Ark Awaits [open to multiple]

[deadeyedchild]

He is awake.

He doesn't have a body, and he remembers dying - again - he remembers slipping out, Tim unable to keep him there in spite of his hardened insistence that he wasn't going to let it happen, he remembers all of that, but he can't account for himself now. All he knows is he's awake.

Jay clings to that awareness as hard as he can. He doesn't know where he is, if it's a where at all, if he's alive or if this is just the suspension of afterlife, but he's still conscious, he's still him. Formless and adrift in the void. No arms to reach, no hands to grasp, but he tries, tries to stretch out fingers and hold onto something, even if it's just the continued knowledge of self, of me, Jay, I am Jay Merrick, and no one is going to miss me.

Even as an abstraction he can't escape his bent toward bleak self-deprecation.

There's something pulling at him - or maybe he's the one pulling, hauling himself into a defined space, someone else's space, still abstract, but not formless. He knows this sensation. A dream. He's dreaming. Or someone else is dreaming. He's just a stowaway.

Easier to hold a shape in a dream, though, and it doesn't take long before the memory of a body fills in the gaps, and there he is again, eyes that see, senses more or less intact - looking down at his arms, his hands, his legs and feet. Hand over his face and through his hair. All here. One piece.

He looks up, focus drawn naturally to the dreamer.


[Jay is free-falling through the dreaming, and if you want, he can get scooped up into your dream! The 21st is the current IG date at the time of post, but feel free to date your entry later as that changes. Will add a closing date at some point, when I have that figured out.]

Comments

[deadeyedchild]

Aw fuck, what did he do? He sits up a little straighter, bewildered by her sudden shift into distress, and it's a moment before he lets the spoon drop against the edge of the bowl, reaching out tentatively.

"Um," he says. "Greta?" Should he be calling her mom? He can't bring himself to do that. "It's - it's fine, I'm okay. Are you?" After a long hesitation he brings his hand to rest awkwardly on her shoulder.

[andhiswife]

The reassurances are a bit too late, and she huffs out a mirthless laugh. Perhaps she should be grateful he's been such a good sport about all of this, but for the most part, she's mortified. What must he think of all this - of her?

"Jay," she says. She can't bring herself to look up from the familiar grain of the table, but she gives the hand on her shoulder a pat. "We're, um. We're dreaming, aren't we?"

[deadeyedchild]

Fffffffff. His hand stiffens under hers. Well so much for not breaking everything. He always breaks everything.

"I'm sorry," he blurts. "I didn't mean to, I mean - I'm not supposed to be here, I didn't want to-" He shakes his head, his free hand going up to dig through his hair. It was kinda nice when she did it, even if it was weird. No one's been that gentle with him in a long time.

"I didn't mean to mess up your dream," he murmurs. "I know it's private, I shouldn't... I'm sorry."

He's getting so good at apologizing. Tim would be so proud.

[andhiswife]

"No," she interjects wearily, because this isn't his fault. Where would the fault even lie, with dreams? Her, because this is her head the poor boy's stumbled into? The Rift, because this wouldn't be happening at all if not for the Rift? She makes herself sit up, takes his hand from her shoulder, keeps it in hers. "It's not your fault." She won't have him thinking otherwise.

She looks around the room again, this kitchen that isn't really hers, that never even really existed. "This isn't real - it never was, I mean," she says quietly. "My son," she indicates the garden with a slight incline of her head and a wince, "was only a baby when the Rift took me. I'd been trying to find Jack - we promised his mother we'd look after him - but..." she trails off and hitches her shoulders in a little shrug. Maybe this is how things would have been, if the Rift hadn't taken her and they'd found the lad and defeated the Giant. But there's no way of knowing, and there's nothing to be done about any of it.

[deadeyedchild]

Well, that's nice of her to say, but convincing him is a tall order. Everything is his fault - and more often than not all it takes is him showing up.

"Oh," he says awkwardly, not knowing how to respond to any of that. So the Rift took him from death, Tim from a shit life, and Greta from a newborn fucking baby? That seems disproportionately cruel. "I'm sorry."

What can he say? What is he supposed to do? Should he tell her he's dead now? What would the point be?

Well, maybe to practice that whole thing where we don't lie anymore. Maybe that.

"Listen, Greta..." He sighs, looking dully at his half-finished soup. "I have to tell you something and I, I'm not sure how, um... I'm kind of dead. I mean. I was already dead. Like the Rift brought me back to life." He extracts his hand carefully, wrapping his fingers around the back of his neck. "And it just killed me again. Like for no reason, I just woke up and felt like I was dying, and then I... did." He peeks up at her, trying to gauge her reaction. "I don't know why I'm still here, I definitely shouldn't be in your private dreams, but I... I dunno, I thought you should know... that."

Or something.

Like this won't be even more upsetting on top of what she just told him.

Way to make it all about you, Jay.

[andhiswife]

... What?

All she can do is gape at him at first, because it seems like such obvious nonsense. How could a dead person come through the Rift in the first place? If it's like falling through a tear, wouldn't there have to be someone to do the falling?

That's to say nothing of the way his little story makes her hair stand on end, or how awful it would be if another of the Rifties she met in her first few days here was taken away - not just sent home, but killed.

"That..." she shuts her eyes and gives her head a dismissive little shake. "No. That can't be right." If Andrew's gone, and Jay's gone, who's next? The Balladeer? Iman? No. "If you're here, then you're not--you can't be dead." She reaches across the table to lay a hand on his arm. He feels as solid and real as anything ever does in dreams.

Perhaps that isn't saying much - this is her dream, after all, so he might only be as real as she wants him to be - but she wouldn't dream this. She wouldn't just come up with such an idea all on her own. This has to be Jay, and that means he has to be alive.

[deadeyedchild]

"Well, I..." Her reaction isn't outlandish, in fact it's pretty basic as reactions to death go, but he's still not sure what to do with it. "I'm sorry," he says, ridiculously. "I did die. I felt it. I mean, I felt it... before, and it was like that, again." He reaches out and gives her hand a supremely awkward pat. "I mean, yeah, I'm still here and all, but this isn't... I'm not alive. I can't wake up. This doesn't feel like dreaming, to me, it just feels like... drifting. Like I'm out at sea or something."

Or something. He doesn't know how to explain it. Not really his forte.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs again. "I wish you didn't have to find out like this, or..." Or at all. "I just wish I hadn't made a mess of everything."

He doesn't just mean her dream, of course. But it's that, too, and since that's all she'll have context for presently, it'll do fine as a scapegoat.

[andhiswife]

So, he's some sort of shade, haunting dreams instead of some real-world location? That's quite a departure, though not a senseless one; the city is too loud and bustling for a ghost to be heard there, she thinks. But it's still not right. He almost sounds like the Balladeer, offering explanations with the awkward simplicity of someone who doesn't appreciate how weird they are.

Greta gives his arm a gentle squeeze, as if to anchor him, or to defy the idea that he might become insubstantial and vanish before her eyes. If this is all that's left of him, it's still something.

"You haven't made a mess of anything," she insists, albeit gently. It's probably just as well that he interrupted this particular dream, anyway; it only would have made her ache in the morning. So will this, of course, but at least it will be on someone else's behalf instead of her own. "There's nothing to forgive." She might add that it was only a dream, but if that's all Jay has anymore, she won't dismiss it.

She pulls in a considering breath - is this a good idea? - before adding, "Listen. I don't know if you can--can control where you're drifting, but if you can find me again..." she ducks her head a little, searching out his eyes, "you're welcome here." If this was a story, she'd think herself a complete fool for inviting a ghost into her head, but he's already here and she doesn't think she's come to any harm. Jay's a good lad. Besides, what's the alternative?

If some part of him is still here, maybe the Rift will restore him again. And if it doesn't, she won't have him adrift and alone forever.

[deadeyedchild]

Well he has made plenty of messes, nothing but, but he's willing to accept that this doesn't have to count as one of them. He sighs tiredly and looks at her, managing a nod. She's so damn nice. What does someone so nice want with him?

For a moment he's tempted to take her hand or something, would that be weird? but it turns out to be moot. He feels himself starting to get pulled back, away, somewhere else, or maybe nowhere.

"Shit," he hisses. "It's happening. Uh. If I - I don't see you again, uh, thank y-"

Mid-syllable, he unravels and is gone.

[andhiswife]

"What?" She sits up a bit straighter, her hand tightening on his arm. What's happening? Is he leaving? For where? "Jay--"

And then he's gone. There's no art to it, no sound, no dispersement into mist; he just blinks out of existence, and her fingernails tap against the wooden table top as her fist closes on the nothingness he's left behind and drops.

She freezes, waiting for something - for him to find his way back, perhaps. But moments pass, and he doesn't. There isn't even any sound from the garden. The house is dusk-dim and quiet, and she is alone.