[OPEN] The world is spinning endlessly

[spaghettification]

Who: Siebren and friends
What: October Shenanigans
When:...October? Possibly also November
Where: Siebren's home, the
Warning(s): Potential cannibalism mentions, unreality, mental unwellness, memory manipulation (self-inflicted), more in comment titles

1. This is the sound of energy [Gala Aftermath]
You can't believe how easy it is. You just have to go... a little crazy. And then, suddenly, it all makes sense, and everything you do turns to gold.
He calls into work the morning after the gala. And a couple more days beyond that. In that time, he is
metamorphosing
assimilating
unpacking
digesting everything that occurred that night. He stays at home, alone, trying to avoid everyone and everything.

much. It's too
The fragments of past that he's avoided for their sharpness rotate in him mind, turning their points toward him, crystal shards of time that threaten him. And yet, some part of him reaches out with Pandoran curiosity, like Sleeping Beauty toward the spindle. What he pricks isn't a finger, but he feels the pain just as instantly. And yet, and yet...

too much. It's
There it is, the multiple choice past solidifying in fractals, like frost spidering across a windowpane. Siebren has no way of knowing whether this is a correct past, but it is now his, memories feeling more stable than they have in years. Some things are lost, others are fake, but the end result is more real than anything he's been able to grasp before.

For three days, anyone approaching Siebren's home for any reason may hear, even from outside the building, the sounds of someone having a Bad Time™, with pained screams or furniture being thrown against walls as his gravitational powers pulse and fluctuate. For three days, he struggles.

And then, there is silence.


Traveling through the galaxy [The Library; CW vertigo]
Siebren returns to work. Nothing is wrong. He is fine. Can't you see how fine he is?

Somewhere, a book falls off a table and he flinches. And then, to anyone within a certain distance of him, the floor seems to fall away, in a dizzying cloud of galactic light, just for a moment, before he regains control, glancing around to see if anyone noticed.


Into eternity [Stargazing Night]
A notice goes up on the bulletin board, and letters are issued to penpals with explicit invitations: Crane's Ridge, 9pm on a given night. Bring snacks, drinks, something to sit on. Siebren will have his telescope and star charts.

He's brought some cheese and crackers and apple butter himself, as well, and is floating beside his big brass telescope, dressed in a comfortable sweater. For the moment, he is completely at ease. For the moment, nothing could possibly bother him.

Right?


A One Note Symphony [Wildcard]
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[theydrewfirstblood]

You can help it if you fight. If you win.

He wants to say it, but doesn’t. He’s self aware enough to know it’s inherent to his training. Some of it, to his chagrin, is innate, though: and he sees that in Siebren.

“You made it out, though. Of your head—you made it to work, you’re here, now, instead of locked inside your own skull.” John points out instead. “And if you can take that step, you can take another. Gaining ground, one victory at a time, no matter how small. Learning to control it, like you control gravity.”

He wants to say more—but he stops himself, again, because it’s something so deeply gouged into him he doesn’t know what’s him or what’s the Army anymore. That drive to fight, to win at any cost above and beyond simple tactical victory.

He doesn’t want to strategize or indoctrinate. He wants to help.

[spaghettification]

It's the difference between Subject Sigma Siebren and John Rambo. This man was not meant to be a fighter. He was dragged out of his own head by those who'd use him. He doesn't have the same experience swimming upstream.

He can't do it alone.

"Making it to work was a bitch today. And I don't know if I'll make it tomorrow."

[theydrewfirstblood]

“You don’t know that you won’t, either.”

John moves closer, trying not to flex his fingers or shake his hand, no longer raw from contact but craving it, needing that heat and burn of that gentle pressure from Siebren’s grip.

“I could call you. Or walk you to work…or just sit with you if you can’t go in. Keep you here, if nothing else. Not stuck inside your own head.”

Because that’s one war John is happy to fight. He can lend him his hand, help him swim against the current—but simply keeping Siebren free? John will fight, he will win, and he will do unspeakable things to achieve victory without losing a single moment of sleep.

[spaghettification]

Siebren slowly leans over into John's personal space, cheek against his shoulder.

"Sure, but you can't be around all the time. There's a ranch to take care of, kids who rely on you."

[theydrewfirstblood]

"Phone, sending stone, mail...I can be around as much as possible, and the rest of the time I can still be here." John points out, tipping his head to rest his cheek against the top of Siebren's head. A knot between his shoulders relaxes, and thoughtlessly he slides his hands into his pockets...then he feels it and remembers his conversation on the beach with Gaeta as he smiles.

Pulling out the chicken feather he finds, he reaches up and gently runs the soft edge against the bridge of Siebren's nose.

"When I'm upset or just...not myself...sometimes I help Co preen, and I don't like to throw away the loose feathers that come off. She's--you know how much she means to me."

He reaches for Siebren's hand, pressing the feather into it gently.

"If I can't come, and you can't reach out for whatever reason, hold onto this and think about where it came from, why I kept it...and I'll be here. Even if it's only in your head. If you get stuck in there, think of this--then maybe we can both be there, me and her, to take care of you."

[spaghettification]

Siebren accepts the feather with a nod.

"Thank you. That will help. I...struggle with reaching out sometimes. I have often asked, begged for help, and gotten nothing in response."

Years. Years in the Lucheng facility, begging, pleading to be released.

[theydrewfirstblood]

Moira's insistence that they gave Siebren purpose and facilities and everything but support or freedom runs through his head at that, and the rage that swells in him is...it hurts.

John breathes through it and nuzzles the top of Siebren's head.

"I came for you before, remember? When I told you I met Moira...I got your six. That's something you can count on, one thing I will promise you, swear to you, and hold to. No matter what it takes, no matter what happens, no matter how long I have to fight, Sieb...I will always come if you ask me to. I will always come for you, period. There's no version of any world where you're not there and I won't find you."

[spaghettification]

Siebren is quiet for a moment, but it's a contented, warm sort of silence, soaking in all of those promises. But he leans in more, almost basking in it all.

"I should eventually go get that quilt."