Dan Sagittarius (
hallelujahjunction) wrote in
nightlogs2023-10-24 01:08 pm
Entry tags:
I'm Not the Kind of Man to Live Comfortably [Closed]
Who: Dan and Bunny
What: Dan confronts a devastating tragedy.
Where: Their bedroom at the Pole.
When: Prior to Hocus Pocus
Warnings/Notes: Usual Dan warnings about potential references to substance abuse and mental illnesses, firearms, sex work, etc. In this case Dan's insane libertarian politics may come up.
It’s a bad day.
Dan has a lot of bad days - fewer, now that he isn’t slumming the single life in a stolen car and always teetering between financially under-resourced and actively ruined, now that he can regularly sleep up to four hours without interruption, now that his existence has been improved in all the many tangible and intangible ways that a loving relationship with an immortal can deliver - and today is a bad one. A tragic one, even.
It’s not the worst day. Dan’s had many days awful enough that he can’t even get out of bed, or gets hammered starting the moment he wakes up until he’s blackout drunk by noon, or starts the day off hyperventilating from a nightmare and then doesn’t catch his breath for thirty hours. It isn’t a day that bad, and he hasn’t had one that bad in a few years.
But it’s still a bad enough day that he locks himself in his and Bunny’s bedroom and slams out four straight hours of embroidery, drinks eggnog until he’s woozy, and takes a nap in the six layers he went outside to take a smoke in, leaving the top of the bed somewhat damp from snowmelt. He wakes up with no awareness of what time it is and with his hurt feelings still smarting. He does some more embroidery, gives Bunny’s favorite flannel a trail of vines and flowers going all the way down one sleeve to an ornate design on the cuff. He slams doors and cabinets, which is uncharacteristic for him. He throws his jacket and coat on the floor, also uncharacteristically. He keeps trying to nap away the pissiness without success.
It isn’t a big deal. He knows it isn’t a big deal. He knows that in the grand scheme of things, the thing bothering him is extremely small potatoes, and that he’s just perseverating on it because he’s wrapped himself into a narrative where he’s the victim of forces beyond his control and said forces are just rubbing salt in all his open wounds. He knows he’s being dramatic.
But it keeps rolling around in his head, they took my home and they took my dad and they took any car I could get my hands on and they took my cash so often I wouldn’t ever be able to might count it up and now they’re taking-, unceasing. And he knows Bunny won’t understand.
“Hey, honey.” Usually, when Bunny gets in and he’s still in bed, he greets Bunny by jumping out of bed and wrapping him in a hug before Bunny’s even finished opening the door. This time he just sits up and runs his hands over his face, then reaches for Bunny to come and sit next to him on the bed to get an embrace. “How was Mongolia?”
What: Dan confronts a devastating tragedy.
Where: Their bedroom at the Pole.
When: Prior to Hocus Pocus
Warnings/Notes: Usual Dan warnings about potential references to substance abuse and mental illnesses, firearms, sex work, etc. In this case Dan's insane libertarian politics may come up.
It’s a bad day.
Dan has a lot of bad days - fewer, now that he isn’t slumming the single life in a stolen car and always teetering between financially under-resourced and actively ruined, now that he can regularly sleep up to four hours without interruption, now that his existence has been improved in all the many tangible and intangible ways that a loving relationship with an immortal can deliver - and today is a bad one. A tragic one, even.
It’s not the worst day. Dan’s had many days awful enough that he can’t even get out of bed, or gets hammered starting the moment he wakes up until he’s blackout drunk by noon, or starts the day off hyperventilating from a nightmare and then doesn’t catch his breath for thirty hours. It isn’t a day that bad, and he hasn’t had one that bad in a few years.
But it’s still a bad enough day that he locks himself in his and Bunny’s bedroom and slams out four straight hours of embroidery, drinks eggnog until he’s woozy, and takes a nap in the six layers he went outside to take a smoke in, leaving the top of the bed somewhat damp from snowmelt. He wakes up with no awareness of what time it is and with his hurt feelings still smarting. He does some more embroidery, gives Bunny’s favorite flannel a trail of vines and flowers going all the way down one sleeve to an ornate design on the cuff. He slams doors and cabinets, which is uncharacteristic for him. He throws his jacket and coat on the floor, also uncharacteristically. He keeps trying to nap away the pissiness without success.
It isn’t a big deal. He knows it isn’t a big deal. He knows that in the grand scheme of things, the thing bothering him is extremely small potatoes, and that he’s just perseverating on it because he’s wrapped himself into a narrative where he’s the victim of forces beyond his control and said forces are just rubbing salt in all his open wounds. He knows he’s being dramatic.
But it keeps rolling around in his head, they took my home and they took my dad and they took any car I could get my hands on and they took my cash so often I wouldn’t ever be able to might count it up and now they’re taking-, unceasing. And he knows Bunny won’t understand.
“Hey, honey.” Usually, when Bunny gets in and he’s still in bed, he greets Bunny by jumping out of bed and wrapping him in a hug before Bunny’s even finished opening the door. This time he just sits up and runs his hands over his face, then reaches for Bunny to come and sit next to him on the bed to get an embrace. “How was Mongolia?”

no subject
He makes a little groaning sound and starts to brush through Bunny's fur more, knowing he's going over the same patch again, just for the way grooming his husband grounds him.
"I reckon I had something that reliably made me happy and then they came in and took it. Just like they always do."
He hasn't mentioned to Bunny how frequently he has nightmares where the lines between dream and memory get crossed, how faces and locations get switched around, how sometimes in his dreams it's not his home in Hallelujah but the Warren he's being dragged away from, how sometimes it's Bunny in the back of a squad car.
"I didn't vote for it. No one consulted me about it, and I got to live with it, because I don't get a say."
no subject
He resists, so hard, the urge to point out that peeps are terrible and you have access to all the better candy in the entire world, knowing now as he wouldn't have known years ago that it is about the candy, but also, really, it's not.
"Sorry this happened." He winds up to volunteer himself for a massively selfless and massively unpleasant demonstration of his deep and abiding love. "Do you want me to try and replicate them for you?"
A part of his soul curls in on itself and withers.
no subject
"Would you might?" He sighs and then scritches Bunny at the base of his ears, trying to convey with touch that he's grateful to be listened to and respected instead of argued with and dismissed. "Can't reckon it'd be a tough recipe for you to crack."
He means it as a compliment, especially since he knows that Bunny had no love for Peeps even before they became a symbol of one of their most painful disagreements. He settles in next to Bunny in the sand and wraps his arm around Bunny's waist. "Thanks. Like I said, I know I'm being stupid about it. How was Mongolia?"
no subject
Once he gets a sample he'll be thinking of how to circumvent the styrofoam aftertaste, but that will be later.
"Mongolia went off without a hitch. Closed access off to the surface, so that portal to a hellscape is just a dirt wall. Next lava spirit I find who owes me a favor, I'll have them seal it." He does love a job done well. "The kids all made it back home to their yurts. Here's hoping Mexico goes as smooth." He nuzzles Dan's head, thinking, were the yellow ones lemon flavored? He'll have to find out. "How's the Pole? Loop me in on the newbies."
no subject
"Alright, well, I been a little introverted-" for Dan- "because of the weather and the cold, but I been doing my rounds with Elle and Stacia and Jennifer and Cammie, and they all seem to be doing alright. Price is here and I'm encouraging him to bond with Concrete Blonde."
Dan doesn't really want to talk too much about Price with Bunny, because Bunny tells him honestly that Dan would be better off throwing up more boundaries, and Dan doesn't want to listen to that sound advice.
"Met a fellow named Miguel who might be a bit...well, he's one of those world-on-his-shoulders types, and I reckon it's sucking him dry, because he just seems tired and like the kind of tired that makes you more impatient with folks than you'd prefer. Just based on what I observed in a chance encounter."
no subject
Talking about Miguel is more engaging than dealing with Price still being here, and Bunny makes a "hmf" sound over Price's presence at all. "You trust him around the horse?" he asks, lightly, because Price has been known to hurt Dan for attention, let alone an animal Dan loves.
no subject
He frowns as they circle back to Price. "No, I don't, really, but if I keep shutting Price out as untrustworthy he's going to sink to those expectations. The powers that be keep sticking him with us. I keep thinking it's like I keep getting a chance to finally figure out what works to keep Price stable."
Dan knows it's not his job, but who else will do it without him? Jennifer? Aziraphale, maybe? He returns, over and over, to that image of a young Price freezing in the streets, wondering why no one would take care of him, and Dan's heart is too tender not to respond to the way that memory lingers in his head.
no subject
He stays quiet over Price. "I know he does that, sinks to expectations, but I haven't seen him do much rising when given the opportunity." But maybe he's just salty because he can't figure out how to get Price to respond positively to anything he says and does, no matter how patient he tries to be. "He can't hurt the yetis, but I hope the elves are giving him a wide berth."
He cannot, will not, forget how Dan's fever raged after Price pushed him, already injured, into the river, and acted like he was the injured party committing self defense over it.
"I need to get this same set of updates from Stacia soon. I asked her to keep the werewolves in a pack. She doing all right?" he asks, because he'd always rather move on from Price as soon as Price is brought up.
no subject
Dan could see Miguel being the most competent one in the room or being the one who loses sight of the big picture just as easily. He would need to observe in action to come down to a firm conclusion, and he'd rather do that in a relatively easy situation than a truly dangerous one.
"Plus, he got a great ass. Almost as nice as yours." Dan grins and gives Bunny's haunch a pat. He gives a grunt to the comment about the elves. He's been doing his best to tell them to just not get too close to Price, but it's hard to do so without poisoning the well, and Dan figures that well is on the way to being toxic sludge at this rate.
"Stacia? She...yeah, she's alright. Told me some alarming shit about her world and her past and..." And they can't change what's already happened to these kids they've come to care for. They can't go back and untraumatize Stacia.
no subject
He smiles about Dan's ass comment, but hardly wants to be making commentary on some other mortal he hasn't met, even though he is fully ready to assume his anything is better than most people's.
"Is her past weighing her down?" he asks, of Stacia, because he's aware Dan knows that he knows Stacia's world is a fustercluck of trauma that they can't undo for her. Maybe they'll get lucky and be able to attend to it sooner than later, but right now, the problem in front of them is managing this crisis in this world with these overworked kids. "How's she handling command?"
no subject
He draws in the sand with his fingers. "She's fine. I'm fine, which is what I could tell both of us were worried about when she told me what she'd done been through. Reckon she thought I'd cut and run again like I almost did last time."
Stacia's forgiven Dan for that; Dan will too, in time, but it may take him a little longer.
"I told her that if she wants to avoid going back to her world, you and me would might find a way to make that happen, but more than anything, it sounds like the idea of never growing up scares her. Which makes sense. She don't want to be trapped as seventeen years old forever like she'd have to resign herself to here."