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_sailaway2022-11-01 05:00 pm
goodweather) wrote in come_sailaway2022-11-01 05:00 pm
he gives his harness bells a shake [open]
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)
ii. of easy wind and downy flake (around, early november)
iii. the woods are lovely, dark, and deep (john's, mid november)
iv. but i have promises to keep (wildcard)
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 :] ]
no subject
That sends a particular cold wash down his chest, but the way he speaks... it's over, he reminds himself. That is definitely Rich. Definitely the teenager and not the weird little kid that was scared of shadows and took a knife to César.
He wipes all of that from his face, reminds himself of patience and of trust. Rich is a good kid. Chances are once he actually gets into conversation he'll feel better about it, so he meets him with a tempered, if tired smile.
"Oh, they're... new. I was told I had a package to pick up at the Sundries, and when I went, I, well." He wiggles his fingers. "Looked down, there they were."
A beat. "How've you been?"
no subject
"That's weird. I thought packages were always just... you know, literally wrapped in paper. I guess this place is weird enough it could decide to give us crazy sharp teeth or whatever as a 'gift.'"
It does make Rich wonder a bit how far these 'packages' they can receive can go... but putting that aside.
"You mean, after a month of forced time out in the void? Probably as good as I'm going to be. Missed a lot, trying to catch up. Dads are upset, naturally. Darcy seems... kinda weird. I dunno. I guess expecting things to be normal is too much to ask." He eyes Phil a little warily. "...What about you?"
no subject
Sympathizing. Both out of a genuine concern for Rich, and conveniently steering attention away from himself.
He shakes his head. “No. There’s… too much to be normal about it, it… Darcy had it really rough in October. I can’t—it’s not for me to say.” (That, and he also doesn’t even fully know what was up with her; she wouldn’t, can’t tell.) “But, um… the Halloween party at the end of the month ended up being a disaster, and she put a stop to it. She and Vance.” Two kids, he thinks.
“… Anyway.” He scratches at his chin. What was he saying? “I’ll be alright. I think I’m more worried about everybody else. You know. Like you.”
no subject
Of course, a situation as dire as one of the most infamously depressing sci-fi stories ever written should qualify as 'a big problem,' but Rich is great at deflecting.
"...She told me a little bit. I don't know all of what went on, but I know the kid inside me told her some things about... some of my memories. Really personal shit. It's got her freaked out. No wonder she probably fought so hard to get things back to normal."
He sighs and leans against one of his hands. "But you know her. She doesn't give all the information. I think there was probably more going on, but the chances of me getting it out of her when she's worried about me..."
no subject
"If she's not talking, then I don't think I can either. I was... mostly on the outside, I think... I don't think I talked to anybody who was possessed before Halloween." Texting whoever was inhabiting Maeve's body to cancel lessons doesn't count, right? Right. He picks at his teeny ice sculpture. "She was stressed out of her mind at the party. She was right to. She..."
He glances up at Rich. "Did anyone tell you what the party was?"
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He looks away at that question, trying to ignore the guilt threatening to eat away at his composure. "Sort of. Something about the ghosts trying to get bodies, I think? I'm... guessing it was some sort of trap. And probably a ploy to murder as many of you as possible."
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"Yeah. Headed by a possessed Friday, trapped us all on the deck. It was a bloodbath. They were trying to murder us to let more ghosts take our bodies. Darcy... fought hard. I don't know everything, but it was her and that poofy-haired knife kid, Vance, who took down Friday, and then the entire deck was destroyed at the same time, dropping everybody onto the Promenade."
I don't know everything, he says, because he'd been murdered in under five or ten minutes.
"Out of the people who were alive by the end of it, I only know Erin and César." (Not Darcy.) "I think Johnny was still on his feet before I... lost track. Same for Dimitri. Your third dad, I don't know him well enough to say. I'm sorry."
no subject
"Jesus... I never heard about the collapse. I know... I know César made it out because, um, the kid possessing me warned him." Also doesn't know how to feel about that one. "I'm pretty sure Johnny made it out. I can tell Watson didn't, but... they aren't talking too much about what happened to him to me. Maybe they don't know for sure what went on, since it was so chaotic."
He's pretty sure they know, but he also can't blame them for being sparse in the details.
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Just.
Yeah.
"We have to give it time," he sighs, "wait until everything's a little less fresh. It'll resolve eventually, I'm sure. It'll take a while, but so's everything that's worth doing. It's... just make sure you stick close to the people you care about, though I'm pretty sure you don't need me to tell you that. You're a good kid."
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Would Phil really be calling him a good kid if he knew he'd been running around stabbing people?
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"Mmmh. Well. At least you can start fixing things now, eh?"
There's a part of him that understands what that feels like. Being the worst asshole of Channel 5, then smashing through a couple decades(?) of repairing himself, and... then coming back after all of that, and being greeted with apprehension. Remembering suddenly the Phil that he'd left them with before a lifetime of growth and change, smashed and compacted into a single day.
Yeah. It took some work.
"Most people are... more forgiving than you'd expect, though. We'll see what happens. I'm... here, if you need to talk."
Nevermind that he's in something of a miserable state himself at the moment, but he's nothing if not ready to help.
no subject
"Yeah... I guess. Fixing my fuck-ups is pretty much a constant of my reality. I shouldn't be surprised, really, like, I knew that this kind of thing was coming."
Coming here and getting to start with a fresh slate? Of course the universe wouldn't allow for Rich to forget the kind of asshole he used to be. He grumbles a bit and slumps lower in his chair.
"I'm the one who came here to help you out, man. I shouldn't be unloading my holiday flight to Orlando's worth of baggage on you."
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"Fixing our fuck-ups is the name of anybody's game, Rich, just that some of us have got to do it more than others. It's always going to be a work in progress. Anything worth saving is never worth letting go to waste, eh?"
He reaches forward to give Rich a pat on the shoulder. It might be kind of icy, sorry. "That being said, if you need someone to complain to, I'm usually all ears. Personally I always find that complaining to somebody else makes me feel better."
no subject
"...Let's just say this isn't the first time I've felt like an imposter in my own body. It feels like I'm putting on an act for everyone all over again."
start to wrap up here?
For sure!
Hint hint, Phil. Let someone look out for you too, okay?
no subject
He considers the hint and the words in his mouth. He's... he'll work on it, okay.