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ph_logs2024-04-10 10:00 pm
be_seeing_you) wrote in ph_logs2024-04-10 10:00 pm
April Catch All
Who: Number 6 & Open
Where: Around town and on the farm
What: Various prompts for April
When: Currently before Flood, might add some for After Flood
Warnings: [cw: Talk about spousal death, illness, grief, depictions of chronic impending fatal illness]
A. Around the farm
Number 6 is finally starting to look the part out here on the farm. He found a pair of dungarees and work boots stowed away in the attic of their home and he's donned them now along with a wide-brimmed sunhat to protect his pale complexion from the worst of the sun's rays. It can only do so much, and as a result, his face has broken out in an explosion of freckles. Despite that and the sunburns, he's happy. His hands are covered in dirt from plowing the soil and his shirt is soaked from the sweaty work of hauling logs and chopping wood. And he hasn't had to lie to a single person or keep a single secret to accomplish his tasks. It's all good, honest labor.
Unfortunately, the work is getting harder on him by the day. At the start of the month, all seems fine enough. But that ring in the shape of a skull jawbone on his finger is slowly but surely sapping that strength away from him. In the middle of pushing a wheelbarrow, he suddenly falls to his knees, out of breath and clammy with sweat so thick his hair is wet beneath his hat. It's fine, he tells himself. Get up. He has more work to do yet. But... maybe he should just rest for a moment, first.
...Just a moment.
B. Now I lay me down to sleep [cw: Be advised, this is directly following Ava's IC death]
He went out to lay beneath the stars with his wife. But now... now he's walking home alone. There's a bundle in his arms. The clothes she left behind. Still warm, but that warmth is fading. Like she faded.
Tears glisten in his eyes but he blinks them back. He has to stay strong. She will be a ghost. She might see. He doesn't want her to have to watch his anguish. Stiff upper lip. It will be all right. They knew the cost of freedom might be high. He let her pay it this time, but the next... and the next...
"I'll find a way," he says under his breath. "We'll stop this."
But, for now, there is nothing he can do but cross the short distance from field to the front door of their home, drift inside and... no, he doesn't think he can sleep tonight. Not alone. He resolves to go to the kettle instead, to brew something hot. He carries it back out to the front porch and sits heavily in one of the wooden rocking chairs. A matched set. Somehow that only makes him feel lonelier, watching the empty chair creak slightly in the breeze. On a night like this, he could use some company.
C. Wildcard Me
Can be next day, ghost shenanigans, etc. Just throw whatever at me, I'm game.
Where: Around town and on the farm
What: Various prompts for April
When: Currently before Flood, might add some for After Flood
Warnings: [cw: Talk about spousal death, illness, grief, depictions of chronic impending fatal illness]
A. Around the farm
Number 6 is finally starting to look the part out here on the farm. He found a pair of dungarees and work boots stowed away in the attic of their home and he's donned them now along with a wide-brimmed sunhat to protect his pale complexion from the worst of the sun's rays. It can only do so much, and as a result, his face has broken out in an explosion of freckles. Despite that and the sunburns, he's happy. His hands are covered in dirt from plowing the soil and his shirt is soaked from the sweaty work of hauling logs and chopping wood. And he hasn't had to lie to a single person or keep a single secret to accomplish his tasks. It's all good, honest labor.
Unfortunately, the work is getting harder on him by the day. At the start of the month, all seems fine enough. But that ring in the shape of a skull jawbone on his finger is slowly but surely sapping that strength away from him. In the middle of pushing a wheelbarrow, he suddenly falls to his knees, out of breath and clammy with sweat so thick his hair is wet beneath his hat. It's fine, he tells himself. Get up. He has more work to do yet. But... maybe he should just rest for a moment, first.
...Just a moment.
B. Now I lay me down to sleep [cw: Be advised, this is directly following Ava's IC death]
He went out to lay beneath the stars with his wife. But now... now he's walking home alone. There's a bundle in his arms. The clothes she left behind. Still warm, but that warmth is fading. Like she faded.
Tears glisten in his eyes but he blinks them back. He has to stay strong. She will be a ghost. She might see. He doesn't want her to have to watch his anguish. Stiff upper lip. It will be all right. They knew the cost of freedom might be high. He let her pay it this time, but the next... and the next...
"I'll find a way," he says under his breath. "We'll stop this."
But, for now, there is nothing he can do but cross the short distance from field to the front door of their home, drift inside and... no, he doesn't think he can sleep tonight. Not alone. He resolves to go to the kettle instead, to brew something hot. He carries it back out to the front porch and sits heavily in one of the wooden rocking chairs. A matched set. Somehow that only makes him feel lonelier, watching the empty chair creak slightly in the breeze. On a night like this, he could use some company.
C. Wildcard Me
Can be next day, ghost shenanigans, etc. Just throw whatever at me, I'm game.
no subject
"I figure she wouldn't--but I'm pretty sure we both know there's some things you just can't do when you care about someone." he replies softly.
Like let good people die alone. Like leave a kindness without repaying it.
Like forgive yourself if you turn your back in the moments when you could help.
"C'mon--lemme walk you back to the house and get a drink or two in you." John continues, blinking against the burn in his own eyes. "I've known women like her, I've watched 'em die, too...and since we know this one's coming back? I know she'll kick both our asses if we don't look out for each other when it hurts."
And it hurts like hell--not just knowing she's gone, but the way it burns to have his hand on the man's shoulder. It's just his head, it's just his own brand of loss...
But fuck if he's gonna let his own fucked up mind stop him from being there for two good people who have been nothing but kind to him.
no subject
He allows himself to be walked back to the house. It isn't a far distance but each step seems like it takes hours to complete. He keeps looking up confused at how it isn't morning yet. Hasn't the night gone on long enough?
Once they are blessedly through the door, Number 6 goes to the kitchen table and pulls out the chair with a hollow scrape of wood on wood. He nearly collapses into it, as if his knees have been cut out from under him.
"There's whiskey in the upper pantry. Glasses below that one." A good host would get up and find it for his guest, but tonight he will let John tend to it.
no subject
He doesn't deserve it. Not when he's the reason Co died.
So he just nods, steers Peter along and lets Danforth graze as they head for the house. John makes sure Peter can collapse into the chair safely before he goes for the liquor and glasses, bringing them to the table and pouring them each three fingers before sliding one over to Peter.
"So, how'd you two meet?" he asks softly, unobtrusively enough to be ignored--but maybe talking about her will help. This kind of pain, seeing the way Ava looks at him? John thinks maybe they have the kind of love that brings too much to it to be anything but helpful.
Maybe thinking about the good stuff, sharing the happiness, will be a balm on the sting of her loss rather than aggravate it.
no subject
He smiles at the question. It's a story he enjoys telling. "We met in an elevator. It got stuck between floors and she had to use her powers to get us both out. She put her foot through my shoulder." He says that fondly, like he's remembering a first kiss.