Arthur Lester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theotherright) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2022-09-20 05:31 pm
theotherright) wrote in come_sailaway2022-09-20 05:31 pm
[OPEN] the labour and the wounds are vain
Who: Arthur Lester and YOU
What: The walk of shame after rafting with two other idiots off the edge of the world
Where: Around the ship
When: The day after the beach party
Warnings: The normal Arthur stuff. Traumatised man hours. Death happened. Sad about blind. Also, the thread with Bash eventually contains a couple references to 1930s homophobia, plus displays of ignorance about queer people.
Mistakes were made. Big ones. For those sensitive to that kind of thing, an invisible death counter has ticked up in Arthur from zero to one.
i. scoops
It's a big ship, but unless you count Tommy Bahamas, it's not infinitely big. Why the hell can't he find Smith or Steve? Particularly Steve-- you know, the teenager he just helped kill?
In truth, Steve is hiding in his cabin and he happens to keep missing 6, but Arthur's brain is pleased to conjure some more unpleasant scenarios, and the effort of talking it down is exhausting. Looking for people while fucking blind only compounds his frustrations, and he's already feeling a few SAN points down after the whole 'fell into the fucking void' fiasco, and he's currently searching on the promenade which is already fucking overwhelming, and so his reaction when he collides with a fucking stool that's sitting outside of Scoops is, as soon as he's regained his balance, to pick it up and toss it as hard as he fucking can across the fucking ground.
"Fuck!"
ii. tauva
...not long after that, Arthur realises that he needs to calm the hell down.
He forces himself to stop pacing and pacing and pacing and pacing. And once he stops, it's like the energy leeches right out of him, both physically and mentally. Part of his mind is still just spiralling down that invisible void, screaming.
The whole raft thing is a part of it, but it's far from the whole. He's so far out of his depth and he doesn't even know which way up is, and he's been holding his breath for as long as he can, focused on the possibility of escape, but now escape has put him right back on the ship and it feels like he tried to take a breath and instead filled his lungs with salt water.
He ends up in Tauva. It's not consciously planned. But he has been thinking about someone else who frequents the place: someone to whom he once again owes an apology.
Arthur's slumped back in one of the leather armchairs, his useless eyes closed. Until now he's perched on the edges of chairs, sat with his feet beneath him, ready to move if he needed to. This time he's just... folded into it. Head tilted down. As still as if he was asleep, or even more so, because even sleeping people murmur or turn over once in a while. The only parts of him stirring are his lips, which move as if silently singing to himself, and his hands, whose long fingers bat restlessly against one another and against the soft arms of the chair.
He is not super okay.
What: The walk of shame after rafting with two other idiots off the edge of the world
Where: Around the ship
When: The day after the beach party
Warnings: The normal Arthur stuff. Traumatised man hours. Death happened. Sad about blind. Also, the thread with Bash eventually contains a couple references to 1930s homophobia, plus displays of ignorance about queer people.
Mistakes were made. Big ones. For those sensitive to that kind of thing, an invisible death counter has ticked up in Arthur from zero to one.
i. scoops
It's a big ship, but unless you count Tommy Bahamas, it's not infinitely big. Why the hell can't he find Smith or Steve? Particularly Steve-- you know, the teenager he just helped kill?
In truth, Steve is hiding in his cabin and he happens to keep missing 6, but Arthur's brain is pleased to conjure some more unpleasant scenarios, and the effort of talking it down is exhausting. Looking for people while fucking blind only compounds his frustrations, and he's already feeling a few SAN points down after the whole 'fell into the fucking void' fiasco, and he's currently searching on the promenade which is already fucking overwhelming, and so his reaction when he collides with a fucking stool that's sitting outside of Scoops is, as soon as he's regained his balance, to pick it up and toss it as hard as he fucking can across the fucking ground.
"Fuck!"
ii. tauva
...not long after that, Arthur realises that he needs to calm the hell down.
He forces himself to stop pacing and pacing and pacing and pacing. And once he stops, it's like the energy leeches right out of him, both physically and mentally. Part of his mind is still just spiralling down that invisible void, screaming.
The whole raft thing is a part of it, but it's far from the whole. He's so far out of his depth and he doesn't even know which way up is, and he's been holding his breath for as long as he can, focused on the possibility of escape, but now escape has put him right back on the ship and it feels like he tried to take a breath and instead filled his lungs with salt water.
He ends up in Tauva. It's not consciously planned. But he has been thinking about someone else who frequents the place: someone to whom he once again owes an apology.
Arthur's slumped back in one of the leather armchairs, his useless eyes closed. Until now he's perched on the edges of chairs, sat with his feet beneath him, ready to move if he needed to. This time he's just... folded into it. Head tilted down. As still as if he was asleep, or even more so, because even sleeping people murmur or turn over once in a while. The only parts of him stirring are his lips, which move as if silently singing to himself, and his hands, whose long fingers bat restlessly against one another and against the soft arms of the chair.
He is not super okay.
no subject
The rest, though, he listens to with... surprise, but with no visible shock. He is trying not to get annoyed again, though, at being underestimated. He swallows it back, again, because he is trying.
"Scandalised is a bit much. Listen, I don't know what you expect from me, but I've not been living in a monastery for twenty-eight years. I have met people who weren't a husband and wife and a white picket fence, you know. I've taken on more startling ideas than your sex life without ill effect, don't you worry about that."
Yes, Bash's little monologue was a lot to say all at once and so openly, and maybe he isn't wrong about the word 'loose' coming to mind, and maybe if they'd met five or so years ago Arthur's reaction would be a lot worse. But they're meeting now, and they are clearly from extremely different worlds. All right, fine, he finds it strange. He doesn't understand it. But he is neither judge nor jury.
He laughs quietly at himself and adds: "And honestly, if I can get used to the idea of a god, demi or otherwise, that doesn't want to claw me to pieces for one reason or another, I can get used to the idea of anything."
no subject
No, that's not really all, but Bash doesn't know what else to say, looking up at Arthur quietly, knowing the man can't see the uncertain look in his eyes.
no subject
He's silenced for a moment by Bash's statement, because wow, what a thing to be known for. And what a broad brush to be tarred with. And that's even leaving aside the fact that, from his point of view, his time is (for all its many faults and failures) very open-minded compared to the times that came before.
...Okay, maybe he's not sorry that he stood up after all.
"Is that so," he says slowly, a little of the bite of insult finally finding its way into his voice. "Well, I am not my time period."
A claim about which he's both sort of right, and completely hilariously wrong.
"You knew what year I call home when you decided to... to kiss me. I don't see why that year is suddenly a concern now. Let me stand or fall on my own merits."
And if he falls, which at this point wouldn't surprise him one bit, at least it will be because of his own actions, not because he's been lumped together in a homogeneous package with all of 1934.
no subject
A tiny pause.
“Are you still up to trying sushi? It’s good, and it being raw means it’s a new, interesting texture experience.”
no subject
He says it quietly, relieved, already wondering in the back of his mind what he's going to do to fuck it up. And after what just happened, and the gulf that he -- maybe only he, god, who knows -- feels physically between them right now as a result, he doesn't even know how to address the part about getting close. So he just. Doesn't answer that yet.
"Yes," he says, with even more relief, and a faint smile that's just... glad this didn't end with one of them storming out. "Yes, I would still like to try sushi."
no subject
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"Actually it would-- it would probably be easier for both of us if I just had my hand on your shoulder, I think. It- it's not that far."
He says it as if this is just something he would usually ask for. It is not, not in the slightest.
no subject
Bash pauses to decide if he’s up for the Intricate Rituals right now. Yeah, yeah he is.
“Then give me your hand.”
no subject
no subject
He isn’t only talking about the walk to Mikabo, but that is, generally, easier now.
no subject
"Thank you," he says again, and makes it sound basically normal instead of as pathetic as he feels. "I appreciate it."
And the walk is, indeed, easier. Arthur has resisted moving around like this so far: mostly because he has, he's glumly aware, been clinging to a parody of independence; but partly because he imagined it would be an awkward affair, elbows getting in the way, accidentally kicking each other and so on. Turns out it's nothing of the sort. Bash is a good guide, both verbally and physically.
no subject
“So, to your left, there’s a conveyor belt, and little plates with one or two pieces of sushi are riding on it. There’s wasabi—spicy horseradish, and salty soy sauce and pickled ginger on the table for condiments. If you put your hand out, there’s a plate with a couple pieces of salmon that’s coming close.”