ph_memes | MINGLE - Post-Op(era) Recovery

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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.

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Caboose...doesn't really know what happened.

(Caboose knows a lot, more than people think he does, but has trouble understanding. Not this time. This time, he understands perfectly what happened to him, to all of them. He wishes he could know instead. Then he wouldn't understand.)

So, in the aftermath, in a place that isn't...there...he tries to help. Actually help this time, because everything is so terrible that the directions are clear. Nobody has to say anything, nobody has to tell him what to do. Not with words. Every face has the instructions written across their foreheads in the way they wrinkle up with pain or tears, or written under their eyes with lines and shadowy circles, or on the tear tracks spilling down their cheeks.

One of the storage sheds ends up ruined. Well, "ruined"...he's very upset by the things he felt and thought about during all of that, and he misses Church more than he has in a very long time, and he wants to feel better. Other people want to feel better, too.

So Caboose keeps busy by dismantling part of one of the sheds where he finds camping supplies, tents, bedrolls, stuff like that. He gives out what people need, but the stuff for himself he uses along with the stolen bits of wood and screws--and some branches--until his campsite is the shed--complete with a shockingly well put together fire pit with a comfortable little blaze and a very small, very rustic little patio area. One tent has been set up near the fire, but the other has been cannibalized to curtain off some of the walls in the shed and line the ground so the space inside is a lot more comfortable and sheltered from the night air, with bedrolls spread out a bit for sleeping or lounging.

He doesn't invite anyone directly to join him, but welcomes anyone who comes over to see precisely what the actual fuck he's doing.

Caboose is either tinkering with his little 'blanket fort'-esque project, or sitting by the fire with some of the scavenged supplies, alone, just trying to get enough to eat that he can try to ~~avoid~~ sleeping.

"Never have I ever performed on stage!" Sally declares, cheekily proud from her throne on Crichton's lap. Gwen is in her own lap, but being nearly 2 years old and antsy from her day in a carrier, the threat of her running off after Yellow is very real. "I was behind the concession booth the entire time."

Carolina watches him for some time.

She watches him rip wood panels from their screws with a strength most soldiers dream of. She watches him fashion pain and anger into something productive. Not productive by her own standards— throwing punches until her fists bleed, running laps until her shins splint, festering silently while tasks are completed with an almost frantic quickness— but practical. He gives supplies to those who need it; logs to make fires, blankets to spread out on the cold grass, food and water. Then he gets to building.

She watches him make the shed anew.

It's impressive, really. What he manages to do with so little supplies. Such thin bandwidth. He's in pain, she can see it even from a distance. Her hiding place between trees, arms crossed, back pressed to bark, so very far away.

She watches him sit. Warm his hands by the fire.

And she feels so, so tired.

Rare are those moments she allows herself a true break. Always things to do. Muscles to warm. She could walk home. It wouldn't be hard, even in the dark. She could be back in bed before morning, sprawled out on the ground with her blanket and pillow— more solid than her mattress, and so more ideal for sleeping. Not that she could sleep, even if she wanted to.

Agent Texas. Agent York. They gnaw jagged little edges into her brain; wounds made fresh again from her performances.

She can't sleep. Can't bring herself to walk home, either.

Thinking little of it at first, Carolina peels herself away from between old trees to approach his stupid little hut. She regrets every step. Turn around. Step. Go home. Step. He's got his own problems. Step. He doesn't need yours.

And before she knows it, she's at the foot of his makeshift patio, light and shadow dancing across her face where the fire paints her to its liking. She sits down beside him, drawing her knees to her chest and saying nothing. The fire is nice, at least.

Caboose is aware of her. She's Agent Carolina, she's from home, she's familiar. She's Reds and Blues and Bases and Freelancers and Military. She's Known, she's Safe. She's his friend, she's Important.

So he can notice her and not have to do anything and nobody will yell at him. Even soldiers can trust their team mates. They're your friends.

She comes to the fire, and he notices her but he's also glad. He worried he wouldn't see her, that she might hurt too much.

(He knows she got on the big stage. He knows everyone who did got hurt. He is ready for her to pretend to be mean because it hurts so bad--Church did that. He did that a lot of times. He misses Church.)

He misses Church so much.

She sits next to him, and she curls up into a little ball, and even though he's still sad, still hurts, still misses Church so much, Caboose feels like he can breathe.

She gets all of five seconds before Caboose turns towards her--and just wraps his arms around her, face mashed to her shoulder, squeezing tight but not to hurt.

Squeezing to hold the broken pieces together. Squeezing to get the rest of the hurt out. Squeezing to keep the warmth and the quiet and the home in so there won't be so many bad dreams later.

Squeezing because...

"...bloop, squish--sound 'ffects."

Among the things she should do, telling Caboose to back off is one of them. She isn't a thing to be hugged. She detests touch. She isn't his friend or his teammate. She doesn't trust him and he shouldn't— by any means— trust her. If Caboose is too stupid to put distance between himself and her— to do the right thing and avoid her entirely— then she'll do the deed for him. Leave. This was a mistake. You can't trust him.

She knows these things aren't true. Caboose is the closest thing to home she has here.

Not that she'd ever admit it out loud. If she speaks it, it becomes real. And if it's real, it can be taken.

And she's too tired to pretend she hates him.

Caboose's arms are like a bear's limbs. He draws himself into her shoulder, nose and cheeks squishing, curly hair like a pelt in her face, and for a moment— a stupid thought whose origin she has no idea— she wonders if its ever been properly brushed.

He holds her broken pieces together until she's able to breathe. It would be cruel of her not to return the favor. So she does. Arm around shoulder, hand landing at the top of his head and burrowing in his scalp. Just for a second, she tells herself, guarded. Scratches little patterns with her nails. Just for a second.

Carolina can't bring herself to say anything. She hopes that's okay.

"I still don't understand why they only used me for one show!" Shen Qingqiu calls out, after downing his drink. Just like last time they all gathered on this peak, he's letting himself get a little tipsy for the occasion. Because what the fuck, man, he deserves it.

"I've actually got musical training," he informs everyone within earshot. "I'm good enough to teach it to the other people, so what the hell? How'd I end up stealing -- I mean selling -- snacks?"

Over by one of the larger bonfires, Neil can be seen all dressed up in his suit from CT's opera, magically returned to its red and black color scheme. He has a brand new violin from his role in the orchestra pit, which despite having played it all night, he's still playing. Perhaps he's in the mood for a merrier tune than the ones he's been playing. He fiddles away passionately, leaning this way and that as he plays. His joy is a little bit infectious.

Sephiroth stands on the hill, looking over everyone there and the complicated way down. He’s still the way he left himself after the end of his performance, with the seven wings on his back. He sees no reason to hide them now. He offered to take anyone down who wanted to go, but so far he hasn’t had anyone take him up on it and he’s not sure if he wasn’t heard or if they don’t trust him to do it.

How could they trust him, a madman who thought himself a god, destroyed towns and innocent lives, and tried to damage the entire Planet in his thirst for knowledge and power?

What will happen back in town? Should he resign his position? Leon still accepts him, but will others?

He doesn’t know what to think. Everyone’s pain was laid bare for everyone else to see. If the demons wanted it to tear them all apart, it looks more like they’re adapting, still caring, still ... accepting and trusting.

But does that include him?

He really wants to go home to Zack and Lucy, petting their soft fur and just being silent for a while. But ... if most everyone wants to stay here tonight, should he linger? It doesn’t look like he’s needed. Would leaving look bad?

Does he care? He never used to, but ... he never had the chance for any kind of a normal life before. He doesn’t want to ruin it. If he hasn’t already.

Still ... he wants to go home.

He stands by, feeling on the outside of everything, watching the others yet not feeling truly involved in their methods of coping.

How he wishes the human Zack were here. And Angeal.

And Cloud ... no matter how foolish it is to wish that. But Cloud will never accept, never forgive. Of course he won't. He shouldn't. And Sephiroth will never try to force his way back into Cloud's life, despite longing for Cloud to care about him when he's sane.

He turns away tiredly, starting to spread his wings.

Shen Qingqiu, it's been well-established, is not Neil West's biggest fan. He's deeply unsettled by the thought of Neil's dreamwalking, and something about him just doesn't feel right in a way Shen Qingqiu can't seem to put his finger on. The guy's kind of a weirdo, when you think about it.

But he's also...ugh, he doesn't even want to think about it...he's also incredibly handsome. God damn it! This wouldn't be an issue if Shen Qingqiu were really as straight as he used to think he was! But the simple and painful truth is that Neil looks downright sexy in that suit, and with how well he's playing that violin...it's just too much. It's really too much! Shen Qingqiu has to do something before he loses his mind!

As Neil starts in on a new song, Shen Qingqiu abruptly realizes that it's a tune he recognizes, and before he knows it he's singing along, his voice ringing out nice and clear across the impromptu camp. Well, why not? Wasn't he just complaining to Sally about how Efrain wasted his talents??

[ Space for up to 5 players! We'll popcorn it around to each other. ]

Over by the best view of the sky, there's a well-built tent set up in true cowboy fashion with a large, square frame and a small fire out front. Godpoke sits on a log, waving people over silently.

Once they've accumulated a small crowd, they hold up Megapon, and in a burst of gentle blue light accompanied by a cheerful pop, they expel three simple words spoken by their girlfriend in the direction of the person to their left.

"Truth or dare?"

He should leave, perhaps. Nimona's fight with Efrain was quite spectacular, and his glass creatures played no small part in the battle. A number of people might be quite annoyed with him by now...but somehow, Pyotr can't really bring himself to care.

He must have stripped out too much fear, or perhaps he left behind too much of his depression and its attendant, his deathwish? Reason tells him that he's likely to get jumped by a belligerent drunk if he hangs around the party too long...but it also points out that if he feels guilty or bitter later, he now has a productive use for those emotions.

Maybe he'll stick around for a little while. Just to see how the party's mood develops.

For the Dance of Celestine, several booths were erected with flame grills, which were then collapsed and stored nearby for next year's festival. By the time hunting parties come back with meat to be cooked, Capochin has already taken up a post at one of these reassembled grilling stations--- a significant change of tune from the man who had just spent twenty minutes earlier grousing about how he was too old for camping.

Capochin takes pride in feeding the masses. Anyone up for venison steak or rabbit stew? Come and get it! There's also flame-popped popcorn for snacking on, stolen from the concession stand. Plenty to go around! Capochin also wouldn't complain about a sous chef to help him keep up with the crowd.

Or perhaps you catch him in a quiet moment afterwards, sitting outside his shared tent with Hector, gazing up at the stars with a clean plate and a full head, half-empty cup still in hand from the drink he's been nursing.

"Uhhhhhh..."

Radar's only halfway through the beer he's been nursing, but for someone with Radar's constitution, that still means he's gotta give Pokey's question a bit more thought than usual.

"Truth?"

"Aw, but I was only onstage for five minutes though," complains Radar. "I was in the ticket booth the rest of the time!"

Still, dutifully, he drinks.

"Ahem."

Nimona vaults onto the nearest table, clearing her throat dramatically. She lifts her tankard high. (All that's in there is a milkshake.)

"Never have I ever," she bellows, "MURDERED THE PRINCE OF SORROW'S SONG!!"

And then she slams down her whole drink in one go, spikes the tankard onto the ground, and whoops as she gives the whole crowd the double horns.

"WHOOOOO!"

Guess who's throwing the double horns right back at her!

What's that, the scent of food that isn't completely infused with sugar? Count him in~

"Oh, bless you. A thousand blessings on you and your family," Shen Qingqiu declares, bellying up to the bar -- that is, the stall counter. He's already gotten a little tipsy; once he loosens his cultivation's control over his body, his naturally low tolerance is quick to kick in. He fans himself to cool his own face, asking, "Is any of that delicious-smelling steak ready?"

"YEAH!!!"

Shen Qingqiu drinks his beer quickly so he can go back to cheering Nimona on. "We all saw you do it, and you looked awesome!!!!"

Edited 2025-04-24 03:19 (UTC)

Pokey's questions, for the moment, are limited. Radar can hear their thoughts, but they want everyone to be able to hear the question. So they flip through Megapon and arrive at...

Phooey. Nothing.

Okay, out comes the notebook. They jot down a quick question.

whens the last time you told a lie? what did you lie about?

"YEEAHHH!!!" Capochin whoops, slinging his arm around her shoulder. "Great work, kiddo! How'd it feel, huh?"

"Depends how ya take it! I got some on the medium-rare side ready, but ya shouldn't eat 'em any rarer than that. Venison can make ya sick if it's too rare," Capochin warns. "And if you want it more well-done, I need a couple more minutes."

"Of course, of course! I can't actually get sick from normal parasites, but flushing them out of the body is such a pain! We certainly don't want any of that!" He grins, inching himself a little closer to the grill. "I'll sit here and enjoy their scent -- and your company! -- until they hit medium-well, shall I? They do say the first bite of every meal is taken with your eyes!"

Edited 2025-04-24 04:00 (UTC)

"Sorry, I shoulda been talking more before we started," says Radar, a bit guiltily, as Pokey thumbs through Megapon. He reads off the notebook. "Okay. 'When's the last time you told a lie and what did you lie about?'"

He makes a thoughtful noise as he sips his beer.

Sheepish, "It might've been the Brutok infestation up at the springs. There wasn't one, really. -- Oh wait I also told a guy at Town Hall I didn't mind him askin' so many questions when I really did mind it a lot. That was just a couple days ago. Does that count?"

Pokey gives a wiggly, non-committal hand gesture before grabbing a beer of their own.

Ehhh, that's a white lie, I'll give that a pass. But I want the deets on the hot spring thing.

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MINGLE - Post-Op(era) Recovery

QUESTIONS/COMMENTS/CONCERNS

Caboose | OTA

NHIE

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Music makes the people come together (Yeah~)

Sephiroth | OTA

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Godpoke's Cowboy Truth or Dare Circle

Pyotr Stamatin (OTA) [cw: themes of self-harm and depression]

Cookin' wit' da Capo [now with 100% less cannibalism!]

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Never Have I Ever

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Re: Never Have I Ever

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