[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]

At that, Orpheus does turn, looking startled and guilty, like he's just been caught doing something he shouldn't, or more accurately not doing something he should. He should be working but - wait, where is work, again? He frowns, confused.

There aren't trees in the factory. There isn't sky, sunlight, clouds. This isn't the Underworld. Where is he, again? He tries to focus, working backwards. Right, he remembers, now, the initial panic of having been caught slacking wearing off.

"Oh, um," he says, wiping the tears from his face, that whole thought process having taken probably an uncomfortably long time that he spent in dead silence. "I just - I forgot what it looked like. Sunlight."

[eudaimonikos]

"....okay. That's really depressing."

Shit, maybe these aren't always purely physical changes. Michael's quite certain he's still the way he ought to be, mentally; he's discussed the shift with enough of his friends that he's sure someone would've pointed it out if he weren't. But knowing why this has probably happened doesn't mean he knows what to do. Really, there's probably nothing to be done but to wait it out.

Michael reaches out to lay a hand on Orpheus's shoulder, frowning as he looks him over again. He's shivering. For a second, he moves as if to take off his own coat, but he actually doesn't know that it's particularly warm; he doesn't worry about things like that when making his own clothes. "Here." He produces a heavy wool cloak out of nowhere. Easy to make, easy to just drape over someone. He wraps it around Orpheus's shoulders. "Why don't we take you..."

Wait. He has no idea where Orpheus lives.

"...somewhere...else?"

[themuseabandonsyou]

Orpheus just blinks at the stranger in confusion for a moment, though he does accept the cloak gratefully, pulling it tight around him. He's colder here than he's been in gods know how long - there's no reprieve from the sweltering heat just about anywhere in Hadestown - and every little bit helps.

"Okay?" he says, frowning a little but otherwise seeming entirely willing to follow this person he's, to his knowledge, just met wherever they lead him. It's fine! Apparently even years of hard labor couldn't crush Orpheus's trusting nature out of him. He does cast one last wistful look at the patch of sunlight falling on the trees, though, before turning his attention back to the stranger.

"Where are we going?" His assumption is they want him to do something, in exchange for the cloak, because for all he's aware that this place doesn't necessarily work like the Underworld it's a hard mindset to shake. He's fine with the idea, though, happy to repay the kindness.

[eudaimonikos]

"Ah..."

That's a great question! Michael's not too sure himself. He glances up and down the street, as if Eurydice might materialize out of nowhere. She does not. He guesses he'd better call her, but in the meantime, it can't hurt to get Orpheus somewhere a bit warmer. Even if the current temperature isn't actively dangerous to humans, none of them have seemed especially comfortable in it lately.

"Not too sure what's going on at home right now," he muses aloud. The general chaos of his household may not be best. "Why don't we just go back to my shop? It's, uh, it's this way."

Though he's not too sure what Orpheus remembers, he reaches out to touch his arm and guide him in the right direction. And probably starts walking way too fast immediately? He isn't trying to go fast, but he's tall and a quick walker, and he's sort of forgotten about the potential physical problems here in the face of apparent Weird Memory Shit.

[themuseabandonsyou]

Orpheus tromps along after him in heavy knee-high boots that are really designed more for preventing industrial accidents than moving quickly in. He doesn't fall behind, nearly as tall as Michael and pretty fast when he needs to be, but he's clearly having to put some effort into keeping up between that and the lingering exhaustion.

"Your shop?" he asks, curious, trying to keep an eye on the well-dressed stranger while still craning his neck to look at the city around them with a childlike sense of wonder.

(It doesn't occur to him to ask for a name, or offer his own. He hasn't needed to in a very, very long time, and has sort of half-forgotten the old social ritual.)

[eudaimonikos]

"Yeah, I sell clothes."

Michael looks sidelong at Orpheus - just conversationally at first, but then he frowns and slows his pace somewhat. You do learn to recognize humans having difficulty, in his former line of work. "Hey, you good?" He looks him up and down, noting the boots with a bit of distaste. "We really need to stop there anyway, you're not wearing that. I'll fit you for a real coat, too."

He's quite sure Orpheus has all that stuff at home already. They talked about winter wardrobes not that long ago! But for lack of knowing where to send him or how he can really help...well, it's something to do. He always feels better for having something to do.

[themuseabandonsyou]

"Oh," says Orpheus, glancing down at himself and his grease-stained overalls. It does seem pretty different from what everyone else around here is wearing, and also it's really not meant to guard against low temperatures. Quite the opposite, really. "Thank you? I can't - I can't pay you, unless there's something you need me to do?"

He almost sounds a little hopeful about that, directionless and disoriented and confused without someone pointing him at a task and expecting him to complete it on time. As much of a relief as it is to not be laden down with endless work here, it is a little hard to adjust to when he can barely remember anything else.

"I can work most kinds of machinery, if you show me how," he offers. "And I'm fairly strong? And... and I can sing."

He almost doesn't bring up that last one. What use has it been to him? But it sticks in his mind as something important, something he needs to do, something he's been doing since before the factory. Maybe it will be more useful here? He has no idea.

[eudaimonikos]

Michael opens his mouth to demur; of course he doesn't need payment! Even if he hadn't already offered to clothe anyone experiencing changes, he wouldn't take anything here. Orpheus is his friend - sure, if you want to be technical about it, he doesn't know this version, but it's still true. Anyway, he's way too out of it. Someone's gotta take him in before he gets eaten by a Beast.

But then Orpheus goes on. About machinery, and physical strength, and singing as an afterthought. Michael's brow furrows. Oh. Oh, wait. He's seen these kinds of clothes before, actually, hasn't he?

"Oh. You've been in Hadestown, haven't you?"

[themuseabandonsyou]

"Yes." It doesn't occur to Orpheus to lie, but he does say it with some hesitation, clearly anxious, and he hurries to add; "I know I'm - I'm not supposed to be here."

Wherever 'here' is. He's still not clear on that. But there's sun and clouds and cold and people who remember what laughter and music is, well enough that they don't need Lady Persephone's speakeasy to remind them. There's a frantic sort of desperation to him as he continues.

"But I can't go back. I know no one's ever supposed to leave. And I know there was something I was supposed to do there, something important I was supposed to finish but - I can't remember what it was, anymore. And I'd rather be here. Please. Don't tell anyone?"

[eudaimonikos]

Michael purses his lips, suddenly quietly furious. Eurydice hadn't been like this in the memory: broken down. Some of the other workers had, maybe, but his focus had been on the people he knew.

He slings an arm over Orpheus's shoulders and squeezes him in sort of a side-hug. "Hades," he says companionably, "is a basic bitch. And if he ever shows up here, I am going to make his life hell. You're good, bud!" He grins, something a little dangerous in the expression, and then lifts his free arm to point at the next storefront.

"Ah, this is me! Come on in, sit down." He opens the door for Orpheus and enters behind him. The Garb Place is a fancy little boutique, with several cushy stools and chairs available. Michael himself passes these by, going behind the counter to pour out a glass of water. "You want food? You know what, nevermind, dumb question." Feeding upset humans usually seems like the correct way to go, and when was the last time Orpheus had anything to eat anyway? Let's just see what he has back here!

[themuseabandonsyou]

Orpheus looks briefly scandalized, because that's absolutely the kind of talk that could get you reprimanded by the Furies, but when no old women appear from thin air to yell at either of them he relaxes slightly. Still a little wary, but not about to jump out of his skin at the sound of a slamming door or anything. He settles down on the stool, looking around and clearly impressed by the place. Vague flashes of memory occur to him - a man with feathers on the heels of his shoes and on his cufflinks, walking with him along a city street in the sun and ducking into a very similar shop to get out of the heat - but they're gone as soon as they come, and he's left frowning slightly in confusion and a directionless feeling of loss.

But then the stranger asks him a question, and he has to pay attention again.

"What?" he asks, before his brain catches up and he's able to answer. "Oh, um, sure. Thank you!"

Ironically for all the other mistreatment inflicted upon him, this Orpheus looks slightly better-fed than his usual self - muscular and sturdy as opposed to slim and willowy - but that doesn't say much about how recently he's eaten. He's not starving right now, but free food is free food, and he's also not about to be so rude as to refuse a gift.

[eudaimonikos]

Michael will fight the Furies too! He'll fight anyone! Well - historically, he's more likely to make their lives hell by committing a lot of especially egregious crimes, and then be a huge problem until they're forced to listen to him. But you get the idea.

"Cool." He grabs a tray of cookies, and brings it over along with the water. "Here you go, take as many as you want. I've got a deal with the bakery." And really, what's he using his money for? Eleanor's food doesn't cost as much as all that.

Stepping away for a moment, he fetches out his Omni to dial Eurydice. And proceeds to get a little nervous when she doesn't pick up immediately. God, after this, he is gonna make it his business to know where all his friends live.

[themuseabandonsyou]

Orpheus nods and proceeds to take exactly one cookie, which he considers carefully before beginning to eat it in tiny bites with a clear determination to savor every last bit of it. Hades may make sure his workers always have enough to eat, but sweets are still a distant luxury that can only really be afforded once in a blue moon on a salary like Orpheus's. He's not about to waste this gift, either.

So he settles in one of the chairs, peering around with wide eyes and looking more like a young boy whose parents have bought him a treat for good behavior while they go shopping than a very tired grown man has any right to. It is basically what's happening, though.

"What are you doing?" he asks, watching the stranger fiddle with a hand-sized crystal. He hasn't seen anything like it before, and he's too curious not to ask.

[eudaimonikos]

"Uh." Michael looks up, eyes wide as though he's been caught at something. Which he hasn't, really. It just feels...a little bit like that. And not entirely without reason; really, he guesses it's not like he's shared any of the actual truth with Orpheus.

Is it worth it, though? It sounds crazy! If he thought the reminders would help Orpheus recover his memories - the ones that really happened, at least to the man Michael knows - then that might be different. He's pretty sure it doesn't work like that, though, and he'd be way more likely to scare him off. It'd be entirely pointless!

...geez, is his first instinct always to lie about things?

Maybe he'll compromise. Just a little. "You know how you're married, right?"

[themuseabandonsyou]

For a moment, it looks like he's going to say 'no'. His brow furrows, and he glances off to the side like he's trying to remember something that isn't there, but then -

A flash of memory, a girl he'd almost been too shy to approach, a summer spent in her arms and a winter spent drifting apart. A bargain made in desperation. That same girl, grown into someone almost unrecognizable - almost.

Come home with me!

It's you!

It's me. Orpheus!

"Eurydice," he says, his eyes wide. The details are still fuzzy to him, but he looks more alert than he has during this whole previous exchange. "Do you - do you know her? Do you know where she is?"

[eudaimonikos]

"I don't know, man, she's not picking up her phone." Phone...crystal thing, whatever.

Granted, Michael doesn't really blame her. Orpheus was out wandering the streets in some kind of fugue state, after all. "I bet she's out looking for you," he concludes with a grimace. No wonder she's not just picking up network calls. Michael himself tends to silence the dang thing when he's working, or just doesn't feel like listening to network chatter. It can be a little disruptive.

"Tell you what," he decides. "I'm gonna leave her a message and we can hang out here for a little bit. See if she gets it. Oh - I'll fit you for a new coat. What colors you like, man?"

[themuseabandonsyou]

Orpheus blinks a little owlishly at the mention of a phone, his mind going to the great heavy bricklike things that very important people kept on their desks, connected to the telephone wires that crisscrossed the city, and very definitely not making the connection between that and the rock this generous stranger is holding. He shrugs it off, though, as the conversation moves on. It's probably smart to stay in one place if she's looking for him anyway, and if this person has a means of getting a message to her then all the better.

"My favorite color is red," he says, frowning a little in confusion and concern. "But - are you sure? You're already doing so much for me, and I can't -" pay you back, is how he means to finish the sentence, but the stranger has been very insistent about not needing to be paid. He swallows, shaking his head. "Are you sure there isn't anything I can do for you?"

[eudaimonikos]

"Nah, you're good," Michael replies off-handedly, his focus now on a book of little fabric squares he's got. Wool is what one uses for winter clothing, yes?

He turns to size Orpheus up. He'd like to measure him properly, get a great fit - but he also sort of wants him to stay there and just eat his cookies? He's only eaten one of them, though. And he looks sort of...worried. Michael hesitates. Of course he does know that humans - anyone, really - aren't just used to having charity dumped on them. It's never really stopped him before. But it does seem to make some people feel weird.

"Uh...well, I don't know. Why don't you just stand up, I'll get some measurements?"

[themuseabandonsyou]

"Okay," says Orpheus, getting to his feet obediently. "I don't think I've ever had my measurements taken before?"

The worker's uniforms down in Hadestown were sized about as roughly as possible without risking getting in anyone's way by being too loose or too tight. And he has some blurry, distant memories of wearing a suit once, laughing with friends whose faces he can't recall and singing them a song he only knows a few lingering notes of now, but for all that he does somehow recall it being ill-fitting, stiff and just a bit too small. It's funny, what sticks with you.

"What do I need to do?"

[eudaimonikos]

"Just stand up, hold out your arms."

Michael produces a measuring tape from somewhere and starts to take some basic measurements around Orpheus's torso. He's quick about it, not even bothering to write down the numbers; his memory's good enough. "I think more humans should get properly tailored clothes," he muses as he does so. Of course he knows why Orpheus wouldn't have, but we don't gotta get into it. "They really do feel better. Looks better, too. There...we...go - alright, you're good."

He waves for Orpheus to sit back down, and joins him at one of the other chairs. "I think people ought to take care of each other, in situations like this," he says. It would have been so easy, for Hades to take care of the humans. "We all need a little kindness when we show up here, to get us on our feet. Not like I showed up with a small business in tow. You seem like a short coat guy, what do you think?"

[themuseabandonsyou]

Orpheus holds his arms out readily when directed, though he does sort of fidget and try to watch the stranger curiously as they take his measurements in a way that probably isn't very helpful. It gets done eventually though, and he settles back down when directed too.

"That would be nice," says Orpheus, fully in agreement but a little wistful about it, like he doesn't really believe it could be the norm. The endless grind of Hadestown and the very pragmatic and transactional nature of what relationships he's had with the other workers - limited as they were by how interchangeable they all are to each other - have ground a lot of his belief in the ease of compassion out of him.

"It would make things a lot easier, if everyone were kind to each other. But I know that's... hard. Especially when some people have so little left to give." He can't blame any of his fellow workers for how they are, after all. When the only kindness you can give is a reprieve from the endless toil at the cost of taking on more for yourself, it's hard to be charitable. He eyes the plate of cookies, and hesitantly reaches out for another one, watching the tailor's face for a sign of approval.

"I don't know about the coat, though?" He hasn't had to dress himself in gods know how long. "Whatever you think would work."

[eudaimonikos]

"It is," Michael agrees thoughtfully. "But I'm doing alright here. A lot of us are. Anyway, that's why the afterlife definitely shouldn't suck! We can do whatever we want there!" Well. Humans can't, but he can. Hades can. God, how insufferably petty, to make them go right back to the grind of Earth capitalism.

As he speaks, he's sketching something out on his notepad. It's quick work. Designs tend to come together quickly, in his mind. Anyway, if he's being entirely honest, he's thought about it before. Ever since he started in this line of work, he finds himself idly turning over outfit ideas for a lot of people he knows. Most of them never ask, so he never bothers to offer, but it's interesting. He's always liked designing things, and this is so much more personal than architecture tends to be!

Shaking out his hands like he's trying to flick water from them, he materializes a coat. Simple enough; whatever his own tastes, he knows Orpheus isn't one for affectation. "Here," he says, handing it over. "Try this on."

[themuseabandonsyou]

Orpheus completely forgets about the cookie he was thinking about taking in the wake of the stranger just manifesting an entire coat out of thin air. He jumps a little - not enough to risk knocking anything over, but he clearly wasn't expecting it.

"Oh!" he says. "You're - are you a god?"

He asks it with a certain familiarity, the same way one might ask after a particularly impressive profession. However much he doesn't remember clearly, Orpheus has still spent his entire life around divinity in some form or another. He's reverent, to be sure, but probably more casual about it than most.

There's a pause, before he registers that the stranger is trying to hand him the coat. He takes it, gratefully, and pulls it on over his bare shoulders. It fits just right, warm and comfortable with no odd itchy seams or places where it pulls on him if he tries to move in certain ways. He's very nearly as awed by it as the fact that it just materialized out of nothing.

"It's perfect," he says.

[eudaimonikos]

Michael scoffs. "No, I'm a demon. I do run the afterlife, back home, but it's really not a big deal. Not like we're there now." Gods. Maybe there are decent beings calling themselves gods somewhere out there, but Michael tends to view them as something akin to cult leaders at this point.

He claps his hands together, grinning at the praise. "Oh, good! I'm glad you like it. Important for humans to keep warm in the winter, right?" Not to mention - well, Michael knows about how much it can mean, to have an appearance that makes you happy.

cw: death by exposure talk

[themuseabandonsyou]

"A demon," says Orpheus, repeating the unfamiliar word to make sure he's got it right. It sounds vaguely familiar, but not in any way solid enough for him to grasp. Either way, maybe it makes sense that this demon is so judgmental about Lord Hades, if they've got similar jobs.

"It is! I, um." Hold on, something's coming back to him. A winter storm, endless and relentless and unbreaking, stumbling out into the middle of it and having the wind whip away everything, his coat, his bag, all the warmth in his body. A figure approaching.

Hey, little songbird.

He shivers. "I think that's how I died?" And that might be a strange or uncomfortable thing to say, but he's both dead and never had the best social graces to begin with. Bear with him. He looks down at the coat again, pausing before starting to do up the buttons experimentally.

"Do you think that matters here? That I'm dead. This isn't another afterlife, is it?"