ph_logs | 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

[ hit me! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It’s more of a breath than a sigh that he takes, and the hand he has on Darcy’s shoulder squeezes gently.

“You are being reasonable, and I appreciate that, but if something I’m doing is bothering you then I want to know. Those big pauses you took when I talked about Hawkeye and just now makes me feel like you’re ignoring something for my sake. I don’t even know what ‘this shit’ is supposed to be.”

"I don't know how I'm meant to respond. Okay, sorry that guy was weird, whatever."

It's Phil, so Darcy is watching how grumpy he gets, but it's also Phil which means he is apparently incapable of taking a hint or inferring. Darcy is so fucking tired all the time these days, he really wants to just end the conversation and go find somewhere to sleep for a bit.

But it's Phil, and he deserves more than that. Darcy knows he's just trying to understand, too.

"Being weird about a parental figure dating, alright? I got exposure therapy to the worst possible version of it. I'm fine. You can't live your life worrying about if something might bother me. Everything fucking bothers me."

Whatever gods or goddesses are out there give him grace. He has no idea how to handle this, and Darcy's gotten especially snippy. Not that anyone can blame him; the memory of them still burns in his gut, and they weren't even that close to Phil.

It's funny, isn't it, how the longer he goes without seeing or speaking to the man, the more that...

"Sure," Phil does sigh, "but I don't want you to make a habit of being miserable because you don't want to tell me when your dad is doing something that upsets you or even just, when something's going on. You're still my kid. You do come first, you know. I mean it."

Inhale. Another sigh. "Sorry that I upset you just now."

He hates being snippy at Phil. He hates how he's still not good at being cared for, how the same damn fights he'd have with his mum echo in every other interaction. Worst is how stupidly insanely relieving 'you come first' is to hear. Makes him feel like fucking Cinderella fearing for her place in the house after her father remarries. Probably closer to a narrow miss past Cordelia, or Donkeyskin. Darcy turns his face into Phil's sleeve, his father who he loves like salt, who loves him like water. Needs to do a better job of remembering that love, and being secure in it, when it can't be taken from him by someone else.

"Sorry," muffled through his sleeve and Darcy sniffs, "I didn't mean to act weird."

There. Another day Darcy won’t suffocate himself just to make someone he loves happy. The last thing he wants is his silence, for him to disappear himself from view. Phil may never be able to keep him from doing the same for others, but God willing, his father will never be someone he needs to do that around. (Will never be someone who begs his silence. Never someone who gnaws at his heart so bad to drive them away.)

He knew what he was asking for when he first saw him glaring across the room. Nothing’s changed.

Phil squeezes Darcy’s shoulder again. “Thanks. It’s all forgiven, don’t sweat too much about it, ehn?”

There he goes again, doing once more what Darcy cannot do himself. It won't be the last time these feelings come up about this topic, and Darcy will need to swallow them eventually. Or rather, work out a way to chew them over, acceptance rather than silence. It'll be easier, knowing that Phil will be here as much as he's able. They've already passed through fire together, Phil has seen him at his worst. The moment of his death, the days of his worst despair. If he was going to leave, he already would have done so.

Darcy exhales deep enough to dislodge a couple of bubbles, covered up with a couple of shallow coughs.

"What was the goddess lady like?"

“Nice,” he says. “Irish. Or like, whatever this world’s equivalent of Irish is, because they keep calling this place Emeran and other words but the architecture and technology and clothes is extremely Earth Victorian and Tudor and stuff.”

Okay, nerdisms aside. “She’s very casual, very sunny. She feels her emotions really big. She’s got antlers and a mane of red hair, and her steps sound like hooves.”

"It's weird how many worlds have an Ireland."

Mm. He nods, "cool. Genuinely, I mean, kind of wild that you got to like. Meet her."

“There’s an Irish pub in every city. Guess that goes for every world, too.”

His last name is Connors, he can make that joke.

“Yeah, it’s—hah, honestly pretty wild to get that? And she sat down with me because I ‘looked like I needed it.’ Maybe I should start dyeing my grays again.”

That’s a joke. He’s too lazy at this point.

“And she said to my face that I’m one of Celestine’s ‘favored,’ too, so I should probably like… say hi at the Temple. At this point it feels rude if I don’t.”

Snorts. His dad was Irish so he can laugh at that joke.

Flatly, "Phil I love you but I don't think it was your greys that made her say that."

Another quiet huff.

"Probably. I kind of hope I'm nobody's favoured, but I think the dead part kind of puts me into Mortanne's camp by force, ehn."

"Really? I thought I radiated an aura of pure joy, wonder, and generalized well-adjustedness."

This is all sarcasm.

"Probably. Sorry. I'm not that good at this, but hey, you've got your priest now, ehn? Hasn't he started setting up shop in the Temple now? If you start running into any theological tripping hazards, you can always go to him."

"You joke but I genuinely cannot remember seeing you actually happy since like..." thinks for a moment, "prom."

Which, y'know. Not like he's going to say that's an unfair thing considering everything that happened after prom, but. He wants Phil to know he noticed.

"Ehn. Not all of us are weird about it like I am. I just... I can't let this or any place take my faith from me. It got me through the ship and my first death. I don't want to... get treated like an idiot because these guys show up personally and my God doesn't."

“No, of course not,” he says, soundly ignoring the thought that he’s not really sure he was all that happy at prom, either. He doesn’t have time to inspect the black pit in his stomach.

“Look, Mulcahy’ll probably get it, right? He’s still a priest after being in the Village, and we don’t even know how long he was there. And if anyone starts giving you shit for it, point me in their direction.”

"He will. And there's nobody you could beat up that I probably also couldn't," again he loves you but if there's one thing in this world Darcy doesn't need, it's for someone to fight his literal battles for him.

"Just something I'm nervous about, that's all."

i heard the thunder [open]

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