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

Zivia Birnbaum | OTA

[tehilim127_1]

Zivia didn't have any part of her life turned into a stage show tonight, and you know what, she's just not going to spend much time thinking about that right now. A lot of people here have just had a real bad time, and she's going to be making the rounds to check in. Whether or not you've ever had more than a casual interaction with her, she's probably passed by to ask if you're okay, and if you need anything. She might even participate briefly in some of the pick-up games going on.

And at some point, she'll find a quiet spot to sit with Degas and just rest, before starting to round up a group of anyone who wants to head back to town but doesn't want to go alone.

[2onostromo]

Zivia's lap around camp brings her to a far shed, picked nearly-clean in the group's efforts to stay warm and fed for the night. There, she'll find Ripley groping blindly for a moment of quiet. Moonbeams cut out her shape from the midnight curtain behind her. She presses her back against the shed wall. It's perhaps the only thing keeping her upright. That, and an adamance to hold it together.

A hand on her shoulder makes her jump.

"Zivia— sorry, it's... it's been a long night."

[tehilim127_1]

"Ellen," she says, half recognition, half attempted soothing. "Yeah, it really has. Are you doing okay?"

[2onostromo]

"Trying," She mutters and slumps against the wall some. "I didn't have a performance of my own, if that's what you mean. I guess I should feel lucky. Are you holding up okay?"

[tehilim127_1]

"I didn't have one either. And yeah, seems like that ought to be good news, I dunno." She gives a small, not particularly convincing smile. "I'm holding up okay, yeah. Just checking around, trying to make sure everyone else is too."

[2onostromo]

"We're good at making the most of a piss-poor situation, that's for sure." Ripley scans the crowd for emphasis. Some folks pitch tents, others gather around the fire playing games. She realizes, amidst observation, how collective strength singlehandedly keeps her nerves from snapping.

Others might call it collective delusion. She isn't sure.

A pause while she contemplates something, catching bottom lip between teeth.

"Can I ask you a question, Zivia? About the person whose— about that play I was in?"

[tehilim127_1]

"Sure." Her gaze stays direct as she adds "And I'll answer it if I feel like I can."

[2onostromo]

"What do you know about her? I saw her sort of, unravel, in the dressing room. She told me to come find her once everything quiets down and I don't necessarily like not knowing what I'm walking into."

[tehilim127_1]

Zivia frowns slightly in thought. "About what happened on stage, I don't know any more than you do. About Fever here and now? We've been working together at Town Hall for coming up on a year, so ... I know she's reliable. Does what she says she'll do. Steps up when there's extra help needed. Kind, when people are having trouble."

A pause. "I could probably tell you a little more with some more specific questions."

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?"

[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.

[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?"

[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.

[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."

[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.

[lovethyneighb_or]

His eyes crinkle with a kind of fondness, though it, like the rest of him, is colored by this... reluctance? Timidness?

"Are those your baking? That's terribly kind of you, Zivia."

He sets the table; a plate for each, a cup and saucer for each, and pours for them both. He allows himself to take one of the sweet rolls, and quietly says his thanks over it.

Once they're settled... well, they're settled. There's no putting it off anymore.

"So I believe you had a few, ah, questions about... what you saw of me onstage."

[tehilim127_1]

"Well." She folds both hands around her teacup, keeping them still. "I'm gonna say again that you don't have to talk about it, but if you still feel like you need to, then yeah. And if there's any of this you want me to keep in confidence, I will."

A beat, to see if he seems at all likely to withdraw.

"Powell, that was ... he was the man in your dream? Going by a number?"

[lovethyneighb_or]

“I would like that. This conversation is just for you and I.”

He sighs, lacing his fingers together, and stares into his cup. A moment passes.

“Yes. I knew him by that number for longer than I knew him by the name.”

There’s more, of course. The air weighs with all the explanation unspoken. But it’s such a long, winding tangle, he isn’t even sure where to start.