ph_logs | [Post Canon Update Open Log] Wasteland, Baby!

The Day That We Watched The Death of the Sun [ Blackwood Brews ]

It's a rainy morning when Blackwood Brews reopens, brass keys jangling loudly as Martin pulls them from his pocket. It's strange to be back here. There's this constant feeling that there's another shoe waiting to drop. A phantom Sword of Damocles. Pumpkin Hollow is far from perfect, certainly, but it's that familiar imperfect, predictable and comparatively easy. But after everything that he and Jon endured for... however long, Martin's already forgotten what Jon said it was aside from it feeling far too short... Some of those worlds within the world, they felt so... real. Dreamlike and permanent, like they'd been there forever. The sick village comes to mind. Not to mention that dreadful house.

The scent of tea leaves snaps Martin from his introspection. There's a bit of dust. He should get that cleaned up before Jon gets here with the pastry order from Max.

Water boils as rain falls outside. Dishes are washed, tea sets prepared. The dark wood and bookshelf-lined walls of the shop feel cozy under the rainy sky.

Martin almost doesn't notice as someone finally enters once the shop is open.

He startles lightly, snapped out of his stupor as the bell on the door rings. "Oh--- Hello there! Welcome in! Have a seat wherever you like. Can I get anything started for you?"

The Cloud & The Cold & Those Jeans You Have On [ Morning Fog ]

Sometimes, in the very, very early morning, the fog will be much thicker than usual as it rolls in off the shoreline.

A figure stands on the beach, in the very thick of it, silhouette almost obscured despite its size. A Thermos-like flask in hand, Martin gazes out at the sea.

He came here to be alone. Mornings on the shore are quiet if you stand far away enough from the marina. Between the distance and the effects of his Lonely fog, the far-off shouting of the crew of the Mipha's Grace as they load up their ship for the day sounds almost unreachably distant, like the echo of another world. A world of people and gatherings, so otherworldly to Martin's solitude.

During their apocalyptic hike and their stay at the safehouse, Jon and Martin were separated meaningfully... maybe twice? In all that time that felt like years, just a few brief moments apart. And Martin loves Jon more than anything or anyone, but a thing like him... Well, he's always needed a healthy dose of solitude to think straight, and he won't find that at the cottage or at the tea shop.

But maybe occasionally it won't hurt to be interrupted, to be kept from sinking too deep. Either by a friend or a fellow seeker of a moment's peace in a loud and busy world.

You Gaze Unafraid as They Sob from the City Ruins
[Closed to Jon]

As things slowly start easing back to normal, Martin and Jon spend fewer and fewer days laid up in bed, dead to the world. But every so often, they take a day to themselves to just be.

Martin has been almost ghost-like, his own struggles to reconnect with this world drawing the Lonely to him in noticeable but largely innocuous ways. (Aside from a bit of fog in the house, but what can you do.) Jon is woken on a lazy morning not by hands and a lover's voice, but the phantom of a kiss to the forehead, the cloying smell of bacon being cooked, and the sound of the ocean through a window that was not open the night before. Traces of Martin's presence.

Jon will find the other man out on the patio, breakfast laid out on their garden table overlooking the bluffs. "Morning," Martin murmurs, smiling with a warmth reserved only for Jon these days. "Hope I didn't wake you too early."

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Daisy doesn't so much walk in as she does burst in like a wet dog from the rain, all drowned with floppy hair on account of her general stubborn refusal to use umbrellas. Or hoods.

She sags with a tangible relief when she sees him. "Thank christ, you are back."

The odds of someone having broken into the shop were slim but not zero.

Martin smiles awkwardly as he registers the identity of his customer.

"Oh! M-morning, Daisy, you're looking." Wet. "Busy. Were you--- checking in on the shop?"

Feels incredibly weird to talk to her like this. Having watched her die, having seen the thing she became. But Martin still puts Earl Grey leaves and lavender buds into a strainer, like muscle memory. He doesn't even think about it.

"Been walking by to check since it went quiet." She wipes her face and at least shakes her hair out in the doorway, rather than after stepping fully inside. Really not unlike a wet dog shaking itself out, but a little less messy. "Been a few people leaving and not coming back."

Being her, she doesn't say that she was worried that would happen to him and Jon, but it's the implication.

"Ah. Yeah, I remember. It was usually people who hadn't been here long, but sometimes..."

Martin had certainly heard plenty of town gossip from the shop. The chief constable, the owner of Baker Ranch, Gerry's ex-boyfriend... Apparently Dahlia's ex-boyfriend too, but that happened before Martin was here. And maybe also Crichton's?? What is it about ex-boyfriends? Too bad it can't happen to Jon's.

"We actually were specifically asked by Mortanne to go home and come back. Apparently we're going to be... needed. The way we are now. So." He shrugs. "Doesn't seem like we were gone long. It's still spring. Maybe a week, yeah?"

"Thereabouts," Daisy confirms with a sideways nod, finally reaching the counter and leaning against it. "Didn't realise she could just... ask you to go back. S'pose it sort of makes sense."

She doesn't exactly have to guess what they had to go back and live through. Not that she ever told Martin that, even if she did finally get around to telling Jon.

"...the apocalypse. Right?"

"Y...yeah." The word sounds like Martin had to force it out of himself. Like the first sound got caught in his chest and the rest had to be pushed out. "Daisy, I'm--- sorry we couldn't help you. After what you did for Jon when Trevor and Julia came, I--- I know Jon wanted to help you. He likes to pretend he's this unreadable enigma, but."

Martin sets her cup of tea down in front of her, along with one of those itty-bitty pitchers filled with milk. His hands withdraw quickly so that he can fidget. Not in an anxious way, necessarily, just to help him think.

"Well, I owe you one."

"Killing me was helping me," Daisy says, voice a touch softer than usual but still firm all the same. The kind of tone she gets when she's the one explaining something difficult that she knows to be true. Subtle as it is. "I didn't live it. Not— the real version."

Nightmares. Ugh. It still makes her shudder to think about.

"I just got the tapes. But I heard enough. At that point, killing me was the best thing any of you could've done for me." She wraps her hands around the cup. Sighs. "...still sorry I put you all through it. 'sira still doesn't know."

"Water under the bridge," Martin assures her. "Glad you didn't stick to leaving me alone forever, by the way. I was, ah. Well, I was a real prick there for a while. I still am, honestly, I'm just better at keeping it buttoned up." The end of the sentence dissolves slightly into awkward laughter.

"Hey. You're talking to the biggest bitch in the Met," she jokes dryly, waving him off. "You were all in your fog and whatever grand plan you had going on. I had arguments with Melanie just as bad. You should've seen her when she heard I signed the contract."

She shakes her head, takes a drink from the tea and exhales again. "Won't pretend it wasn't awkward being yelled out of the room, mind. Pretty funny you turning up here the first time not knowing though."

It's not long before his first customer shows up, Shen Qingqiu glowing ever so slightly as he dismisses the rain from his umbrella and the rest of his person with a little spell. "Martin!" The tone of his voice, the look on his face, they all betray how relieved, how pleased he is to see his friend back again, in this place he's meant to be.

...And then he notices what else Martin brought back with him and his demeanor immediately changes to concern, hastily approaching the counter to take his hand and check his pulse. "Oh, Martin," he sighs. "Xiongdi. Are you well? Did Sims come back with you?"

"Shen Qingqiu! God, I feel like I haven't seen you in--- like a year!" As soon as his friend is satisfied with the fact that he indeed has a pulse, Martin pulls him into a bear hug. "Christ, it's good to be back. Yeah, Jon's here! He'll be out in a bit, he's dusting his office aggressively."

"Don't open the lemon green canister," says a voice from around ankle height. "I put my mice in there."

At his feet sits a bright pink cat, idly grooming one paw without a care in the world.

(Luckily, if Martin does open the canister labeled LEMON GREEN, he'll only find a bunch of toy mice Nimona's been slowly nicking from the pet store.)

[Post Canon Update Open Log] Wasteland, Baby!

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