dancing after death

now take what i offer, straight up the nose, down the throat

it's a bearable bruise on your conscious

He’s not sure what day it is anymore. All he knows that since his meeting with Delphia, his quiet escape to the Woodlands, and some errands ran and figured out, he’s managed to hole himself up where Lucas’ home had been once upon a time. Now, now it was his, slowly converting into a bar. And because of that, the last few many nights have been spent with little memories, waking with raging headaches.

It’s one of those days too, sitting behind the bar, arm rested atop it with his head cradled in it to block out the light that streams through the windows.

but don't it feel good? don't you feel calmer?

i am the way and the life in the best looking truth

phoebe Sleep and I shall soothe you, calm you, and annoint you Lusea was missing. That meant Jata was probably a mess. So Phoebe quietly prepared a little care package, complete with lemon bars, and sent the boys to play with a neighbor. She didn’t really know where Jata was living now, but thanks to a few people milling about, he wasn’t hard to find. Quietly she knocked before entering his home that was apparently under construction of some kind. ”Jata? It’s Phoebe… I brought you some lemon bars.” she called out, softly closing the door behind her as she continued to look for him. As she walked around the bar she saw him, crumpled in on himself. ”Oh, Jata…” she said softly, frowning at him sympathetically.

now take what i offer, straight up the nose, down the throat

it's a bearable bruise on your conscious

The door isn’t locked, and his headache throbs deep within his temples, head only raising once he can hear something inside, closing the door behind them. He supposes if something bad is coming for him he likely deserves it. But he hears the voice, head lifting with quiet surprise from the crook of his arm before he has to squeeze his eyes shut, fingers reaching for the bridge of his nose to shut out the pounding in his head.

She rounds the bar and spots him, and he sighs quietly before managing to open his eyes to look at her. “Hey. Thanks.” A quiet response, as though if he speaks too loud his mind might combust. “You can set them wherever.” The thought is nice, but he’s not hungry. He’s not sure when he will be. But he manages to focus on her long enough to inhale deeply, reaching under the makeshift bar for a glass and filling it with water before he rubs at his head again. “I meant to take the notice down.” He rumbles offhandedly, reaching for the glass, figuring that’s probably the reason she’s here.

but don't it feel good? don't you feel calmer?

i am the way and the life in the best looking truth

phoebe Sleep and I shall soothe you, calm you, and annoint you She set the basket of goods down on the bar and began rummaging through it, pulling out a small tonic bottle. "Here. Drink this. It'll help the hangover." she said softly, setting it in front of him. Then she continued to rummage through the basket. "I don't know why you always insist on drinking so heavily when you're upset. It just makes you sick and then you feel worse." she chided lightly, with a small smirk, pulling out a few cheesy rolls, jerky, and boiled eggs. "Eat this too. It'll help. Trust me." she said. But the comment about taking the notice down confused her. "Why take it down?"

now take what i offer, straight up the nose, down the throat

it's a bearable bruise on your conscious

She hands him a tonic of sorts to help the hangover and sluggishly he grabs for it. He looks at it for a brief moment before sighing quietly, taking it and handing the bottle back to her — but still the mention of food he shakes his head. He’s not sure he can eat anything right now without getting sick, just the mere thought alone sends his stomach into a spiral.

Her chiding, however, is met with a small sigh too. “Maybe I want to feel worse.” And he did, he wanted to feel just as bad as everything else of him, the momentary lapses in the pain from the numbness the alcohol brought. But her question for a moment takes him off guard, and he rolls the empty bottle of the tonic between his fingers, refusing to look at her, refusing to look at anything. “Because I don’t need to find her anymore.” He pauses, lips curving into a slight frown. “I don’t need to have people on the lookout for her when she’s dead again, huh?” His accented voice comes out in a flat rumble, steel eyes lingering on the bottle between his fingers.

but don't it feel good? don't you feel calmer?

i am the way and the life in the best looking truth

phoebe Sleep and I shall soothe you, calm you, and annoint you Phoebe would have chided him about not eating the food but got distracted when she felt something moving over her feet. She expected to see a mouse, but instead saw that stupid memory mud, clinging to her boots. With an irritated huff, she tried to scrape it off with the heel of her other boot, but only succeeded in spreading it to her other shoe. "Stupid mud..." she mumbled in irritation. "Feeling worse doesn't make any of it better." she said, giving him a knowing look. It just made everything worse. Nothing could improve if you sat around feeling sorry for yourself and drinking until you were sick. But her expression changed as he continued to speak, brows furrowing. A small gasp escaped her lips and she covered her slightly ajar mouth with a hand. Lusea... had died?? "Oh Jata...I'm so sorry." she said softly, earnestness in her voice.

now take what i offer, straight up the nose, down the throat

it's a bearable bruise on your conscious

He doesn’t even notice her comment about the mud, to focused on the bottle rolling between his fingers, the way the light filters in and glints off of it in rainbow hues. His gaze remains on the bottle still as she comments on how feeling worse doesn’t make it better, causing a snort to leave him. “At least it helps me feel like I deserve it.” He sets the bottle down, reaching up with an empty hand to squeeze at the space between his shoulder and his neck, over one of the compasses he proudly sports.

Her condolences however grants a quiet nod, and his gaze looks to one of the windows to avoid her, the pounding in his head slightly better the more he looks and focuses on the light streaming in. “Everyone keeps saying that but it doesn’t change it any.” He finally says, shadowed steel gaze drifting toward her face finally. “Doesn’t matter much in the end anyway. Everyone’s sorry, and then everything moves on.” His hand traces along his neck briefly, rubbing at it before it drops back to the top of the table.

but don't it feel good? don't you feel calmer?

i am the way and the life in the best looking truth

phoebe Sleep and I shall soothe you, calm you, and annoint you Phoebe wanted to focus. She really did. But now the mud was inching up her boots and she was just so tired of the stuff! "Well what did I do to deserve this stupid mud being everywhere I go!" she grouched suddenly, plopping on the floor so she could untie them and pull them off her feet. "Instead of making yourself sick with drinking you should just take it out on this stupid memory mud." she huffed, making her way to the door to shake the stuff off of her boots. Stupid mud being stupid everywhere all the stupid time! Irritated with the shoes she now dropped them by the door before she trudged back, able to focus on what Jata was saying now. Without asking she simply wrapped his arms around him in a hug. "And you'll move on too. Just like you did before. That's how life works." Phoebe said with a sigh. She had suffered heartbreak repeatedly, including at his hands, and had also lost one she loved to the realm of Mort. But it began to fade as each day passed. It got...well in her case not literally easier given how busy she was but easier in a sense.

now take what i offer, straight up the nose, down the throat

it's a bearable bruise on your conscious

Phoebe’s frustration over the mud distracts him briefly, but all he does is glance over to her as she goes to remove her shoes, telling him he should take it out on the mud, to which he shakes his head slight. “It gets everywhere.” He rumbles with a shrug. Taking it out on mud without feeling, without some sort of relief or release that typically came with the attempt.

Still, she doesn’t ask to hug him, and it takes him by surprise as her arms wrap around him. He stiffens under her touch, the hand that grasps the bottle stops in its turning. Her words do little to comfort him, and he bites down on the inside of his cheek, hanging his head slightly, unable to do anything with the same pounding in his head. “I don’t want to.” He says quietly, ducking his head a small amount more.

but don't it feel good? don't you feel calmer?

i am the way and the life in the best looking truth

phoebe Sleep and I shall soothe you, calm you, and annoint you Phoebe sighed a little, her temple resting against his shoulder as he stiffened within her hold. "Whether you want to or not doesn't even come into the equation. It is how the heart works." she said softly. "Just let the process happen. For once don't fight it. You've bee through enough sadness, let happiness come back when you heal." she said, tone quiet and soothing. He didn't have to be happy today, tomorrow, or even a month from now. But eventually. When his heart was ready, she hoped he would allow himself to feel happiness intarnished again "Come on. You need to lay down." she said, gently tugging at him to pull him away from the bar. Not that she knew where a bed or couch was, but it certainly wasn't here.

now take what i offer, straight up the nose, down the throat

it's a bearable bruise on your conscious

He can feel her temple resting along his shoulder and he bites the inside of his cheek again with a quiet sigh. He doesn’t trust his heart, hardly trusts his mind nowadays, and he isn’t sure what it leaves him with other than auto piloting around the hollowed grounds. She tells him not to fight it, and he shuts his eyes tight against the implications, that he’s always been a fighter, that he can become one again — but he doesn’t want to. He’s not fighting in this instance. He’s numbing, dulling the pain, piloting off of it for whatever it is he does. He doesn’t even know how to tell her that.

Instead he remains silent while she tugs at him to find a bed, and he shakes his head to her, rooted to the spot. If he were in his panther form his hackles would certainly be raised, and a break through the hangover just enough gives him time to tilt his head and look at her. “I’m not going to bed. It’s what? Early afternoon?” Some frustration slips through. “I get that I look and feel like shit but I don’t need to sleep it off.” He glances then to the bottle she’d given him and he raises his hands to rub at his face before he stands to face her, eyes shadowed and haunted. 'Don't go soft, don’t go soft, don’t go soft.’

“What are you here for?” He begins, arms folding along his chest. “Condolences? Or something else?” Wondering if he wants her to choose him again, head still fuzzy, mind still groggy and slow. He waits for her answer.

but don't it feel good? don't you feel calmer?

i am the way and the life in the best looking truth

phoebe Sleep and I shall soothe you, calm you, and annoint you Phoebe was a bit surprised as he pulled his hand back away. She glanced back at him, honeyed eyes wide and eyebrows raised, lips ever so slightly apart in a pursed 'o' shape. What was this about? Usually sleeping was the number one thing someone with a hangover wanted to do. She nodded slightly, clasping her hands in front of her to confirm the time. "I know you don't need to. But you can, so why not?" she said. Unlike the first time he had gotten short with her, the midwife remained where she was. She didn't flinch. She didn't shrink away. "I'm here to help you." Phoebe said simply, voice soft.

now take what i offer, straight up the nose, down the throat

it's a bearable bruise on your conscious

He’s surprised somewhat as he surprises her – catching those honey brown eyes as they grow wide, eyebrows go high, and he lets his settle as he focuses on her further – eyes narrowing ever so slightly. What was it about? It was about the fact that he should be doing something else other than sitting here and drinking, that he should be doing something else other than avoiding dealing with the inevitable. But he’d always been terrible about it, wallowing in his own self-destructive behaviors, addictive tendencies that seemed to constantly make things worse.

He appreciated it regardless, the karma of dealing with the shit that he’d done coming back to bite him in the end.

She asks why not, and his jaw clenches slightly. “Because.” He starts, uncertain how to finish it with the dull pain in the back of his mind. “All I’ve done is drink and sleep.” His gaze tears from her to look out over the light filtering through the windows along the blinds. Drink, sleep, repeat. Over and over again with the occasional different bed slept in on varying nights. And she tells him that she’s there to help him, and he can’t figure out how or why she would want to, not with the things he’d done, the distance they were supposed to keep, the promise he had made.

He sighs, defeated, hand running through his hair before it rests on the back of his neck, gaze lingering on the floor and the space between them. “Why do you want to help me?” He utters quietly, eyes closing tight as he focuses on staying strong. “Why do all of this?” Likely because she still cares, but his mind doesn’t go there – his mind goes back to his old defenses, of walls and masks put into place, of hardening those sharp edges to refrain from opening up and being hurt again.

but don't it feel good? don't you feel calmer?

i am the way and the life in the best looking truth

phoebe Sleep and I shall soothe you, calm you, and annoint you "Then just rest. You don't have to sleep." she said softly, a small smile curving her lips. "Come on. Humor me." she said, gesturing for him to follow. Even if she could get him to lay down, that would be something. He would probably fall asleep then anyways. His question caught her off guard. That he didn't understand the why hurt a bit, but she put it to the back of her mind, smiling warmly at him. "Because, I care about you, Jata." she said simply. "I never stopped caring."