he gives his harness bells a shake [open]

[goodweather]

WHO: Phil, friends, and you
WHEN: Nov 2nd and onwards
WHERE: Around
WHAT: moping about like a loser (November catchall)
WARNINGS: Aftermath of Halloween, contains some references to the carnage



i. the only other sound's the sweep (tauva, night of nov 1st/morning of nov 2nd)

Besides speaking with Erin and Darcy, Phil doesn't leave his room on November 1st. He doesn't answer the door, except for those he knows well enough. Most texts are similarly ignored. He just wants to... sleep is the wrong word. Turn off, maybe. Thankfully there's piles of breakfast outside for him to filch, but even if there wasn't, he doesn't think that the hunger pangs would overpower the exhausting prospect of having to talk to someone.

(And they may well want to, if they see any of him in Photos at Sea. Bloodied and beaten, Maeve standing over his corpse.)

But then it's 2 AM. Normally he's down by midnight, and he's not lacking in fatigue, but sleeping doesn't feel right. Not after what's happened. What, just rest, after all that? Just sleep?

So it's in the night when the owl finally flies his nest, down to Tauva, and pours himself a drink.

ii. of easy wind and downy flake (around, early november)

He's not done sulking, but he's done with doing it in his cabin. After a while it starts getting cramped and stuffy, so instead he'll do it in places like the library or the lounge or the shadows of the pool deck, and hope that he looks dour enough for people to leave him alone. Yes, he wants to be around people, and no, he doesn't want them to talk to him. (Not that he'll turn them away if they do.)

He fills his time with hobbies. Where before he'd just done things for the sake of it, now they're distractions, filling time before he starts doing something stupid, keeping himself from getting too mired in misery. He shreds napkins to pieces as small as he can get them and scatters the bits into the sea like shitty snow. He sits on the deck with an empty stare at the sunset. Sometimes he just lays about.

And sometimes he steals ice cubes from the bars to make tiny ice sculptures, with his minimal ice powers and his newfound talons.

iii. the woods are lovely, dark, and deep (john's, mid november)

Phil had previously been a regular at John's; most evenings, the ship could hear him practicing on its piano for at least an hour, often more. This was unfailing routine for the past four months.

After Halloween, it goes silent. He isn't even at the bar. He isn't there at all.

It's two weeks before he even shows up there again, and he hardly plays when he does; he just dances a single hand around the keys for about a half hour. It takes a bit of adjusting to account for the talons, but he manages.

The second day, Phil seems to be gaining his momentum back. He puts a book on the music stand. It's a slow start, one hand at a time, running the parts slowly, so it goes for about an hour and a half... then he puts both of his hands on the keys and plays.

iv. but i have promises to keep (wildcard)

[ Other things to note: Phil will not be seen flying at all for most of November, not that he did much of that before.

but otherwise? you got something, just hit me! available for plotting here at this journal or you can find me on the discord @ dongpuncher#7741 :] ]