saveourearth | Let's proudly not melt, shall we? [Mingle]

Entry tags:

Let's proudly not melt, shall we? [Mingle]

Date: 31.8-9.9.2018

Characters: Open

With the end of the eternal summer ~~heat~~ in sight, the last gasp of summer festivities start in Mossgate. The first signs come when the flag above the town hall showing the town coat of arms is removed and replaced with the bright and beautiful pride flag. Anticipation is high in the LGBT+ areas of town, and the traditional pride pre-parties take place in the LGBT+ venues on Friday and Saturday nights. Bunting starts to go up along the main streets of town, and volunteers are gathered for meetings and rehearsals. Any latecomers who still wish to volunteer are invited to turn up and make themselves known at this point (especially anyone with a valid first aid certificate!)

Pride officially opens on Sunday, with special free walking tours of the notable LGBT+ venues and sights around town twice a day, as well as open lectures at the universities featuring such topics as “Defining ourselves: deconstructing LGBT+ labels” and “Not just Stonewall: a brief history of LGBT+ activism”. Interested parties can sign up online using the local theatre's website, where they will also be able to browse the special LGBT+ program for the week (which, unfortunately, is not free, but those volunteering at any point over the week will be provided with two free tickets as one of their perks – either to be used alone for two events, or with a companion for one). The twice monthly LGBT+ book club is holding a special taster event on Wednesday evening, and the comic store is also holding special events each evening, focusing on a different LGBT+ character or author each night. Some of the religious institutions in the town are holding special LGBT affirmative services, and some are also holding drop in sessions. The RSPCA holds a pride themed dog show. Certain beauty stores, hair salons and barbers are holding trans-friendly sessions and workshops, some outside of normal working hours (although some are only accessible by signing up in advance). During the evening, there will be LGBT+ pub quizzes and special LGBT+ events up and down the high street. And, of course, plenty of other stores will also be taking advantage of the pink pound and the locals will notice the sudden influx of rainbow products, especially in the touristy shops along the beach front.

The main event is the pride parade, held from 11AM on Saturday, starting at the town hall, progressing along the main beach front road and ending up at the Green from around 2PM. It's a massive event, equal to Brighton or Manchester, with plenty of floats and sponsors. All along the parade route, flags, bunting and ribbons float in the sea breeze and barriers have been placed to keep the audience from getting under the feet of the walkers, dancers, prancers and stompers that will make up a part of the parade's diverse make-up. The parade itself is made up of an interesting mix of local businesses and big name sponsors; the local walking society walking behind Absolut vodka, the WI walking ahead of Skittles, and the local scouts being proceeded by Stonewall and followed by the Conservative Party.

There is one unforeseen thing happening this year though that will be throwing everyone into a tizzy for a bit: In between the last security check and the head of the pride parade arriving at the spot outside the town museum, someone has managed to sneak a giant cake in the way of the parade. The parade will come to an abrupt stop for almost half an hour while rumours run wild about the reason for which the parade has stopped, ranging from a terrorist attack to a romantic proposal. Eventually, the cake turns out to be entirely harmless, is removed and the parade continues. But news of it spread soon, and it is moved to a square where people are allowed to take pictures with it. It is, of course, heavily advised against trying to eat from it. Just that it doesn't explode doesn't mean that it meets food safety standards...

The Green has once again been set up with stalls for sponsors and local businesses, including charities like the RSPCA and the Samaritans. Those out for freebies won't be disappointed, with stickers, badges and sweets being handed out left, right and centre, especially by the representations of political parties who are doing their best to build some trust back up with the population. The local reproductive health centre also has a stand, handing out condoms, dental dams, and advice.

A dance area and a DJ have been set up around the bandstand, and with several bars having build temporary extensions, the party will go on well into the night, although the parade officially ends at nightfall, when there is a fireworks display. After the fireworks, the Green is temporary cleared, and after it reopens, only those with ID proving themselves to be 18 are allowed back inside. There is, however, an alternative, alcohol free party held in the town hall for any ages.

Pride officially concludes on Sunday evening with the Kings and Queens ball, an extension by tradition that is held in the Hive. With the bar cleared out to make a second dance floor, there is a flamboyant tie dress code, (as long as it's smart and fabulous, you'll be welcomed), and while tickets generally sell out months in advance, Alexander keeps a few to one side for late comers, and volunteers are (again) provided with two as part of their package. When the bell finally tolls at 2AM, and the last partygoers are sent home, Mossgate will return to it's usual, quiet self (but the glitter will take some time to clean up completely).

[ooc: Eating from the cake will give characters a plot echo. It will also make them high and give them indigestion the next day.]

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By this point, Walter is seriously considering just collapsing onto his bed and trying to forget at least some of what he's Echoed back today.

But one look at what Russell's doing puts that thought away in a hurry. He glances, one eye twitching, at the stencils, then slams and locks the door securely (managing not to let go of the cake plate) before heading over to his flatmate.

"Russell. Are you all right? You... really shouldn't be playing with that," he says, in a way that somehow sounds lame coming out past his lips.

"Or breathing it," he adds, which is more to the point. It doesn't look like that's what Russell's doing, but that's the main health risk on Walter's mind.

No, there's no paint inhalation happening here. The cans have been used at some point, there's slight bits of color on the outsides and on some of Russell's clothes, but no signs of use inside the flat.

Yet.

To Russell, the comment more sounds teacherly, like there's a sudden feeling in the room that only one of them is an adult right now. Russell sniffs at the hint of it, and rises to his feet to reassert his height and maturity. Because, somehow, height equals maturity.

"I'm fine, I'm not tasting the red," he protests, indignant at the accusation in Walter's concern, and holds his disdainful nose in the air for all of three seconds... before his eyes wander down to the cake.

"Oh, that's colorful. We should put colors like that on the wall." Explaining what he's got in mind with all those stencils. Nevermind the terms of their lease probably don't include that level of interior decoration.

... This place is going to turn into a disaster zone if he doesn't head this off, Walter worries.

If he were less stressed, maybe he'd have found the height maneuver amusing; as it is, he's still just tired.

"I think these colors would leave a terrible smell if we put them on - and those cans would leave a stink too, for that matter," Walter points out, slowly moving across the room towards the spray cans.

The stencils can wait.

Walter's worries are warranted. Left to his own devices, Russell would make a disaster zone of the flat, much as he did with the gift kiosk.

But this argument against his artistic endeavor is simple and sensory, rather than a scolding of what he shouldn't do, and it sinks in enough that Russell's nose wrinkles as he considers the cans again.

"Ohhh. No, I don't want that. We need stinkless colors." His shoulders sag as he realizes something even more disappointing. "And the hardware store isn't open for hours..."

For a moment, Walter looks at a loss - processing delay, perhaps?

"I- we should have markers, actually. Now, may I put this away...?" he asks again, holding up the cake.

Probably not the smartest move, all told.

Nobody expects the middle of the night art crisis, it could cause anyone a processing delay.

"Markers stink too..." Russell continues to whine and mope, until Walter reminds him of the existence of that cake. Then he leans in, further into personal space than usual, to peer at it.

"That looks delicious. Is that from the parade cake? You're saving it? Leftover cake always get stale. That's such a waste."

He doesn't leave room for answers to the questions, rambling answers and (mild) judgement as he cocks his head to consider the cake from another angle, the better to see if it's already looking stale.

"Not all of them," Walter begins to correct, then sighs.

"Might be crayons around, too."

Aaand then the topic shifts, and Walter very quickly moves with the cake for the flat's kitchen- and the sharp turn proves too much for the abused slice of cake, as it flies into Walter's face.

In retrospect he could have planned that better. In practice, he just freezes where he stands, mid-motion.

If he remembers this part of the conversation come the next day, Russell's going to express concern that Walter's first choice was recommending other art supplies. What helpful enabling - of, admittedly, relatively harmless things.

For now he slowly follows after, in the right place and time to see the cake go flying.

"What, why... Walter!" Russell sputters, throwing his hands up in the air. "That's an even worse waste! Can you even taste it? You could have shared it. I happily would have taken a slice... Are you hearing me...?"

His flatmate's stillness finally registers, and Russell glances around for signs that other things are still moving.

"Did... Did I stop time?"

It was better than trying to drag Russell to bed - even if it'd have been a better solution, overall.

Walter's not thinking of the future right now, though, to put it lightly.

In fact, as he swallows the cake on reflex, he's not focusing on the present at all. The past is simply far too overwhelming...

Russell's first sign that time has not indeed stopped is that most of the rest of the cake drops back, sadly yet miraculously, to the plate.

Apart from a small strangled noise from Walter, there is no sound. His pupils are pinpricks.

He circles around in front of Walter, sparing a glance down at the fortunate cake slice.

"Did I stop you?"

Something about Walter's face is wrong. Russell takes an unnerved step back before looking back and forth all across Walter's face, taking in things like the smear of frosting and his eyes. Those are not how human pupils are supposed to look, he's pretty sure. That's more like, angry cat stare-sized pupils.

"Are... you okay? Um, blink twice, if you can't hear me."

Walter can't hear Russell, now - or, well, he can, each phoneme being engraved in what feels like minute detail, but whether that's an effect of this hollowness or just the cake being itself is a fact lost in the ether, being drowned in the memories of everything else.

Being five years old, asking why they have to leave Mossgate, she was just fine here! "But we have to, Molly. It's... destiny," her mother states, eyes looking somehow distant despite her matter of fact tone.

He'd thought he'd gone over this... Been done with it.

Being eight years old, now, and perfectly capable of handling herself in the woods, even able to take care of those in the convent younger than her if she needs to. Never having to worry about the outside world, even that one time she fell in a river and a cut got infected. "Oh, she'll heal just fine," their leader had said, and she had, but it always felt weird walking on that leg afterwards...

Why was it all coming back now? He'd steered clear of even controlled substances, only taken certain meds when it'd been Absolutely Clear that was the right avenue and he'd gotten second, no, fifth opinions... He'd gone through with therapy to address these things, even!

Being seventeen, staring at the dress in the mirror in her family's new small apartment in London and thinking, "Oh, this just isn't my style..."

People were only supposed to experience their life like this once - and even then-

Twenty-one. October 6th, 2012. Looking up just what on earth 'being trans' meant, and suddenly being accosted by a memory of a different time, a different being, two halves becoming whole...

WHAT WAS THAT.

Walter blinks twice, without even realizing Russell had asked him to do that exactly that.

Thanks to the cocktail still in his system - possibly including a literal cocktail, from before the cake experiment - Russell's sense of the passage of time is a little off. He's not sure how long he spends staring at his vacantly staring flatmate, or sneaking glances down at that cake.

If it falls to the ground, he's going to complain again - and he's not going to clean the floor.

But finally Walter reacts, blinking as cued, and Russell sighs.

"Hmm. Now, that was a trick instruction, to check if you're a wise arse. You weren't supposed to blink twice. So it seems like you are, well done, can you start moving again?"

The fingers of Walter's free hand curl, though it's on barely-repressed reflex, because...

"Are you sure you don't want the job?" "Of course I'm sure; I didn't come here for government work. I want to help people, and I want to do it directly, not because I'm being told to by someone higher up, or even for the money." He'd sounded so confident, saying it, but had he believed it?

The flashes continue, and he bursts into a sprint for the kitchen, knowing what's coming next - and, as if the dread were a trigger:

Hannah Stark, living in Perth.

'Didnt think she'd do it'

Blood on hte keyboard, why was there so much?

'Dont feel bad, mum'

Hannah Stark, dying in Perth.

The cake slides across the counter and bumps against the far wall, ans Walter heaves into the sink.

Shaking, Walter just stares; not at anything in particular, just stares

For Russell, without insight to any of what Walter's remembering, it's a strange quiet scene. Things go from art, to a brief window of critique from his flatmate, to time stopping, to being abruptly abandoned as his flatmate suddenly books it to the kitchen.

Confused and concerned, Russell follows after in time to see Walter puke in the sink.

"What, why, what," Russell asks from a few feet back. His eyes dart between the sink splatters and Walter's slouched form leaning on the counter.

"Why are you puking? You just got here."

In Russell's defense, he's not actually in Walter's head right now.

Not that he'd wish it on anyone - or that he's in any state of mind to be making wishes in, at this point.

His hands spasm, and he breathes hard, heaving once more before he wrenches the water on.

The sound seems to drown out his thoughts for the moment, but they're still there-

"Hey. Hey. Hey, Walter."

Russell leans on the counter besides the sink, leaning over precariously close to banging his head on the overhead cabinets, to peer at his flatmate's face. It's got some kind of unhappy and unwell expression to it, but nothing that the sudden sink vomiting didn't hint at.

"Why are you puking," he repeats. "Was it the art? I can take the stencils down, they're not working for me either."

Not so badly that he's puking about it, but who knows what kind of parties Walter's been at this night.

Walter grimaces, but regains juuust enough situational awareness - in the moment, this moment, his roommate is asking his opinion on the creative exploits he's been up to since ingesting the cake from the Pride parade - to shake his head.

The motion only serves to further his nausea, however, and he sticks his head in the water this time.

If only he had gone to a party tonight - the still-tangible flood of too-real, too-colorful memories from the handful of parties he has gone to is not helping him concentrate in the slightest, however.

"Please don't drown in the sink... I don't know how to half explain that to anyone."

Just imagine law enforcement tromping through their flat, turned his flat through needless tragedy, to ask what had happened. Grief and accusations flung at him all at once, his life overshadowed by death...

"There's a shower," Russell points out, turning to the doorway that leads that ways.

"You could puke in the shower. Bad for the pipes... but all that water, can't be too bad..."

He takes more than half a step that way, with the idea that starting the water and adding some fragrant lotions to the mix would smell appealing and lure Walter away from this sink situation.

The rush of water - water, not thoughts, not memories, just WATER - continues for a solid minute before Walter's able to wrench it back off.

Gasping, but no longer as inward-focused as he was before, he turns and looks at his flatmate.

"W- Russell, I..."

There's too much space, there's too much space, WHY HADN'T HE SAID ANYTHING-

Breathe. Just breathing.

"... Sure."

Walter rates this drug experience 0/10, would not recommend.

Well, Walter's response isn't all that enthusiastic, Russell has to admit to himself. Could be better.

But it's enough to work with, and he nods.

"Brilliant."

Russell heads off to get the shower going, with half-formed plans of getting together food and beverages to replace whatever vomiting

Walter is slow to follow, wincing intermittently as one after another more kernels of memory go off.

People aren't supposed to remember their whole lives like this...

Now, perhaps, is not the best time for thought, let alone coherent thought, but he can't stop himself from trying.

"Why..."

Don't ask about the past, about the Echoes. Anything except what's on your mind.

"Why do you have so many stencils, exactly?"

"Hmmm?"

Russell pauses at the bathroom doorway, leaning back to hear the question and any follow-ups easily enough.

The stencils in question, taped to the wall in various patterns, show varying levels of use and age. Some are fresh from the box, but most have residue of inks or paints splattered around the edges of the shapes, long since dried - some to the point of cracking with age.

"Oh, you know... Backdrop designs, some of them. I think? Did I borrow some...?"

Some are labeled with Mossgate Theatre, various names of shows, or so on.

"D'nno how I'd know," Walter replies.

He keeps himself from looking back at the stencils, in case what he'd see would somehow be too vivid or trigger another flashback.

He doesn't need that right now, no siree.

"I'd expect yes, though."

A sense of exhaustion is creeping in - and, yes, numbness; at the moment, he feels that can only help.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Let's proudly not melt, shall we? [Mingle]

I can work with this! ... Make him eat the cake. 8'D

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Oh good; I thought it was the spray, not just the cans. |D

oh no i didn't specify did i......... he is NOT snorting spray paint, i promise

thank Goodness!

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happy to say that the spray in the icon is cake

=D

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TL;DR attack! Also, trans-character-identity-pronouns warning?

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CW: Mention of suicide. Also throwing up.

not sure if cw, but russell is out of it enough to be less helpful than ideal

That's fair. o/

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cw worries about death? i don't know what to tag this

/pats/ s'okay

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Let's proudly not melt, shall we? [Mingle]

I can work with this! ... Make him eat the cake. 8'D

no subject

Oh good; I thought it *was* the spray, not just the cans. |D

oh no i didn't specify did i......... he is NOT snorting spray paint, i promise

thank Goodness!

no subject

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happy to say that the spray in the icon is cake

=D

no subject

TL;DR attack! Also, trans-character-identity-pronouns warning?

no subject

CW: Mention of suicide. Also throwing up.

not sure if cw, but russell is out of it enough to be less helpful than ideal

That's fair. o/

no subject

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cw worries about death? i don't know what to tag this

/pats/ s'okay

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Oh good; I thought it was the spray, not just the cans. |D