[Givingstide] It's nice that this town has its own tradition of giving. Crichton finds himself falling in love with the whole thing. At last, he can sit in a cozy cabin with the people he cares about all gathered around. At last, he can give them gifts and more importantly than that, he can give them affirmations of his love for them. So many people here are family to him. Even more are friends. He smiles as he looks around and realizes that in this moment they are safe. They can simply celebrate and enjoy the night. He can too.
[ooc: If our characters have positive CR, feel free to handwave that he got them something small that seems in line with their taste. And for close CR, that item came with a heartfelt letter expressing his gratitude for their place in his life.]
[Mourners Night] He follows the crowd with a candle in his hand. His black leather fits the theme tonight. So does his somber expression. Once they reach the cemetery he goes a little away from the group and stares at no grave in particular. He's had his time to mourn in Whitestone. He'd done so much of it in just that one year. But being here is different. Now, some of the people he mourned have been returned. Some in full, others only in form. It's a new kind of rekindling of grief. It's pulled stitches in an almost healed wound. Now, it infects with thoughts of Why him? or Why not her? So many nights he'd stayed up staring at the ceiling chasing these and so many other thoughts across the ceiling. He needs to let it go. So, he carries it here with him, nestled in his chest, this new heartache. He searches for a place to bury it.
The pain leaks out in silent tears and muffled breaths. His lips quiver with the effort to keep quiet but the sorrow drips from his eyes instead. Until the bell begins to toll. The rising melody of the villagers' song beckons to him. He doesn't know the words, but he joins in humming the melody, suddenly feeling lighter, less burdened. The pain is still there, but it's shrunk. The swelling has gone down. He can face it now. He can face the next year to come. As he looks around to see that he isn't the only one with a wet face, he no longer attempts to hide his own tears. But he's smiling. It's soft and small, but it's real. It's a peaceful smile.
[For Sally + Gwen + Runt] For Givingstide, Crichton can't quite contain his excitement, so he's invited The Girls over a little in advance for a nice quiet dinner and also a gift exchange. He's a little nervous as he brings his soft-wrapped parcel to the kitchen table to show her.
"I didn't want to do anything too complicated or extravagant as a gift. I hope you don't mind that I kept it simple." Inside are yellow-knitted hats and mitten sets. Four, in fact. "I got one for your roommate too and for, uh... Yellow. Didn't want anyone to feel left out. I have one for me and Runt, too. We all match."
John Crichton | Farscape | OTA
It's nice that this town has its own tradition of giving. Crichton finds himself falling in love with the whole thing. At last, he can sit in a cozy cabin with the people he cares about all gathered around. At last, he can give them gifts and more importantly than that, he can give them affirmations of his love for them. So many people here are family to him. Even more are friends. He smiles as he looks around and realizes that in this moment they are safe. They can simply celebrate and enjoy the night. He can too.
[ooc: If our characters have positive CR, feel free to handwave that he got them something small that seems in line with their taste. And for close CR, that item came with a heartfelt letter expressing his gratitude for their place in his life.]
[Mourners Night]
He follows the crowd with a candle in his hand. His black leather fits the theme tonight. So does his somber expression. Once they reach the cemetery he goes a little away from the group and stares at no grave in particular. He's had his time to mourn in Whitestone. He'd done so much of it in just that one year. But being here is different. Now, some of the people he mourned have been returned. Some in full, others only in form. It's a new kind of rekindling of grief. It's pulled stitches in an almost healed wound. Now, it infects with thoughts of Why him? or Why not her? So many nights he'd stayed up staring at the ceiling chasing these and so many other thoughts across the ceiling. He needs to let it go. So, he carries it here with him, nestled in his chest, this new heartache. He searches for a place to bury it.
The pain leaks out in silent tears and muffled breaths. His lips quiver with the effort to keep quiet but the sorrow drips from his eyes instead. Until the bell begins to toll. The rising melody of the villagers' song beckons to him. He doesn't know the words, but he joins in humming the melody, suddenly feeling lighter, less burdened. The pain is still there, but it's shrunk. The swelling has gone down. He can face it now. He can face the next year to come. As he looks around to see that he isn't the only one with a wet face, he no longer attempts to hide his own tears. But he's smiling. It's soft and small, but it's real. It's a peaceful smile.
[For Sally + Gwen + Runt]
For Givingstide, Crichton can't quite contain his excitement, so he's invited The Girls over a little in advance for a nice quiet dinner and also a gift exchange. He's a little nervous as he brings his soft-wrapped parcel to the kitchen table to show her.
"I didn't want to do anything too complicated or extravagant as a gift. I hope you don't mind that I kept it simple." Inside are yellow-knitted hats and mitten sets. Four, in fact. "I got one for your roommate too and for, uh... Yellow. Didn't want anyone to feel left out. I have one for me and Runt, too. We all match."