Dan Sagittarius (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hallelujahjunction) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nightlogs2023-10-12 05:19 pm
hallelujahjunction) wrote in nightlogs2023-10-12 05:19 pm
Everything It Seems I Like's a Little Bit Harmful for Me [Open to All]
Who: Dan Sagittarius and you!
What: Dan tools around in the workshop and tests the limits of North's homeowner safety compliance, makes some presents for people, acts helpful.
Where: The Workshop and outdoors near the kitchen.
When: Early October
Warnings/Notes: The usual warnings associated with Dan - alcoholism, drug use, swearing, potential references to dead children, sex work and/or firearms. Lots of nicotine addiction in this one.
Dan hates the cold.
He fucking hates the cold, because his circulation has gone to shit and sucking down cigarettes all his life has left him with a permanent sensitivity to chill along with an inconvenient and unpleasant nicotine addiction, and that combination, here at the North Pole, means he has to run a regular gauntlet throughout the day to go on smoke breaks outdoors. Instead of just popping outside to take a leisurely break from whatever he's doing, he suits up with gloves and coats and hats like he's putting on armor for battle and then houses each cigarette in record time, shivering and wincing the entire time.
When he isn't on smoke breaks and isn't running around with Bunny on missions, he's recuperating from whatever adventure he's been on by working with the elves in the workshop. Dan's father was a carpenter, a tailor and a woodworker who expressed his affection in showering his wife and seven children with gifts and attention. Dan inherited that, and he fills his idle hours with woodworking and sewing, making Christmas gifts for the people at the Pole who've been pulled into this adventure, mostly practical things like warm socks and step stools, but sometimes just tchotchkes like carved effigies. He's excited that North apparently had a bevy of goose down, and is starting to piece together cozy coats for people, and he's been building various hurdles and tunnels for Cammie to test her holon on.
Throughout the day he tries to think of a way to not be colossally rude while smoking indoors. It's poor form to light up under someone's roof and make everything reek of tobacco, and it feels all the more inconsiderate to do so in the Pole, where the merriment is unilaterally pretty child-friendly in a way cigarettes are not, and even more rude to do so while the homeowner is in captivity. Still, after a particularly frozen smoke break where he returned to warmth with his hands so near-paralyzed and bone-white that it took over an hour to get back to doing his woodwork, he decides that North would be understanding, and decides to undo the smoke detector in the kitchen. After all, the kitchen is ventilated, and smoking in here just during the coldest part of the night isn't too harmful.
I. These Are Just a Couple of My Cravings
Most things in the world are made for adult men slightly taller than Dan, but most things at the Pole are made for North and the yetis, and that means Dan can't just accomplish his goals by standing on tip toes. On account of the elves constantly getting into things they shouldn't and causing accidents, the kitchen is equipped with a smoke detector, which is about eleven feet off the ground. Standing on the highest shelf of a ladder, Dan can just barely scrape the corner of it with his fingertips. His only hope of reaching it is to jump, which may be unwise, but the siren song of nicotine has been known to wreck many a man on its rocks.
"Hey, do you mind holding this ladder while I try to reach this?" he asks the next person to come in.
II. A Little Bit Sweeter
By a few days in, Dan's got a straight-up workspace in the workshop, a table festooned with the tools of his crafts. Right now, it's covered in fabric and threads and scissors and rulers and a mannequin and all the deadwood of tailoring and mending as he works on a big, puffy coat to swaddle Elle in. He's at a frustration point, because at some juncture he fucked up the circumference of the sleeves, and he's realizing that his error might be so serious as to necessitate scrapping the coat entirely. He's chewing his nails in annoyance at himself when someone comes in, and he pounces on the opportunity to distract himself with some new task.
"Hey, you need anything mended? The tailor's open for business right now."
III. So Please Be Kind If I'm a Mess
The second Dan's cigarette is burned down, he rushes back into the communal relaxation room, teeth chattering and hands tucked into his armpits. Snowflakes dot his hair, and his cheeks are flush red. He strips off his gloves, and his fingers are a mix of angry red and bloodless white. He hastens over to the fireplace and groans as the transition from too-cold to too-hot makes his hands cramp, then reaches for the rice pack he set over the fire to warm up without having to hunch over the flames.
"Oh God damn it," Dan mutters, as his clumsy-with-cold hands fumble the rice pack and drop it straight into the fire. He huffs with frustration as he gets the fire poker and tries to retrieve the rice pack, but by now the pack is decidedly on fire, looking like a burning baked potato. "I owe North some rice."
What: Dan tools around in the workshop and tests the limits of North's homeowner safety compliance, makes some presents for people, acts helpful.
Where: The Workshop and outdoors near the kitchen.
When: Early October
Warnings/Notes: The usual warnings associated with Dan - alcoholism, drug use, swearing, potential references to dead children, sex work and/or firearms. Lots of nicotine addiction in this one.
Dan hates the cold.
He fucking hates the cold, because his circulation has gone to shit and sucking down cigarettes all his life has left him with a permanent sensitivity to chill along with an inconvenient and unpleasant nicotine addiction, and that combination, here at the North Pole, means he has to run a regular gauntlet throughout the day to go on smoke breaks outdoors. Instead of just popping outside to take a leisurely break from whatever he's doing, he suits up with gloves and coats and hats like he's putting on armor for battle and then houses each cigarette in record time, shivering and wincing the entire time.
When he isn't on smoke breaks and isn't running around with Bunny on missions, he's recuperating from whatever adventure he's been on by working with the elves in the workshop. Dan's father was a carpenter, a tailor and a woodworker who expressed his affection in showering his wife and seven children with gifts and attention. Dan inherited that, and he fills his idle hours with woodworking and sewing, making Christmas gifts for the people at the Pole who've been pulled into this adventure, mostly practical things like warm socks and step stools, but sometimes just tchotchkes like carved effigies. He's excited that North apparently had a bevy of goose down, and is starting to piece together cozy coats for people, and he's been building various hurdles and tunnels for Cammie to test her holon on.
Throughout the day he tries to think of a way to not be colossally rude while smoking indoors. It's poor form to light up under someone's roof and make everything reek of tobacco, and it feels all the more inconsiderate to do so in the Pole, where the merriment is unilaterally pretty child-friendly in a way cigarettes are not, and even more rude to do so while the homeowner is in captivity. Still, after a particularly frozen smoke break where he returned to warmth with his hands so near-paralyzed and bone-white that it took over an hour to get back to doing his woodwork, he decides that North would be understanding, and decides to undo the smoke detector in the kitchen. After all, the kitchen is ventilated, and smoking in here just during the coldest part of the night isn't too harmful.
I. These Are Just a Couple of My Cravings
Most things in the world are made for adult men slightly taller than Dan, but most things at the Pole are made for North and the yetis, and that means Dan can't just accomplish his goals by standing on tip toes. On account of the elves constantly getting into things they shouldn't and causing accidents, the kitchen is equipped with a smoke detector, which is about eleven feet off the ground. Standing on the highest shelf of a ladder, Dan can just barely scrape the corner of it with his fingertips. His only hope of reaching it is to jump, which may be unwise, but the siren song of nicotine has been known to wreck many a man on its rocks.
"Hey, do you mind holding this ladder while I try to reach this?" he asks the next person to come in.
II. A Little Bit Sweeter
By a few days in, Dan's got a straight-up workspace in the workshop, a table festooned with the tools of his crafts. Right now, it's covered in fabric and threads and scissors and rulers and a mannequin and all the deadwood of tailoring and mending as he works on a big, puffy coat to swaddle Elle in. He's at a frustration point, because at some juncture he fucked up the circumference of the sleeves, and he's realizing that his error might be so serious as to necessitate scrapping the coat entirely. He's chewing his nails in annoyance at himself when someone comes in, and he pounces on the opportunity to distract himself with some new task.
"Hey, you need anything mended? The tailor's open for business right now."
III. So Please Be Kind If I'm a Mess
The second Dan's cigarette is burned down, he rushes back into the communal relaxation room, teeth chattering and hands tucked into his armpits. Snowflakes dot his hair, and his cheeks are flush red. He strips off his gloves, and his fingers are a mix of angry red and bloodless white. He hastens over to the fireplace and groans as the transition from too-cold to too-hot makes his hands cramp, then reaches for the rice pack he set over the fire to warm up without having to hunch over the flames.
"Oh God damn it," Dan mutters, as his clumsy-with-cold hands fumble the rice pack and drop it straight into the fire. He huffs with frustration as he gets the fire poker and tries to retrieve the rice pack, but by now the pack is decidedly on fire, looking like a burning baked potato. "I owe North some rice."
no subject
But she's going to try, because she wants this. She wants to be able to let go and just move.
Elle falls into a tombe pas de bourree, two pique turns then two pirouettes, holding fourth at the end. She shifts to fifth and starts a petit allegro. Glissade, pas de chat, glissade, jete, coupe step into jete, pas de chat, then repeats the sequence leading with her other foot.
She can feel her body making mistakes-- not quite holding position during her turns, ending in third instead of fifth on her first glissade, and landing too heavily on her jumps.
Her own mother is the one who signed her up for classes in the first place. The one who insisted she keep with them, only relenting when there were scheduling conflicts with Elle's debate club. She was in constant contact with her instructors to hear where Elle's weaknesses were, what she needed to do better. Her insistence that she practice the same sequences over and over. Elle always dreaded the end-of-season recitals for many reasons, and her mother's obsessive involvement was not the least of them.
Quitting had been an act of rebellion, if a small one, and she's stubbornly refused to touch it since.
But she hasn't seen her mother in over two years. Maybe it's time to allow herself to move past it. After all, despite everything, she did like dancing.
And it feels good. Elle doesn't know if it's from keeping active or being a cat, but she's maintained more of her strength and flexibility than expected. She can tell that, with practice, she could surpass her previous skill by far.
She smiles at Dan. "I'm pretty sure half of that was a combination I already knew. Improvisation isn't always my strong suit."
no subject
Dan grins back, then takes the floor back from her, the two of them swapping off. Dan’s movement vocabulary in ballet is more limited than Elle’s, because his younger siblings were learning at the same time he was and that meant his mother taught him fewer and less complicated maneuvers. He doesn’t jump much, and his arms stay in first or fourth by habit.
But he’s a very charismatic dancer, and soon he relaxes the structure of ballet while keeping the grace, incorporating some of the looseness he’s picked up dancing as an adult. His face is always in it, and his timing is precise enough that it’s like one could hear the rhythm just by watching him.
He’s happy doing this. He doesn’t forget everything he tries to put out of mind all day, each day, but it feels further off when he’s dancing, like he’s watching it from a distance instead of pressed up against it. It’s like alcohol that way.
He runs out of breath quicker than he’d like, on account of the way he’s fucked up his lungs. He takes a breather.
“When was the last time you danced without working towards a goal?”
no subject
"I'm not sure how to answer that," she says carefully.
She feels like it may not be in her best interest to do so. It's not-- she knows it's not-- but the question feels like a trap. Or maybe she just feels trapped by it.
(Her mother's voice makes itself known in the back of her mind: too stiff, over-arched back, keep your head up, smile--)
no subject
“I’m asking because I reckon that’s what we’d be doing here, dancing together regularly.” He settles into first position, examining his own turnout. “I ain’t good enough to teach and even though I know I could might learn from you, I ain’t about to put that responsibility on you.”
Tendu, tendu. “So if we make this a regular thing, that’s what it’d be. Movement for the sake of it instead of progress. That’s how I’d prefer it, anyway.”
no subject
Elle takes a breath and tries again.
"That doesn't come naturally to me. I'll do my best, but... it doesn't come naturally," she repeats helplessly. She's not sure how to explain it to someone like Dan, who thrives in doing what he wants when he wants it. Who feels and then acts.
Elle thinks. Elle doesn't stop thinking. When there's a routine, structure, Elle doesn't have to worry about her next step because she knows what it is. If she goes against it, that's a choice she's making while knowing what the expectations are. If she fumbles, she has something to fall back on without losing track entirely.
She doesn't know how to move without knowing what her next step is supposed to be. (She's obviously talking about ballet and ballet only, no need to examine that any further.)
"I'm still going to do my warm-ups. I can show up before you if you don't want to go through that." She needs something of a routine, and forgetting to warm up and stretch is a cardinal sin.
no subject
"I ain't about to stop you sticking to a routine if you want to." He shrugs and absentmindedly coupes. "I can do my own stretches while you warm up. I just reckoned dance is something that can be low stakes, since ain't neither of us competing at the Olympics, so why not take advantage of that?"
Do the Olympics have a dance segment? Dan has no idea. It's just that it seems like a shame to be unable to turn off the thinking part of Elle's brain in a format that makes the rewards for just feeling so rich. It seems like this, with a non-critical friend a few steps rougher in terms of technique, would be such a safe space for Elle to explore just listening to her impulses and her body's inclinations as an option.
"Trust me, Elle. I'd rather spend time with you, even if it's just doing calf raises for two straight hours. I'm just saying I ain't going to make you teach me and I ain't going to be pushing myself towards any goal."
no subject
It... genuinely failed to occur to Elle that her current circumstances mean she doesn't have to treat dancing the same way she did before. Dan's words make sense, even if they make a little anxiety churn in her gut.
"That makes sense. I-- I'm sorry I made assumptions. About what you were trying to say. I want to spend time with you too. And I am happy to show you something if you want me too. Not teaching just... sharing. I'm sure there's stuff your mom showed you, or stuff you've learned since then, that I don't know."
She ducks her head down a little, feeling awkward in a way she doesn't like. "But, yeah. Low stakes. I can-- I can do that."
Probably.
...Maybe.
no subject
"I just want us to both have an enjoyable time. That's all that matters to me." He knows that I just want you to have fun isn't a sentiment Elle was really exposed to as often as she should have been. "You should see when me and Bunny dance together. He can lift me like I'm made of feathers."
no subject
Not that she would be against it, it's a potentially useful tool to have in her metaphorical toolbox, but she doesn't want to put dan in an uncomfortable position.
She laughs in delight at the image of Bunny lifting Dan, then tilts her head to the side, narrows her eyes, and sizes Dan up.
"You know... I could probably lift you." If her growing smile has a bit of a challenge in it, well, that's for Dan to interpret how he'd like.
no subject
He isn't, and the older he gets the more he has to acknowledge that, but he isn't about to start telling Elle that once she gets to her late thirties tripping down the stairs is liable to put her out of commission. Or maybe it won't for a bastet. Maybe that's just a condition of being a bog-standard human.
no subject
"I'm not gonna drop you."
She moves to the middle of the room. "How you wanna do this? I can just pick you up, or we could Dirty Dancing it."
She figures it will take more time and practice before they should attempt a proper dance lift. Not that the Dirty Dancing lift isn't a proper dance lift, but... it sounds fun. So.