimenting
When: Early June
Warnings: None yet
(( ooc: a note before you read, if you haven't seen phil's ooc post, please keep in mind that he's a CRAU! mostly this means that he has a big pair of eastern screech owl wings stuck to his back. ok bye <3 ))
three, it's flashback from when i was twenty and ate magic mushrooms (meta)
So.
He's been spirited away. It's not the same as the last time this happened. The last time, it was a whole alien planet with a whole entire city--multiple cities, actually, and he could actually arrange his whole housing, get a job, get insurance, the whole shebang. He built a whole new life that lasted for about six months before the Magic Moon Apocalypse kicked in. It's also different than the longest day of his life.
This, though unlike the others, bears similarities to both of those things: first, in all three, death was never permanent (though in the second it had consequences). Second, like the last one, people from other realities have gotten pulled into the fray.
He doesn't know what that means. It's something he'll need to get a bigger sample size for before he can draw any real conclusions on it, and he doesn't really want to.
i. four, it's some kind of reality show
[ Knowing that this isn't a real vacation, and dubiously confident that the captain(?) here will do any actual announcements about inclement weather or that there is any crew that is both capable of reading and keeping an eye on weather maps, Phil has decided to put his skills to use. The bridge is completely locked off, meaning he can't access any of the actual, professional forecasting equipment. Meaning he has had to make do.
He's perched on the highest deck on the edge of a rooftop, dead center of the ship to minimize the rocking. In front of him his a collection of items that he's had to reach into the farthest recesses of his memories of middle school earth science experiments to construct:
- A barometer made of an upside down wine bottle in a glass, filled with some water and marked up with sharpie.
- An anemometer made of plastic straws, paper cups, rubber bands, and a pencil.
- A wind vane made of plastic straws and cut-up postcards. This and the anemometer are both stuck into one of those plastic cups with the lids and filled with water, just so they're reasonably anchored in place.
All of this, plus a fridge magnet thermometer and a compass keychain. They're cheap shit, but it's all he's got. He's been checking on these things for the last three hours. Occasionally he'll mark something down in one of those cheesy notepads with a Serena Eterna brand pen, but every reading has been the... exact same. It's only three hours, not the biggest timeframe, but still... ]
ii. five, it's amnesia
[ Music has always made him feel better.
He doesn't have his sheet music with him, which is kind of a pain, because that's part of what he finds so comforting about it. Not too much improvisation; everything he's being asked to do, laid out in detail before him. But that's alright. He'll do just fine.
So he sets up. After the Billy Joel set in John's, Phil sets up and dinks around on the keys a little bit, warming up his stiff, weathered fingers. He knows he's in a public place. He knows that practicing and warmups never sound pleasant. He doesn't care.
After about fifteen minutes, he picks something and starts to play. ]
iii. six, it's a stroke (wildcard)
[[ Got anything else? hmu! ]]
no subject
[ She huffs. At least, she hasn't encountered anyone saying the Captain wasn't evil. Which was a good thing, for their sake. ]
I hate people telling me what to do.
no subject
[ He doesn't really snap at Darcy, but there's this slightly dismayed tone to him that's arguably worse. Maybe have some sympathy for desperate people trying to salvage the entire civilizations that they're in charge of stewarding. It's not like they're politicians. Self defense charges are treated differently from premeditated murder for a reason.
(And look, he needs to feel less nihilistic about this ongoing kidnapping pattern. Being kind--isn't that what he tries to do? He feels glad, at least, that it was to help. To help. Not for nothing. Not for nothing.)
And if anything, it brews even blacker the disdain that Phil has for this place and the Captain, because they didn't have much choice, but he does, and so far all Phil's gotten is that he's doing it to fuck with people. He's still holding out, but... ]
Obviously when it was over, they let us go home. The point is that this is starting to feel like a pattern, so just... don't be surprised, I guess. You already know it's not always going to be because you're needed.
no subject
So because they needed help, that makes it okay? They shouldn't be fucking taking anyone, I don't care why. I have people back home who actually need me, in my own fucking world, and this isn't happening to me more than once. Either I'm dying here forever or I'm going home, I'm not- no, this isn't going to be a fucking pattern. This is already the worst fucking thing that's happened to me, I'm not doing it again.
no subject
[ Tired is the easy word for it. Tired is the summary. There's a lot of things that have come to weigh in his stomach, and one of them is a feeling so familiar that he wears like an old, heavy, ill-fitting coat. He's so terribly homesick. He spent all day dicking around with fucking dixie cups and plastic straws, making third-grade contraptions just to grasp at a semblance of habit and home.
Phil is doing a good job at combating it. He knows he's going to get used to it. He'll settle. It's his third go-around. He's still fucking miserable.
One day, he'll learn.
He doesn't know what else to say without getting angry, and he doesn't want to be angry at her. He also doesn't want to leave. So instead Phil shakes his head and sighs out, like all the fight goes out of him with it, and instead of looking at Darcy he picks up the clipboard and flips idly through the pages of unchanging data with the hand that wears his wedding band. Clicks his pen and marks down another row. He doesn't double check the numbers. He doesn't need to. ]
... You can think whatever you want. I never get a choice.
no subject