ph_logs | i heard the thunder [open]

i heard the thunder [open]

Who: Phil and you!
What: May/June open
When: Late April and through May, probably June too
Where: Around town, the skies over the island, the Library, the hot springs
Warning(s): nudity in the hot springs prompt

but i find i got the question wrong [exploring]

A whole town. A whole island. Imagine that.

It's almost overwhelming, honestly, but Phil figures he may as well start big and wide before getting into the real nitty-gritty of it. So once things are slightly settled, once he has the time, he takes off. It won't be so unusual for people to see his silhouette soaring in the sky. If something fascinating catches his attention on the ground, perhaps he'll come down to check it out; his eyes are fit to see detail miles away, so distance is hardly a problem. Perhaps he'll land near you, or you can find him freshly landed someplace else. This is a lot more flying than he's done in years.

i was trying to run away [around town]

And of course, there's the glory of having more than a couple dozen other people to talk to. Phil makes himself a real neighbor's neighbor; he introduces himself to as many people as he can, he chats up anyone who seems free enough, he wanders place to place in the town, invites people to lunch or a drink or what have you. Sometimes he'll just be sitting around, pleased to be people-watching.

but a voice told me to stay [library]

Ah, weather. His old friend.

He's got to brush up. Get back into the swing of it, you know? And he's got to figure out what sort of currents and forces are acting on the meteorology of the island. Phil schleps down to the Library then, and spends long days tracking down research material for the case: he cross-references reports in the newspaper archives, digs up a scientific textbook on the global climate and its impact on the island, and even fishes up a few academic papers of... uh, dubious helpfulness, but it's fine.

Exhaustion catches him more easily these days than it used to. He's not terribly proud of it, but more than once he dozes off him his chair. Then shakes himself awake, then... dozes off again. At least he's not drooling on the books.

put the feeling in a song [hot springs] (cw: nudity, artistic nudity painting the link)

One of the things he'd spotted from above was, of course, the hot springs. There's even some signage nearby, so this is definitely both a public space and safe to take a dip in. Not saltwater, not chlorinated... jeez, it feels like it's been ages since he's been able to take a proper soak without having to take on some shape that got rid of his feathers. It's a relief. A good place to keep in mind if he has a particularly awful flare, too. (Although getting here would be tricky if he's gotten that bad.)

One day or another, Phil stops up there by himself. Undresses. Sighs a long sigh as he rests in the water. Lounging below the water or up on the grass, anyone is free to encounter him (and his shockingly sculpted figure), although he'll certainly hear you coming.

(And of course, do mind the wedding band he's wearing as a necklace.)

wildcard

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"Not intimately, but I went through both at least a couple of times when I took the train to get to Chicago. Pittsburgh has all the bridges, right?"

He rests his cheek on his forearm.

"I grew up in Crabapple Cove, Maine- which is an idyllic little hamlet with a small enough population that you could cram us all on a bus in a pinch. Then I moved to Boston Massachusetts- for med school, then my residency, then work. Big, busy, loud, exciting- I loved it."

"Same reason why I went out to Pittsburgh. I went east for school in University Park, and then I just stayed in the area. I wanted to get out of Cleveland. In hindsight, I'm not sure it's really that different, but I was twenty and dumb as rocks, and Pittsburgh's nice."

God, this is nice. It's like finding someone from home in a foreign country. You can talk in all your local words again, with people who've seen what you've seen.

"I did live in a small town myself for a little while. Punxsutawney, where they do that Groundhog Day stuff. And I'm a weatherman, so my station kept sending me up every year to cover the ceremony."

Edited 2024-05-08 10:50 (UTC)

"Eh, you make dumb decisions when you're twenty, it's when you're meant to. Me, I was so eager to get away from home, but I ended up calling back nearly every week. I got so homesick one time that my mom had to drive down a lobster packed in ice just to cure it."

His face lights up at the mention of Groundhog day though-

"Hey, that must've been fun! Always wanted to make it up one year- I just love a small town festival. It gets cold up there thst time of year too right? In February? I swear half the reason I learned to dance was just to keep warm on New Years."

Phil snrks gently as Hawkeye describes being homesick. Phil was the kind of guy who just never looked back. The only thing he missed were the sandwiches from this one shop he frequented. It's sweet.

"That's what the dancing's for," Phil chirrups. "At least, that's what Buster always said. He's the head of the Inner Circle that does the ceremony. Yeah, it's, uh--yeah, it gets really cold. One year--" one year, "--we got snowed in on all sides, like a, uh, a blizzard donut. Had to wait until all the roads were closed--I mean, the roads were all closed, we had to wait until they were plowed the next morning. It was nice to have a snow day with all the groundhog stuff. They have a weather museum and a chili cookoff every year, too."

Phil splashes water onto his face. "Sorry, I think the heat's getting to me. You ever had festivals like that up in Crabapple Cove?"

Hawk huffs a little- Phil sounds a little scattered, but it probably is just the heat. That and homesickness- it sounds like he spent a good bit of time there. He can feel other people's words in what Phil says.

"There's a waterfall over that way you can dunk your head under. And yeah- big lobster festival every year, used to get a whole basket of em just to myself. Didn't need anything but butter, can't improve on God's perfect meal. I spent some very good nights on that beach. No weather museums or anything- but we have a sardine tinning factory that Frank Lloyd Wright designed. Have that going for us."

Edited 2024-05-08 12:05 (UTC)

Phil turns and climbs from the spring, water sloughing from his soaked wings as he meanders over to the nearby waterfall that Hawk's pointed out, sets down on a nearby flat stone, and dunks his head under. The colder water brings a sharp clarity with it as he lets it run down his back, and he unfolds his wings and shakes them out a bit for good measure, letting them sun.

He speaks as he goes. "God, I miss Earth. What I wouldn't give for a normal small town with a lobster festival and a sardine tinning factory right now. You've got a lot of lakes and forests up in Maine, right? What's that like?"

Edited 2024-05-08 14:31 (UTC)

"Beautiful," leaves his mouth to see Phil getting out of the hot spring. He's all functional muscle, shifting as he heaves himself out- he has a back you could rely on and a backside like a Greek statue. Hawk wants to eat him whole with no condiments.

"It was just beautiful- the- the colours in autumn were magnificent. Incomparable. Like God was sat at his canvas and mixed up some new paints for the occasion. I used to live right on a river full of fish, used to hike my pant legs up and just stand in it. I uh- I miss it every day. Used to get the local paper sent to Korea just to keep in touch."

Phew. Now he can quietly ogle where Phil's wings connect to his back some more.

Does it help if his Mantle's light is glittering off of the water on him?

Phil glances over at Hawk with the fondest look on his face, earned for the loving and reverent way he describes his home. He turns again then, looking out over the trees and the rocks, the moss, the ferns, the bugs in the grass. "I can't wait to live in a place with seasons again. I missed it like hell. Living here is almost a little bit like being in Punx, aside from the whole Victorian thing, just... the intimacy of it. I don't know. Maybe everything I'm saying sounds like crap."

He stretches his wings, and the muscle around them flexes. Hawkeye can see the double sets of shoulderblades that slot around each other like puzzle pieces, the serratus anteriors that knit themselves into and underneath the second sets of deltoids and biceps before disappearing under feathers, the second pecs folded neatly beneath the first. A strange machine.

"I mean, I haven't seen a real damn animal that wasn't a person in... years. Or plants that weren't fake. Haven't heard birds, I missed birds. You're sort of near the Adirondacks, right? Did you ever go?"

Edited 2024-05-08 20:43 (UTC)

Phil could be used for an anatomy demonstration, he thinks as he watches the delicate ballet of muscles interlocking. He'd love to study Phil. Feel that strange anatomy under hand- okay, simmer down cowboy, he'll be headed back this way any moment. Deep breaths. Hawk meets the fond look with a soft smile.

"Naw, I get it. Too few people and you feel like you can't escape them, but a town this size- everyone knows each other, but aren't in each other's pockets. You uh- have a way with words."

Another fond smile-

"Not every day, but at least a couple of times. Me and some of the local boys went camping after graduation, it uh- it was beautiful. So... quiet, but noisy too. Waking up to all the birds, the rustle of the wind through the trees. Then it rained and all of us had to cram back into the car with wet tents- that I could've done without."

Phil laughs. It’s a sweet story. He thinks briefly about sharing one of his own of similar, before realizing it’s all either mortifyingly humiliating and/or involved a nonzero amount of drugs, and he has learned shame in the last sixty years.

“I’ve never gone up there myself. I’ve been meaning to, I just haven’t managed it. But I’ve talked with a couple of people who have, and God, the way they talked about mornings and evenings on the lakes… I mean, they’re the ones who got me wanting to go.”

He shifts how he’s sitting to a more conversational lean while he cools down some more. “One of them taught me a pretty neat trick. Wanna see?”

"However amazing they made it sound, it's better. Cross my heart. The first thing I did when I got here was take a book to read by the lake, I miss it that much. Back in Korea, if it moves the army shoots it or sets it on fire, I hadn't seen a body of water that didn't have mines in it since I arrived."

He'll take ships full of bugs over Korea any day.

"I'd watch you watch paint dry," he indulges himself in a little flirt, "go ahead."

Phil huffs a little laugh. He cups his hands around his mouth, waits a second for the silence to settle in, then blows through his hands to whistle a high, resonant sound.

Then to Hawkeye: “Loon call. You know ‘em, yeah? It’s how they find each other. Of course, being birdy these days, I can do it myself.”

Phil clears his throat. Another deeper breath. He lifts his head, turns to the the empty space towards the wood, and wails something louder, clearer, fuller.

Edited 2024-05-08 23:15 (UTC)

"Hey that's pretty good-" he starts, but when Phil wails properly-

It's like he's been kicked in the gut. He thinks the sweat has made its way down to his eyes for a moment, but when he rubs at them, it's tears welled up. How long has it been since he's been home?

"That's really good- wow," he sounds audibly choked up, "can you do a barred owl? Or- or a chickadee?"

Phil doesn’t blink at the choke in his voice, to his credit.

“I’m pretty sure, but you might have to remind me of the sound.” There’s a warble—ahem, no, wrong chatter, one second—another experimental noise. A barred owl call is pulled from the middle of his throat, the chickadee through his teeth.

“Jays were more common in my backyard,” he murmurs. Spring and summer and autumn days.

"Sounds like home," Hawk muses, eyes closing a little.

"What kind of bird are your wings from? Is that- is it some kinda owl? The shape looks like an owl."

"Oh, yeah, it's definitely an owl. Short-eared, I think, I'm not entirely sure. I haven't seen a picture of one in years."

He notes, of course, that Hawkeye already knows what an owl wing ought to look like.

"I've got these, too." He turns slightly and gestures to his face, where a nictitating membrane flickers out for a second. "Or, uh... I've got the one. I used to be nearsighted, but now I'm as farsighted as they come. I had to get reading glasses and everything. Way to make a guy feel old."

"Huh," Hawk vocalizes as he watches the membrane flick. This must have been what they were on about at that party game, about the humanoids and whatnot. Human, clearly, but with enough distinguishing features to give an anthropologist some pause. Speaking of studying the human body-

"You make owl noises in bed too, or am I going to have to find that out myself?" he volleys back. No dam can stem the tide of Hawk flirting, and Phil sounds like he could use some lightheartedness around the topic anyway. Must be a lot, going through all those changes.

There's a pause.

Phil turns, fully, to look at Hawkeye. He's not affronted or even confused, maybe just startled from what to him is a very sudden tone switch, although in hindsight he probably should have expected as much. They are both nude, he just didn't...

"Hah, uh--sorry?"

Edited 2024-05-11 21:47 (UTC)

"Mm?" Hawk vocalizes as he watches for Phil's reaction- it's not extremely negative, but it is... confused?

"Oh- uh, just- y'know, following on from all your owl features. The second eyelid, the talons, the ring-" that he is only just noticing. On a chain. Hawk could not cram his foot in his mouth any harder. He clears his throat.

"Just a little tasteless joke for your day- wow, I am wrinkling like a prune in here, I should get back to town-"

Phil blinks. "Hey, hey, you only got here like fifteen minutes ago--?"

Is what leaves his mouth before he processes the exact reason why Hawkeye's in such a sudden hurry. And then he has no idea what to say. Even if he thinks it's a shame for Hawk to cut his trip out here short, he's, uh, not overeager to raise so much fuss to get him to stay either, and anything else he could think of to say is just...

"Are we still on for coffee?" he calls as Hawk's leaving.

"Are we-" he parrots back after he's already stepped out of the spring, goosebumps on his skin and still red from the heat and absolutely nothing else. He calls back as he goes to where he left his clothes, rifling through.

"Uh- sure- of course, why wouldn't we be? If you're on for coffee then we're on for coffee, that's how that works-"

...

The tree gremlin bastard things can't have stolen a third pair of his underpants, that's just statistically improbable. He sighs.

"Look- forget I said anything, alright?" he winces as he pulls his pants on, "bad timing poor taste et cetera, I'm sorry. I'll see you around, Phil."

"I was just making sure--" since he seems to be in such a hurry to run away, maybe Hawkeye'd changed his mind--

Phil shuffles in place a little, draping his wings over himself and the stone he's sat on, resolutely not staring as Hawkeye dresses. (He does notice the missing underwear, though, and spares a glance towards the bundle he draped in the bough of a nearby tree.)

"Yeah, uh--it's no sweat, consider the air clear, yeah? See you later, Hawkeye."

Stupid stupid stupid- Hawk tugs on his shirt and fumbles with the tie and the waistcoat, careful not to tug on the sutured repairs on his sleeves, lacking any twin on his actual arms from Anders' magic.

"I uh- I mean it when I say I'm sorry for your loss, I'm sure they were wonderful," he offers by final way of parting, before setting himself back in the direction of the train.

Phil watches him go.

A talon hooks into the ring around his neck briefly, before he just… sighs, and slips back into the water.

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i heard the thunder [open]

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