[OPEN] Don't Be Afraid to be Weak

[preacher_in_reticence]

Who: Degas Clayton and You
What: The beginning of his sabbatical
When: July, perhaps longer
Where: All over the place!
Warning(s): Discussion of depression and mourning likely

1. That's not the beginning of the end [Attempts to Relax]
If you’re a personal friend of Degas, you might have gotten a message via sending stone, letting you know in advance that he’s taking a sabbatical from his work at the Temple. At least one month off, perhaps longer. It’s time he gets to relax, to breathe and reset and heal from everything that the past several years have done to him.

The problem is that this man hardly knows how to relax. Catch him around town:
- getting a meal alone at a cafe or restaurant, looking awkward about sitting alone
- on the beach or docks, fishing
- visiting the graveyard with a bag in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other
- walking his Pokemon, both very large compared to him. The Appletun is pokey and the Trevenant is cranky, but both seem quite protective.


2. That's the return to yourself [Home Decor]
The sign reads YARD SALE in big friendly green letters, and the items laid out on blankets on the lawn go with it. Most are very feminine floral items–lacy placemats, a daffodil teapot, pillows with roses the sizes of cabbages on them. On some level, Degas still wonders if this is a betrayal of Melly. On another…well.

”It's a charming piece. Might be a nice addition to a kitchen, if that's your sort of thing.”

“My sort of thing? Jon, you've seen what my home looks like. I haven't the foggiest idea what my sort of thing is, at this point."

It is time to learn that for himself, isn’t it? And if someone else can get good use out of Melly’s collection of unused yarn, or her old dresses, well. It’s better, isn’t it?

After the sale, friends may be invited to help Degas paint and redecorate his home, making it a place for a single man to live, a place he feels at home in, even without her.


3. The return to innocence [Wildcard]
[find me on discord at darkersolstice to plot]

Comments

Home Decor

[thelatechrisfreeman]

Chris finally has some free time -- the post-flood pneumonia outbreak among the Winterbottom Clinic's oldest patients has come under control at last -- and curiosity leads them to the yard sale that Degas has set up.

Chris can currently be found among the dresses, running gentle fingers along the fabric and inspecting the various decorative items (like ribbons and buttons and lace trim) on the garments. There's a thoughtful, somewhat distant look in their eye.

[preacher_in_reticence]

Degas is currently on the front porch, in the shade, watching Chris quietly. He looks sad (but when doesn't he?), but he is enduring this all with grace.

"If the fabric or trim are useful to you, you ought to buy them. They don't need to stay in exactly that form."

[thelatechrisfreeman]

"I suppose that would be the kindest thing," Chris says agreeably.

They pick out a few dresses -- one in blue, one that is mostly dark green, and one in a sunny yellow. They approach Degas in his shady spot, and ask, "How much for these?"

[preacher_in_reticence]

"I don't know. Um, fifty brass for all three?" It is far too low a price, but Degas just wants it all gone, right now.

[thelatechrisfreeman]

Chris isn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth... or turn down a bargain. They hand over the fifty brass with a smile, and neatly fold up their purchases.

"They really are lovely dresses. If there's anything you don't sell, I know Regina who runs the secondhand clothing shop would be willing to pay for the rest."

[preacher_in_reticence]

"I know she will, but it's different. She knew Melly."

And would be a more personal witness to the crime of Degas moving forward with his life and trying to reclaim ownership of his own home, in his head.

[thelatechrisfreeman]

"It isn't wrong," Chris says quietly. "To put her things to use for others. To make a space for yourself. I don't think her friends, or yours, will judge you for it."

[preacher_in_reticence]

"And if I'm judging me for it?" Degas looks at the dresses, lifts the sleeve of one of them, suddenly remembering a festival night when Melly wore it and a flower crown, dancing with him carelessly.

"I'm sorry, you don't need to play therapist."

[thelatechrisfreeman]

"No, but I also don't mind listening. Or offering what help that I can." Chris looks at Degas, with a momentary curious tilt to their head, before asking, "What do you think is so wrong about what you're doing?"

[preacher_in_reticence]

"It feels like giving her up. I know, I know that these objects aren't her, but they're the marks of her presence on my space and time."

Degas lets go of the dress.

"It's always a bitch, when you have two thoughts that are exact opposites, but one's wrong and you know that, but you also feel it."

[thelatechrisfreeman]

"When my father died, my mother couldn't afford to stay in their home. She kept a few things of his that were most important, but a lot of the other things... like his clothes, his collection of baseball memorabilia... there just wasn't space for it anymore. No one who'd use it or enjoy it like he used to."

Chris takes a breath, and a sad smile forms on their lips.

"She cried over a lot of it, but she eventually let it go. I think maybe she felt that wrong thought, same as you -- I'm giving up this person who meant so much -- and she let herself feel it, but she followed the right thought in the end. The 'I can't live in a museum exhibit to my old life' thought. And that was okay."

[preacher_in_reticence]

"Yeah. There's been people pointing that out, that this is a still life, a snapshot of the night she died." He almost, almost smiles. "Makes it really awkward, inviting people here, sometimes."

[thelatechrisfreeman]

"I venture she might have something to say about being a poor host to your friends for her sake..." it's gently said, and gently meant.

[preacher_in_reticence]

"I venture she might have more to say about me bringing a woman home." Snark, but then he catches himself at it. "Not that it was like that."

[thelatechrisfreeman]

Another tilt of the head, almost as though Chris were listening to something else for a moment.

"I don't know about that. Most of the dead don't resent the living for continuing to live." Chris reaches out, and will lightly pat at Degas's hand if he lets them. "You don't need to be over her all at once. Small steps are still steps."

Home Decor

[tisnotthehouse]

Degas's taste in clothes and interior decorating is not Tarantulas's taste, but he's wandered over to take a look because he's wondering...whether it might not be Ryja's.

See, he spent nearly all of his savings to build an extension on his house just for her. He'd intended to furnish it for her as well...but then came the flood, and his deal with Claunthe, the duchess of debt. Now, he's...well, to tell the truth, Tarantulas is somewhat strapped. So, if Degas is selling feminine accoutrements for cheap...

Now Tarantulas just has to find something Ryja would like.

[preacher_in_reticence]

"Tarantulas. How big's your daughter now?" The question isn't merely out of idle curiosity. There's some artifacts of his daughter's childhood he can pass along as well, beside all of Melly's stuff.

[tisnotthehouse]

"Hm?" Tarantulas blinks up at Degas in surprise, not expecting the question, but he rallies and answers, "Oh, she's about about twenty-five pounds, and thirty-three inches from head to foot." He holds his hands apart to demonstrate. "Everyone says she looks more like a two year old than a five-month old, but of course that's by human standards."

[preacher_in_reticence]

“I have some things inside that may fit her. More, to grow into, and toys from my daughter. Wait here? I can go fetch them.”

These aren’t as fraught as Melly’s things. He knows Liana is alive and doing well.

[tisnotthehouse]

"Oh! Well, thank you." Once again, surprise is all over Tarantulas's face. He didn't know that Degas had a daughter -- and being offered things for Dawn is completely unexpected. To be honest, while no one has outright refused to do business with him, many of the local townspeople have been holding him and his child at arm's length, as if her parentage -- both sides of it, perhaps -- is a mark of danger, like the stripes on a venomous snake. It's infuriating, but Tarantulas has gotten quite good at biting his tongue and saying not a word.

He needs a community, in order to provide Dawn with everything she needs. Whether that community likes him or not is immaterial.

[preacher_in_reticence]

Degas comes back lugging a trunk. “Here, go through this and see what you think your girl would like.”

There’s clothes, plush toys, a quilt with traditional designs in deep green and purple and pink. The clothes are not particularly frilly, and there’s signs of where things were mended for a very active child.

“Pass things down to Sally and Gwen when Dawn outgrows them.”

[tisnotthehouse]

Oh, he wants that quilt. It would look so adorable on Dawn's bed, once she's outgrown her crib. Tarantulas pictures his daughter wrapped up in the quilt like a little dumpling, safe and warm, and his spark chamber feels like it's melting inside his chest. And then the clothes...they're cute yet sturdy, perfect for a quickly growing child. She could spend an entire day in the woods in these, and only need a little clean-up in the evening...

"This is very generous," Tarantulas says, biting his lower lip. "But...I fear I only brought a little brass with me..." There's no way he can afford all the things he wants to take.

[preacher_in_reticence]

Degas gives Tarantulas a quiet look, startled by that statement.

"For these, I'm not asking you for brass. I'm passing them on as a fellow parent. And I'm asking you to do the same, later."

[tisnotthehouse]

Tarantulas is even more surprised by this statement. "I...really?" He doesn't mean to be insulting, it's just...he's experienced so few moments of true generosity in his life.

Ah, and now his eyes are burning. "Thank you," he says hoarsely. "I will...I will definitely pass these on, once Gwen is old enough." Except for the quilt. That's Dawn's now. Although maybe she'll want to pass it on herself, if she ever has a child...

[preacher_in_reticence]

"Good. Good. Ah, do you need to borrow a handkerchief?" Oh no, he's making the scary scientist cry! Degas was only trying to be friendly and helpful.