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[OPEN] Moving
Who: Angel and Y'all
What: Moving Day and the Surrounding
When: Early December
Where: Yeah!
Warning(s):
1. So take your shaking bones
Eddie leaves on the ferry on a cold misty autumn morning, and Angel spends longer waiting for him to return to the farmhouse than it'll admit to afterwards, keeping a kettle warm on the stove for afternoon tea until the water's all boiled away and it's clear that how many lumps Eddie takes in a cup is irrelevant now, irrelevant ever again and Angel still doesn't want to admit it until it has to.
It has to.
And taking care of the farm, the bees and the temple all by itself just isn't going to be possible, it's not, even if its heart was hale and whole and beating in sync with Eddie's still, so something has to give.
Something has to.
Angel decides that it is going to move.
There are appointments with town hall to discuss possible new houses and apartments and townhouses (not homes, yet), and discussions of its beehives being transported into town, and paperwork to be filled out in a heavy, stiff, blocky hand as it figures out the work of transition, hoping that living in the city will be a replacement for the bustle of clucking hens and the nagging goat and it's going to need to get a stable situation set up for Arcadia, if the horse will forgive the relocation.
Angel is alone.
This is not work to be doing alone.
And that's before we get to the process of packing, of sorting through the debris of a life and a love and the twinge that reminds it that it can't cry every time it comes across a favored book or a shirt that still smells like Eddie, and that twinge is deeply painful enough to make it stop moving for seconds, perhaps minutes before it finds something to push it past inertia, even as it feels like some vital spark inside it is guttering and dimming.
This is not work to be doing alone.
2. And step out on your own
A sign on the bulletin board:
HELP WANTED MOVING. STANDARD PAY OFFERED: PIZZA AFTER WORK COMPLETE
3. Oh, the winter never stops
[This is your wildcard. It was meant for you.]
What: Moving Day and the Surrounding
When: Early December
Where: Yeah!
Warning(s):
1. So take your shaking bones
Eddie leaves on the ferry on a cold misty autumn morning, and Angel spends longer waiting for him to return to the farmhouse than it'll admit to afterwards, keeping a kettle warm on the stove for afternoon tea until the water's all boiled away and it's clear that how many lumps Eddie takes in a cup is irrelevant now, irrelevant ever again and Angel still doesn't want to admit it until it has to.
It has to.
And taking care of the farm, the bees and the temple all by itself just isn't going to be possible, it's not, even if its heart was hale and whole and beating in sync with Eddie's still, so something has to give.
Something has to.
Angel decides that it is going to move.
There are appointments with town hall to discuss possible new houses and apartments and townhouses (not homes, yet), and discussions of its beehives being transported into town, and paperwork to be filled out in a heavy, stiff, blocky hand as it figures out the work of transition, hoping that living in the city will be a replacement for the bustle of clucking hens and the nagging goat and it's going to need to get a stable situation set up for Arcadia, if the horse will forgive the relocation.
Angel is alone.
This is not work to be doing alone.
And that's before we get to the process of packing, of sorting through the debris of a life and a love and the twinge that reminds it that it can't cry every time it comes across a favored book or a shirt that still smells like Eddie, and that twinge is deeply painful enough to make it stop moving for seconds, perhaps minutes before it finds something to push it past inertia, even as it feels like some vital spark inside it is guttering and dimming.
This is not work to be doing alone.
2. And step out on your own
A sign on the bulletin board:
3. Oh, the winter never stops
[This is your wildcard. It was meant for you.]
no subject
"I saw your notice. I'm here to help."
no subject
"I. Feel like I shouldn't have let him mean so much to me. This hurts."
Help will be emotional as well as physical, it seems. Angel needs its dad right now.
no subject
"In these moments of fresh heartbreak, that is always the first instinct--that it would be better not to have loved than to feel such pain. He was special to you. He will always be, even if he is gone. It hurts, yes, but once you've had time to heal, those memories will remain as a treasure. Please trust me that I speak from experience."
no subject
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"It was worth it," he whispers. "Knowing him was worth it. Eddie helped you discover parts of yourself that will remain even now. Whatever you do, don't wish those times away."
no subject
Not that he actually wants to, but grief is a new thing for him, like pickled turnips and a bed were when he first arrived.
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"You can do this. It will feel so terribly lonely, but you must remind yourself that you are not alone no matter how it feels. Reach for your friendships. They won't be the same, but they will help. I will help."
no subject
"Thank you. You are helping. I'm glad that you're here." Those are better, but they still come out sounding flat. Angel has no clue what comes next.
no subject
"Do you want to talk anymore or would you rather pack some boxes? It doesn't matter how heavy you make them, I can carry them."
no subject
Whether or not it actually is a better use, they can debate later, or maybe never.
"Most of what's left is the bedroom. His clothes. His stuff."
no subject
no subject
This is one of those areas where he just doesn't have the experience to see all the possible answers that exist.
no subject
no subject
It still worries about being a burden. But Erik's been clear enough about this being his idea.
no subject
Erik loosens his stiff shoulders by rolling them and then adds, tentatively, "Carefully stowing his things will be... cathartic." He can sit with them and mourn a little himself this way, while the scents are still fresh on all the things he's touched.
no subject
It gets Angel to see past his own grief, hearing Erik acknowledging his.
no subject
"He put a lot of trust in me when I was still a stranger to him. I put a lot of trust in him when he became your love. I will miss him dearly. Unfortunately, I have a lot of practice with grief."
no subject
A pause.
"Does it get easier?"
no subject
"Not necessarily easier, no. But it becomes more familiar. Like having a blister you can learn to ignore, until you accidentally slice it open again on a sharp edge."
no subject
no subject
"This blister is on your heart, Angel. You won't ever see it, but it's there. Others may form in time. They are a sign of life lived and of experience gained. I hope you can take some comfort from that."
no subject
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"I'm glad, too, Angel. You are not alone."