[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

cw: suicidal themes, passive suicidality, parental abandonment

[themuseabandonsyou]

Orpheus nods, a little miserably, and puts a hand over Peter's on his shoulder.

"Not often, but. Sometimes," he says, quietly. "Especially when I think about - my wife died, back home, and it was my fault. She probably would've survived if she didn't have me to worry about. And she's fine now, here, but..."

He glances her way, across the room, to where she's talking to a woman in very traditional attire, before looking back to Peter and sighing.

"I saw how she died. Last month, when the Winter Mournings were showing us each others' memories. The Lord of the Underworld himself came and asked her if she wanted to go. And she said yes, because she didn't see any other way out."

This isn't his story to tell, and he's baffled and upset with himself for telling it, but it all comes pouring out before he can stop it. He fidgets with his guitar's strap, staring down at his feet.

"And it's just that - everyone leaves, sooner or later, no matter how much they love me. My mom, my friends, Eurydice. And I try to be okay with it, because I know there are more important things than me, out there, but -" And none of this is anything he wants to say, none of this is anything he's dared to admit to anyone, including himself, but here it goes. "- it just makes me wish I could disappear, sometimes."

cw: continued suicidal themes

[possessum]

The little touches of physical comfort are generally something that's foreign to Peter. He never just reaches out to touch someone like this, and if he does aim to instigate some little affection, he usually asks permission, first. Hesitates with fingers outstretched, waiting for the other person to take the initiative if they want to. But here and now, it feels... natural to try and comfort the older boy. What Orpheus is saying is sad; it makes Peter's heart ache for what he's been through, and that very much shows in his face as he follows the gaze over to Eurydice for a moment.

'and it was my fault.'

....That concept strikes so familiar within Peter, too. He swallows, falling silent so that he can listen to everything the other boy is telling him, absorbing it with his utmost attention. Right down to that 'it just makes me wish I could disappear, sometimes.' He frowns sadly, dark eyes a little wet almost at once.

"I'm... I'm so sorry. I know how that feels, too. It—" It isn't something he's ever talked about much, apart from with a couple of people here and there, but it's been living there in him, a quiet thought. That very idea, that desire to just.... no longer be here. No longer be himself, no longer hurt anyone.... no longer occupy space at all.

"—Do you want to come sit down with me? Maybe have a drink or something while we talk?" Peter offers gently, not a way to stop this conversation but to keep it going — a way to continue to offer comfort to Orpheus somewhere more comfortable while he talks to him. There are places to sit down over there, more private spaces, and it'd let him set his guitar down too, maybe relax a little more. He wants to help Orpheus any way he can.

cw: suicidal themes, cont'd

[themuseabandonsyou]

Orpheus's face falls a little bit when Peter commiserates with him. It's not that he doesn't appreciate the sympathy! But, well. He hates to hear that someone else has been suffering the same things he has. He bites his lip and nods, gesturing for Peter to follow him as he guides him over to a little alcove meant for more private conversation, off along one of the walls.

"It's hard," he says, quietly, pulling his guitar off his back and setting it down propped up against the booth before sitting down. "And most of the time I can be grateful for what I have, and know that even if it doesn't last forever, it's worth having now. But sometimes that's really difficult to remember. You get so obsessed with the ending that you can't enjoy the present."

He sighs, resting his elbows on the table and his face in his hands.

"I, um. I appreciate you talking to me about it, though," he says, half-muffled. "I can't talk to my wife about it. I don't want her to worry, or feel like she hurt me. It's not her fault! I just wish I could be someone better than I am, sometimes. For her. For everyone."

[possessum]

The younger boy follows Orpheus to the booth, all too happy to sit and share conversation with him — even if it's something rooted in an ache like this. Slowly settling in across from the other, Peter folds his own elbows across the table as well, leaning in to give Orpheus all of his attention.

God, it's really like he could be saying all of these things himself.... Peter's actually a bit stunned by it the more he listens. It's like talking to himself in a mirror, in a lot of ways. He's never really heard anybody else say these types of things, and it's... it strikes him hard.

"I don't mean to keep repeating the same thing, but.... man, I feel you. I really do." His voice is soft, quiet as he muses. "It's hard when all you can see is the stuff you fucked up. Because I don't think it... goes away. And sometimes I wonder if I'd even be more upset if I let it go away, if that makes sense...? Like... I deserve to be guilty. I should have to carry it."

Peter pauses, looking down at the table for a moment. He's... hardly an optimistic person to bounce off of; he's definitely more of a pessimist. Gloomy even on his best days. But he does want to try to offer something more to Orpheus than just despair, if he can.... and his dark eyes finally look back up to meet the other's.

"But you're at least trying to help. It sounds like you're working really hard, to help people. I think that matters, and I wish I could be like that. But I get... scared."

[themuseabandonsyou]

"Because what kind of person would you be, if you didn't let it get to you? If you walked away unscathed when others didn't, because of you," says Orpheus, in response to Peter mentioning deserving the guilt, sounding hollowed out and tired. But he shakes it off, trying to summon up some of his usual energy. "I'm not sure... how true that is, though. I think it's okay to forgive yourself? But it's not easy. It's never easy."

Eurydice doesn't seem angry at him, for turning when he did, for letting himself get so caught up in trying to fix everything that he forgot her in the first place, but how can he not be mad at himself, for any of that? If he'd been a little stronger, a little more attentive, where would they be?

He sighs, fidgeting with the cufflinks on his suit. He does look up, though, when Peter admits to being afraid.

"Scared. Of what?" he asks, quietly, brows furrowing slightly in concern. "I'm sure you help people more than you know, but - what's holding you back?"

There's nothing at all accusatory in his tone, just curious and worried. He understands probably better than Peter thinks, the idea of being so paralyzed with fear that it stops you from making the right choices, or at least what feels like it should be the right choice, but he wants to listen, here.

[possessum]

Peter gives a soft little nod, eyes glancing down at the table for a moment. It's probably a terribly unhealthy way to perceive things — in the context of what's deserved and what isn't; he knows things so often aren't in black and white — but.... it is really hard not to see it that way. Especially when there's a very literal reminder of it living inside of him every day, occupying space within him. The demon feels like his punishment for what he's done, and maybe in some awful way, Peter lets it feel like that. He doesn't fight against it. He's never fought against anything.

"It's funny because it's so... easy to think that other people should forgive themselves. That it's okay for them to. Like.... if someone I loved said they didn't deserve to be happy, or to forgive themselves, it would crush me." Peter winces a little, knowing he's said as much to Luna before. "It's just.... so hard when it's you."

He doesn't know how, even years after coming to Deerington and learning how to truly be loved by someone. And it's that fear— the one Orpheus asks about, the younger boy looking back up at him. His fingers nervously touch along the wood of the table, a little restless. This place and his blood are helping him be calmer, but some things will always stoke that anxious spot in him no matter what.

"It's— there's something really... wrong with me. Um." It's not some big secret. Not by now. In fact, Peter's been willingly telling more people that he knows, but it's still hard every single time. He doesn't know how someone might react, or how they might... look at him.

"—do they have demons, where you're from? Like... the kind that can possess people?"

[themuseabandonsyou]

"It is. Easier, I mean. It's really difficult to treat someone with the sympathy you'd give to a friend, probably because you have to live with yourself? You have to see all the little mistakes and slips that lead up to the big ones, and it makes them feel worse. The justifications or the lack of one."

He worries his lip, thinking again about the moment he turned, and how for months afterwards all he could do was obsess over how not even he had any idea why. There hadn't been a good reason, all driven by fear and impulse, and knowing that had made him feel rotten and childish and stupid in a way that no one seemed to understand.

"But that doesn't mean you don't deserve that sympathy. I think most people are afraid they'd be - unworthy, if people knew all there was to know about them," he says. And on that note... "There aren't demons, and I think possession means something a little different, where I came from? But a couple of people have explained it to me."

His brow furrows, and he frowns slightly, looking at Peter with concern.

"Why?" He suspects he knows the answer, but he's not going to presume.

[possessum]

Yet again, the older boy says things in a way that make sense. Putting it into a form Peter can really understand, relate to. He's not used to talking about things aloud; emotions, thoughts, feeling.... they've always been held so carefully to himself. Kept contained. Even back when he didn't quite understand it, Peter learned from an early age that his home wasn't a safe place in which to expose who he was underneath. Better to pretend he was nothing, until it wasn't pretending anymore. Until time shaped him into it, eroded things away. Nothing.

'But that doesn't mean you don't deserve that sympathy.'

He still has a hard time believing it, at the core. And yet... hearing someone say it does touch something in Peter, some little glimmering weak thing that feels like hope. He wants to believe that. It matters that someone else thinks so.

For a moment, he suddenly regrets bringing up this part of it. He doesn't want Orpheus to know the truth, to possibly dislike him, think he's bad or tainted or ugly. Peter doesn't look at him, eyes on the tabletop, stomach squirming like it's filled with too many slimy wet living things. But despite his nerves, ultimately it comes out almost anticlimactic—

"There's one in me. A uh, demon. From like.... Hell."

When did it become a part of his identity? My name's Peter Graham, and I have brown eyes and black hair, and I'm possessed by a demon.

He does look up then, cringing a little, like he knows it's awkward. "It happened back home, and came with me to Deerington, and then here. And it's— well, people who are possessed by demons probably aren't great, you know?"

[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.