ph_logs | think i need to feel the freedom

The last few days of the month are busy ones. And it's the last day of the year when Fever tugs Degas out of his own dwelling to follow her to Zivia's house, claiming he can help with something that she wants to remain frustratingly vague on. She's banking on being able to play upon his sympathies to get him there, and through trickery, flattery, and sheer stubbornness, the man does end up following her there.

What greets him when he arrives is a small gathering of friends, the house set up to accommodate them in comfort, and all of them wishing him a happy birthday. None of them need anything terribly fancy, but an effort has certainly been made to make it special. Those in his circle who cannot attend in person will have been invited to write messages for him for the upcoming year. There is a cake, among other refreshments, and there is a paper hat Fever will make pathetic eyes at Degas to wear, just so he can seem important. And there is love, love in abundance. The world might be gearing up to watch another year pass, but they have come together to remind him that the new year is one they wish to greet with him, and that he is not something to be sidelined.

Those that need to depart afterwards will be fully able to, but those that want to also bring in the new year will be invited to what comes after. Fever and Angel have plans to watch the first sunrise of the year, and if one wants to pull an all nighter, they'll be free to join.

[ooc: i'm taking a cue from midnight mass and creating a general onscreen place for attendance. if you guys want to thread further, feel free - i just didn't want to make anyone feel like they had to do anything formal. have fun!]

The conversation that's ahead of them is...daunting, to say the least. No matter how much Helena tries to talk herself down, how much she knows Phil is a kind man and supportive and everything that Darcy would look for in a parent, there's a part of her mind that screams they should have had this conversation first. She said yes too quickly, too afraid of losing her beloved again. There should have been more leadup to this.

In the end, she had simply insisted. What's done is done, but they can't hide the truth from him overly long, or it won't be fair.

So, here they are, and here she is, back at the familiar house. She's walked here so often she could do it half asleep. And dinner, this she can do, and she's somehow managing to remain normal about this. Mostly. Phil can probably already discern they have Something to bring up, given how well he knows his own kid and how Helena seems to be a tiny bit on edge.

At least it's impossible to choke on the food. It's too good to subject to that, and despite herself, Helena has a healthy appetite. Just...stay focused.

A call on the sending stone reaches Phil the day after Mourner's Night.

"Can I come and see you? Just for a little while."

It's possible to say it over the rock, Fever knows, but she needs to say it in person. Needs to look him in the eye and say it, so he knows that there isn't a single doubt. And it being an excuse to actually see him doesn't hurt at all.

It takes a few days. There's the news to share, and Degas's birthday to put together, and naps to take as her body continues to adjust to the world in its new fashion. But she comes to Artemy's clinic soon enough, seeking him out.

In contrast to her demeanor before, full of nerves and strain, she's almost serene. Braced for how this conversation may go, what she is setting at risk by discussing it at all, but steady. He is owed this. And after what she's been through, speaking it aloud doesn't scare her as much anymore. Now it can be said. Now it should be said. Now it will be said.

"Artemy? Are you busy?"

(but there's been a shift in the Lines, hasn't there. something drawn as taut as a dog's leash while the beast strains, desperate for release, has been cut. changed. redrawn.)

It's a good call to have magic lessons out at the ranch, with the amount of things to practice with in terms of making a mage hand do what you want to do. Hers is precise because she knows it well, and she has every confidence Radar can figure it out. And she's eager to get started with things, because why not? He's spent his entire life without magic in his hands, why make him wait any longer?

She's approached this place before with trepidation, with wariness, with stubborn determination, but today she feels merely content, wearing the hat Radar had given her a few weeks ago to ward off the chill. Fever hurries over when she catches sight of that familiar figure, curious as to what he's doing first and foremost before they immediately dive into learning.

"Hi, Radar. What are you doing?"

She's been in a better mood ever since Mourner's Night, and today is absolutely no exception.

This is not how she wanted this to go.

Learning new magic, feeling out the borders of what has occurred - why, it's fantastic, and she wants to throw herself into it with abandon. It's still so fragile, so newborn, and while certain muscles feel like they long since relaxed, others need to be stretched, and she feels like a plant that has needed to overwinter. Oh, spring, spring will be marvelous.

But trying to see where this path of change has been going, embracing and following it - well, if she'd known the results, would she have gone for it? Probably still. Yet, she would have preferred something...larger. More fearsome. Sleek and beautiful and deadly. Something more akin to a noble beast that can predate on what it pleases. Just because the root of violent compulsion has been removed doesn't change her likes and dislikes.

What exists instead is something small, with tiny claws, tiny teeth. Fur that seems constantly full of static, fluffy as her own hair. Large eyes, uncoordinated in working with four - five unfamiliar limbs, instead of the ones she's accustomed to. And truthfully, she has no idea when or how to turn back.

I thought I'd be bigger than this.

Send help.

Mourner's Night has come and gone, and Valdis's sending stone hums with a message, one Fever's all too happy to send.

"Please tell me you're not trapped at work. I have to see you."

Even over the rock, there's a warmth in her voice, excitement peeking through. Sure, she could share her news like this, but she'd rather bring herself, and let Valdis perceive it. Like this, Fever feels like she could do anything, even glide through the space that the Enforcers use without a twinge of her nerves.

She hasn't asked what happened, after that band had started to play. Her perceptions had narrowed to a single task - get out of here - and it was by some miracle that she'd made it to her apartment without collapsing in the street. Away from that noise. Away from those people. Away from anyone seeing how she breaks apart, yet again regretting that she made enough room for feelings in her body.

When she'd finally peeled herself off the floor in her apartment, Fever'd simply crawled into bed in the dress, unable to find the internal strength to remove it. Time passes, and as daylight creeps into the world, so she manages to rise. Change her clothes, wash her face. A dull ache sits at the bottom of her heart, and she doesn't feel much like handling it.

At least it's quiet now. She knows she has to check in on people, has to make sure they're fine, has to attend to probably a dozen things at once to make sure the world still ticks on. Somehow. She'll find the strength. Somewhere.

Cleaning the apartment is a simple thing, if boring. Put things where they go, wipe away dust and dirt, make sure nothing's been tracked in. It should be an easy task to do, and there should be more time left in the day. But a headache's been growing on her since halfway through, and when done, lying down with her eyes closed feels like the only thing she can do.

Fever knows what it is, when she takes her medicine and waits for it to start working. It's everything, it's the dregs of nightmare and the pain that's a constant bruise and that horrible fucking music from Merrymeet, it's not having enough of other people's problems to solve, it's that same wild urge that she had around Artemy that if she cracked open her ribs, everything would make more sense.

Spring. Maybe things will be better when spring comes. She thinks about it - about new grass, warmer winds, caterpillars hatching from eggs, fueling themselves for what will come next. It's the one spot in her head that doesn't feel mixed up or too disjointed to sort out. If one could bottle this collection of feelings, it would be the best poison ever crafted.

It isn't spoken that she needs him, but it resonates, vibrations across a mycelium, asking even as she would chastise herself for being too much. Even just to talk to, even just to sit in the same room for a bit.

12/31 - semi closed.

farmhouse.

december.

early january.

baker ranch.