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driftfleet2016-03-21 01:52 am
heavenonearth) wrote in driftfleet2016-03-21 01:52 am
Entry tags:
i have become comfortably numb
Who: Castiel & You Poor Unfortunate Souls
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Waystation
When: Todayish..?? From like the 19th through the 21st. Text post is on the 22nd. Also a warning that this post contains drug use/references, cursing, and potential Unhappy Talk about painful subjects/depression what have you.
action;
[ it's easy, you know, to drown all of your shit out when you've got a bright, loud, roaring space station of extravagance, entertainment and debauchery to keep you occupied every moment of the day that isn't spent sleeping. good food, good drugs, good company - after living so long in a near-literal hellhole it'd been such an easy thing to give into temptation and drown his troubles in the usual ways, to have a good time, laugh and eat and distract himself with pretty lights and pretty people.
but space is quiet, once you're out in it, and soon enough they've drawn far away from the starlight and cas finds himself cut off from his sport. sure, he can still drink and get high, but that's not really the same, and without all the noise and bustle and activity of the station to drown out all of his thoughts it becomes.. more difficult to face certain realities that he's yet to come to terms with. dean's gone, probably dead back home, and cas hasn't stopped thinking about those crotes, about the hard bite of their teeth into his throat and their foul, suffocating breath. there's no going back home. not for him. and even if he could, there's nothing to go back to. it's all dead and gone, all his fault, and facing up to the hulking mountain of mistakes that his life has been, well -
- he's not strong enough. back home the weight of it was straining him, bending him, but then at least he had purpose, at least he had that thin sliver of hope. here? well, here it's a wash. here there's no more hope, and he's not bending, he's breaking.
so when that snap comes, he's gone from the red fish, disappearing to the waystation where he can blow all his newly acquired funds on booze and whatever cheap stuff is in these vending machines that will fuck him up properly. losing track of time is easy, days pass and he doesn't return to the ship, forgets to eat half the time, sleeps under benches, wanders aimlessly, but spends most of his time passed out beside one of the more remote vending machines, the lit cigarette loose in his hands burning down to his knuckles. ]
[ ooc; he's got some fellow shipmates coming to the rescue, so feel free to come across him any time, when he's relatively sober or less so, whatever's comfortable! he'll be there a couple days just moping about, so any time in that period is fine! ]
text;
So tell me, what do you guys do for a bad hangover, eh? Gotta be some homespun remedies we've got access to, right? These protein solids really aren't doing the trick.
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Waystation
When: Todayish..?? From like the 19th through the 21st. Text post is on the 22nd. Also a warning that this post contains drug use/references, cursing, and potential Unhappy Talk about painful subjects/depression what have you.
action;
[ it's easy, you know, to drown all of your shit out when you've got a bright, loud, roaring space station of extravagance, entertainment and debauchery to keep you occupied every moment of the day that isn't spent sleeping. good food, good drugs, good company - after living so long in a near-literal hellhole it'd been such an easy thing to give into temptation and drown his troubles in the usual ways, to have a good time, laugh and eat and distract himself with pretty lights and pretty people.
but space is quiet, once you're out in it, and soon enough they've drawn far away from the starlight and cas finds himself cut off from his sport. sure, he can still drink and get high, but that's not really the same, and without all the noise and bustle and activity of the station to drown out all of his thoughts it becomes.. more difficult to face certain realities that he's yet to come to terms with. dean's gone, probably dead back home, and cas hasn't stopped thinking about those crotes, about the hard bite of their teeth into his throat and their foul, suffocating breath. there's no going back home. not for him. and even if he could, there's nothing to go back to. it's all dead and gone, all his fault, and facing up to the hulking mountain of mistakes that his life has been, well -
- he's not strong enough. back home the weight of it was straining him, bending him, but then at least he had purpose, at least he had that thin sliver of hope. here? well, here it's a wash. here there's no more hope, and he's not bending, he's breaking.
so when that snap comes, he's gone from the red fish, disappearing to the waystation where he can blow all his newly acquired funds on booze and whatever cheap stuff is in these vending machines that will fuck him up properly. losing track of time is easy, days pass and he doesn't return to the ship, forgets to eat half the time, sleeps under benches, wanders aimlessly, but spends most of his time passed out beside one of the more remote vending machines, the lit cigarette loose in his hands burning down to his knuckles. ]
[ ooc; he's got some fellow shipmates coming to the rescue, so feel free to come across him any time, when he's relatively sober or less so, whatever's comfortable! he'll be there a couple days just moping about, so any time in that period is fine! ]
text;
So tell me, what do you guys do for a bad hangover, eh? Gotta be some homespun remedies we've got access to, right? These protein solids really aren't doing the trick.
no subject
it's the entire damned reason he hung around, after all. for dean. to see that thing through to the end, to give up whatever he needed to give up in order to make up for his mistakes (a damned impossible task), to see dean accomplish his task, whatever it needed to be. in a world broken down, with busted wings and crumbling grace he held on by the tips of his fingers for his best friend.
and now, he's got to keep hanging on for these new ones. honestly, he's not sure he has the strength to do it, but apparently he's got to try, got to drag himself along until he can't any longer. ]
.. yeah.
[ because for what it's worth, they care about him, even if cas can't understand why, can't convince himself he deserves it. but hurting them? that's never in the cards, never what he wants to be responsible for. sitting forward with a low groan, cas rubs his hands down his face. ]
I know.
no subject
Means someone understands and is there when you're not there for yourself.
He smiles a bit more, tired but looking so fond and so sure of the angel-turned-man.]
... I know you know.
It'll all hurt for a long time, you know. Until one day -- one day you're gonna wake up, and feel freaked out, because it hurts a little less than you remember. We'll work on it. Hell, if you keep an eye out for me, I'll keep an eye out for you, and we'll hobble around on four legs when it's rough. Yeah?
no subject
but self-destructing here is going to leave collateral damage, too. and maybe the handful of friends he's made here are a much smaller area of affect than the billions of people on earth who suffered and died, but cas doesn't have it in him to willfully hurt them, either. he never wants to be responsible for anyone's goddamn pain ever again.
so he'll just have to keep trudging on somehow, clinging on for them, like he always has, and maybe he'll trip and fall sometimes, but he's just going to have to manage. ]
Yeah, sounds like a good deal. [ he says, inhaling deep, blowing it out in a sigh. ] I think I can uh, manage that. [ and it's a weary thing, but he cracks something like a smile anyway. ] Thanks, Sam. Sorry, uh.. about your shoes.
no subject
Kindly:]
Dude... they're just shoes.
... You want a cheesy Mother Teresa quote and an awkward hug, or would you prefer I go make you some hangover food?
[............. also I locked up your alcohol and confiscated your pills while you slept xoxo]
no subject
Hangover food, thanks. But if you're feelin' cuddly, you can lay a big wet one on me.
[ KISSY FACE complete with batted eyelashes. ]
no subject
[He looks away grinning, rising to his feet.]
Alright, well. I'll get you something. Water, food, Pepto. A hunter's breakfast, congrats.
no subject
Appreciate it. Thanks, Sam.