(no subject)

[orderfromchaos]

[Video, public]

The next time someone dies, please tell me. I can bring them back with less strain on the barge and the people channeling it.


[Private to Ceres]

Hey, um. A little while back, Iris asked if I could maybe talk to you about powers. I'm sorry I've been hiding, lately.

If it's cool, let me know when it's a good time for you?


[General open spam]

[Dillon is mostly holing up in the infirmary, especially with Morgana gone, but he can occasionally be found grabbing a quite bite to eat or watching the stars from the deck. At one point, he finds his way down to the geometree and nibbles a hostess cake in between half-heartedly humming the 'happy birthday' song.]

Comments

[tucky]

[Tiffany's strolling on through the common room when--]

Somebody's birthday?

[She looks down at the pastry, then back up at him.]

Not yours, right?

[orderfromchaos]

Well, uh, sort of?

It is by the barge calendar.

[tucky]

[She smiles and flops an arm around his shoulders, leaning up to give him a kiss on the cheek.]

Gonna have to get you a present, I think.

[geometree spam]

[routemistress]

[Iris has all but moved into the eighth floor common room fulltime; it's scattered now with her books, empty glasses, full ashtrays and several giant beanbags round the tree's base doing double duty as dog beds.

She wasn't here when Dillon arrived, but he's there when she returns and slumps bonelessly onto the central beanbag. Elvis and Solace size Dillon up quickly as a soft touch and sit politely in front of him, pretending not to eye the cake too obviously.

Iris smiles up at him from the floor.]

There's dried chicken in the jar on the bookshelf, give 'em some of that after you eat yours. They like that better'n cake anyway. 'Ow you doing, my sweetheart?

[orderfromchaos]

Ha. Mine.

[He nibbles the cake a little more.]

I don't know? I. I feel like I can't get properly screwed back into being alive in the world, not quite, not the last half-turn to make it solid. Like if I let myself care about things properly again I'll care way too much. But I'm getting sort of restless with scooting around and hiding and pretending there's not anything to care about.

Not bad. Not miserable. Just sort of odd. Distanced. Adrift?

[routemistress]

[She laughs, cracked, tired and hollow.]

You ever get the knack of caring without caring too much, come and give us lessons, eh darling? I never could quite get the 'ang of it.

[This is not as true as Iris likes to think it is: no one lives as long as she has without learning how to pick her battles, learning what to hold back of herself. She just resents it being a necessity. She's in love with the idea of self-sacrifice.]

Can you get any kind of sense of the ship, at all? I'm trying to 'elp hold 'er together, trying to keep 'er strength up. I know it's working all right on my end, but it's 'ard to tell from 'ers.

[withtheoldbreed]

[There's something kind of restless in Gene sometimes, like he just can't settle or isn't sure what to do with himself even after being here for months and months. There's just not enough to do, so he paces and reads a lot and does dumb stuff like going skinny dipping in the pool with Snaf because neither one of them has a swimsuit on board. Gene's given up on scolding his friend for getting cigarette butts in the pool.

So there's no reason for him to be in the infirmary, really - he's just bored and looking for something to do, and he knows they're probably understaffed and there's a good chance Dillon's in here, so he's here. And smiles a little when he sees his body double.]

Hey.

[orderfromchaos]

[His expression furrows for a second, worried to see him, then clears when he realizes Gene isn't hurt.]

Hey yourself.

[He kicks off a desk and scoots over to Gene in a wheelie office chair, because that is obviously the best form of locomotion.]

Doing okay?

[withtheoldbreed]

[Evidently. Gene smiles easily, in a way that makes him look younger and less tired than usual, even if there's still lingering anxiety about what's actually going on with the ship. Maybe that's part of why he's been feeling especially restless.]

Not too bad. You holdin' down the fort by yourself?

[infirmary spam]

[punched_hitler]

[Even though both of the people that "hired" him are gone, Steve still figures there's no reason not to show up for his infirmary shifts. After all, he realized upon waking up that they're down a significant number of hands, making every pair of hands they do have all the more valuable. He's no doctor, but he knows first aid, plenty of emergency rescue procedures, and he's not squeamish in the least.

He's also had plenty of experience being doctored, for what that's worth.

He tends to take the late night and early morning shifts, simply because he doesn't need as much sleep (and sometimes, he doesn't want to sleep - like these days, because part of him's still a little afraid, deep down, that he'll pass out for another month straight, and he doesn't want that). So he shuffles in for one of his regularly scheduled times, a bit glad to see the infirmary practically abandoned (that means no one's seriously hurt) but offering Dillon a smile when he catches sight of him.] Hey, doc.

[Considering Dillon's one of the few people capable of actual doctoring around here, the title seems appropriate.]

[infirmary spam]

[orderfromchaos]

[He grins, a little hesitantly, slow and sloping.]

...I'm not a doctor, I'm a miracle worker.

[It's possible he's been waiting a year and a half to say this line, because he is that much of a nerd. Have you seen Star Trek TOS yet, Steve?]

[infirmary spam]

[punched_hitler]

[Alas, Steve doesn't get the actual reference, but he does still laugh a little?]

Nah. What you do isn't a miracle, right?

[imfollowinghim]

[Bucky can also occasionally be found grabbing quite a bit to eat, so at some point their paths have to cross. And because Bucky's still... off, but not entirely asocial, he sits down across from Dillon and starts digging into his own sort of ridiculous plate of food. In that it's past noon and he's apparently back to eating a giant stack of pancakes with every meal.

He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't seem especially upset or sad. So. Progress?]

[orderfromchaos]

My best friend graduated.

And I'm so proud of her, you know? But I miss her like crazy.

[Just because Bucky isn't great on conversation right now doesn't mean Dillon doesn't trust him, doesn't want him in Dillon's life. His tone doesn't seem to require a reply, easy and informative.]

I'm sorry I've been kind of hiding away. After I came back to life on that planet - I felt really weird. Disconnected? You probably get that better than anyone.

[imfollowinghim]

[Bucky is quiet for a moment, just chewing another mouthful of food and dissecting what Dillon said, trying to figure out what to say to it. It doesn't feel impossible.]

I'm the last person who's gonna get mad about you needing some space.

[He definitely gets that. And he gets missing a best friend, even if he and Steve are kind of trying to remember how to be around each other again.]

[thelastbullet]

[The tree had freaked him out the first few times he'd passed it, but after being on the Barge for over 6 months he's gotten used to it as much as he's gotten used to the stars. As much as he's gotten used to seeing Gene's face on someone who's not Gene, even-- despite the fact that Dillon and Jimmy haven't really talked much.

He'd planned to read, but when he sees Dillon sitting underneath the tree humming that song he puts off that plan for a little.]

Are congratulations in order?

[orderfromchaos]

Oh, uh.

Depends on how you count it, I guess, but I don't want to do all the math, so barge-June-first it is, you know?

[chillestrogue]

You can bring someone back.

From the dead.

[orderfromchaos]

[He makes a 'not this again' sort of momentary grimace.]

Yes, okay? I can do a lot of things.

Private

[sssiiiiirrrrr]

Dillon... could I ask you to visit Roderick, in the infirmary, at some point?

[A pause. Then he comes clean:]

He murdered Letty in port, and her inmate has seriously injured him since. I'll understand if you don't want to help him, considering the circumstances, but I hope that you will.

Private

[orderfromchaos]

We've talked, actually.

I don't like leaving him hurt. It's not what the infirmary is for.

[But he hasn't done it yet. He fiddles with a piece of equipment he doesn't need.]

When I do something that...serious, to people, there are some mental effects. Positive, and temporary, but Roderick doesn't like them. But maybe that's just another sort of consequences.

Bleu's volunteered her healing magic too, but I haven't actually got a chance to see how it works yet, or what it's like for the person she's using it on. I feel kinda weird naming him the lab rat.

It's your call.

Spam - Infirmary

[formerself]

[Eggsy wanders into the Infirmary in fairly high spirits - jaw bruised, hair mussed, cradling his right hand in his left. There's a split on the knuckle of his middle finger that looks like it could probably benefit from a stitch or two.

It's taken him a bit of observation to tell Dillon and Gene apart at a glance, but he's got it nailed now and offers up an easy smile.]

Alright. Do I need to make an appointment or anythin'?

Spam - Infirmary

[orderfromchaos]

Nah. Even understaffed, there aren't actually enough people here to keep us busy.

[There's Roderick, who Dillon isn't magicking better for reasons, but he basically just needs food and water and painkillers on regular intervals.]

Except when everyone gets murdery at once, of course.

[When he gets close enough to touch, everything feels lighter, the way it does after sleeping in as long as your body needs to, fresh and alert and steady. The aches start to fade, the cut curling closed, not instantly but not slow either, brisk. Even Eggsy's hair gets a little neater.]

[fireincarnate]

[Jean is peering at him with wry concern.] How much less?

[orderfromchaos]

...none? Or however much it costs to do, depending on how you measure. I mean, it's easy for me, and I'm not hooked in to whatever the ship's doing.