driftfleet | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Who: Heron crew + visitors
Broadcast: no
Action: the SS Heron
When: November

[Those spooky scary skeletons are back in the cupboard for another year, but the ship cruises onward. Whether the crew is taking a break from the planetary mystery and waystations, or just generally hanging around the ship mingling, the Heron is here for you.]

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[Erik nods; of course he can. Charles has voiced as much in the past, and Erik has read it in the lines of his face far more often.]

What would an ideal holiday look like for you, then?

I don't know. Venice is out. None of those barges seem particularly wheelchair accessible.

Maybe Africa.

Venice is overrated. [He had passed through there years ago, and found it unappealing. The place was sinking slowly, as well, no matter how romantic the setup was.] Africa could be interesting. One of those safari tours.

[ He shrugs. ]

Perhaps someday.

It would be a fascinating experience, no doubt.

[ He waves it off. ]

It's far off into the future anyway.

[Considering he's the one who brought it up, Erik gives the movement a cursory glance. It's not a common subject of conversation. Uncomfortable, maybe.]

Mm, yes. But my understanding is that people can spend quite a while planning ahead for such things.

We're not people. Not in that sense.

[Not like the masses of the ordinary, no. He smiles a bit.]

True. We're a different kind.

However, I can't imagine you not planning something like that down to the letter.

While that's true, I can't say my planning or expectations have been all that productive. If anything, they prepared me less for the realities I deal with.

So perhaps . . . it's better not to.

[Erik runs a finger along the edge of his notebook, toying with a piece of paper.]

It's because we can't plan for the unexpected. If we can't be flexible, to some extent... then you can't bend with the wind.

[ Charles exhales quietly. ]

I can manage that.

[After all, Erik is a textbook case of what happens when you can't be flexible, and things go wrong.]

Yes. I think you can.

[ He smiles but it's faint. ]

...is it bothering you?

Bothering me? Not particularly.

You seem pensive, at least. [He tilts his head back to look at the stars again.] But I can understand that. There's a lot of time to think.

[ Charles is quiet before he finally speaks up. ]

It's not about the time. It's about me and the steps I want to take in my life.

[Erik watches Charles's face in silence for a moment. Maybe this was behind the meandering conversation. Glancing away, he turns the pen in his fingers, watching the light shine off its edges.]

That's always worth thinking about. [Even if it's hard at times.]

Do you - want to be a part of that?

[Erik whips his head back around to stare at Charles, thunderstruck. The rest of the conversation seems to crystallise behind him, clearer yet multi-faceted. And yet it still manages to take him by surprise.

They had spoken of plans and expectations, the pitfalls therein. Ironically, in acting on his desire not to plan, Charles had thrown a spanner into Erik's. He thinks of the notepad sitting in his lap, full of half-written pieces that had yet to be assembled into something coherent. He thinks of the work left in his room, unfinished. It was true enough, that planning doesn't prepare you for the actions outside your own control.

While it leaves him unprepared, he doesn't need to consider his response. He's known it for a while now. It comes slightly breathless, but no less sincere.]

Yes.

[ Charles stares. He couldn't help it. He had been so sure the answer would be a resounding no or even a deflection, a need to think about it. It had been sudden after all and Charles would hardly find fault in struggling for an answer.

But it's just . . . a simple agreement. Yes.

He turns his face away, brushing at his eyes quickly. ]

[It seems like they've both managed to floor each other. Erik swallows, turning the notepad over in his hands, feeling shaky with the moment.]

I've been... I was going to write you a letter. To tell you that I want to come home. [To ask for permission to do so, with all the danger and baggage that Erik would bring with him.] I hadn't figured out the words yet.

[ I want to come home. It feels like a physical blow and Charles reels from it. ]

Why now? What changed?

I... realised something. About why I left.

[Part of it, at least. This was the difficult part, what had taken him a long time to realise. After a moment, he opens the notebook, flipping some of the pages until he finds the right one. He presses the open book into Charles's hands.

He returns his hands to his lap, tightly clasped, feeling the tension build up in his heart.]

Like I said... I wasn't done writing it yet.