Either way, we're not alone

[gildedlife]

Who: James Fitzjames, OTA
What: Exploring, and also finding some friends (early Sept catchall)
When: First few days after arriving
Where: Around Milton!

Content Warnings: The Terror-typical themes of death, illness, and general Bad Times, but anything specific will be added as it comes up!


For the first two days or so, James doesn't really leave the house he's taken up (temporary?) shelter in. Instead, he spends most of the time sleeping, occasionally waking up to make some rosehip tea and wage the mental battle necessary to drink it, then falling back asleep and repeating the cycle.

But although any sort of true recovery will take far longer than a few days, by the third day of being in this new place he feels much better than he had when he'd arrived, and even if that was an incredibly low bar to clear it's still more than enough to be encouraging. This isn't some sort of strange dream or dying hallucination. He's really here, somehow, and--for once in so many months now--he's getting better, not worse.

He might actually live. But this time, unlike his many other close brushes with death, he finds he isn't entirely sure what to do with the knowledge of that possibility.

He also has zero desire to contemplate that fact or any of its implications, but unfortunately, the downside of feeling better is that he's now capable of overthinking things again. And the only way to avoid doing that is through distraction, so it's only reasonable that he decides to go exploring.

Comments

[sukeltaja]

[ There's another thread of that tapestry weaving itself into a bigger picture. Tom can see both things at once: there's a man Fitzjames clearly wishes to be, and the man he is now, and there is evidently a stark difference between the two. Pride? Something else? Difficult to say.

The bigger question, Tom wonders, is what will it take for him to reconcile those two parts?

Tom wants to keep pulling. Keep his eye on the broad design and simultaneously leans in to examine every single stitch. It's exhilarating. It's beautiful. Fitzjames is beautiful, and he's only talked to him twice but that slight hesitation is catnip to Tom as he keeps focused on the minor task of finding a pan and bringing it to the fire. Has he stumbled onto something? Struck a nerve not in anger, but bumped gently against a bigger piece of the man before him?

He certainly hopes so. It would be thrilling to be right. ]

I haven't.

[ And as an added bonus, this man has completely given into his request. Tom glances up, gaze soft, smile kind, continuing to act like a fairly normal human being for the time being. ]

[gildedlife]

[James always thinks he's doing a somewhat better job of keeping up the illusion than he actually is. Mostly, that's because the people he's put the most effort into fooling were never actually trying all that hard to see through him; a few tales of heroics, a dash of flattery, and a witty comment here and there had been enough, especially when bolstered by his looks and natural charm.

But he feels lacking, now, in all respects. He hasn't had the strength, mentally or physically, to be particularly witty or charming lately, and he's all too aware of how much his beauty has faded. Some of it might return when the wounds heal and he regains some weight, but he's quite sure he'll never be what he was, and he's well aware of how pathetic he looks. After all, that's why Zane's here, right? And there had been no shortage of concerned looks and offers of assistance from others he'd met the first day, either.

But although that is not at all how he would choose to appear were it up to him, it's still something he can use. If it's impossible to avoid, then he can simply hide behind it; he's just someone in need of a few good meals and a great deal of rest, nothing more or less. He can allow that to be just as shallow a reading of himself as the carefully crafted, gilded version of himself he'd shown to others had been before.

So he doesn't think for a moment that Zane is seeing through him as he continues the story.]

Well, it's quite common. Typically, the cat is found in a nearby dockyard, or otherwise acquired freely, and becomes a permanent resident of a ship. On the ship I commanded before last, Clio, we had a ship's cat called Gloves. He was named not for his markings, but that he was apparently fond of thievery, with his prize of choice being officers' gloves.

[James hadn't witnessed that himself, as the cat had come with the ship and already been well established at the time, but he has no doubt the stories are true. He's certainly seen stranger.

Gloves, however, is not the point of this story.]

During my time as commander we gained a second ship's cat, and did so through the typical means of simply finding ourselves in possession of one. But she--Bombay--was not an ordinary cat; I never did learn how or why the man who'd given her to us had acquired a cheetah.

[sukeltaja]

[ Tom listens, paying as much outward attention as he can while he gets to work. The sizzling smell of small fish chunks is in the air in a manner of moments, the filmmaker glancing over occasionally from watching them.

He's riveted, despite splitting his attention--and his attention is more and more on the Fitzjames than it is the food by the end of it, blue eyes sharp, keen and observant. Fitzjames tells a good story. Setup not too fast, pertinent without dragging things out, voice hypnotic in pattern, word choice perfect for the build up and ultimate reveal.

Tom laughs, and he's surprised at how genuine it is. ]

You weave stories well! I could have really used you back before all of this.

[ A beat. ]

We'll need that here, too. People like you. Yes--we'll need that a lot, I think.

I'm very glad you're here.

[gildedlife]

[Talking is serving the dual purpose of distracting James from the fish, which is growing more and more enticing by the moment, but he's well practiced at prioritizing a story over a meal anyway. And as this is only filling time while cooking, then all the better to have something else to focus on.

And there is more to the story--far more, as James can both drag a story out and also genuinely has more ridiculous cheetah-related tales to tell--but he's momentarily drawn from the thought of how to do so by Zane's remarks. It's a little surreal, mostly in an absurd way, because he's no stranger to complimentary responses to his stories but it's been so long that it feels wrong, somehow. But there's also the strangeness in the statements themselves, as they aren't really about the content of the story, but how he's telling it. What value he might bring in possessing a talent for doing so.

It's... Odd. He isn't sure how he feels. The compliments are nice to hear, providing a much-needed boost to his very delicate ego, but at the same time it doesn't feel right. It feels like the sentiment is meant for someone else, someone he barely remembers how to pretend to be, and instead of being evidence of his success with the facade it's an ominous warning bell that it'll soon fall apart.

But he's also aware that reacting like this, with silence and a doubtlessly uncertain air to him, is only going to make that worse. So he gathers himself, forces another small smile--this one much less genuine than the last--to his face, and tries to pretend that his momentary pause was simply due to overthinking the situation they're in. And, to be fair, it is at least partially the truth.]

I am glad to be here.

[Is he? He realizes he isn't even sure if he's lying or not, but ignores that and continues with a remark somewhere between self-deprecating humor and affected false modesty.]

But you may change your opinion yet. I'm told my stories lose their luster after a time.

[sukeltaja]

[ Tom whistles, low and loud, and decides to be a little more direct. Just for now. Just because he's seen the way that smile slides onto the others' face, practiced but not quite reaching his eyes. ]

I've been alone for years. Doesn't matter how many times you tell the same one, I'm gonna love anything that's not my own voice. And who knows? Maybe I'll like them enough to want to collaborate.

Proper credit to you, of course. Naturally. [ Tom's toying with the idea in his head already: Kapteenin Kissa: Gepardin Tarina. Something bright, full of colours. A cheetah, stop motion, trying to find a sense of belonging in a foreign place. Aimed at children at first glance but holding a darker, edgier tint, something lingering on the surface. Dread. He'd play the role of the captain, of course. The cheetah would be Alex Casey. Fitzjames would make a small but meaningful cameo. The smell of cooked fish is flooding his nostrils far too much to hold his focus on the fleeting fancy for too long. ]

Grab a plate, Gepardin, hmmm? The pieces are small enough that it should be ready.

[gildedlife]

[The idea of one of James' more ridiculous stories ending up some sort of... Whatever type of performance art that Zane makes, is actually a little delightful. He'd be very amused to see that, credit given or not.

He didn't miss the comment Zane made about being alone for years, and James wants to ask, curious about just how literal it is. He also notices the foreign word he doesn't recognize but assumes to be Finnish, and wonders about that as well.

But his attention is also being diverted to the fish, and he realizes belatedly that they do need plates, although James isn't completely sure if there are any--or any silverware--but goes to look anyway. In the cupboard he does find a few plates, and also a towel; that might help with handling the pan, so he brings that as well, and although he doesn't find any forks it hardly matters. Fish is very easy to eat with one's hands.]

Here.

[He balances the plates in his right arm, using his left to hand Zane the towel first, and then pass him a plate with a careful effort not to wince while doing so.

It's only then, while holding his remaining plate and turning his gaze back toward the fish, that he realizes how long it's been since he's eaten. He'd been too sick to do so for a time--days?--before arriving, and the first night in this place hunger had lost out to nausea and exhaustion. He's managed to drink some water and rosehip tea, but it had been both a mental and physical struggle to do so, and he's suddenly somewhat nervous about the prospect of a meal.

But unlike the night before, his hunger is stronger than his nerves, and the only things holding it at bay are waiting for Zane to take his own serving--if he chooses to do so, anyway--and his own sense reminding him that he'll have to be careful; he's heard horror stories about what can happen to people who eat too much or too quickly after they've been starving.]

[sukeltaja]

Thanks! [ Tom takes his portion, small enough James has the lion's share but enough that the other won't feel self conscious about eating the whole thing, blue eyes steady on the other. There's no subtleness to it--concern is clear on his face. It had been the reason he came here, after all. ]

You don't have to worry about manners around me, either. In fact, at some point, I think it would very fun if the two of us really let our hair down. Whole village needs to really let loose--that's what this place needs. Something fun. Before the Dark Walker comes again.

[ He hasn't forgotten their first conversation. The sympathic smile gives way to something else, a half-smirk as he lifts his fingers to grab the fish, completely unbothered by lack of plates. ]

Do you believe in him? The Dark Walker?

[gildedlife]

[James considers pointing out the fact that they both already have their hair down--the joke is old but it's right there and much easier than any sort of serious response to the idea--but manages to refrain. The Darkwalker is an easier topic anyway, providing a distraction both from Zane's concerned look and the fact that James has use both hands to lift the pan, and sets his plate down to do so before tipping a portion of the remaining fish onto the plate.

Although he picks up the plate again afterward, he doesn't try eating yet.]

It hardly matters what I believe.

[He doesn't say it bitterly, but his tone is slightly resigned. Whether or not he wants to believe in this, or any of the other impossible things he's seen whether before arriving here or since, it doesn't make any difference to the situation.]

But I have no reason to think all who've told me of it are mistaken.

[And one of those people had been Francis, who James trusts completely. ]