but i wonder where you are [closed to current CR]

[incomingchoppers]

Who: Radar O'Reilly (incomingchoppers) and current CR
What: Mr. Rambo's gone. Radar tries to deal.
When: Early May
Where: Baker Ranch, Town Hall, the Leeds Estate, and all over
Warning(s): None yet; will add if necessary



on the night you disappeared, oh if i had seen it clear [locked to Baker Ranch residents]

He wakes up, and he knows.

He hears an echo of the ferryman's sigh; the whisper of water parting as the boat shoves back from the dock. The problem with echoes, though, is the delay between source and sound. He wakes up, he hears, and he knows it's too late.

Radar's probably never gotten dressed so fast in his life, even during a middle-of-the-night bugout. He bursts out the door with one boot half untied and his suspenders on the verge of snapping off. He doesn't care. He sprints as fast as he can the whole way to Baker Ranch, which isn't too fast at all on account of him having to catch his breath a couple times.

(He knows -- and pretends like he doesn't -- that this is different from the last time John vanished onto the ferry.)


i'm gonna find a way through, there's another life beyond the line [town hall + leeds estate]

There's so much to be done. Nobody realizes how much you gotta get in order after somebody's gone, but Radar's had to do it hundreds of times. Every soldier the 4077th can't save has to be processed before the morgue truck takes them, so he knows the shape of the aftermath pretty good, even if, individually, each one's on a smaller scale than this. This is more like --

well --

(There were no survivors.)

And Edgar's great, he's way better at all this than he was a year ago, but he doesn't know enough to run Baker Ranch. Not like somebody who grew up on a farm and knew the rhythms of the work by the time they were crawling. There's so much, and even someone like Radar can't do all of it plus keep working at Town Hall plus help keep the Leeds Estate in decent shape.

He crumples up five tries at writing a resignation letter before he just gives up and goes to tell everybody at Town Hall in person. Maybe it'll just be temporary. (He knows that's a big maybe.) But there's a lot to settle there, too, and all the conversations Radar has with his friends and coworkers get punctuated with fretful ramblings like, " -- and I wrote down everybody's coffee order when I was just starting out and a copy of it's still in my desk even though I got it all memorized now, top drawer, third folder down, and I checked on Yorick's cabinet last week and it's only got space for maybe ten more folders so you're gonna have to start a new cabinet before the end of May, and -- "

Dahlia and anybody else on the Leeds Estate grounds has to put up with him pacing around there, too, rattling off all the idle upkeep notes he's been cataloging even though he's not exactly officially her assistant anymore. And oh, jeez, if he moves out to the ranch permanent then he's going to be all the way across town from Dahlia. Sure it's not really that far, but it feels far, and what if something goes bad when he's living all the way out in the farmlands? What if Hawkeye or Father Mulcahy or Major Houlihan need him and he can't get there fast enough?

Somebody's gotta look after the ranch with John gone for good, though. So... so that's what he's gotta do. What needs doing. Just like he's always done.


i will be waiting for you on the other side of the frozen pines [wildcard]

In a rare idle moment, it's possible to catch Radar alone. Maybe on his front stoop with a couple of his animals gathered close; at the Temple, fussing helplessly over Serranai's altar (because somebody's gotta keep that in good shape, too, don't they? it's important. it's important. he loved her too.); on the green, just sort of... staring into space in absolute exhaustion. Or somewhere else, as he sleepwalks through all the mundane parts of life that still need doing in between the rest.

[you know where to find me if you want to plot <3]

Comments

frozen pines

[psalmofseasons]

It's been a few days.

Radar will wake one morning to music. Sat at the top of a hill on the far side of the farmland, a familiar mass of red hair tangled around antlers wields an accordion with expert grace, spinning a somber tune. The animals, whether they were locked into their stalls or not, have all found a way to gather around her inside the fence. Beyond it, the wildlife seems to be doing the same.

A patch of forget-me-nots has bloomed in a circle around her.

[incomingchoppers]

At first, in the hazy space between dreaming and waking, Radar thinks the music is birdsong.

The sorrow of it tugs at him. Not even bothering to change out of his pajamas -- and definitely not leaving his bear behind -- he follows the tune just like all the other animals have. (Why wouldn't he? He's a human animal, after all.) As soon as he sees that puff of red hair and the antlers cresting above it like little trees --

"Oh," he quavers, barely a sound at all.

He's been trying so hard not to cry around anyone. Everything he feels keeps getting shoved down into that cage in his chest, the one he locks up tight whenever the choppers arrive so he can do his job. But Serranai's not an anyone. Silently, he sinks to the ground among the rest of the animals, not even realizing right away that he's got tears running down his face.

[psalmofseasons]

During slower parts, Serranai sings along to the melody, just vocalizations rather than words. There's a familiar hen settled beside her as she plays on.

The Mother of Land and Spring is an artist, music included. And she is a creature of beasts and plant life. And all these things flow together in perfect harmony, all the things of land perfectly understanding her heart through her art. And Radar is among them.

The song is one of longing, but of peace. John was struggling to cope with the horrors. They stacked upon his own--- mundane in the sense that they lacked an element of magic, but hardly average, as Radar would surely know. Constant weight built up onto his soul, existential and uncontrollable and nearly constant. It wasn't fair to ask him to stay. And so Mortanne called him to be with his Co, somewhere safe and comfortable, with the knowledge that his people would be well cared for.

He is missed, but his departure is one that was earned. And there is peace to be found in that. Peace that he was able to find Mortanne's embrace not through further bloodshed and gunfire, but in the deathless death of a ferry ride to the Beyond. A rare privilege. The trophy earned from a life well lived.

The song ends when the wordless tale is told, and the final note holds an air of relief. Serranai looks to Radar, and makes no comment on his tears, simply brushing fingertips still lightly dusted with garden dirt over the bits of hair that peek out from his hat. She speaks, softer than usual, her Glassighe accent thick as her hair. "Thought he could use a proper li'l memorial. Don't you agree, my darlin'?"

[incomingchoppers]

Radar nods helplessly. Tears keep streaking his face.

It's always the worst when the doctors do everything they can and there's still no fixing somebody. He sees it that way, even when he knows he shouldn't: fixing, like it's a single endpoint where everything will finally be better. Kinda like how everybody looks to the peace talks and says, it'll all be better once the war's over. But there's still all the healing afterward, and the relapses sometimes; the people who pull through fine only to drop dead an hour later. There's only so much fixing you can do in meatball surgery.

Was that all the island ended up being? Meatball surgery on John's soul? Enough to keep him alive a little longer, but not enough to fix him for good. Not the way Mortanne could finally heal him: with an eternity of peace, at last, for someone who only knew war. A gift Radar knows nobody deserved more than John.

And yet.

"Maybe I should put a little stone out here too," he whispers thickly. "He woulda liked that, right? Something with his name on it so people can..."

He falters. (Even now, all he can think about is the stuff that needs doing.)

[psalmofseasons]

"I can do that," Serranai agrees, and with an upwards wave of her hand, a rock pries itself from the ground below, pushing itself above the surface just inside the cattle fence. Light carves itself through the stone, inscribing 'JOHN RAMBO' into the surface of the stone. A few bright orange day lilies spring up around it like a wreath. Hardy things that can grow anywhere there's light.

"Howzat?"

The gesture, she hopes, will take some weight off of Radar's shoulders. One less thing to be done.

[incomingchoppers]

There's that almost-soundless oh again, as his breath snags against the painful lump in his throat. Finally realizing his cheeks are damp, Radar scrubs at them with his pajama sleeve, unable to take his eyes off the stone. The way the day lilies look like half a dozen little sunrises all around John's name --

"It's perfect," he manages to get out.

One of the rabbits sidles closer to lean against Radar's knee.

Wildcard - Help has arrived

[be_seeing_you]

The Baker's Ranch isn't all that far away from the former Starr's orchard. The orchard may not have any proprietor currently, but it does still have a keeper. Mr. Mime tends the trees as diligently as he keeps the Starr homestead maintained. It's a lot of work for one Pokemon alone, but he doesn't mind the toil. He saw how his master Peter toiled, and has been inspired ever since to do the same.

Now, he sees a new need. The changes to his neighbor's household have not gone unnoticed. He sees Radar now working just as hard as Master Starr and he cannot turn away. If there's a way Mr. Mime can help them, he'd like to.

So, with that decided, the mime approaches Radar during a quiet moment when he's out on the porch alone. He shuffles up, tentatively, and offers out one gloved hand as if trying to introduce himself, "Mime! Mr. Mime!"

[incomingchoppers]

"Huh?"

Radar blinks owlishly, coming back to himself after... well, it doesn't matter if it was exhaustion or what that had him staring into space. He's had a terrible time paying attention to anything in the rare moments he actually sits down and thinks about stuff besides work. Which probably isn't good. If he can't pay attention, he's going to miss something, and if he misses something, then --

Never mind. At least this time, all he missed was the strange little clown-person that he's seen puttering around the old Starr orchard sometimes.

"Oh." He pushes his glasses up his nose, then just as tentatively clasps Mr. Mime's hand. "Hi. Yeah, uh, I guess we haven't met for real yet, have we. I'm Radar. We're, um." He swallows. "We're probably gonna be neighbors soon, huh?"

[be_seeing_you]

The mime gives what can only be described as the most proper of English handshakes, nodding in response to Radar's observation. "Mime! Mime!"

Once it breaks the handshake, it retreats a few steps to fetch a shovel it left propped against the railing. It holds that shovel now and mimes digging with it. "Mime?" It seems to be asking a question. "Mi-ime?" It asks again, while pointedly moving the shovel in a digging motion. Perhaps it's offering to help?

[incomingchoppers]

"Really?"

He sounds taken aback, but not ungrateful. Not immediately turning Mr. Mime down, either. Radar looks out at the field, then back to the Pokémon. "You sure? I don't even know what we're gonna plant yet, o-or how much, Mr. Rambo mostly foraged but if he's not here anymore then I figured we oughta grow some stuff to supplement it eventually, I just don't know..."

He trails off.

[be_seeing_you]

Mr. Mime nods emphatically. It's sure. In fact, it holds a single finger up in a 'wait here' gesture and goes back to the place where the shovel was previously leaning. There's a satchel too, on the ground.

"Mime!" Mr. Mime opens the satchel and offers it to Radar for inspection. Inside sit neat stacks of envelopes, each carefully labeled in Mr. Starr's steady cursive. The one on top reads wheat, the next one down says mint, then apple, lemon, pumpkin, and so on. It seems the Starrs had plans to expand beyond the orchard or, at the very least, Mr. Starr was storing seed reserves away for a rainy day. They are all offered now to Radar, to carry on the legacy.

on the night you disappeared

[hate_gettin_older]

The farm seems almost wholly deserted, in the dim gray pre-dawn when Radar arrives. Just the animals, some still asleep, some blinking placidly at him. No sign of Edgar.



Radar will eventually find him in his room, in bed, out like a light. He's lying half curled around a bunched-up blanket that he's clutching to his chest; his brows are drawn down in the middle in an unconscious frown, like he's trying to solve some thorny problem in his sleep.

[incomingchoppers]

"Edgar!"

Radar doesn't use the voice that could even wake Hawkeye out of a dead sleep, but it's a near thing. He grabs Edgar's shoulder and gives it a rough shake. "Edgar, wake up!"

[hate_gettin_older]

"Mmzuh?" Edgar lifts his head, blinking muzzily and then focusing with startling speed. "What is it?"

[incomingchoppers]

"John's gone." He's breathing hard, in tiny little wheezes, between the sprint across town and trying not to panic. "I dunno how long ago, I heard the ferry leave but I don't know when it really left, I just woke up and I knew -- "

[hate_gettin_older]

He's sitting up, abruptly cold all over. "Gone?"

frozen pines.

[abhorrently]

When he had told her he needed to leave, Fever had nodded through everything he wanted to tell her, before just holding his hands and telling him to do what he had to do. They'd figure it out at Town Hall - they always have. Really, she thinks he needs more time to grieve, but asking Radar to stop when this might be the only thing that helps feels unfair.

So, instead, there are things she can do in the places he's not looking. Others that come to the ranch, sorry for the loss, and offering their time and extra hands to help out. Asking what'll be needed in the near future and making plans for summer. Some bring food, knowing he's probably been busy enough to barely scrape together a meal for himself, for the others there. Soft assurances, that they'll manage together.

Our Radar, Margaret had said months ago, and Fever had felt a small bloom in her chest for how true the words were. Their Radar works himself to the bone trying to help everyone else. Now it's time to repay the favors done.

And when she has a free afternoon, Fever makes her way out there, not announcing her presence, but simply showing up and looking for him. No words need to be exchanged before she finds him, gathering him into her arms for an embrace.

[incomingchoppers]

Radar has no idea why he expected to do all the work alone. It's not like he's been without support or friends since he got here -- definitely the opposite -- and besides, Edgar's lived at the ranch for months. Maybe it's just that taking charge means solitary, somewhere in his mind, so when all the neighbors start showing up with casseroles and tools and offers to help he just about bursts into tears right there.

(He doesn't. He's still trying so hard not to cry where folks can see. But it's close.)

Fever's hug turns out to be another big test of the not-crying thing. He clings back, a little harder than he means, and sniffles against her hair. "Hey Miss Fever," he mumbles.

Taking charge also means he's lapsing back into old Army habits, like calling her 'Miss' again after months of mostly not.

[abhorrently]

"Hey, Radar."

She can tell. That wound up tightness, that tension through every nerve. But she won't make him. Instead, she just rubs his back in what she hopes is a soothing manner. When did he last sleep? When did he sit down?

[incomingchoppers]

Oh, he's got to hold it together, he's got to, even if the way she rubs his back kinda reminds him of how his mom would do the same thing when he was sick. Radar swallows as hard as he can to try and get the lump out of his throat.

"Um. Can I get you anything? We got tea, or..."

He hears how absurd it sounds before it's halfway out of his mouth. But something else his mom would do? Have his hide if she ever found out he didn't offer a guest something to drink. That's another thing you gotta make sure gets done, if you're taking charge of a house.

[abhorrently]

"Didn't come here to ask for anything. I came to ask what you need."

Like Anzu had done for her. Let her talk, and let her not talk. Let her move and not move. Allowed to feel grief as a whole, instead of just some distant, wretched sickness. A wound with no weapon to make it, a broken bone that never felt right to try to walk on even as she had tried. As he's trying.

Thou hast the luxury now to do right by the departed, and to do right by thyself.

frozen pines

[soldierslikeus]

It's out on the green that Margaret finally spots him, as she's cutting across the grass back toward downtown and the clinic. At first she doesn't intend to do more than give a nod of passing greeting, assuming he's simply busily going about his day much the same, but as she gets closer she realises he's not busy at all. He's just... staring.

Well, that's— odd.

She adjusts her course to approach him more directly. "Radar? Are you quite alright?"

[incomingchoppers]

Radar visibly startles. Scrambling around to face her, he says, "Oh, Major Houlihan, sorry I didn't hear you there ma'am -- "

The shot of adrenaline wears off as quickly as it hit, and with it goes his train of thought. All he does is blink for an extra second or two before remembering: right. She asked him a question.

...What was the question?

Never mind. It probably wasn't too important. "How're you?"

[soldierslikeus]

Well, that was illustrative. It'd be one thing if he rambled on to distract her from a lack of answer or something he didn't want to be caught doing, that'd be normal enough, but the blank stare is different.

"I'm just fine, though I'm getting the feeling the same can't be said for you, Corporal." Her arms cross loosely. "You seem out of it, that's not like you. Unless you meant to just stand here, staring at nothing in particular."

[incomingchoppers]

His shoulders hunch, without him quite meaning to do it. "No sir -- uh, ma'am -- I was just thinking is all. About things. Um."

Yeah, he can't even come up with what he was thinking about before Major Houlihan arrived. He doesn't want to sound like he's complaining, either, which he's sure'll just get him a smack on the shoulder and a stern order to buck up. But he says it before he can stop himself: "It's been a real long week and I didn't sleep too good last night."