we're all just kids who grew up way too fast;

[thoughts]

CHARACTERS: river tam and you! this is open to everyone ever.
LOCATION: the gardens
WARNINGS: only the general creepifyin' stuff for this one, i think!
SUMMARY: when the going gets sleepy, the insomniacs get going. river has more time on her hands and that means more time to explore the gardens and collect "supplies" for questionable things. this is a good place to be.
NOTES: this a catch-all for garden interactions in september. give me a nudge if you want to plot something specific out, but they can totally just bump into each other as well!


[ she doesn't mind the sleeplessness. to the contrary, she's happy for it, so terrified was she last month of going to sleep and never waking up again. this is the opposite and her body aches for it, it groans in the mornings and tenses at night and her brain reminds her that neither are really happening. time is lost between sleep cycles that never come, which means time is all they have left.

which is fine by her. she can hunt down her wayward fox, assuming it would look for something natural to burrow into. she can seek out flowers for her delusions of grandeur, because nothing is ever going to be as good as it has been. or, alternatively, she can just sit and watch and wait for nothing.

nothing is fine. nothing is better than the monsters that are waiting around the corner. join her for a bit of rest without resting. it's what all the cool kids are doing these days. ]

Comments

[savory]

[ where do you go when you escape from the hospital?

"sometimes to the city, sometimes to the woods. sometimes just out. I go to get away from this, to be alone so I can think. breathe."

technically, she's escaped the hospital again. being here is an escape from it, in a way, even if the long hallways and small, sparse rooms remind her too much of the place. she leaves her new bedroom to wander by herself because she can, because there aren't any rules, no check-ins or bracelets, just this big, monstrous ship and the other people who were brought here before her. nobody looks at her like she might snap, or like she's guilty of anything. she's just another face here, and she likes that. what she doesn't like is the fact that she hasn't been able to shut her eyes and sleep since she woke up in that tube, and she blames it on what happened to her, what she still doesn't understand. she thinks her mind, and her body, are trying to keep her awake just to avoid the bad dreams, or- maybe it's to avoid something worse.

so she wanders, her jumpsuit zipped up tight to the top of the collar to hide the deep scar on her neck. she'll have to find a scarf eventually, so she can wear her normal clothes, but for now she doesn't mind wearing the jumpsuit. it makes it easier to detach, to feel like somebody else. she can be anyone, she doesn't have to be Abigail Hobbs at all here. it's therapeutic, in a way.

just like the Gardens are, she notices right away. it's not the familiar woods surrounding her home, or the hospital, but she's good at keeping track of where she's turned, how to get back. she isn't actually trying to find any animals, but she knows there must be some here, judging by the smaller footpaths that branch off from the main packed-dirt walkway. she walks and walks and walks, enjoying the quiet and how new this all is, and eventually that brings her to the start of the flower beds. well-groomed flower beds, which is unexpected to find in the middle of the woods. like someone's been planting them as opposed to just throwing out the seeds and seeing what the jungle does on its own. her footsteps are quiet as she starts to weave her way around them, and once she notices another girl sitting in the grass just a few yards ahead, she stops completely.

at first she's not sure why the sight of this particular girl is jarring, but a moment of thought makes her realize it's because of her long, dark hair, the fact that she's had nightmares like this before. but she's not carrying a rifle, she's not stalking any prey. her father isn't standing next to her with an excited grin to point out there, there she is. he isn't guiding her to pull the trigger. it's just her. she's in control. this isn't a dream, and she isn't going to hurt anyone.

so she walks around the wide patch of flowers separating them ( blues and golds and reds, a mix of little buds and some flowers in full bloom. it's pretty. ), hands twisting in knots in front of her until she's stopping just a couple feet away. ]

Hi. I wasn't expecting to find anyone here. [ said sheepishly, like she's sorry, like she's sure she's intruding. but still, she asks- ] Mind if I sit with you?

[thoughts]

[ escapism is, by all accounts, the very nature of the thing as far as the o₂ gardens are concerned. there's still metal underneath the roots and the soil, still something hollow that will ring out if you dig deep enough, and there is nothing in all the world that can silence tranquility humming when it's inside you - but at least for awhile, on the surface, the ship fades into the background and leaves something softer in its place; river might say kinder if she knew nothing about anything.

but she's been here for months now ( months, they say, as though anything on this ship is reliable, as though it wouldn't lie about something as fallacious time ) and even if she hadn't been made to fear the things that go bump in the dark, she's seen enough now. felt enough now. if she had been left to grow organically, free and wild and untamed like the higher levels of the gardens and children that were tucked into bed by loving parents at night, she would still know better by now.

but it's the escapism. it's key. it's covering up the cold walls of an empty city and feeling a little less detached from the earth; it's time to forget that they're floating all alone in the black.

river doesn't see the doe. she doesn't feel the weight of a rifle or the straps of a chair or the stab of something splitting her open to make her better. to make her right. ( she'll grow to her full potential, we'll honour every part of her ) it doesn't reach here here, not today. today is a good day.

she looks up when abigail approaches and her smile comes easy. there are light red scratches down one side of her face, more all over her body where she couldn't cover fast enough, but they'll heal up without a problem. she won't fuss over them. today has to be a good day. ]

Please.

[ there's plenty of room, but she budges over anyway, because that's the polite thing to do. her fingers are covered in dirt, even though she hasn't actually torn up any of the flowers yet. there are symbols written in the soil in a language she doesn't actually know, but it brings her a comfort when the one that taught her has turned blue. ]

They don't expect much here. Water comes even if people don't, and they pretend that the sun is aking care of them. [ she pushes her fingers through the dirt again, writing the sindarin word for sun with an idle smile on her lips. ] Do you think they ever get lonely?

[savory]

[ words in the dirt should throw her off, maybe, make her feel uneasy. but instead she just curls her knees up against her chest so she doesn't accidentally smudge any of the letters with her boots, arms wrapped around her legs to keep them that way. her chin rests on her knee, and at first the girl has her full attention, a sideways, lopsided glance that comes with her head tilting that way, but then, once she catches on to what the girl means, she's looking out at the bed of flowers.

she realizes then that she must've gotten used to it - following along a train of thought without questioning it - after spending so much time in the psychiatric facility, trying to connect with other girls that never seemed to understand. apparently she had learned to do so herself, getting out of her head long enough to realize not everyone's mind works the same as hers. and right now it has nothing to do with being crazy, or feeling crazy, she's not panicking at the reminder of that place like she might usually, but it's something she didn't notice until right this second. she's learned to just listen, follow even if it's not a subject or thought she would usually give much attention to. and she's particularly glad for it right now. ]

They have each other, don't they? Even if they're all lined up and rooted down. [ which is something she's given thought to, by the way, during her time out in the woods. the idea of plants being alive. aware. what it would be like to be rooted down to one spot for your entire life, depending entirely on your surroundings for survival. but, that's another train of thought completely, not the point. ] It's like... sitting through a really long, boring class, all spread out in rows of desks, I would guess. We're always told to keep our eyes up front, on the board, but we never do, do we? It's hard to pay much attention to the isolation of being stuck in a desk for an hour at a time when there are thirty others stuck just the same as you are. [ it's not the same, she knows. but hey, it's more interesting to think about the flowers passing notes in class than it is to think about them just being stuck here ]

[thoughts]

[ it's the perfect metaphor for river who so desperately wanted to learn when she should've realised she didn't need to. greed and naïveté, and all the other human things that have trapped her in her childhood when she should've had those formative years to learn from her mistakes - it all comes back to learning, and even after the academy, after nightmares and horror and pain she feels in her bones at night, river still wants to see the world. she still wants to know its secrets and see more of what lays hidden beneath the crust of the earth and layers of psychosis.

it's perfect, and then abigail has river's full attention on her instead. not just the way she tries to understand, but the way she sits back respectfully of the things she doesn't and the fact that it isn't easy, because it shouldn't be. it wouldn't be. there are secrets and wonders beneath the surface and river watches with bright eyes, listens with open ears. ]

Problem students, passing notes and whispering when the teacher's back is turned.

[ there's a faint trace of a cheeky grin there; they're both hidden out of view to talk about absolutely nothing. problematic for someone else. she looks back to the flowers and tries not to think back to the rest of the world, tries not to think of toy soldiers all lined up in blue tubes or children locked down a hallway waiting for the next assessment. tries to stay in the now, in the garden, with some flowers and a strange girl. two strange girls ( 'you ain't quite right' and it's been said so many many times, but never so often as it's said by themselves ). ]

That's how they grow together. Roots all tangled up underneath, growing upwards. I bet they'd know all the best gossip.

[werewolfing]

[peter just wants to be around something alive. not that the people aren't alive, most of them, and he's never really counted himself amongst the tree-hugging population, but the sterility of metal and the cool blue light of electronics without the counter of a sun or a moon or the moving air of the outdoors feels stifling, even after just a few days. coupled with the constant vague unease of wrong, wrong, everything about this place is wrong that's settled more or less permanently somewhere in the region of his pubic bone, peter's restless, feeling caged. the gardens are as close to a respite as it gets, and he's going to figure out how to rig himself up a hammock, one of these days. maybe that'd help him sleep. in the meantime, he's just sitting up against a tree, eyes closed like he's listening to something, or napping. it's definitely not the latter, though.]

[thoughts]

[ most days, it's the overwhelming amount of blue in the ship that leads river to the gardens over seeking out the wonders of the ship. there are advancements in her levels of technology all over, and then there are the secrets she doesn't want to unravel but part of her knows she must ( must must can't and won't ), but it's all got that undercurrent of blue and here -

here, things are green. green is more natural, more nature; she doesn't have to feel the blue crawling across her skin or filling up her lungs or reaching out to grab her when she is always looking. and here, she doesn't have to look, not as much. she can find things instead, like bugs and plants and a boy sitting against a tree. she's barefoot, as always, but even then, she doesn't think she can ever get quiet enough to sneak up on him.

she still tries, though. heel to toe to feel the cool of grass beneath her feet, silent and slow, until she's close enough to tilt her head curiously at him and watch. watch and wait and maybe there's nothing and maybe that's good enough for her. ]

[werewolfing]

[he's not asleep but he ignores the soft whisper of grass bending beneath the weight of feet until river is close and has gone still. he's listening to something else; to the secrets of the universe that sing in his gut, gone just out of tune on this ship, the hum of the world turning changed into a throb of wrong, wrong, wrong, a new heartbeat that he hasn't quite gotten used to. he gives her long enough that she might start to wonder before he opens one eye, an eclipse of blue the same pale as pennsylvania sky. at first glance, she reminds him of a different dark-haired, pale-faced girl leaning over him, but no, river is a thing unto herself. he pats the ground beside him.]

Hi.

[he smells sweet and warm, like a puppy, and there's a few stray bits of grass caught in his hair, like he was lying down in it.]

[lordof]

[tranquility is even quieter now after the trip to the cyllene. here the speakers do not speak and nothing tells them to leave despite all that has happened. it is quiet.

he doesn't mind that part; the sound of ringing hammers and bellows blowing, of rampant orcs and dragons in the deep, the idle chatter of a king's palace, these sounds he knows. but he will always remember eru's halls. a place outside time and space and sight and sound.

now he feels more than he hears, tastes more than he smells, and the ship feels strange beneath the length of his belly (a quiet thrumming not unlike the sound of arda, but more... boring), but altogether relaxing. or should be. it isn't. just as the lack of sleep is affecting him, even though it shouldn't. trying work would be a good distraction (or a dangerous idea) if he even had hands to work with.

but since he does not have hands, mairon has sprawled himself out in a clearing in the garden's forest-- much easier now that the other elf isn't present, for one reason or another. it's warm, warm enough in spite of its falseness, and it grants him a bit of energy (even if it does little to combat the fatigue).

he hears her (someone, anyway), walking around. feels it through his scales, pricks of vibration along the skin underneath. smells and tastes it on his tongue, and lifts his head slowly in the direction of the approach.]

[thoughts]

[ river might disagree. with so many new things happening and little to no explanation about any of them, the hows and the whys and the fear in the air has stirred tranquility once more. the ship nevers stops moving but river wonders if they aren't spiralling out of control - if there was ever control to begin with.

no, it feels louder in some ( most ) parts of the ship, and river is always running away from something.

today, she's in her tq uniform, half because she needs to keep the bandages beneath them bundled tight and half because if she succeeds in her mission, she doesn't want to add to them. he fox tore up her clothes and tried the same with her skin, but fear and panic are common things on the ship. river just never expected to find it running out of her locker.

she goes looking for it anyway, won't find the hows or the whys but maybe she can capture fear and make a new friend. her footsteps aren't as light as she'd like in her boots, but toes are an easy target and animals are smart creatures anyway. see you coming, see you even when you're out of sight.

the snake is looking at her. or at least, she thinks it's looking at her. river freezes in her pursuit to stare back, to feel nature and the unnatural both in one little clearing. her legs are exposed where she cut the uniform pants to her knees. she should've thought of that. ]

Hello.

[lordof]

[for another, he might have for a moment debated not replying. limit the number of people who know about this ability of his, as minor as it may be. but for her (for some reason), it's okay. she knows the light in the darkness. speaks the way some of his kind do, sees and hears as they do. (anything, and everything.)

like an elf, but more. or less.

and the little dragon hidden behind a coil deciding to make itself known and squawk at her is reason enough for him to speak up.]

Welcome home. [hopes that she does not question (or does not mind) how the words appear in her head as a disembodied voice, his head tips to look at her legs, half expecting bare feet and hissing quietly when they are not.] Are you lost this time, young one?

[dino_zarf]

[There is only so much time it's safe to spend in the shuttlebay in this state. Not that a break is really that helpful when sleep doesn't come. Who knew it was so hard to sleep without Zoe? Eventually, Wash finds himself in the gardens.

It's nice to see River with flowers. Better flowers than guns. Wash always liked to see her at peaceful pursuits. Like someone who hadn't been through so much.]

Hey River.

[thoughts]

[ having another piece of serenity should feel like another patch on a quilt, a bunch of different pieces sewn together into something cosy and warm - but when it's half of a whole, tattered and frayed at the edges without that which keeps it solid, it's not the same. it's not right.

river doesn't like seeing him sad. it's going to make things very difficult down the road. ]

They're painting a picture.

[ she sniffles, wipes blood from her nose with the back of her hand and looks up at him. ]

Like a movie, in slow motion. You can watch them grow.

[ she scoots over a little to make room in front of the flowerbed, in case he wants to sit with her and watch nothing and everything. ]

[dino_zarf]

[Wash rifles through his pocket, coming up with a fairly clean rag from down in the shuttle bay. One not completely soaked in grease, at any rate. The flying man's handkerchief.

He holds it out to her as he sits down in the space she cleared.]

Don't usually see anything like this on a spaceship.

[The flowers sure are pretty]

[acapriciousthing]

[Death gets everywhere on Tranquility. Normally, this is because she doesn't need to sleep. Right now, she's doing it to try to distract herself from the fact that she suddenly needs to. And yet can't.

Wandering the gardens is a decent distraction. But talking to people is always her favourite.]

Are you looking for something?

[thoughts]

[ river doesn't want to sleep. last month made her want it, and now she doesn't have to try. it's a moment of clarity in a very broken sort of way, but most things about river are broken in one way or another. at least here, she has company. ]

I lost a friend. I think he might be hiding around here.

[ that doesn't quite explain why she's geared up in her tq uniform ( sans the pantlegs she cut off to the knees ) and some fingerless gloves that are three sizes too big. but a girl on a mission is a girl on a mission! ]

[acapriciousthing]

[With her family, you stop questioning anyone's clothing. Unless you're Destiny and question everyone's clothing.]

What sort of friend?

[The places she's looking don't really seem like where you'd look for a person. More like where Rincewind would hide when he decides he's scared of dust bunnies.]

[foreshadowed]

[ the first to see the girl is Aithusa. The dragon is restless as it is, Morgana thinks she suffers the same lack of sleep as everyone else; only unlike morgana, she seems to mind it quite terribly. she would have it all end, if only for Aithusa. for her this is a rare freedom from her nightmares, from how vague and how even more terrifying they have become since she got here.

but for Aithusa, she would suffer them all.

still, the dragon sees the girl and cries out, a shrill sound that echoes around them and she hurries to place a hand on her neck. ]

hush now. we will not frighten our guest.

[ Morgana herself is in light silks of emerald but the girl and the flowers she found are more interesting to her than her own trinkets. ]

[thoughts]

[ she doesn't hear them coming - which, in its own way, should be telling enough about how these changes in sleep patterns have affected her. river hasn't slept properly in three years and when she does manage to fall under ( usually by way of one treatment or another ), it's only to sink into nightmares that don't make sense and memories that can't be real.

not sleeping is very much a blessing, but even she can't deny that it's dulling her senses - which, again in its own way, isn't that terrible when her senses are so far elevated above the average man's.

still, the dragon's cry pulls a gasp from her, and river snaps around to face them with eyes wide; not fear, but wonder, curiosity. she's in her worn link dress and merlin's coat again today, dirt on her knees and her hands from playing. every bit the opposite image of the beautiful, collected way morgana presents herself, but even though there's a mythical creature at her feet, river's eyes are on the lady. there are parallels beneath their many many differences. ]

Did I scare her? I didn't meant to.

[foreshadowed]

She is agitated from lack of sleep, nothing more. I do not think you have frightened her and such luck as it seems we have not frightened you.

[ the coat is familiar; morgana's eyes always take in everything from the smallest details to the overall image. the girl seems like something between a child and adult, seems the way morgana used to when she dragged arthur to have adventures in the wood, only to return with a gown that was ripped at the edges and dirty at the knees. ]

I am Morgana of Camelot and this is my companion, Aithusa.

[servant]

[A little bit of nothing sounds pretty good to him too. But Merlin's past the days and the naivety that made it seem possible. There's always the weight of a whole lot of something on his shoulders. Right now it's Gwen, and the shadows under her tired eyes that just get darker every time he tries to magic her to sleep.]

Would you stop eating the flowers.

[Not you, River. You can eat all the flowers you like. He offers Arthur's horse an apple from his pocket instead, exhaling heavily as he rubs his eyes. Maybe he rubs them a little too hard, because when he first sees her she's surrounded by little pinpoints of light. Like stars.]

River?

[thoughts]

[ river follows the source of sound ( like always, because sound comes from everywhere by mostly from within ) and looks up from the flowers when she hears a happy nibble. there's an automatic smile for merlin, because merlin is good and bright and she loves the moon so much more than the sun. but there are dark sides on him too, little craters under his eyes - a lot like hers, because it seems like no one is sleeping lately and isn't that brilliant? ]

My Lord.

[ she stands, stumbling into a shaky curtsy he might not even be able to see, and then ducks her head to watch the horse eat. ]

You're always taking care of troubles - troublesome brats. I think he likes it.

[ a lot like someone else in that respect. ]

[servant]

My Lady.

[Merlin returns their playful greeting, bowing his head before he does a subtle assessment of her. She looks tired - exhausted, really. But she also looks happy. He starts when she wobbles a little, gradually relaxing when she doesn't fall down.]

It is my fate. And possibly my recompense.

[He smiles as he watches her.]

Now I know how my mother must've felt.

[Merlin crouches down, stroking Llamrei's neck idly.]

How're you feeling?

[thatsaflaregun]

[Desmond loathes and loves the oxygen gardens, but it's a place of solace tucked away in a place where cold steel serves as a frightening contrast to the memories of the island, making his mind feel as though it were a pendulum swinging back and forth between two points of space (and time), as it had before he'd solidified Penny as his constant.

He shouldn't be getting nosebleeds then. He has Jenna. Jenna existed in the place that splintered his mind like this and she's here and so long as she's here, he doesn't have to worry about suffering a fate like Eloise.

In a way, not being able to sleep is a mercy for him, as well. Every time he rubs his face and finds blood on his fingertips, he panics internally, wondering if any moment, he's going to drop dead like that bloody rat. He's terrified and even more unsure of the place he's in.

The ship scares him, because his brain can't reconcile it with the myriad of other things beating around in his head, but in the oxygen gardens, it's like he never left the island and he knows what he has to do. And everything will be all right in the end. He'll find it. He'll do it right this time.

And he'll go home.

He happens upon River in his walks through the gardens, observing her flitting about.]

Can't sleep either, sistah?

[thoughts]

[ the blanket of comfort that the garden wraps them in is a lie. river knows this, because it's different for everyone but it's all the same. her entire world view is built on colours and shapes that aren't logical and don't make sense to anyone, even her, but they're all just images of what they want to see. paintings on a canvas to cover up what's underneath.

it's a lie, because they're lying to themselves. that's the blanket she wraps herself in. the sky she lives under, one inconsistent and constant lie.

she thrives there, and smiles brightly when desmond calls to her because she is genuinely there. ]

No. [ isn't it great? ] It's everyone. Even the halls are a little bit restless.

[thatsaflaregun]

Good way to go crazy, yeah?

[He chuckles dryly to himself, knowing the irony of the statement before he even has to say as much.] Must be lovely for those of us who are already there.

[Unless admitting you're mad negates how crazy you are, but he never put much stock in that psychology, except that he knows he's always craziest when he feels the most lucid and can put everything together, like he knows everything.

It's no lie for him. It's just uncertainty. An endless haze of Knowing and Not Knowing.]