[003] And the walls kept tumbling down

[themuseabandonsyou]

Who: Orpheus (themuseabandonsyou)
What: January Catch-all
When: January
Where: Crenshaw, The Red, one of Trench's parks

Warnings: burns, discussion of organ theft, forced honesty effects, memory loss/loss of sense of self, disorientation, possibly more as marked in thread headers



I. Gray clouds roll over the hills bringing darkness from above ( cw: burns, discussion of organ theft ) ( closed to Eurydice )

Orpheus comes stumbling in the front door a little over an hour after he ran out. It had been abrupt and frantic when he went, snatching up one of his spare sets of guitar strings and wordlessly sprinting down the street towards a plume of smoke in the distance - whether Eurydice had been there to see him go, he'd been too distracted to tell, too focused on the problem at hand. But she's here, now, as he returns, smelling of burning cloth and worse.

One of his pant legs is seared off up to the knee, still smoldering slightly, and the exposed skin of his calf is - not looking good. He was still able to put weight on it long enough to get home, which is promising, but as he makes it through the threshhold he collapses sideways, leaning heavily against the wall and sliding down it awkwardly into a crumpled heap on the floor.

"I couldn't do it. I couldn't do it." He repeats it to himself quietly, over and over again. His shoulders shake as he puts his face in his hands, breathing hard between the pain and apparent distress.

II. But if you close your eyes ( cw: forced honesty effects, possible further warnings in thread headers ) ( OTA )

It's not the first time Orpheus has seen the gigantic gemstone octopus that decorates the Red's entrance - he spent a great deal of time there on his first day, even, trying to figure out how to find Eurydice, and even after that he passes by it regularly on his way to find work in Cellar Door. But there is a certain sense of awe that comes with actually walking through the betentacled doors, having been invited in. Something about it feels like a massive weight has been lifted from his shoulders, and he blinks in wide-eyed surprise at the luxury of the club that lies within. It's like nothing he's ever seen before, save for in photos, and he stands there for a long moment just taking it all in until someone jostles him out of the way.

II-A. Watching
Despite Orpheus being, well, himself, it actually doesn't occur to him to get on stage at first. He watches the other acts with enthusiastic attention, whistling and clapping for his friends and strangers alike, but whenever the call goes up for the next performer, he looks... torn. Fidgeting with the strap of the guitar on his back, he frowns, glancing around him, then back at the stage with almost an almost hungry look. He wants to go. He doesn't want to go. Even feeling more relaxed here than he has in days, all the ostentation around him, the high-class of the setting and his own feeling out of place in it combine into the sort of pressure to do well that he's rarely felt before. Usually all he does is play for friends, but this? Even if the audience is mostly other Sleepers, this feels different.
II-B. Playing
Sooner or later, though, someone convinces Orpheus to take the stage, to swallow his reservations and just go, and ultimately he's grateful for it. He strides up to the spotlight and slides his guitar around in front of him, taking a deep breath, and begins to play a lively, rousing song, the crackling glow of campfire-light cast all around him as he sings.

"It's only for need to pay the bills
That a man goes to work in the mine, in the mill
For what does he trade the sunshine?
For a couple of nickels and dimes
But up on top a man can breathe
When he's livin' it, livin' it up
With friends and family to meet his needs
Livin' it up on top
Won't make anyone a millionaire
We're livin' it, livin' it up
But what we have, we have to share

Give me a lyre and a campfire
And an open field at night
Give me the sky that you can't buy
Or sell at any price
And I'll give you a song for free
'Cause that's how life ought to be

So that's how I'm livin' it
Livin' it, livin' it up
Livin' it up on top"
II-C. Mingling
And when he comes back down, it's like all his worries have washed away. He practically bounds off the stage, face flushed and grinning, making a beeline for the first person he recognizes or maybe just whoever catches his eye.

"How was that?" he asks, earnest, eyes shining. "I've been - I couldn't fix things with my music before, so I was worried I was losing it, but that - it sounded all right, didn't it?"

There's a beat, then his brow furrows slightly, a look of confusion on his face. What did he just say?

III. Does it almost feel nothing's changed at all ( cw: memory loss/loss of sense of self, disorientation ) ( OTA )

The man standing out in the middle of one of Trench's few, scattered parks looks a lot like Orpheus. He's older, though - it's hard to tell how much, but clearly well past his 20s, and looking even older than he probably is for the stress lines on his face, speckled with old, faded little scars from stray sparks kicked up while welding. He seems exhausted, too, like every movement he's forcing himself not to just collapse on the spot. None of Orpheus's puppy-like exuberance shines through in this man, bundled against the cold like he's even less accustomed to it than usual in layers upon layers and just silently putting one foot in front of the other, except -

The sun starts to peek through the clouds, a lone shaft of sunlight falling on one of the trees, and he raises his head from where he'd been staring at the ground to look - and his eyes grow wide with childlike wonder. He doesn't move towards it. He doesn't dare breathe, for fear that any slight change could take this sight away from him. A tear runs down his face all the same. It's been so long.

Comments

[themuseabandonsyou]

Orpheus frowns at that, looking thoughtful. He thinks back to what Sam told him - that all demons are selfish, that it's only a matter of time before one gets all the use they want out of you and throw you away. But that doesn't explain what Peter is saying, that being possessed by one is a poor reflection on him.

"I don't know," he says, firmly. "Let me, um. Try to understand. One friend told me that demons are immortals that torment those who were deemed unworthy in life, so - Hell is part of the afterlife, then?"

It seems like a reasonable conclusion to draw, at least. He chews his lip slightly, thinking over this next part - the actually important part.

"And another person explained that possession, where he came from, was another being taking control of you, making you watch while they did things with your body. He said - the being possessing him had to be given permission, but that he threatened him until he said yes, basically? So." He takes a breath, frowning. "If any of that's true for you, too - I don't see how that would make you bad?"

[possessum]

Peter's been exposed to different types of possession over time here, and in Deerington. So far, no one else's experience is exactly the same as his own — there have been similarities to be sure, but nothing exact. Still, it's always meaningful (even if it scares him, too,) to hear what other people have to say about it. The younger boy is listening with a wide-eyed stare and a lump in his throat, swallowing again.

"For me, it's um. I was kind of, um. Sacrificed?" Another wince, but this one pained, like it hurts to say aloud. He's used that word maybe two times in his entire experience. Hasn't been able to voice it very much. But here and now, coaxed a little by their environment and maybe also by the fact some part of Peter wants to share it with someone else who seems to know what it is to feel some deep guilt and responsibility, even if it hurts.... he does.

"But I did something bad before. Really bad. I um— someone died because of me. So I can't help thinking maybe... the reason I got sacrificed to this thing was because of that. Because I'm bad. Like my soul's— bad. Tainted." A suitable place for something to latch onto.

"Like... punishment, you know?"

[themuseabandonsyou]

"Sacrificed," Orpheus echoes, his frown growing deeper still. This is a lot to take in, and some of it hits very close to home. The circumstances probably differ, but he of all people can sympathize with feeling responsible for someone's death, and feeling broken and unworthy for it. But the rest...

"Do you really think that's how it works?" he asks, brows furrowing in sympathy and skepticism. "I don't - I can't tell you that whatever happened wasn't your fault, because I wasn't there? I don't know what happened. But..."

He chews his lip for a moment, thinking over how to phrase what he's feeling carefully.

"I think that can be a dangerous way to see the world? Taking something bad you did to mean that every bad thing that happens to you after is deserved, even or especially when it isn't a direct, um, consequence of what happened. Makes it hard to remember what good there is, and easy to fall into despair. Easy to assume you're just fundamentally awful and there's no changing it, instead of being able to keep trying."

Hypocrite that he is, saying all of this when at his lowest moments his thoughts inevitably circle back to Eurydice's face as she disappeared back into the darkness of the Underworld. But it's true, even if he's not so good at remembering it all the time.

[possessum]

Do you really think that's how it works?

Peter's quiet, mentally chewing it over as he listens to Orpheus talk. Truthfully... he doesn't know. It isn't a nice thought at all, that doing something bad means you get punished, and he's never really believed in things like karma or anything in the realm of "spiritual"; certainly, he's not a religious person by any means.

Maybe it's a way to make sense of things. Maybe, in some awful, awful way, Peter chooses to see it like punishment. Because he's functioned through guilt for as long as he can remember.

But he's sincerely listening to Orpheus, because he wants to hear his thoughts on the matter. And it really does speak to him, those words. Easy to fall into despair, easy to think someone's just fundamentally awful — like some thing that's rotted at its core. Peter's thought that way about himself for a long time now. Even before... the accident happened, that dark thing he thinks he deserves punishment for.

"Listening to it like that.... makes it all sound almost like a dead end," he mulls softly. "Like, I'm inherently bad, so why even try?" Peter offers a little smile, thoughtful as much as he's sad to voice that aloud, because it's exactly how he's felt for a long time. Like a dead end.

"How do you... stop seeing it that way? I've tried sometimes, in little ways, but.... it's hard." He doesn't mean to ask the guy to solve all his life's problems, but he's more just continuing to want to ask what Orpheus's opinion on all of this. He's... wise, and relatable, and kind in that soft sort of way that Peter always finds himself drawn to in people who are like that.

[themuseabandonsyou]

"I think it is one," says Orpheus, frowning sympathetically. "A dead end, I mean. It doesn't mean you're bad for thinking that way! But it's a way of, um, making things harder on yourself, because you think it's what you deserve."

And it doesn't really help anyone to be like that, much less yourself. Orpheus thinks over his answer to Peter's next question carefully, before shaking his head.

"I don't know. It is hard. I don't always feel that way, but when I do it's hard to remember ever having felt anything else. It seems like it's never been and never will be any other way." He fidgets with his tie, glancing down at his hands, before looking back up at Peter. "I think... maybe the thing to do is trust your friends and loved ones? If you really were so awful that you deserved any of that - don't you think they'd know? Or maybe they do know, and they've forgiven you for it. That has to be worth something, right? If you love them, you have to trust their judgment, instead of getting caught up in how you think they should feel about you."

For a moment, his gaze drifts over to Eurydice, standing across the room talking to someone else. Eurydice, who's seen him at his weakest, his most inattentive, his worst, and was still happy to see him despite it all. If she can love him, doesn't that mean something?

[possessum]

Orpheus is right, and Peter knows that. It does make things harder on yourself, because it is what you think you deserve, and... it's difficult to break the cycle of thinking that way, but... being aware of it is a good step.

He's continuing to listen to the older boy talk, eyes soft but serious, watching him. His friends and loved ones... It's true, isn't it? That you have to trust them. Trust how they feel about you.

And he thinks of Luna, the person who's come to love him in the way Peter's never, ever been loved in his entire life. It isn't only the romantic side to their relationship, but also... the unconditional love and support and faith in him. She's on his team. And he knows that it hurts her for him to think so poorly of himself; it would hurt him deeply if things were reversed. In some way, maybe he can look at it that treating himself more kindly is for her.

"No, you're.... you're right. I guess it's too easy to forget all of this sometimes, but... hearing somebody else say it? It helps a lot. Makes it all feel a lot less... lonely."

He follows Orpheus's gaze off for a moment, a quiet smile on Peter's face. It is lonely, all of this. But sometimes, you find little moments of connection with somebody else who understands, and that feels very nice. Peter's heart, still a little sensitive from all of this talk, warms quietly. He reaches up to rub the back of his hand against his nose, just slightly. He's okay, it's just... the act of opening up about things like this is a lot.

"Thank you. It's um... it's really nice to talk to you. Been awhile since I did something like this."

[themuseabandonsyou]

"Of course," says Orpheus, smiling. It's still tinged with concern and melancholy over his own issues that have been dredged up by all of this, but he's genuinely glad that this seems to have helped. "I'm happy to, any time. We're friends, right? That's what friends are for."

And that might be a little bit presumptuous to say, when he and Peter have spoken so infrequently, but it seems genuine. Orpheus has never really been one to hesitate on calling someone a friend. He likes Peter, and Peter seems to like him, so! It just seems logical to him. Though after thinking about it for a moment, it does occur to him to add;

"Um, I know that talking about this kind of thing is really hard, though. So if you don't want to, please don't feel like you have to? But if you ever do, I'm here."

He beams, a little brighter.