letting the days go by, into silent water [open]

[yardbird]

CHARACTERS: Murphy Pendleton and you.
LOCATION: Anywhere. This is pretty much a free-for-all of CR.
WARNINGS: Insert the usual Silent Hill disclaimer here.
SUMMARY: Insomnia hits. Friendly neighborhood convict takes a little stroll.

---

He couldn't sleep.

Granted, this was nothing new and exciting. If nothing else, it was fucking tedious. His brief spell of excessive sleeping habits died real fast after the jump wired Murphy up all over again.

It wasn't always this bad. In fact, he used to sleep a fair bit. There wasn't much else to do during his alone time in prison, so it had been the only resort next to going stir-crazy with boredom.

Even with Anne in the same room these days, Murphy still felt the nagging urge to escape the closing walls of his cell bedroom. Unlike Ryall, he could at least work off his restlessness by stretching his legs. There were still places that he hadn't yet seen, grounds that he hadn't yet covered. He could scratch this itch. He could.

So he just wandered for awhile. Aimlessly, as usual. He almost felt dazed. But it was good to be out. Not free, not safe, though close enough to settle on the fact that his present situation proved to be more favorable than where he had been coming from, in ways.

That was just sad.

Murphy, this is your life right now. Take a good long look at it.

Comments

[falsehoods]

Loki Laufeyson also found it hard to sleep. Whenever he lay down it was with the hope that he would drift off and never awaken again. He never got further than closing his eyes.

It was not supposed to be this way. He was supposed to be dead. In his chaos, he felt he had gotten too predictable. It was like the cycle of Ragnarok had never really been terminated in his soul: Like Asgard, he felt like he kept coming back to the same places, each time being only a faded echo of the time before.

Balder was still noble. Thor was still brave.

And Loki...
....was still Loki...

Ragnarok had devastated Valhalla. Hela had him stricken from the Book of Names. He'd died in a way that he'd hoped would be a warrior's death-one that would have people seek his spirit in the darkness. But the darkness had not came; this ship had. This ship had snatched him away from the jaws of oblivion and given him a new life in its halls. The playground was different, but Loki still felt desolate. Sooner or later he would slide back into his old habits. He could not help it, it was just the way he was. He felt no remorse for his sins...only tiredness.

I have slipped free from the nooses of Ragnarok, of Asgard, and of the afterlife of the Gods....I have yet to slip free from the noose of my personality. I am yet a prisoner.

These were the thoughts that continued to haunt him day by day and they were the thoughts that haunted him now as he wandered the ship sleeplessly. Movement up ahead caused him to pause in his stride and he waited, eyes glowing green in the shadows.

[yardbird]

It was easy enough to say that past incidents had left a deep impression on how Murphy approached a lot of things. Even now, he'd still exercise more than enough caution when treading these halls when he should have been asleep.

He also couldn't tell the difference between night and day, so that didn't help. Like prison, during periods in which he would be stuck in a cage with no windows and not even a clock to abide by, it threw off his internal sense of time as well.

Time, as usual, was completely irrelevant. A concept that Murphy had kissed goodbye when he had been so sure of the fact that, on numerous occasions, he was probably going on die. And he was okay with that sometimes. Why fight when it was all hopeless?

You don't deserve to live.

Other times, however, the fight to survive was a drive that he couldn't easily ignore. Which was why, when faced with the glowing green eyes that stood out clear as day among the darkness, Murphy felt a part of his snap back to a former self. A part of him that still felt like he'd never escaped. Like he was trapped in a full circle, reliving the same Hell over and over... fighting and running for his life. Fights that dug an even deeper impression on him in the form of the many scars he now wore underneath these layers, clawed and teethed into his skin.

"...Hello? Someone there?" Murphy called out first, he always did. He already reached around the back of his jeans, hand gripping the handle of a hand-made knife he'd crafted not long after he wound up here.

Just to be safe.

[falsehoods]

Loki watched the man curiously. He moved like something being hunted...like something that was used to being hunted.

For a moment he entertained the idea of shifting into a tremendous beast and leaping from his corner; of watching this man run, hysterical, when he discovered that the knife-or gun, whatever he held behind his back-did nothing. Loki imagined the sneering faces and accusations of insanity. "There are no landwyrms on a spaceship, you idiot!"

But...no. No such tricks. Not yet. Before he stirred the pot, the wise trickster needed to discover what, exactly, was in it. So, he emerged from the shadows, slowly. The glow dimmed from his eyes as he looked towards Murphy and spoke in his rumbling Nordic accent.

"Hail."

Then with a proud lifting of his chin. "My sincerest apologies if I have startled you. My feet wander as my mind does."

[yardbird]

Murphy really didn't have any problems with monsters on the ship with the exception of one, which was at the science department. Far as he knew, that was a matter that had been taken care of. The possibility of a few stray mutations sneaking their way onto the many nooks and crannies on the ship, however, didn't seem entirely impossible.

Thing with monsters was, for the most part, they also didn't talk.

"Did you enjoy the ride?"

...For the most part.

But this wasn't the streets of Silent Hill. The walls did not singe and peel away into red metal and running water. Instead, an odd-shaped guy stepped out from it, which was normal, right? Around here it was, anyway. He met people who ran kingdoms and kids with horns and cat ears. Glowing eyes and accents? Nothing to have a cardiac arrest over...

"That's... That's alright. Not hard to do that around here." Slowly, his fingers released the handle of the shiv. His arms dropped back to his sides. He was reluctant to, though. Like monsters, people could be just as dangerous.

[shoyu]

Finally, finally, he has a bottle of something similar to whiskey. It's been far too long since Soysauce has had anything even close to the whiskey he's so familiar with, and even what he has now isn't quite the same as what he knows -- but it's close enough. Especially now that he's already had a few tips and is a little tipsy, not really paying too much attention to the taste of his drink, Soysauce is pretty content.

So there's a light bounce to his step as he makes his way down the hallways, humming softly under his breath with the bottle held in one hand. And when he rounds the corner to see a vaguely familiar figure walking down the same hallway just ahead of him, how can he resist calling out cheerfully?

"Mister Pendleton!" Footsteps pattering against the floor, he jogs forward to catch up to Murphy, beaming at him as he walks beside the other man. "It's been a while! I hope you've been well?"

[yardbird]

Ah, whiskey. Murphy's favorite therapist of choice, which was often looked down upon (namely Cunningham just came to mind. She was the only one who really got on his case about it). All things considered, it was a wonder if half of the ship didn't consist of raging alcoholics at this point, anyway.

It took the edge off things, if nothing else.

Unlike Soysauce over there, who didn't seem like a very on-edge guy in the first place. But it was still good to see him, since the last time they crossed paths in person, the damned man was sick and dying. Not one of Murphy's fondest memories, to be quite frank about it.

"Been better, honestly. Been worse, too..." He turned his head towards Soysauce as he caught up with him. His eyes glanced down at the whiskey in his hand, and back to the man. Yeah, he reeked of the unmistakable smell of alcohol. Not that Murphy could blame him. "I see you've found the ship's stash."

[shoyu]

'Been worse' wasn't exactly a pleasant state to be in, was it? Nimbly walking at Murphy's side, peering into the other man's face, Soysauce couldn't help but wonder how the other had fared at Strela. A lot of people seemed to have been through a great deal of suffering, and it really wasn't his place to pry, was it?

And though part of him wondered if it would be best to leave Murphy on his own with his thoughts, he couldn't help at least trying to lighten the mood a bit.

"-- don't suppose you'd have time to share a drink, sir?" A sheepish little laugh as he held up the bottle, the amber liquid sloshing against the glass. "It gets a little lonely drinking alone, and with all due respect, you look like you could use a distraction. Maybe it'll help take your mind off things a bit?"

[yardbird]

Murphy actually didn't care that much to be alone. In fact, his late night outings usually tended to be a remedy to that lonely, restless feeling that kept him from isolation.

He also knew that drinking alone wasn't always the best idea, even if he was often guilty of the practice himself.

"...Yeah. Sure, I think I've got the time." Murphy had nothing else but time on his hands. "You wanna settle in one of the rec rooms for a bit?"

Drinking in the middle of the hallway wasn't good for anyone involved. Especially if passing traffic came through and two drunk guys just happened to be in the way.

tl;dr parent feelings

[unsoldiered]

Alex has had a relatively peaceful month so far. It's a relief, to say the least—his first few weeks here had been spent trying to warm up to the idea that he was stranded on an old ship in space while simultaneously trying to survive the unbearable truth he'd faced back home. And of course when that was dying down, Strela took him by the jacket lapels and shook him hard. Time to digest his life and everything in it was a thing laborious to find.

Gotta take your downtime where you can find it.

He'd spent a long while wondering if he should... at least visit the chapel Murphy had built—had suggested—but the times he'd attempted to approach the place, he found moving his feet just as difficult as finding time to truly rest. He currently did not like religion, and it did not like him; his last experience with a church left him falling flat on his back from a second story while a monster jumped after him.

And of course, it left him with a monster ramming a sword through his father's gut and splattering him into less than a man in form.

So no, the chapel wasn't an easy place to go to.

But at the same time, Murphy had built it, and part of him felt a weird obligation to make use of a peaceful place a friend had made. One particular night his leg woke him up from a short catnap; it was the third or fourth time now that it had, and he wondered if maybe it was like an old, unforgettable memory dredging up to the surface. A stamp of the torture room and everything centered around it.

(Or maybe it was the ghost of the family dog, gnawing on his goddamn femur bone.)

So he finds himself wandering off to the gardens, and once again, he faced the chapel. He might've stood there again just to walk off. Maybe. But then his leg throbbed and he walked, finding a handmade pew and falling back onto it. Eventually, his restless mind got the better of him; it spawned plenty of thought for him, being here. Who is God? Is it the God that ruined them? How could he ask for answers from a faceless figure that would take everything away from him?

He remembers his father, in the confessional. He knows it had to have been... somehow him. Some floating, shadowy vision of him, reaching out through the ways of that town. He remembers the admittance, the things Alex had always wanted to hear from him, and that final act of forgiveness. Now that he knew the complete, whole truth, he's not so sure he'd forgive him. He's sure he'd hesitate, stammer, maybe turn away in anger.

He didn't love his father. Love was a word you used when you would go to the ends of the earth for someone. Love was something prized and hard to reach the older you got. For the one who is loved, it has to be earned. For the one who loves, it has to be built. To say 'I loved my father'... No, he couldn't honestly tell someone that. When his mother had told him they both had loved him ('so much'), he didn't believe her. But family was complicated. His relationship with his father was complicated. He wanted his father's appreciation, his acceptance, his word that Alex was a strong and good man. A long, long time ago (or maybe not that long ago at all), he wanted to be like his dad, so that maybe... so that maybe Adam Shepherd would love the reflection, not the boy. He would love the creature created by favored qualities and characteristics, not the failed son that wasn't allowed to touch his things or enter his hunting room.

No... Alex didn't love him. But he didn't hate him either (only sometimes—blindly, in the moment, like a protective covering), like he'd said in the church. And he never actually had forgotten him, despite the fact that he'd wished so much that he would. He regrets letting him go. He regrets not protecting him. He regrets not giving his father reasons to save him from his fate, to love his son.

Alex regrets not finding reasons to love him.

He takes off the dog tags around his neck, palming them in one hand as he slides his thumb across the rough letters and numbers. A sad shadow passes his face. Yeah... he supposes he was nothing but regrets by now.

'God...

If everything could start over, somewhere far away from Shepherd's Glen—from Silent Hill...

Would we have all been a happy family?'

He wishes there were such a thing as a restart button. He's sure he's probably not the only one who dreams of such a ridiculous notion.

all of the feelers

[yardbird]

While the chapel was considered functional, it was still far from complete. If it was one good thing that came from Murphy's troubles on Strela, it was the fact that he returned with a decent supply of material to continue his work on it. If nothing else, it provided a much-needed distraction from the monotony of having nothing better to do.

Plus, to Murphy, it felt like he was doing a deed that was actually worth something. As if it was possible for him to climb that scale back from the bottom of that horrid pit. He didn't expect redemption out of this, though. After all, it was just a chapel: A series of pews and a shitty altar that had been constructed from a severe lack of materials. That would no longer be an issue now, and he had Dave's little inventory trick to thank for that. Sure, by all rights, it was deemed stealing. But it was for a good cause. He doubt that it, of all things, would damn him. Not when the previous owners of these things probably didn't even realize half of their crap went missing in the first place. Or cared.

So it was okay.

Flawless logic.

Murphy had plans of finishing a more complete-looking chapel now. It was a goal that he'd determined by himself since the whole thing came up, and in a small way, it brought him a little peace of mind. Stealing was wrong, but bringing people together based on ideas and faith was the exact opposite. He was raised on this, and while Murphy may not have had the greatest upbringing (or much of an upbringing at all), it was one of the few things he had left that he respected -- even if he had a brash way of showing it sometimes.

He had already started to haul pieces of scrap metal and tools that would help put it all together. It would take a lot of time. Murphy had plenty of time. Hell, he had nothing but time in this world. While everyone else could figure out how to make life easier or try to find a way out, Murphy would be in the gardens, hammering away with a bludgeon to form what would eventually become a part of a wall. It was definitely starting to become something.

By the time Murphy had arrived at the chapel after several trips across the ship (which was also tedious as hell in itself), someone else had occupied the space at some point. A bit worn out from physical exertion after sending so many scraps and supplies to the unfinished chapel, it seemed like a good time as any to take a break. He'd set these things aside for now, and walked tiredly towards the shape on the pew.

Well, shit. It was Alex.

Part of Murphy wondered if he should have just left him alone instead. But his feet were already in motion, and by then his shuffles would have announced his presence, anyway.

"Didn't expect to see you here so soon." Coming from personal experience, Murphy learned that it was better to at least announce yourself somewhat, first. He dropped himself down on the row behind Alex, resting his elbows over his knees. "Sorry it isn't much yet. I'm still workin' on it." As indicated by the supplies he'd already started to bring in.

For as worn out as he was now, he honestly could have made this all less physically taxing if he had asked Dave to just deposit the supplies here rather than the other side of the ship. But there was something to be said about the physical labor that Murphy welcomed. And the time spent alone in what he felt to be productive helped him think more clearly -- sort out the thoughts in his head. It took more than just being there, he realized. It was the work in itself that he valued the most.

[unsoldiered]

At the footfalls he clamps his fingers around the dog tags, which he realizes not a moment later is a pretty ridiculous thing to do. It's not like he actively attempted to hide them or anything. It sort of feels like he's putting a lid on his own sad, rambling thoughts, under a lock and key typically broken in by booze or depressing girls who want to be unmade.

Sometimes, he wonders how ridiculous things sound.

His hand drops to his lap and he smiles faintly. It's good to see Murphy's at least keeping himself occupied aboard the ship. After all, so many other people around here seem to have their hands tied in knots (they don't realize they have an audience, he thinks). Finding things to do is important. Even just walking around has helped him.

"You sure are. I come around here pretty often; noticed when I walk by there's a little more added or changed to the place." He slides the ball chain necklace over his head, letting the small metal plates clink back into the mouth of his jacket. "It's not the same kind of quiet as the hallways. Lot less eerie."

Less creepy is good. And he reminds himself, again, that this is a place of peace. It's okay here. Paranoia can be pushed aside, for the meanwhile (until this ship flips its shit, anyway, whenever that'll be).

[yardbird]

Murphy managed to cast a quick glance as Alex hid away the dog tags, before leaning back in his seat. He realized then just how sore he was, and it was good to sit down for awhile. It'd been awhile since he actually worked himself like this. While it was a pleasant change from being involuntarily thrown into a life-threatening situation, he appreciated this brand of fatigue much more.

"I know what you mean. It's a lot less..." Shit. How could he even begin to describe it? "Well, I never feel as alone here, like most places. In a good way."

Be it the presence of the place or something else, there was at least a sense that something else had been invited here. But that could have just been him and his line of thinking.

He did relax a little more, sitting there, and even smiled slightly in spite of himself with all the aches that plagued him at the moment. Damn, this used to be a lot easier for him, too.

[watashinonamaewa]

The time was near and Cibo could feel it.

Her adrenaline reserves were dropping and she could only wait out these last few nights before she needed to finally sleep. She had found that these clocks everyone followed to a strange habitually manner managed their regulations for sleep. Cibo was alone these many hours every 'night'. Occasionally she'd walk the halls, most nights she would stay in her room.

It was as good of a time as any to head back toward the lockers and take a second look at the uniform she left behind. Why would she have taken it if she didn't need it? But now she did. The grey hoodie she wore didn't come with a set of pants to match. Her legs felt a chill during the hours she would be in her room.

The clock reached near four. Cibo felt a laziness about the night that convinced her to stay in the simple jacket and her underwear. It wouldn't be that long of a travel back to the locker rooms and her regular clothing takes quite a bit of effort to assemble onto her body. If anyone saw her, she wouldn't mind. She'll be properly dressed soon enough.

About this time, Murphy might look ahead to see the set of bare long legs - black panties included - casually making her way down the hall. She was on a mission but it didn't stop her from noticing him. Cibo hadn't seen this man before. His expression seemed uncomfortable and stressed. Was he in pain?

"Excuse me," She hoped to interrupt Murphy's stride and gain his attention before they passed each other, "Are you alright?"

[yardbird]

Murphy had been keeping himself busy. He had to, otherwise he felt like he was going to lose his mind to boredom. But he had a chapel that he had to work on, and that alone wore down his muscles. It'd been a long time since he was allowed to push himself through physical labor like this.

The work in itself was satisfying. He welcomed it.

Some might notice that, when Murphy walked, he didn't always carry himself right. His posture sulked horribly, just out of habit. While most of him remained alert when it came to his surroundings, his eyes usually kept fixed to the ground when he walked idly from one place to another...

In this case, the first thing that came to his attention were lady-legs. Okay, no big deal. It wasn't like he'd never seen--

No pants.

"Uh." Murphy blinked. He didn't think to look any higher up until he noticed words were being spoken. She was talking to him. "What? I..." Shit.

His initial instinct was to put his head back down, but then... more legs. So he just turned his head from Cibo altogether.

Because. Damn, woman...

"S... Sorry. I'm... fine. Yeah."

Just ignore the little stammering.

[watashinonamaewa]

Had he never seen lady-legs before? Cibo didn't quite understand why he wasn't even looking at her while he spoke. The lack of leggings must have offended him in some way she didn't comprehend yet. There was nothing she could do for the moment though - not that she even cared about getting to a pair of pants anymore.

"Are you sure? You sound upset. "

She means well, but the few small round outlets scattered around her lean legs are probably more obvious than the tone of concern in her voice. It looked like something plugged into those like cables to a computer would. Which wasn't too far off the beaten path...

If Murphy looked up to her now, he may also notice how the jacket was a half-size too large on Cibo's thin frame. It was tacking off her shoulder just slightly though she held her weight evenly on both feet. Maybe saw the small beginnings of her scar on the top of the shoul--

She spoke again, "Isn't there anything I can help you with?"

[yardbird]

"Ah, no... Not upset. Just..." Flustered? "Don't worry. You're fine. I mean, I'm fine. Good."

Dammit. You'd think he should be over this by now. But the fact was, there were a large number of things that he had been deprived of for a long time, which he was equally deprived of now. Even as far as his living situation with Anne was concerned, he--

Women.

He was really trying hard not to look. Looking would equal staring and that was rude.

"Um. How 'bout you? I mean, uh. Clothes. Thought the ship, y'know, provided everyone with... stuff. To wear. 'Cause it's... cold."

Cold.

Right, because that was totally the main concern here.

[sweetmotherofgod]

When Heather couldn't sleep, she ran.

It was a new thing. Before the ship, she'd joked that she would never run unless something was chasing her. And then things had chased her, strange and horrifying things that were thankfully stupid enough to forget anything that ran straight past them and kept going until it was out of sight. But here the things that chased people were smarter and less inclined to give up, and even though she'd carefully rationed the sleeping pills that came with her, the little bottle was nearly empty. So now she ran the hallways until she couldn't, rode out the endorphin rush afterward and knocked herself out that way.

Two birds, one stone.

So when she spotted Murphy, she was flushed, sweaty, and frankly gross. Honestly, she was pleased for the excuse to stop.

"Hey, Murph!"

She slowed to a jog and she drew up to him, jerked her head in greeting. If he gave her a second to catch her breath she might manage a more polite greeting.

Maybe.

[yardbird]

Murphy had just about enough of running for awhile. As if most of his time spent in a town that was actively trying to sabotage him in a variety of ways had been bad enough, Strela had him worked. If nothing else, however, it had saved him the trouble of getting caught -- capture being something which Murphy had been determined to avoid.

Others hadn't been so lucky, however. There had been Alex and Annie... Murphy didn't know who else. But there were a handful of those he met down there that were at risk of that. This was why it was such a great relief to him when Heather's familiar voice shot down the halls, and the rest of her jogged beside him. There was no use in attempting to mask the visible mollification; the tenseness of his shoulders sunk.

He was tired. Murphy had been walking for some time. Back and forth, back and forth -- between the oxygen garden and rooms for additional materials. One would think that a break would be in order at this point.

"Ah, Heather... Hey." Murphy nodded. Clearly, he wasn't any more graceful with his style of greeting, so he wasn't one to say anything about hers.

[sweetmotherofgod]

"Been looking for you."

Okay, that polite greeting? Apparently wasn't coming. Neither was a delicate segue into asking him for a favor, because she saw that unbunching motion of his shoulders and wasn't afraid to use it. It was for the good of the ship, right? She shook out, didn't quite wait for her breath to get back to normal before she jumped right in.

"You need a job? We need someone to drive the carts to take produce from the gardens to the passenger decks. Only Mattie's gone, and... I saw the chapel. It's..." --pause for tact-- " looking good. I figure you're pretty handy, maybe you could make sure they're running okay and stuff as well?"

[rickon]

An irregular thumping is audible.

From the ceiling.

Above Murphy's head.

[yardbird]

That was...

There was definitely something up there.

"Huh...?"

In Murphy's experience, that was never a good sign. Times like these, he figured it would be better to just keep moving, ignore the sounds, move along, there's nothing to see here.

But then, he considered something else: He wasn't alone in this place. And if there was something crawling around in the ventilation system, it wasn't something he should stay quiet about.

...It would sure help if Murphy kept his communicator on him when he went out.

Rather than fleeing the scene and going back to his room to retrieve it, alert the network, Murphy decided to follow the sounds overhead for awhile.

[rickon]

clunk bang clunk

An entirely distracting series of weird little sounds. And from behind Murphy, a different sound emerges, getting louder: click tap tap click.

Direwolf claws on the hard floor. If he turns around, he'll see a very large black wolf.

[insufferableprick]

Dave isn't having trouble sleeping. At least, those aren't the words he'd use to describe what's going on. Honestly, he just woke up from a coma not too long ago; there's no point in overdosing on z's. Besides,

what if he doesn't wake up aga--

Some nights, he sneaks out the room he shares with his bro and his other self and sits in random common rooms, scratching at the walls with chalk. It's been a while since he drew any new SBaJH material, so that's what he sketches. Dirk creeps around not too far away, being the creeper he is, but that's okay. That's normal.

Hopefully Dave'll be up to speed soon.

[yardbird]

Defacing public property had to be at least one common trait that Dave and Murphy seemed to share. At the moment, though, he had taken to just wandering. He did that a lot, mostly due to restless feet and a need to keep himself busy.

Well, at least he had jobs to look forward to now.

Head down and facing the ground as he had been, Murphy nearly passed right by Dave. It was the sound of familiar scratching that pulled him out of his stupor, and he turned to the teenager.

For one thing, he hadn't realized until then that he'd landed himself in the common area. Mindless wandering tended to do that. Murphy then realized that it was Dave, out and about. Never mind the harmless vandalism, though.

"Hey." He stopped suddenly. "So, they... let you out?"

Last thing Murphy knew after he returned from Strela, a lot of people were held up at the medbay. Dave being one of them.

[insufferableprick]

Dave's head snaps up, eyes flicking towards the voice. His signature shades are missing--they had gotten lost during a scuffle on Strela--so there's nothing to hide his blood red eyes from anyone.

"Sup," standard Strider greeting.

And then he pauses to process the question, because let's face it, the way Murphy posed it was completely context-less.

"Y'mean Med Bay. Yeah, kinda. White walls can't keep me in." He manages to drum up a thin smirk. It's tired, sure, but it's also stronger than he'd been directly after the jump. Hopefully packs more dumb teenage self-confidence than what he'd managed after the jump too. Or something. "How 'bout you?"

Dave doesn't actually know how Murphy was affected by Strela. He doesn't know if he was caught, if he got the brain fuck treatment, if he went catatonic afterward. Far as he's concerned, he was the only one who went vegetable after, but hey, you never know.