come_sailaway | their wills were ever-bent on waiting [closed]

Phil occasionally has an audience when he plays, and Helena usually listens quietly, just letting the music wash over her while she either works on something or does something else. But she is attentive, and only when he's truly at rest will she applaud his performance. It's just what you do after a show, even if you've been quietly editing this entire time.

So it is that she smiles brightly, cheering for whatever he's decided to play this evening. That she might be the only one there doesn't diminish her enthusiasm.

He never minds an audience. It’s always nice whenever people come by to listen; nicer when it’s Helena, a polite ear and Darcy’s sweetheart.

…

The past few months have been—well, he never could find a decent time to bring it up. It’s been far too much for him even if no one else. But as far as he could tell, both him and her have been at rest lately, and while they’re both here, he may as well broach the subject.

Phil stands up, the bench scraping, and he does a wipe-down of the keys with a kerchief. “Helena,” he calls as he does. “It’s good to see you. How’ve you been?”

"Well enough, Mr. Connors. I hope it's been the same for you - as well as things really can be in this place."

Just to offer them both that wiggle room of uncertainty in case anything disastrous happened.

"I wanted to say thank you, as well. I was told it was your doings that people got to make signs after their own hearts."

There's one in the bunch where large braille dots were pushed into plates of metal with care and the right tools. One where you can brush your hand over it, and read [ ⠕⠝⠺⠜⠙ ] there. Onward.

He knew it was her, of course. He'd been watching Erin make hers, and helped Arthur with his; there's very few other people who know Braille, and fewer who would make their sign written in it. It's a good statement. That's where they'll all be going, by tooth or nail, by choice or not.

"That was me, yeah. I knew it might've made a few people mad, but I thought... well, it was supposed to get people thinking a little bit, you know? Actually think. And then put it down, make it real. I'm just glad it went over more or less good enough."

It might be a bit of an understatement, but Phil Connors is nothing if he does not constantly try to recede into the background regarding his own achievements.

"I think if people want to get mad over others trying to connect to where they came from, or something based in community, then that's their own problem to handle that none of us are required to deal with."

The tone is gentle, despite the words. She bears those people no ill will, but they don't have to speak to her.

"It's the same with the book of letters. Being able to speak to those who are not here..." She laughs a little. "I can only wonder what my father would make of me now."

There's a soft chuckle there. "Oh, God, I could wonder the same of my wife." She already knows of a few impossible things that's happened to him, what's one more?

There's the shuffle of papers as he takes his sheets off of the piano stand, a soft clunk as he lowers it flat, a dull scrape as he pushes the bench back in. The soles of dress shoes gently hit the linoleum flooring as he steps off from the stage, and tap tap as he begins to circle around to where Helena is.

"By the way, I've been meaning to talk to you about something. It's... heavy and personal, but not time-sensitive. If now's not a good time then I can do this later, but I do want to talk."

When he mentions his wife, there's a soft, slightly sorrowful look in her eyes, shifting to careful surprise when Phil brings up something personal, when she knows that there are potentially only a few subjects that would warrant that. Something about Darcy, maybe? Something she has to know?

"No, please, it's fine. I've got no other engagements today, and you needn't carry it longer than you already have."

"Ah." Another light laugh. Yeah, that's the kind of attitude you meet Darcy with, isn't it. He's glad that she's good for them.

He says, as he pulls up a seat nearby, the soft breeze of snowmelt swirling around. "I made a friend named Grace," he begins. "She's been really sweet to me, but I know she's... also pretty good with that spear. And she's explained that she knew you before, and... where she was, before."

A beat. Maybe he should've gotten a drink.

"I know she's complicated, but she's... I mean, I've mentioned her to others, and it feels like I turned around and just about everyone that both you and I know dislikes--" hates, "--her in particular. I can't say I'm super fond of being in the position where I've met someone I like, and then everyone else I know doesn't but won't tell me why, but they pointed me in your direction."

Ah. This kind of personal. There's a subtle but notable change that comes across the more he talks. A tension that rises in her, a straightening of her posture. Removing herself from the ease and comfort of just editing, and putting herself into the place of someone who needs to protect herself, shutting the notebook before her.

"...If she's talked to you about where we were before, then she may have explained that she was compelled to be a hunter. And everything that such entails."

Why, why, why is it that when she finally thinks she has escaped being accosted about Grace, someone else appears to demand answers? A deep breath, before she carries on. She'd mentioned a touch of it after that room, that timeless place of suffering, in the broadest strokes. If Phil knows, it will make it easier to elaborate.

"I, Mr. Connors, was compelled to be hunted. Tracked down and murdered, more times than I can fathom. Grace was one of my adversaries, many times over."

One of her murderers. Immortal, untouchable, always bloodthirsty. That may illuminate things for Phil now. The hatred, the distance made. The redirection to Helena, with something that personal.

"You can imagine that it makes our history rather...fraught. When she arrived, I asked all of those I was close to that they treat her with civility, and if such was impossible, to give her distance. So that this place would allow her the second chance and freedom that it offers so many others." Her hands, folded on her lap, are perfectly still. "I am glad that she can count you among her friends, that she has friends. Such were difficult to come by in a place that was..."

Hell.

"Unkind."

The wind slows, goes colder, but does not still.

"I see." That about clears it all up in one. He'll ask for nothing else.

(Isn't that just another thing. Everyone he'll ever know is in some kind of pain, and everyone here is, just, always saturated in hellish amounts of it. An especially exhausted and derisive voice in him wonders absently if being murdered a bunch was ever something she and Darcy connected about.)

"I'm sorry." Just in general. For what happened, for this, what he's doing right now. "You are... very, very patient."

"That's a specific way to describe it. I've always thought of it as that there is a difference between choosing such actions, and being bound as much as myself."

And it was being bound. She has no doubt that Grace explained that much.

"It was...frightening, at first, I won't lie, to know she was here. But we've managed to talk in ways that we couldn't before. She knows the weight of what happened. And...I would call her my friend now, now that we understand each other."

"Sure there is. That doesn't make what I said less true."

Of course she explained. And how could he forget? Penalties. If her "voice" wasn't so strange, Grace wouldn't have cut through the haze of his head like she did, and he would have been speared at the bottom of that ship. Might not have even remembered how he died. Mercy, but not one he would have wanted.

Not like he isn't familiar with compelled murder, anyway.

And that patience isn't just in regards to Grace. It's for him, too. Everything.

"... Oh?" See, this is what he means. "Oh, I'm... glad. That's much better than most would have ended up with. She's not giving you too much trouble, is she?"

"No, no - we've managed to discuss and go over a great deal, and we understand that some things are more difficult than others to navigate, but she isn't giving me trouble." A tiny pause, as she calculates the right words to use in this situation. "It is strange, though, when people come to ask me about her. As if I had the monopoly on her behavior, or something - I hardly wish to abandon her to fend for herself, but I don't want to rob her of the chance to form her own connections."

She isn't her keeper. But she also believes that if Grace earns enemies, it should be on her actions here, not there.

It's time for Sharky's late-night communion with water, which is what he calls it in his head when he takes to the hot tub for some pantsless freedom. He's got his beer, he's got his random airport mystery novel (to keep his senses sharp, obvi), and he's got a boombox playing the BeeGee's greatest hits. For all the downer vibes going around lately, at least this is a time of night that he can totally enjoy.

Uh, well, up until "Stayin' Alive" starts. Ugh, he has to get up to switch it, doesn't he? That sucks. It's too bad there's not a convenient passerby to help a brother out, right?

Oh, look, who's that? A convenient passerby???? You don't say!! It doesn't matter where Phil is on the deck, because he's getting singled out for a little Good Samaritan action.

"Hey, help me out and hit skip on that song for me!"

"Huh? Oh!"

Fortunately, as two veteran passengers, Sharky's reputation far precedes him, and Phil is not surprised or put off by the style of his nighttime hot-tub kickback. In fact, he's looking for a soak himself, dressed down in a pair of swim trunks. Old man bones and all that.

Well, old fox. He's looking a little different right now to spare his feathers from getting chlorine in them.

He pads over and hits the skip button on the boombox. "Man, I haven't seen one of these in ages. You get it from Sundries?"

Edited 2023-11-23 19:25 (UTC)

Oh my god it's a real-life furry. PLAY IT COOL, MAN. Like, seriously, dude, be as cool and chill as a cucumber because these shapeshifting motherfuckers know you think animals are cool but they do not understand the intricacies of anthropomorphic fascination.

"Uhhhhh," oh yeah that's real cool motherfucker, grade A chill response. "Nnno, no, well, yeah to the music, but the boombox is from, ummmm..." Visibly doing and then giving up on mental math, "A while ago. My bro Aiden and I lifted it from one of the excursions. He's AWOL RN so I've got custody until he comes back." He seems pretty confident that it's gonna happen, too!!

“Oh, Aiden, the vampire kid? Well—“ he laughs, “‘kid.’ Yeah, I’ve met him a few times. Reminds me of some of the guys I went to college with. I’m not too sure how the whole vampire thing works out for him back home, but he seems sweet.”

He drops the pool towel on a nearby chair, stepping into the water. The real-life furry seems none the wiser to Sharky’s internal drama. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you? I’ve been needing a soak.”

Edited 2023-12-02 10:51 (UTC)

"He's super cool. Def in the top five of my bro list." With Pratt taking the first spot, obviously. But that's not the problem right now -- the problem is that he's about to be in close proximity to a foxy wet foxman!!!

(He briefly looks around to see if said best bro is around so he can be like "YO WHAT THE FUCK MAN" at him. It's not even Christmas!!)

"YYyyes, totally cool, absolutely," double thumbs up like a very normal and not flustered man would give. Thank christ the water's warm enough to explain his dumb red face! "Yyyouuu don't care that I'm freeballin' it, though, right?" (Even with a full-fledged furry in his sights, he refuses to compromise on his freedom!!)

"Hey, not at all. I'm not that shy."

He steps lower in, settling into the water up to his neck, craning his head upwards and letting out a sigh as the heat seeps into his muscles. Ooh, yeah. That's the ticket.

Phil's twin tails wrap around to the front as he sits--sits, well, more like lounges, leaning back with an elbow over the rim and his head listing to the side to rest on his hand. Someone is looking very comfortable.

... That's a wedding ring on his hand.

He's in the middle of debating whether or not it would be offensive to mention the fact that he dabbles in occasionally wearing a fursuit in public and also private when he sees the ring.

OK OK OK he can handle this. Disappointment is part of the Boshaw lifestyle. (Hitting on married men is also part of it, but that's mostly on his mom's side.) Besides, he's dating a hot goth catboy so like, basically already living the dream.

(He's being so brave and so strong right now.)

"Soooooooo, uhhh, who's the lucky vixen?" He grins. "Get it? Because foxes?"

"Hm?"

Beat.

"Oh! Oh. Right." He's--right, fox, yeah. "That's my wife Rita. She's great. We're coworkers, actually. She's..."

Phil's gaze softens, ears pressing down. "She's, uh. Not here."

Oohh NOOOO he's making it worse!! (~~But also does this mean he has a shot~~ -- NO, focus on being a good dude man!!!)

All that is telegraphed only in the way his eyes widen in sympathy. "Oh, man, uhhh, sorry to hear that, dude. That must fuckin' suck." Now he's wondering how many other passengers were married before they got here. "Aaaand it's probably better she isn't, I guess, right?" Since everyone tends to be very anti-ship, YK?

(It does, in fact, mean he has a shot. Phil and Rita were both at the age where they discussed what to do if something terrible happened to either of them and left the other behind, and being allowed to date around and even remarry was one of them. It’s fox season, Sharky.)

“Oh, definitely.” Ignore the part where she’d been on a previous voyage, there’s nothing he can do about it so it’s better to just not dwell on it at all. “I don’t know what I’d do if she showed up. It’s. It’s hard, but I think I prefer this over the alternative.”

… Maybe. If she was here, they’d have to watch each other suffer and die without end, but at least they’d be together. They’d eventually leave together. But that’s not what happened, and there’s no use in wishful thinking. (Fuck, he misses her so much.)

“… What about you? You get cut off from anybody?”

He's glad he called the Anti-Ship Brigade right, since the last thing a guy mourning the involuntary separation of his marriage needs is a dude extolling the virtues of a never-ending pleasure cruise. (Not that it's been very pleasurable these days. Kinda blows lately, actually, and not in the fun sexy way he's used to.)

"Oh, uhhhh, back home, you mean?" Man, it feels weird to think about it sometimes. He's been able to pretty much completely adjust to living somewhere else, to the point where his family back home has become a passing thought. He used to cry thinking about missing Blade growing up. Now it's just something he remembers fondly every so often.

"Just, y'know, some family. Most of my friends died in the whole nuclear apocalypse thing I got dealt with, so it was just me, my cousin Hurk, our kid and a ragtag buncha survivors... Honestly, I got more people here than back there at this point." (And maybe that's exactly why he doesn't hurt so much thinking about family back home. He has new priorities, and they're ones that even his family back home would approve of.)

(...And maybe he shouldn't call Blade his cousin and his kid, but, like??? It's true, sooooo???)

"Oh, Jesus. When are you from? We had some close calls on my Earth but we didn't get blown up yet." He really hopes he doesn't have some extra fun circumstances to look forward to if he ever ends up back home.

"Sucks that you had to leave your family behind, but... if you have more people now, then at least I guess you managed to make the most of it. I mean, that's great. It sounds like you're doing pretty okay? Who've you met?"

"Hope County, Montana. Y'know, Earth?" Because he has to make sure of that, which is just life on the ship. "But I wouldn't worry about it. There's lots of Earths out there, and plenty of 'em made it past 2018 without any Collapse or World War III or whatever you wanna call it."

He thinks, anyway?? Oh well.

"Oh, yeah, I'm -- doin' pretty good. Ummm, TBH, kinda like it here better than back home, up to but not includin' the random acts of violence we gotta pull to charge things up." Look at him, turning down the enthusiasm on his "this ship is amazing and y'all are dumb for not seeing it" opinion. "So, IDK if you know 'em, but like -- Pratt, for one, he and I used to be antagonistic as fuck back home, but then he died and I showed up here then he showed up here and it's really put shit in perspective. So he's like my best bro. And then Giles... and obviously Ossie, hahaha, you don't get one without the other. Then there are all the hotties -- Marc, Max, Flan, Ava, not so much allowed to say that one now that she's happily wedded but man she is a smokeshow right???"

Time to take a breath. "Y'know, so like, a lot of people. Marc's not here anymore. Neither's Clarke..." :( "But so long as I got Giles and Pratt, I think I'm gonna be okay. What about you? How long have you been here, anyway? I don't think I've seen you around before, believe me, I'd remember you."

Phil, at least, can reasonably sympathize enjoying a murder cruise better than the nuclear apocalypse for the sake of safe and reliable food, water, a bed, and company. It's much easier to think when you have all those bases covered.

And then Sharky asks how long he's been here, and--

"Oh!" Phil barks a laugh. "Oh, I'm sorry, that's--that's my fault, I forgot that I..." He clears his throat, then holds out his hand. "I'm Phil. I've been here for a year and a half now. Sorry, I know I don't usually look like this."

"Ooooh. Shapeshifter?" He nods like that explains everything. "Damn, you've been here like..." He does a quick calculation on his fingers and is visibly staggered by the results, "Like as long as me??? Whaaaaaat? I totally know who you are then, just like -- not like this."

He squints as he actively attempts to translate furry features into human ones. He's pretty good at this after years of playing "name that fursona" in the drunk tank with Pratt...

their wills were ever-bent on waiting [closed]

john's.

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a bespoke hot tub prompt for my man phil

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