ataraxionlogs | (no subject)

CHARACTERS: Netherlands and YOU
LOCATION: Around the ship.
WARNINGS: Just pot-smoking I think.
SUMMARY: Open loooog for anytime before the next jump.
NOTES: Pick a scenario or make one of your own or poke me and I'll write u a starter it's whatever!! Also good with action or prose do what you want I'll follow c:

GARDENS:

[For the first half of the jump, Netherlands spends more time sleeping - recovering, too - than anything else. Most of those snoozing hours are logged in his room, but by the second half he feels guilty for being so absent and shows up at the Gardens full-time again to do what work he can. Planting seeds, mostly, or delegating. Just checking up on people and making sure no one's doing shit they're not supposed to do, though he looks too half-dead to be very intimidating.

Occasionally he sets up camp at the mural wall near the entrance, sketches little scenes in charcoal, very rarely brings down the meager amount of paint he has left and adds color.

Of course, he naps around at work, too. Sometimes on purpose, sometimes… not so much. Feel free to prod him awake.]

002:

[Mornings (or afternoons) find him alternatively trying not to drown in his coffee or bitching at it quietly to himself, because no amount of coffee seems to do anything to wake him up; pain in the ass. So he grumbles at his coffee and lights a morning smoke and picks over whatever he's grabbed for breakfast that day.

After last month he's still way too thin, but the scowl thrown at his reflection in the bathroom mirrors - while brushing his teeth, while leaving post-shower - is actually directed at his hair. It's short, shorn off, and he hates it. Once, he spends an absurd amount of time attempting to style it using a host of various pilfered products, but it's just too goddamn short to do anything with and he ends up huffing and sulking in front of the mirror instead. #maturity]

HOLODECKS AND/OR LOUNGES:

[Getting high after work is half self-medication and half an attempt to jumpstart his appetite. One (1) pretty damned stoned Netherlands can sometimes be found either chilling in the holodecks or watching terrible space soaps with a bowl of mashed potatoes, usually with his rabbit somewhere nearby.]

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She breathes a heavy sigh before entering. Like she needed permission before she could continue any further.

"Thank you." She sits, practically falls into the seat next to him. "Feel like shit."

That's an understatement if she's ever said one before.

"Look like shit," he grumbles in agreement, brows knit but worry not creeping in just yet. No, at first he just spoons up some mashed potatoes in one hand and grabs the - remote? console? whatever the hell controls the screen - with the other. He puts it between them and nudges it her way, if she wants it.

"What's wrong."

Followed by him shoving the spoon into his mouth again.

She scoffs at his reply, though she's more or less in agreement. Her eyes dart towards the control that he's offered, before looking away, shaking her head slightly.

"Don't know. Easy to write it off to being sick lately, but haven't felt right -- not in awhile." She pauses. "Don't like always feeling things."

Hey, he looks like shit too. Just a different variant of it. Where she looks pale and feverish he looks like he needs about a week of sleep - weak and thin with deep, deep bruising under his eyes.

He ends up snorting into his spoonful of potatoes at her last statement. Yeah, he gets that. There's a bobblehead-esque nod before he swallows and speaks up again.

"Both of us, then," he mutters, meaning agreement with everything she said and not just the last bit, though something catches his attention in it and he jerks his head up and over to look at her. "Always feeling what."

"Feelings." Geez, Netherlands, isn't it obvious? She makes it sound like she shouldn't have to elaborate. "There's just too many."

Too many that come with remembering things all the damn time. Rey swallows, and winces when she feels like bits of broken glass are rolling down her throat.

She casts a glance to him, her face sweaty -- and then back to the screen.

"Wish things could've been like before sometimes, when forgetting was possible."

Another nod of agreement. Too many feelings, yeah, he knows how that goes. But why it's bothering her more now than it did before, he's not quite so sure of. He thought that particular crisis had been weathered through.

Apparently not.

God, they suck at this.

"We suck at this," he declares to the room at large, or maybe to Lodewijk, before he turns his attention back to the problem she's. Sort of presented. If there's a way to find a concrete problem and attempt concrete solutions then he's going to take it. (In a few minutes he's going to realize that maybe he should, oh, ask her what feelings are bothering her.)

"Sometimes."

So not all the times. That's. Good? He thinks it's good. It's better when she feels things and willingly shares company.

That's enough that, somehow, Netherlands manages to get a brief, tiny hint of a tug at the corner of Rey's lips. Like a smile, maybe? They're not facial muscles that she's particularly prone to exercising that often.

"Yes," she agrees. "We suck at this."

Now it's a contest as to who figures out which one wins the World Cup of Social Ineptitude.

cough oops I was sorting through my inbox and found this banging around way back in there and since it's been so long and we've got like five threads going rn it's goofy to tag back

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