MINGLE - Post-Op(era) Recovery

[pumpkinhollow]

On this night we drink to the death of Sorrow.

After the Fall of Efrain With the Prince of Sorrow's Song dead and gone, the opera dissipates, spitting its victims out on the summit of Crane's Ridge where the Dance of Celestine was held some months before. It's getting late, and there is no one yet in town to run the train. Some will brave the trip home simply for the sake of collapsing into their own beds and achieving some sense of normalcy. Others will do so with the hope of returning with help. But many others will simply say "fuck it" and camp out on the mountain, still fitted with extra firewood from the festival and the means to build temporary structures in nearby storage sheds. The journey down will be safer in the morning, and there's solidarity to be had in a cool spring night spent under the stars.

Oh, look, there's even some non-perishable food and wine from the Dance. Combined with what can be hunted or foraged, as well as snacks and drinks stolen from the concession stand, there's plenty to go around. This might even be a little bit fun! Anyone up for another game of Never Have I Ever? Maybe a little Truth or Dare? Or perhaps you just want to chat and unwind with your friends. Whatever the case may be, have fun. This is your time. After darkness, there is a dawn. At the death of Sorrow, there is joy.

Comments

[hate_gettin_older]

He wants to ask what she was running away from. It doesn't seem like a fair question, though, not for someone he isn't close with.

"Din't know there was a normal for that," he offers instead, which means she can talk more about it if she feels like it.

for Mulcahy

[tehilim127_1]

The next morning -- okay, more like the next afternoon, it's close to eleven before she wakes up and she's got to feed the cat and put some other things in order first -- she picks up the sending stone and sends a quick message to Mulcahy.

Hope you got home okay last night, let me know when you might want to talk?

[lovethyneighb_or]

He picks up his stone and makes a call. When Zivia picks up, his voice is soft, a little scratchy.

"Hello? Zivia? ... Are you there?"

[tehilim127_1]

"Hi," she says at once, her voice bright with something like relief. "How are you holding up?"

[hate_gettin_older]

"Yeah, all right." Like he's ever going to get an argument from Edgar about that.

They bring their dinner back to the tent and settle down to leisurely consume it, and by this time Edgar's really starting to feel better. Between the victory over their tormentor and a hefty meal to celebrate it, he could almost forget about what came before. (At least for the moment.)

"So," halfway through his steak, "want to try opening the box and see if it's candy or what?"

[lovethyneighb_or]

There is silence on the line for a while.

"... Quietly. I suppose. I... hm. Poorly. I think. I... ah."

He feels like he's already spoken for too long. "But what about you? How are you doing? Did you stay back on the mountain after all of that?"

He heard there was celebrating. How anyone could have been in the mood for it, he can't imagine.

[thismaskismybadge]

"I mean, most runaways don't run away to a whole other universe. They usually just hop on a Greyhound and go to the next state over or something."

She's not particularly guarded about that part, at least. Spending so long hopping between alternate dimensions comes up a lot when you're stuck in one.

[tehilim127_1]

"For a little while, yeah, but not overnight. I'm getting too old anymore to sleep on the ground if I don't have to." Her tone shades faintly rueful, then back out again. "Got home well after midnight, and I guess I was tired enough to just fall asleep right away."

A pause.

"So I think I made you a promise back there."

[lovethyneighb_or]

... Oh, no. He's not sure he remembers that. His first instinct is to play along and act like he knows, but that's... a bit dumb in the real world, isn't it. Or, he knows she wanted to talk; is he misconstruing that as not having been a promise?

"... Could you remind me of what that was? Or, ah, is this just about wanting to speak with me?"

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar's face shows a moment of confusion. "Greyhound?"

[tehilim127_1]

"That was it. That we could talk, when all that was over, somewhere quiet and safe."

Half a beat, and she adds gently, "Whenever it's a good time for you."

[lovethyneighb_or]

(Okay. Got it. So Zivia is the kind to use "promise" a little more loosely.)

He looks up at the ceiling.

"If you're available in an hour or two, I think I could do that. Would it be too much trouble to ask you to come by to the house?"

[tehilim127_1]

(She doesn't always use promise loosely, but this one felt like a promise.)

"Not at all. I'll see you then. Should I bring anything?" And she can't help asking that last, even though she's sure he will say no.

[lovethyneighb_or]

"No, it's alright. I'll put a kettle on."

And he does. When Zivia does come by and knocks, a voice rises up from the garden out back. "Zivia, is that you? I'm outside! Come join me in the yard?"

And when she does, going down the path beside the house and passing the fence gate, there is Mulcahy in the midst of his budding garden. Though there are boxes and pots, it seems like he's letting them grow into something that more resembles a wild field. There is a small statuette on the back porch resembling Saint Francis holding a mostly-empty dish of birdseed; a birdbath; and standing tall on a pole in the middle, a thriving dovecote.

"Hello." He stands up from the table on the back porch and smiles gently, if a little pained. "Thank you for making the trip. I'm, ah, a little reluctant to be in public, at the moment."

[tehilim127_1]

"Hi." She returns his smile; and he'll see that she's got a little wicker basket with her, its contents covered in a tea towel. "That's fine. D'you want to go inside, or stay out here?"

The backyard feels like a nice compromise; out of the house, under the sky, but still in relative privacy. If he's up for it.

[thethirteenthchild]

"Hello," Dahlia replies, equally stiff. She's still guarded. Between being put on the spot by Cassandra about her nature before she was ready and their productive but inconclusive conversation at the casino, Dahlia still isn't sure where they stand. Cassandra's desire to thread the needle's eye of her conflict with Neil still puts her on edge.

"I'm giving people rides home," she announces, preempting the question she imagines Cassandra might have. "Those who don't want to camp but may have trouble walking. And if they can, ah. Trust me."

[not_the_last]

"I see." And the pause is barely there at all before she says "I'd be grateful if you'd do the same for me. I don't think I can make the walk on my own."

[lovethyneighb_or]

"I think I'd prefer the yard." It's nice outside, his home is rather sparse, and he's not feeling a 'other person in my house' day.

"Feel free to take a seat on the porch. I'll go get the kettle." For the briefest moment he slips inside, then back out; the open window does show that the door leads directly into the kitchen. He has a tray with a small teapot and matching cups.

He sets it down, and the smell of it is divine; it's certainly a tea that's expensive. "I hope you don't mind if I went ahead and took the liberty of brewing one of my favorites? It's, ah, an oolong."

[thethirteenthchild]

Dahlia's brows raise slightly. "Oh. Yes, absolutely. Do you have a preference for how you'd like to be carried?"

[not_the_last]

"... What are my options?" And the caution there has nothing to do with Dahlia specifically, but with the prospect of multiple possible ways of being carried in flight.

[thismaskismybadge]

"Oh, right—they're a bus company," she clarifies. "The kind of bus company you can afford an interstate trip on with a few months' allowance, depending on how far you wanna go."

[thethirteenthchild]

"Bridal style, in a sack, or riding like a horse. Piggyback is uncomfortable for both of us."

[incomingchoppers]

"'Course," says Radar around a mouthful of potatoes. He rummages up the box and works his fingers under the flap to pry it open.

Inside aren't peppermint sticks, but something that looks a lot like the candy cigarettes he'd get at the Ottumwa general store sometimes. Thin, opaque white sugar sticks without a single hint as to what flavor they might be, even though there's also a little slip of paper inside that declares NINETEEN DELICIOUS FLAVORS TO TEMPT YOUR TASTEBUDS! Why nineteen and not a nice round number like twenty becomes more apparent as Radar keeps reading.

"'Nineteen delicious flavors to tempt your tastebuds, but beware of Sour Jack,'" he recites aloud. "Pass the box among your friends. Whoever finds him first loses.' Huh." He looks up at Edgar, intrigued. "I think it's a game?"

[hate_gettin_older]

A silent ah, and a nod.

"Whole other universe is a lot farther than that. Guess it's different if you can do it on purpose though."

[tehilim127_1]

"It smells marvelous," she says with complete honesty. "And I hope it's okay that I brought something anyway? I don't want them to go stale."

The little basket's on the table, with the tea towel folded aside: sweet rolls, made with honey and hazelnuts and just a little cinnamon.