come_sailaway | [Closed] Can you forgive me for trying again?

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[Closed] Can you forgive me for trying again?

Who: Rich, César, Johnny, and Watson
What: Rich gets a very strange regain, and doesn't realize it's meant to make him question everything his poorly constructed support network hinges on. Embarrassment ensues.
When: June 19th
Where: Cabin 102
Warnings: Likely mentions of alcohol addiction and child abuse.

[The day after the excursion team returns back to the ship is... peaceful, somehow. After the mess that was his conversation with Johnny, Rich had been expecting to wake up with a guilty migraine and the miserable nausea that comes after a good cry, but surprisingly, he wakes without much complaint, and after sneaking some more chocolate from César's drawer, he's feeling well enough to get out of bed, and is actually considering going to the buffet for something substantial to eat when he opens the door and is face to not-face with Friday.

There's envelopes in his hands moments later. He reads the top one, for César, and tries to protest these clearly aren't for him, but she's already off again. She's really bad at answering questions, huh? Granted, that's probably because she's too busy to stick around and have an existential chat.

Well, Rich doesn't mind being the mailman. He's pretty sure his roommate spent the night canoodling with his boyfriends, and now that he's checked the other envelopes, it looks like the other two are addressed to those men. He can get this done quickly before breakfast, surely. It just means he'll end up having to enjoy a good brunch instead.

He knocks on the door to the cabin before checking to see if there's a slipper propping the door open.]

Hey! Are you all decent in there? I don't wanna see a lick of PDA before I come in, alright?

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You want to see us licking each other? We can make that happen.

[He's not serious at all, as he moves to open the door for Rich. He's dressed casually, by his standards--button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up, slacks, feet bare. Yeah, there might have been canoodling going on at some point, but he's decent now.]

Hmm. That is something we could add to our repertoire....

[Also not serious. He's wearing a branded t-shirt, pajama pants, and no socks, sitting on the couch with a book. There was definitely canoodling at some point, but they're clearly taking a break, now. César hasn't put up his hair yet, so it's partially in his face.]

"Gentlemen, please," Watson says in vain, though there's laughter behind his words. For his own part, he's chosen a short-sleeved button-up shirt and some khakis, also with bare feet. Because bare feet are apparently the thing today. He has also been lounging on the couch, but he sits up straighter when he sees it's Rich.

You guys are nasty! I didn't mean that and you know it!

[Rich strolls into the room in his usual loud t-shirt and cargo shorts he's obtained from the Tommy Bahama. He's got sandals on though. He's not going to go strolling around in bare feet in the hallway like a weirdo. Gross.

He passes one envelope to Johnny, and then passes the other two to Watson and César with a little shrug.]

Got a delivery for you guys. Not sure what they're about, but Friday gave them to me this morning, so I guess I've been hired as a temporary mailman.

Edited (mixed up formats in the middle...) 2022-06-19 21:44 (UTC)

"How odd." Johnny gingerly opens the envelope, pulling out the construction paper card made in a kindergarten class with a curious, confused expression on his pale visage. He lifts the card, smells it, and then gives Rich a questioning glance.

Because he already has suspicions.

There's a teasing smirk at Rich before the subject changes entirely.

César takes his envelope and looks at it, perplexed.

"That is odd...." César murmurs his agreement, then opens his after he sees Johnny do so.

For a moment, his brow furrows more in confusion until he processes the date and then—it slams into him. Rex drew cards like this... Mama helped him with the words when he was too little to make them himself. Rich's mother is gone like César's mother, too. And so is César's father. And this is César's first Father's Day without him, isn't it? It is. The date....

"This is—" He looks up to Johnny, seeing he's opened a card, too, seeing the stain on it, the whiff of beer, glancing towards Watson as his expression starts to fall in grief for Rich and himself.

Edited (Subject lines and also more pain) 2022-06-20 02:38 (UTC)

Watson, for his part, ends up with a faint cascade of fine glitter over his hands, which of course sticks to his palms and his pants and everything else it comes into contact with. This is the work of a very small child, and for a moment his heart seems to clench.

He looks up, at the other cards, and then at Rich, his brow furrowed.

"Rich..."

"Yeah, right? Tried to ask her about it, but she was gone before I could..."

He trails off as he sees their distressed faces, his curious smile fading into a look of concern. "What? What is it?" He didn't deliver a bomb, did he?

No, he sees the paper Johnny's holding, with the smudged handprint on it. He remembers a craft like that in kindergarten, where everyone had to put their handprint on a piece of paper to show how fast they were growing. He can barely remember, but it was typical for a lot of classes to do something like that on... a special day...

He goes pale as he looks at the other cards and starts putting the pieces together. "Huh? You all got cards...? Weird, ahah, I mean, what's the occasion?"

He knows what the occasion is. He had just forgotten until now... he hasn't celebrated it for a decade, after all.

Johnny holds up the card so Rich can read his child-self's handwriting. "César, remember when you asked me if I wanted to have kids? I think my answer's changed somewhat."

Considering that answer had been 'what the fuck, César?', that's not really saying too much, but like. Yeah, this is their boy, and they are fathers.

"Not entirely, but somewhat."

César lets out a bit of a snort at the glitter, completely out of character for the situation, and then looks up to Johnny as he speaks. He glances at Rich, who's gone pale, and then idly flips his card open to see the Dad Dad Dad Dad Dad repeated all over. That card also gets lifted to show Rich.

"I'd say this is fast, but we three were desperately together in a month's time right after I asked that question." A wibbly smile. "And certainly a far simpler solution than an external apparatus and minor medical procedures I was thinking of."

Then, to John, about the apparatus. "I'll explain later." And to the room at large, a solemn sort of happiness. "The occasion is Father's Day in Mexico, Argentina, the United States, the United Kingdom, and throughout Europe."

"Well, I've never heard of the holiday, but the name is self-explanatory."

He sounds hoarse. Watson claps a hand over his mouth -- there is definitely glitter in his moustache now, it will probably be there forever -- in an attempt to hold back some of the reaction that's running through him. Are they being made fun of, perhaps? Is this a cruelty aimed at Rich, at all of them? The gifts in general are so inscrutable, and it's hard to assign a motive.

He'd also somewhat come to terms with the idea that he would never have children of his own.

Words are failing him. He moves forward, taking hold of Rich by the arm. Watson's expression is nothing short of terrified, and there's a gleam in his eyes of emotion threatening to spill over. "Rich."

Johnny holds up the card, and there's no more pretending these are just familiar anymore. They're his old cards. It's clear in every crease in the paper. He's pretty sure he's shaking, in disbelief, in anger, in utter terror. He wants to disappear, but there's nowhere to run to.

"I..." he stammers and sputters, practically hearing his mind creaking as it attempts to justify what's happening before him. His face heats up with shame. "It's not fast because it doesn't mean anything, okay? It's a sick joke!"

And of course these assholes would play into it. It's so easy. Rich makes himself such a good target. They can give him platitudes and of course he'll believe them, so desperate for attention that he'll cry in their laps...

He feels a hand on his shoulder and nearly flinches away. He finds himself about to snap again, but Watson's expression cows his anger... if only slightly.

"Don't... don't look at me like that, okay? It's... it's just cruel." The cards or the hope hearing his name gives him? It's unclear.

"Cruel?" Johnny falls silent for a second after he repeats that word aloud, tilting his head slightly to one side. "I don't understand. Why do you think it's cruel?"

It's gentle, prodding at the bruise to understand its shape better, trying to gently get under Rich's skin instead of taking a blunt instrument to it and making things worse.

This metaphor was a mistake.

César goes quiet, looking down at the card in his hands again as his expression falls. Watson has glitter in his moustache now, probably. This is all too sudden. Rich isn't ready for this. César isn't ready for this.

He can't deal with the anger or the potential upcoming rejection. Watson grabbing Rich's arm makes him reach up to touch where Rex had grabbed his. César holds the card in one hand now, the envelope on his lap.

These three cards could push Rich away from them before they can even reach a natural point to wonder if this was the path they chose. César furrows his brows in clear distress. Is he being forced to fail another kid by external forces?

Better to have the others speak, at least for the moment.

"If it's a joke, it's a very poor one," Watson agrees. "Rich... come sit down. It's true that it doesn't have to mean anything more than we want it to. Please don't run off."

Because Rich looks like he might.

"Sit down before you faint."

Rich sighs quietly, and though he's still agitated, he follows instructions, moving over to the couch and sitting down. He tries to take up as little space as possible, face still bright red and knuckles white where they rest in his lap.

"...I don't know why you guys got those. I... I was probably 3 or so when I made them. I mean, I wasn't even Rich back then. I was just my mom's weird little tomboy. So bringing them back now and shoving them in my face just seems tasteless."

That's clearly not every reason they bother him, and not even the main reason, but Rich is horrified of admitting to why these men would have received cards once meant for someone else.

"Look, I can already tell you we're all refusing to acknowledge the other name on these, that's just part of not being a heel." Not like the wrestling term, but kinda like the wrestling term. A little bit. If you squint.

"That's not the point, though. Rich, do you want these cards back, or are we allowed to keep them?"

Breathing is a thing César remembers to do when the catastrophizing going on in his head doesn't come to pass. He closes the card again and just looks at the outside of it. This is just a terrible taunting with bonus deadnaming of Rich to boot.

This is about Rich, but César can't help but focus on how he'll never be signing a Father's Day card for his own father ever again. Rafael Salazar had decades left to live. Decades. But not anymore.

"We'd never deadname you, Rich." César says quietly, the only thing he can think to add that's of any use.

He nods along to Johnny's question. Otherwise, he's entirely silent. There's not much he can do right now besides keep his emotions in check.

Edited (oops forgot icon) 2022-06-20 19:38 (UTC)

Reassured that Rich is at least sitting and there's going to be some effort at talking through this, Watson perches on the arm of the couch. His expression is serious; the initial shock has worn off and he's prepared to focus entirely on... not him, anything but himself.

"It is a little tasteless," he agrees, "in several ways, but I doubt that you had anything to do with that. I don't think any of us are angry about it."

"N-No, I know you wouldn't be mad," Rich mumbles, still a bit hunched in on himself. He can't seem to bring himself to look at any of them. He feels like any slight reaction he could see would only make his feelings all the more complicated.

If he just... sits here, facing forward, he can pretend that they hate him. Or that they forgive him. Or whichever reaction he feels he'd prefer in this particular moment, with the way his emotions are churning in a confusing mess.

He finally seems to register Johnny's question, and he blinks, gaze fixed on him for a moment before quickly darting away.

"Why... I mean, why would you want to keep them? They're just... old memories."

"I just think it's sweet. I don't really have a family, back home. I have friends, I suppose, but. It's not quite the same, and I don't know how much they see me for me. You know, beyond Mimley's lover. Theresa and Marguerite's landlord. I guess I wanted the opportunity to...bask in someone else's old memories. I made my father cards when I was little, too. Not for...'Father's Day', that wasn't a thing in Gallery, at least not in my time."

He looks down at the card again. "But I'm sure mine were discarded, too, if not when I was little, definitely when I detached myself from my name."

While the others talk, César clothes his eyes and breathes, finally recentering himself. It still feels weird to lift and shift his emotions so strongly, as relieving as it is to be able to do so.

"None of us have families back home, Rich." It shouldn't roll off the tip of his tongue, yet it does, and César finally looks to Rich, eyes quiet and sad. "At least, not emotionally."

He gently nudges Rich with his shoulder and quietly hands over the letter. "We should keep this one in our room... it has your mother's handwriting on it, as tasteless as this might have been." César's voice drops quieter. "Mementos like these are important. ... although we might have to do something to contain the glitter of the one, else we end up like John's moustache."

A joke to lighten the room, he hopes, as true as it is.

César does a good job of keeping it together while he's around his boyfriends and Rich. Or when he's just around his boyfriends. But now that he remembers what day it is, it's only a matter of time before he needed some time alone to process his grief.

Every time another milestone passes, César's reminded of everything he's lost. Everything. There's potential with Rex, but only if everything lines up perfectly. Being loved here is the only thing that makes it bearable at all.

Rich is out when he enters the room. Good. He'll have some time to himself, probably, because the kid likes to keep himself busy. César drops to the couch and pulls out his phone to start scrolling through family photos.

Here, he has room to process his grief. Shed tears privately until he cries himself out, then put on his usual smile and go back into the world. If it gets to be too much, he knows he can just go down the hall and be held.

Or, at least, that's the plan. He's partway through executing it, to the point where his tears have required a second handkerchief, when the door knob turns. César freezes while staring at his phone, realizing he's been had with tears going down his face.

"Do I have -- oh, bloody hell." Watson rubs ineffectually at his moustache. The glitter is still there. "But that's very true, Rich. My family is all either dead or pretending to be dead. I admit the card was rather a shock to me because of that. I think... I think that's something we all have in common, the sense of feeling alone."

"Bask in..." Rich stammers at Johnny's words, at the implications, once again feeling his face heat up, but he tries to listen. He feels like he should try... as scary as it is.

It seems they're all a little scared. He inhales a bit sharply when César explains that none of them are connected to their families anymore. Of course, he shouldn't have assumed he was the only one, and he knows César mentioned his parents that first day they met...

It's still a lot to take in, but it makes him more understanding of why they care so much about this. They... don't want him to miss out. They don't want him to let go of family.

"...I know I really did feel alone when I got here. I think that might've been part of why I hid, for so long? I... you get used to just having people see surface level and you're afraid of anyone getting close enough to dig any deeper." He scoffs. "Or, you know, getting your old childhood cards delivered to them because you've been thinking too much about why three weird old guys have been looking after you for three weeks."

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[Closed] Can you forgive me for trying again?

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I cannot brain brackets, carry on as you were, i'll just be weird

not weird at all <3

Fuck it, I'm prosing too

I DECLARE FORMATTING ANARCHY

oh my god what did I do

VIVA LA REVOLUTION

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Later that Father's Day, late afternoonish?

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