nightlogs | Everything It Seems I Like's a Little Bit Harmful for Me [Open to All]

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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."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Elle's right. Dan doesn't want anything organized, not here, not at the Wilderlands. He worries that if he tries to organize something, it'll be hijacked or seen as hypocrisy, and if anyone else tries to organize something he'll be browbeaten into going along. Informal, ad hoc, improvisational - those are the terms he wants things done on here.

And so, phrased as it is, he does love Elle's idea. He enjoys being an ambassador or a tour guide. He loves to show people the best parts of the world. He loves drawing their attention to the good things, because he knows well how precious they are and how easy they are to lose sight of.

"I was talking to Miguel a little, and it seemed like his version of New York - Nueva York - was way different than what I know. I been lucky enough that most of the places we been ain't too far off from what I'm familiar with. I know that that's given me a leg up that others don't got."

Dan's aware he's smart and clever, but he's also just been very lucky in terms of what the powers that be have thrown him into. He hasn't needed to adapt to fast technology or languages he can't speak or ecosystems hostile to his own body like some here have.

"Besides, who don't want to see the Grand Canyon?"

"Miguel's one of the Spiders, right?" Elle hasn't gone around and introduced herself to all of the new people yet. She saw everyone at the party, but that was more general observation. It was easier in the Wilderlands-- everyone was spread out in front of her, she could just look in a direction and find someone to talk to. The North Pole is harder, with its hallways and closed doors. It makes things feel more separated.

"Not me, I love looking at big rocks," she says it in a joking tone but that's a genuine statement. "Just not in the middle of the day, it's way too hot and I am far too crepuscular for that."

It's not something Elle advertises, and most of the time she just pushes through, but she does tend to get tired in the middle of the day and night. She's let herself indulge in more midday "cat naps" while they've been cooped up in the North Pole, but she's trying not to make a habit of it.

"Have you been making friends with the new folks? I'll admit, I've kinda dropped the bar on that one so far."

Dan laughs, because he's noticed that about Elle but also because he, too, is somewhat crepuscular. Dan's most active hours are around sundown; given the opportunity, that tends to be when he starts his day.

"I been more introverted than I'd like. It's, you know. It's the weather." It's the limited sunlight. "And I reckon last time left me a little shy. It's mostly the same folks, and I just, I don't know. I never thought I'd might could be insecure in my social skills."

He opens the drawer under the workdesk and pulls some candy out, holding it out to Elle.

"Maybe the two of us ought to have a potluck or something, rehabilitate our reputations as the local extroverts."

"You know you can get pills for that? Fake sunlight, makes you feel like you're getting the real thing. Drugs are truly miracles," Elle specifically doesn't call it medicine because Dan, but casually mentioning drugs that make you feel better in a conversation without making an actual lifestyle suggestion seems safe enough. She doesn't linger on it.

"Yeah, I'm not feeling great about it myself. I've been kinda stuck in my own head about things, which never ends well," she jokes at her own expense, though it's more true than she'd like. "I don't blame you for being a bit hesitant. It was a lot easier when people needed help surviving, but here you have to put yourself out there. Gross."

Elle happily take the candy and pops it in her mouth without hesitation. She happily gives a middle finger to years of etiquette training by talking around it.

"But a potluck is a great idea. We could even make it a semi-regular thing, whenever someone wants to cook a big meal or something," Elle is once again avoiding the urge to make it a more formalized event.

"Even just keeping to yourself, anyone new stand out to you?" she leaves it open as to whether it's in a good way or a bad way. She always values Dan's perspective on things, especially people.

"Fake sunlight? Do the pill capsules glow?" Dan laughs. "I ain't opposed to that. Anything to keep away the winter blues."

It's not so much that Dan's afraid of medical care. He's been locked outside it by a lifelong lack of health insurance and ignorance as to what benefits it can provide. He's become self-reliant by habit.

He gives Elle a concerned look, because if she's anything like him, being stuck in her head is not the best place to be. "You know you might could talk to me if ever you're feeling lonely. I can always use company."

He takes some candy as well. "Mm. Well, Price is here. I'm hoping to keep an eye on him. I met this new guy, Miguel, who might could need some friendship. He seems a little closed off and not in a way where he seems happy with it."

"...You know what, they really should!" Can the elves do that? she's going to ask the elves if they can do that.

"I'm gonna take you up on that. It's not all bad-- I did need the space for a bit. Everyone's great and all, but even I need to recharge sometimes.

"Miguel... I think Stacia's mentioned him. Something about being a secret softie? I'll have to ask for details on that. And let me know if you need backup with Price," the reasons why he would go unspoken.

Her face becomes more serious as she takes a moment to gather her words. "There is one kid I want to keep an eye on. I haven't met him personally, but there's been some stuff he's said on the network that's been pretty concerning. He's spends a most of his time with Miguel, but you might've seen him around."

Elle is a chronic lurker on the public network. If it's there, she'll read it. If people want to keep their business to themselves they should make a private channel.

"His name's Boba, and I think he's the youngest person we've got so far. Can't be older than thirteen or fourteen. When Branch was trying to leave, apparently the kid asked to go with him. Something about not feeling safe? He's said some... pretty alarming stuff about where he comes from. It sounds like he was a bad situation.

"Aside from a chip on his shoulder, from what I've seen he's got some issues with authority figures. As the least authoritative person I know, I figure you might have a decent shot," she says the last bit with a crooked smile. She definitely means it as a compliment.

"I can relate." Dan sometimes mistakes his tendency to withdraw when depressed or overwhelmed as introversion. "And I'll let you know if I need a second set of eyes on Price. I reckon he's alright for now. I'm getting him to bond with the horse."

Dan hopes Concrete Blonde is safe with Price; Price seems fond of her, and his typical brand of manipulation is less likely to take hold with an animal, Dan hopes.

He eats some candy and nods.

"I ain't met him yet, but I'll keep my eye out. Branch brought him up to me but I didn't know who he was yet. You know where I might could find him?" He smiles back at her. "I don't know what I'd do with authority if it introduced itself and sat in my lap."

"This place has reindeer, right? Maybe he can help with tending to them too."

As long as Price doesn't become too possessive, it should be okay. More animals might keep him from focusing just on Concrete Blonde.

"I'm not sure, I'd ask Miguel. He seems to be keeping an eye on the kid."

(NOTE: I made a mistake! Boba has only introduced himself as "Lucky" so far. Elle wouldn't know his real name and would refer to him as Lucky in my previous reply.)

"That's a great idea." Dan follows what Elle's putting down, and he agrees. He thinks it'd be good for Price generally to focus less on individuals and feeling possessive of them and existing more within a community. Then again, when Price had agents, he had at least a handful and his sense of entitlement to them was catastrophic.

He pops some leftover candy into the drawer and pulls out the vape for a celebratory debut indoor puff. He still opens the window so he can exhale out of it, and a cold breeze gets in, but it's absolutely preferable to going out in the snow. The first hit of mint and nicotine feels like a drink of cool water in the desert, a warm hug in the cold, a break to stop and breathe in the middle of a marathon.

"I was right. You were right. This is perfect," he says after exhaling out the window, eyes lidded with relaxation.

Elle smiles fondly. Anything that can be done to alleviate Dan's discomfort and pain is a win in her book.

"I'm glad."

She gives him a moment of peace before grabbing onto a passing thought.

"I know there's a gym, but do you think there's a dance studio around here?" she muses aloud. There's so much free time between missions and she needs something to fill it. Dusting off old skills seems as good of a time-sink as any.

"This is going to do me a world of good. It don't even rip up my lungs as much." Dan feels like he could laugh right now without giving himself a coughing fit. The smoke feels humid and gentle in his throat and chest, cool and fresh when he exhales - and, he realizes, he doesn't need to burn anything down to a butt. He can take as many or as few drags as he wants.

Then she says something that sparks his interest. He grins, all enthusiasm. "There's a corner of the mail room I been using. Has a big mirror, nice and quiet, even got a sprung floor although I don't for the life of me know why. I don't just dance as a stripper. What about you?"

"You got me, my nefarious scheme to help you regain the ability to breathe properly has been revealed," she says, only partly joking. She just wants to keep the people she cares about from suffering unnecessarily! Is that so much to ask? (Don't answer that, because the answer is yes.)

"We've got so much time to spare, I figure that it might be time to stop letting a decade of ballet training go to waste."

Despite what her mother may claim, Elle never hated doing ballet. She just hated going to ballet class, especially once she got taller and started filling out more.

Dancing can be fun, and even when it isn't, it's still movement and grounding herself in her body. She can probably use more of that.

Edited 2023-11-23 14:17 (UTC)

"Ballet training, huh?" Dan starts to put away his sewing supplies and gestures with his nose towards the direction they'll be heading. "I wouldn't might know if mine counts as training, but my mom taught me the basics when I was a kid and I done kept up with it. Dance was cheap entertainment, and she done minored in theater in college."

Dan doesn't talk about his family much, and he isn't sure if Elle will be surprised to hear him bring them up now or that his mother had a college education. His father didn't. That was part of the union his parents had: his father adopted his mother's sincere Christianity, and his mother adopted his father's anti-authoritarian isolationism.

"I reckon I just assumed your gracefulness came from you being a cat." He grins. "If you might would be willing to show me some moves I'd love to see them."

Elle takes that as her cue to, reluctantly, slip off the coat and put it back where it was resting before. She gives the absurdly soft faux-fur trim one last pet before stepping back and following Dan.

"It counts to me, though I will say that there's nothing quite like being constantly scolded by a woman with Russian accent and no mercy," she sighs as if reminiscing. "I know werewolves that wish they were that intimidating."

Elle snorts. "Yeah, you're not wrong. The cat thing did me a lot of favors, I'm probably going to be a much better dancer now than I was before, even several years out of practice."

"Is that how they teach ballet outside of bunkers?" Dan laughs. "Maybe that's why I never got the hang of échappé. Weren't getting yelled at enough."

The mailroom isn't far off, and Dan's correct; there is a little corner for packages, which, at this time of year, has plenty of empty space and, for whatever reason, a mirror. Dan does a series of chaines onto the floor and kicks his shoes off and to the side at the end.

"Alright, kiddo, show me a little freestyle."

Elle claps when Dan finishes his turns.

"Oh, god. I'm warning you, I haven't done this in, like, two or three years," she says as she slips off her shoes and sets them by the door along with her sweater. Thank fuck she wore leggings today.

Elle pulls her hair back and looks at the floor warily. She starts off in first, doing a couple of demi-plies, grand-plies, reveles, and finally a few degages with each leg. She's pretty sure her form is questionable, but she's not willing to look at herself dance in the mirror quite yet.

She moves her arms into first and starts a pas de bourree, moving back and forth a few times until she starts falling into the rhythm of it. She extends them into second as she steps into a balance, rocking her weight back and forth. Right left right, left right left.

After a little bit, she goes for an echappe. She stumbles a little as she tries to return to the closed position, but she does manage to fall back into fifth.

She laughs at herself, warm from embarrassment and exertion, and turns to Dan. "Would you pretend to believe me if I blamed it on the lack of slippers?"

Dan claps when she finishes. "I'll believe it's the slippers. Ain't like it matters. We ain't auditioning for Swan Lake."

Besides, he already told her his échappé is weak, and he isn't exaggerating any of his flaws when he demonstrates for her; he isn't quick enough to reach his relevé to land right, and the misplaced pressure of his feet against the floor means his feet scoot an extra inch out to each side and leave him returning to third instead of fifth.

But he transitions from that fumble into an improvisation of his own. He rarely dances with a mirror, didn't learn with one, so he isn't really paying attention to it as he turns, sautés, arabesques, a pirouette - he defaults to developé almost like an um in his movements, a filler gesture when nothing else is immediately coming to mind, a demonstration of balance and flexibility made almost absentminded.

He misses his mother. He can demarcate his life perfectly, the before and after, the happy years and then everything going to shit, based on finding her body, and most days her corpse is how he remembers her. When he's dancing, it isn't that he doesn't remember her that way, but that it's more complicated, like her being dead and her raising him up and the fact that he thinks she would have loved but wouldn't have approved of the man he is now can all live side-by-side in his mind.

He doesn't freestyle for long. He intended to do so to try and open the door to Elle being less self-conscious; she's got more skill than Dan does, a stronger foundation of technique, and he saw her avoiding looking at herself in the mirror. Rough and half-remembered as his form is, he can still lose himself in it, and he hopes that that gives Elle permission to do the same. He hopes it's a demonstration that neither of them need to be good to enjoy it in front of each other.

"I might would say I'm rusty but you can't forget what you didn't really learn in the first place." He shrugs, smiling.

Elle's never been good at freestyle. She thinks too much about what she should do next to truly lose herself in it.

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."

Edited 2023-11-27 01:34 (UTC)

“I was thinking it looked real polished.”

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?”

Edited 2023-11-27 02:31 (UTC)

Elle is visibly caught off guard-- she's usually much better at controlling her expressions. It takes her a moment to recover and respond.

"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--)

Dan does control his expression: he keeps the guilty whoops off his face.

“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.”

"Oh, I can--" she cuts herself off. Elle was about to say she can find somewhere else to practice, but immediately realized that that's not a helpful instinct. Dan doesn't want that from her. She doesn't want that.

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.

Dan laughs to hide that he's a little sad that that was her immediate response. He wants to invite her into his way of doing things, not force her into it or exclude her if she doesn't follow along.

"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."

Low stakes.

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.

"Sure, but I reckon I don't necessarily want to pass the dance techniques I learned as an adult to you." He grins. Stripping's been a great gig for him, even though he's aging out of it now - late hours, paid in cash, extroverted, access to drugs - but he doubts Elle would thrive in that life.

"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."

Everything It Seems I Like's a Little Bit Harmful for Me [Open to All]

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