[OPEN] Maybe Things I've Misremembered, Maybe Things I Just Forgot

[lasthumanvoice]

Who: Cecil Palmer and YOU
What: Settling in, making friends
When: October, generally
Where: Pumpkin Hollow
Warning(s): Description of panic attack in Prompt 5

1. Birds and heights and movie credits [Downtown Pumpkin Hollow]
Maybe you're shopping, or trying to go to work. Maybe you're heading to get a bite to eat. You're going to be delayed, though. There's a reporter waving you down, running up to you, preparing to ask questions.


2. Crowds and puppets, dying in a fire [Town Hall]
A large sign--no, not a sign, it's not that legible from a distance. A grid? Some sort of grid is posted on the wall of the Town Hall building. It has seven columns, each one of five rows plus a header. Days of the week? Oh! It's a calendar. Cecil has posted a Community Calendar, thoughtfully for anyone to use, to mark off days they'll need extra help at their shop or when they might be having a sale or throwing an event.

He's even taken the time to mark October 8th as the day the next edition of the Gazette comes out, and the evening of October 7th as Simchat Torah (with the preceding week marked out as Sukkot). Alright, he's guessing on those, based on the phase of the moon on his arrival, but look, he'll find time to mark his celebrations as best he can all alone.

Still, if you come to look, you're going to be offered a pen to add something of your own. Birthdays? Holidays from your world? Odes to long-dead gods? Here, have a pen!


3. Ferris-wheels and certain blues [Fall's Promise Cemetery]
"It features a plethora of carved headstones of varying ages and states of care..."

Cecil's first visit out here was to get a scoop, to see if there was information to be gleaned from the headstones. But upon seeing the condition of things, well. He left, and returned the next morning with a scrub brush and a bucket of soapy water borrowed from a local business, taking both to the moss and grime coating each pale stone. It's simply not proper, in his mind, leaving the stones untended and dirty. Even if death isn't working properly, even if new graves aren't regularly being added, it's just the done thing, to ensure the resting places are cared for.

He might be singing to himself as he cleans, so if you're meandering past, you'll hear someone bellowing modern music off-key. Whoops, sorry for that!


4. Oh, but mainly losing you [Wildcard]
Find me at darkersolstice on plurk, discord, tumblr, unsplash or elseweb to plot or request a custom starter.

*****

5. And this growing sense of distance that keeps building in my mind [Commercial District]
Perhaps you're headed for the Shady Merchant's shop. Perhaps you're just doing your shopping. Either way, you might pass a huddled form crouched against the side of a building, having a near-silent panic attack, struggling to breathe. It is Cecil, and he has visited Calloway and now everything is Bad.

Help? Help.

Comments

[lasthumanvoice]

There doesn't seem to be anything physically wrong except all of the air being squeezed out of his lungs by a very deep, painful fear. Fear large enough that Cecil feels very small right now. Too small to speak, too distant to form words. He's aware he's not alone. But he is somehow still very, very alone.

[thelatechrisfreeman]

Chris gently takes Cecil's hands in each of zirs. "Cecil, listen to me. You're going to be okay. But you need to change how fast you're breathing. There's such a thing as getting too much oxygen."

Chris squeezes gently on Cecil's hands. Zir voice remains gentle and calm. "Can you look at me, so I know you hear me? Then I can talk you though feeling better.

[lasthumanvoice]

The flash of an upward glance. A flinch. Feeling better? That sounds impossible, when he knows Lot 37 is for sale.

But there's enough him about him to recognize that Chris is genuinely trying to help.

[thelatechrisfreeman]

Addressing the physical symptoms is going to take precedence for the moment. Overbreathing, as Cecil is doing, brings in excessive oxygen and lowers the level of carbon dioxide in the blood. The symptoms of weakness, confusion, chest pain, numbness and tingling, and muscle spasms in the extremities are all caused by low carbon dioxide levels.

"Picture that you're going to blow out a candle, Cecil. Purse your lips and take a deep breath in..." Chris breathes in demonstratively, "...and then slowly let it out. Okay? And again, deep breath in... and out..."

Chris makes Cecil repeat that a few times. That should help to start with.

"I bet you know how to breathe proper from your diaphragm, Voice of Night Vale. Let's do that...." and Chris keeps speaking in that calm tone, talking Cecil into deeper, more regular breathing.

[lasthumanvoice]

"I'm hardly the Voice of Night Vale here, am I?" There's something squeaky and small in his voice, unable to pull The Voice out right now. But he does. Slowly. Figure out. How to breathe. Again.

"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to mop me up and wring me out like this. I'm sorry."

[thelatechrisfreeman]

"If you're the only Night Valer here, doesn't that make you more its Voice?" Chris asks, in a mild tone. "And you're doing fine. Do you think you can stand up? I'll help you."

Whether or not they make the attempt to get upright, Chris responds to those apologies with, "I'm only sorry that you're going through this. I don't mind helping you."

[lasthumanvoice]

"I am...glad...to be helped." Another breath more like a gulp of air, as Cecil allows Chris to pull him to his feet. There's a shuddering exhalation. "It is...I am okay. For the moment. I think. I mean, as okay as anyone ever is, here. Or anywhere."

[thelatechrisfreeman]

"Once the adrenaline wears off, you're going to get very tired from holding yourself so tense. Panic does that." Chris offers Cecil an arm. "I can escort you back to the tavern, so you can rest in your room."

Chris is thoughtfully quiet for a moment, then says, "If you want to talk about what set you off, I will listen. But you don't have to do so yet. And if you don't want to talk about it, that's okay too."

[lasthumanvoice]

"I'm not...um. I'm not at the tavern, anymore. They gave me a home when I got a job as a reporter." He wipes at his face with one hand. "I'm near the clock tower and town hall. North of here."

[thelatechrisfreeman]

"Oh. I wondered... well, never mind. Got the answer." Chris smiles. "I'll still tag along. Make sure you get home okay."

He glances to one side, away from Cecil, and then after a moment picks the correct direction toward Cecil's new home.

[lasthumanvoice]

“You wondered what?”

As fragile a cloth as Cecil is right now, Chris gets an uncertain look, like there might be some implied threat in there. Like there’s a danger he’s still, still bracing for, even in the face of this kindness and help. After all, he still thinks the person who used Lot 37 at home was his friend (former friend?) and intern, Dana. He doesn’t trust that anyone won’t use him, right now.

[thelatechrisfreeman]

"Just why I kept missing you at the tavern. I thought I had bad luck or bad timing, but it makes sense now. You weren't even there!"

Chris is oblivious to Cecil's suspicions, especially since he's got no interest in using Cecil for anything. It's merely that the close timing of their arrivals on the island makes Cecil one of the easiest people for Chris to recognize and they have no reason to wish Cecil ill.

[lasthumanvoice]

“You looked for me?” Even through his haze of paranoia, that’s sort of touching. “I’m sorry. If I’d known you were looking, I’d have stopped by for a meal.”

[thelatechrisfreeman]

"It's okay that you didn't know. You know now, and maybe you can come by when you feel better." Chris gives Cecil's arm a reassuring pat. "But really, when you get in your home, I suggest drinking water, doing some light stretches if you can, and getting some rest. Those physical effects of a panic attack can wear you out just like normal physical exertion."

(If Dr. Winterbottom could hear Chris now, she'd probably make snide remarks about them doing an awful lot of medical counseling for someone who doesn't want to take over as physician...)

[lasthumanvoice]

“I know, this is hardly my first time. Panic is sort of a state I’m used to living in, to the point of complete collapses when I’m feeling safe for a moment. Or working myself up so tight my default ends up a numbness for weeks or months on end, because if I stop to feel, I’ll have a complete breakdown.”

And Pumpkin Hollow didn’t seem like it was going to be any different in that regard.

“Being the voice of community radio meant that I had to appease the Sheriff’s Secret Police and the City Council and Station Management, and having feelings sometimes put that goal at risk, you understand.”

[thelatechrisfreeman]

"I see. I hope it doesn't sound like I'm talking down to you. I didn't know if this was your first panic attack or if you had experience, so I defaulted to educating."

Chris leans into Cecil just a little, as a grounding measure -- a reminder that he doesn't have to be just in his own head. "I'm so sorry that you've gone through that. No one deserves to live like that."

[lasthumanvoice]

“Deserving is irrelevant to the actual experiences we receive in life, I’ve found.” There’s the faint ghost of a smile. Can Chris perceive those, ghost expressions and ghost emotions?

[thelatechrisfreeman]

By virtue of having eyes and watching Cecil's face while the pair walk, why yes! Chris can! It has nothing to do with eir powers, though.

"Sometimes, we can think we deserve bad things when it isn't true. And it helps to hear someone else refute it, outside one's own head."

[lasthumanvoice]

"Well, I'm glad it's outside my head. You might find it crowded, otherwise. And dusty."

He makes a joke of it so easily, instead of leaning into the gratitude he feels. The exhaustion is starting to hit, but they're almost to his home. He only slows a little bit, as his feet start to feel heavier.

[thelatechrisfreeman]

"Dust we were," Chris murmurs in response, apparently not understanding the joke. Or maybe just not acknowledging it. When Cecil slows down, Chris gives another encouraging pat to his arm.

"Once I drop you off, would I be welcome back? I could swing by the tavern and see if there's any cookies. I find sweets can help afterward. Get the blood sugar up, that kind of thing."

[lasthumanvoice]

"I..." A tiny hesitation. And then a nod. "Yes, you would be welcome. I'm not promising to be good company, of course. But I think you already expected that."

[thelatechrisfreeman]

"I'm terrible company!" Chris assures Cecil. "Most people tell me so. And thus I have no standards."

Once Cecil is safely home, Chris goes running off back to the tavern to check the baked goods situation. They will be back later with some jam thumbprints (apricot flavor) and a few thick slices of a molasses loaf cake, all boxed up.

[lasthumanvoice]

Cecil's been given a cozy little townhouse. Charming, walking distance to everything. Inside, it is clean only because Cecil doesn't have much stuff. Eventually, this will be a bachelor pad like the best of them.

By the time Chris is back, he's shoes and socks off, and sitting on the floor in the living room. He'd be lying down, but Chris is bringing food. Sitting is better than that.

(There's totally a table and chairs, and a little loveseat. But floor time is now.)

[thelatechrisfreeman]

Chris knocks, of course.

However zie gets inside (Cecil let zir in, door unlocked, whichever) Chris will imitate Cecil insofar as sitting on the floor. The fact that Chris is wearing slippers makes it far easier to sit cross-legged without worrying about footwear.

"I hope you like apricot jam; that's what's in these cookies. I'm not sure about the molasses cake, but it smells nice. Kind of like gingerbread." Chris offers up the box (lid off) and the sweets inside. "It's funny to realize how many flavors I liked at home are imports and less likely to be here."

[lasthumanvoice]

"Molasses is what makes brown sugar brown. It's good stuff. Old Woman Josie used to use it in her baking a lot." He takes one of the cookies first, though, closing his eyes as he nibbles the edge of it, playing attention to texture and flavor, like a grounding exercise.