nightlogs | talking to ghosts

Entry tags:

talking to ghosts

Who: Miggy & You??
What: Miguel stays behind to do dead honoring activities
Where: the Pole to start
When: Late October, Early November (Day of the Dead time)
Warnings/Notes: themes of mourning, though it can be lighthearted also

Miguel would be reluctantly absent during the action around Halloween. A strange enough decision, given his first instinct would be to throw himself into the fray as a distraction.

But as of late, he couldn’t hide that something was eating at him. The gloomy spell over his mood seemed more intense than months prior, burning away his patience and making short tempered remarks and the flashing of fangs more easy to let slip. He'd done okay keeping things somewhat under lock, but it was clear now something was definitely wrong.

And so, after some tense, but persuasive conversation just convincing enough to accept staying behind, Miguel finds himself idle on a quieter and lonelier Pole for a few days.

((prompts incoming - brackets or prose are fine))

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"We'll get something red." Miguel assures him, seeing no harm in it. Surely, there'd be some kind of red flower around that they could use.

The candles wouldn't be a problem. He overprepared a bit in making his own display, so there was the extra candy, extra candles, and a few other extra things left in the room. A box with some spare wax ones plus the appropriate bases will be carted along in the crook of his arm during their walk down to the kid's place.

The clasps click open and he hands them over for Lucky to start to arrange the things how he preferred. He seems satisfied to be the silent observer here, letting the kid take charge in how he wanted to put things together. Making a mental note of the differences or similarities with his own.

Felt a little odd to be invited in, remembering how they first met. But he'll accept it as a positive development.

Boba puts the box on top of his bed-- neatly made-- and goes to grab a blanket from a cedar chest against the wall. It takes him a moment to find a blue one, but when he pulls it out he starts to unfold it, then pauses.

There were layers on Miguel's altar. Maybe he should do something like that? He sets the blanket aside and closes the chest.

Acting like Miguel isn't even in the room, with a concentrated furrow in his brow, Boba goes to the closet and grabs some empty plastic storage boxes to places on top of the chest. Then he finishes unfolding the blanket and lays it on top. He makes sure to tuck it in the back so it won't slip off.

Then he goes back to the candles. He puts a near each corner to help the blanket stay in place, then on the corners of the storage boxes, then a few lined up to frame the empty space in the center.

Boba moves back to the bed, glancing at Miguel for the first time since they've entered the room. He looks nervous, almost bites his lip but stops himself, and shoves a hand in between the mattress and box spring.

One by one, he pulls out three knives. One clearly from the kitchen, one a wood carving knife from the workshop, and a concerning-ly well-made shiv made from metal scrap from the workshop with the "handle" wrapped in electrical tape.

Boba now has a stubborn set to his jaw and refuses to look at Miguel as he thoughtfully arranges them on the lowest tier.

Edited 2023-12-03 09:11 (UTC)

Miguel doesn’t look happy about it, but he’s not particularly surprised. If the kid was really dead set on having a knife on him, there were enough places on the Pole for him to grab or fashion one.

He wasn’t there to confiscate whatever ‘contraband’ he had in his room, despite Lucky’s insistence on comparing the place to prison.

“I assume it’s not because they enjoyed cooking and woodcarving?” he asks. The shiv tipped off that one.

He figures it is better to be careful with the delicate bit of trust that the kid was showing him and let him continue unabated.

"He cooked," is Boba's response. It's not refuting Miguel's guess, but if he wants to believe that's all there is to it, he's free to.

Boba finishes arranging the knives and goes back to the closet. It takes a moment of digging, it's really shoved back in a corner, but he does grab something large and round-ish. He holds it protectively in his arms, covering as much as he can, but the silver and blue paint, and the range-finder sticking out the top, is hard to miss.

He stands in front of the altar. After a moment of hesitation, he places the plastic replica helmet in the center of the higher tier with a reverence that doesn't fit the cheap toy in his hands. It's perfectly framed by the candles he set out earlier. He fusses with it for a moment, wanting it to be displayed as perfectly as possible.

Boba drops his hands to his sides. He doesn't turn around to face Miguel.

"I'll need a lighter," he forces his voice to stay neutral.

The initial reaction melts away as he continues to watch. It was clearly significant enough for the kid to assemble and place it with care, so on the altar it goes.

When the helmet comes out, there's a realization on Miguel's end on who this was for. And with it comes with a strong pang of empathy for the poor kid who couldn't even properly recover the genuine article. He's tempted to ask a few more questions, to idly chat to maybe make the process a little easier, but the careful evenness in Lucky's voice makes him reconsider. Now wasn't the time.

He just fishes for a lighter in his pocket (the lack of suit actually made room for those) and takes out an old, zippo-style one found somewhere from the Pole's tool stocks. He flicks on the flame for him.

"Careful." he says, more of general concern than doubting the kid didn't know his way around fire.

Edited 2023-12-04 03:51 (UTC)

Boba scowls at the warning, but takes the lighter anyway. He carefully lights each candle.

As he does, he speaks quietly.

"Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum*," the words are spoken rhythmically, like a prayer.

"Ba'buir* Jaster, ba'vodu* Arla, ba'vodu Myles."

He lights another candle with each name he mutters. There's three left, and he hesitates before putting the flame to the wick.

"Aurra- Aurra Sing," that name comes out less steady than the others. There's clear conflict in his expression, as if he's not sure if he should have said it with the others.

"Zam Wesell." That name is said with more confidence.

"Buir*."

Boba closes the lighter and stares at the display.

(*I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.)
(*Grandfather, aunt/uncle.)
(*Father)

Edited 2023-12-04 03:55 (UTC)

The remembrances. The spirit of it was familiar despite the different language. Like a service of a more somber note. It's not always a happy thing when there's a lot of ghosts to talk to, not if they were all recent. He watches the flickering lights for a while, casting a shadow in a long, gargoyle-like shape against the wall with his lowered posture.

In another time, he might have been inclined to offer more comfort for the kid. But loss and the deepened well of anger had infected that side of him with a sharp frostbite. Still, after a few minutes to absorb the moment, he manages a small squeeze to Boba's shoulder for his attention.

"Do you still want to get more things for them?" he asks, keeping his voice gentle.

Boba mentioned the red and gold, but it was a personal thing, ultimately. Miguel would let him lead on whether or not he'd like to go ahead. He could manage that much for a kid who lost way more than he should have.

Boba doesn't flinch at the hand on his shoulder. He does shudder and suppress the instinct to grab one of the knives at stab it, though.

"Yeah." Boba stands and slides his hands, with the lighter still in his grip, into his pockets in one smooth motion. He gives a lingering look to the helmet before turning away.

He keeps his gaze to the floor. His eyes aren't wet, he knows better than that, but his voice is more hoarse than he'd like. A part of him resents Miguel for being there-- resents himself for not making him leave.

It's too late to change now. Boba waits for Miguel to lead him to wherever the flowers are.

Miguel watches the lighter disappear into his pocket and sighs to himself. Seems like a bad moment to get on his case about it. Given it was scrounged from around the Pole anyway, maybe it would be fine to let him keep it.

"Sorry, kid." He says it with an unusually soft sympathy.

What context Miguel gleamed from the ritual didn't leave him with much else that felt appropriate. So he leaves it at that and walks ahead of him. Their trip to the Relaxation Area would be quiet but relatively brief.

With the Winter Season around the corner, the Workshop Floor was already building up with a lot of hustle and bustle, so he opted instead to leave one of the quieter dens with his remaining bundles of flowers at the top of the tall bookshelves and cabinets. The floral scents were obvious the moment they entered the room.

Dan, being a tobacco addict, doesn't smell the flowers, but he does notice them when he pops into one of the dens to try and find some spare ribbon. He's still there when Miguel and Boba turn the corner, looking through the cabinets for wrapping supplies.

"Oh, hey- sorry, was just looking around for some supplies. Miguel, good to see you." He pauses, looking as if he's being just casually normal, but upon seeing Boba intentionally adopting the least confrontational poise he can manage. It's not even anything particular about Boba so much as that the kids here tend to come in traumatized and damaged, and Dan doesn't want to intimidate them nor condescend to them.

"Sorry, we ain't met. I'm Dan."

The first thing Boba does when they enter the room is find all the exits, then positions himself so he has a clear path to as many as he can. The second is doing a quick threat assessment on the man already there. He doesn't look like he's here to hurt anyone, which could change any moment, but he does look like he's trying to get something out of them with that non-threatening act.

Boba's hackles are immediately up when he speaks. Why is this "Dan" apologizing? Who cares if they haven't met? He already knows Miguel, but Miguel is clearly a terrible judge of character. He's been spending all this time and energy on Boba, after all.

There's a slightly too-long pause before Boba remembers that he's supposed to respond.

"I'm Lucky."

There, interaction done. Now where are the flowers?

Miguel seems to be the least bothered in the room for once, though that's probably because he had no reason to feel any sort of physical threat from either of them. His mind was in other, more somber places.

"Dan."

The slouch in his shoulders straightens up on seeing him, though his body's reaction lags like the pushed stern of large ship. Slow and measured. There is a little awkwardness, realizing Dan has been getting a look at more of his softer emotional underbelly than most. Very different from the usual hard-assed persona he projects. But he was glad to see him.

"Kid wants to make his own ofrenda, so we were going on a flower run."

"Pleasure, Lucky." Dan's heard that name a few times around, but hasn't had an opportunity to lay eyes on the youth himself. Elle in particular seemed keen on getting the two of them in a room together.

Dan can figure why just from being a keen study of body language. Lucky's insecure - not in the self-esteem way, but in the way where even a big, competent ally standing next to him isn't enough to keep him from scouting the room for threats. It's what Elle intimated. It's what Dan observes.

"Wouldn't you might know it, I found some flowers some fellow just left behind up here." Dan gestures to the flowers on top of the shelf, then turns to point to them, allowing Lucky to see three quarters of his back. In Dan's experience, trust is never gained without trust being offered. "Sure are a lot of us paying respects to the dead these days."

Boba glares at Miguel when he tells Dan what they're doing. It's none of his business!

"Sure," he says, doubtful. He doesn't think it's been anyone's pleasure to meet him for... cycles.

Boba grabs a stool from a table and moves it in front of the shelves. Unlike Dan, who must be stupid or something to show his back like that, he never lets Dan or Miguel out of his line of sight-- even as he climbs to stand on the stool in an attempt to reach the flowers. They're still barely out of reach. Now he's glaring at the marigolds.

"People die. It's what they do."

Sometimes they get killed. Sometimes you kill them.

Hm. Miguel picks up on the extra tension in the room, but with Lucky, that was almost every day ending in 'y'. Things could get a little more relaxed from time to time when it was just the two of them alone, but a third party always raised his hackles. It changed the dynamic entirely.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad for him to get used to hanging out with someone like Dan. He reaches out to pick up a large bushel off the shelf and plop it into the kid's arms. It was light, as it was all flowers, but it was very voluminous. Truly, he was ready for his spiderly duty of reaching top-shelf items for people who needed it.

"I'm looking for flowers in red, if you know where to get the color." he keeps it vague, leaving it up to the kid to reveal more if he liked.

The problem should be obvious enough: The flowers came in rich golds and yellows, and the gypsophilia and hoary stock supplementing them where white and purple.

“Death and taxes,” Dan says idly, as if he isn’t making a mental note of how Boba said that. He sees that Boba keeps his guard up in spite of Dan telegraphing that he’s letting his down. That’s fine. Dan figures the best he can do is remain warm and non-threatening. If Boba interprets that as Dan just being careless, that’s fine. Better to be read as incompetent than malicious.

“What about poinsettias? There’s plenty of them around here and we can repurpose them as offerings.”

Now Boba's scowling at Miguel again. He could've gotten them by himself!

He hops down from the chair and looks between the two men. Taxes are something he knows about in the abstract, but considering his father was a bounty hunter and Boba's existence is a war crime, he hasn't has occasion to interact with them much. He definitely doesn't know the saying.

"Are they red?"

He wants to make sure since he doesn't know what poinsettias are. He's only been to a few planets that have flowers, and never got the chance to look at any for its own sake. There certainly weren't any flowers in the detention center.

"...Pretty deep shade of red."

It would look a little odd to him for its Christmas-y associations, but it was Boba's offering, so. If the kid approved, on the ofrenda it would go. He will support him along the way. Miguel seems not to mind the kid's surliness at all - he's accepted that Lucky is just someone who glares and scowls a lot.

He levels a silent glance at Dan, hoping he will pick up the ball next and show them where the flowers are.

Edited 2023-12-18 17:38 (UTC)

He picks up where Miguel leaves off. Boba's surliness reminds him of his own daughter. She was closed-off, withdrawn, defensive too, but underneath that she was affectionate and funny and clever and creative and lonely. Dan suspects if he invests time and patience in Boba, he might find similar treasures.

"Very red. Poisonous, too, so North keeps them out of reach of the elves because they ain't got the sense God gave a doorknob." Dan says that with the same sort of exasperated warmth he would use for a beloved puppy that chews on shoes or a toddler that throws food at the wall.

He puts his hands in his pockets, figuring he can repurpose some ribbon from elsewhere later, and gestures with his nose towards the doorway. He gives Boba plenty of time to avoid his personal space bubble as he telegraphs that he's going out that direction.

"I got a bunch of it in my room. Pop of color keeps me a little saner during the winter. Makes me forget we're on an iceberg with two hours of sunlight a day."

Boba perks up a little when Dan mentions that Poinsettias are poisonous. That makes them even more fitting for the altar.

He waits for Dan to reach the door before moving to follow.

"Poisonous how?" If there's a potential resource in the compound, he wants to know. He isn't the best at synthesizing toxins, but he can take an existing compound and concentrate it, and he knows how to make darts. If he could just make some sort of dart gun without Miguel noticing...

He makes sure Miguel is coming too before following Dan down the hall. He doesn't want to be alone with a stranger while his arms are full.

"How much sunlight does your planet usually get, then?"

Boba's been out in the galaxy for a few years, but he's spent the last few months-- maybe a year, he's not really sure-- in a high security prison. When he got here, it was the first time he'd seen the sky in a long time, but he was used to it. On Kamino, where he grew up, the storms were practically constant. Even when it wasn't raining, it was usually cloudy. Sunlight was rare.

"Now he's getting ideas..."

Miguel has spent enough time with Boba to see the look on his face and guess what he was thinking. He's had to anticipate a lot of Mischief, but it's all remained relatively harmless since the kid had felt a little more safe and comfortable on the Pole.

He follows them at the rear of the group, keeping a watchful eye on both. Now that Boba mentioned it, maybe a trip to a sunnier side of the world would be good for him...

Dan sees exactly where Boba's mind is going to, but feels no need to condemn or encourage the ideas. If he tries to lecture Boba about not being dangerous, that will be off-putting and callous to whatever Boba's already gone through, and Dan obviously doesn't want to encourage using poison on people. Thankfully, the nature of poinsettias is a good, morally-neutral cover.

"Unless you're someone real small like the elves or sensitive, poinsettias are just poison enough to give you a rash, an upset stomach and some itchy eyes. Reckon for safety's sake you might should always rinse your hands after handling them." Dan keeps his hands in his pockets, a few steps ahead of Boba to emphasize that he's fine with Boba at his back and outside of Boba's personal space bubble.

"Depends on where on the planet you are and what time of year it is, since the sun's rotating around us. Where I'm from daylight lasts between ten to fourteen hours."

The workshop has a shelf with poinsettias and other seasonal plants spilling over like untidy clothing from a dresser drawer. Dan can get on tip-toe or get a stool to reach them, but he steps aside for Miguel to do the honors; why deny the perks of being around someone a foot taller?

"No it's not," Boba says with a furrowed brow. He glances at Miguel to make sure Dan's being serious.

"Planets orbit stars. Well, they orbit each other, but..." he trails off as he realizes what he's doing. He contradicted Dan without thinking. His shoulders jump up to his ears as he tries to sink into himself, slowing his pace to increase the distance between them.

Which leaves him closer to Miguel, who clearly knows Dan and considers him an ally. Miguel might not be happy with him either.

He edges closer to the wall. The flowers shift as he tightens his grip.

So... it wasn't a weird turn of phrase? His eyebrow raises with the slowly dawning realization that Dan was not, in fact, joking. Well, Miguel isn't going to stand around while first grade science gets butchered right in front of him.

"With the caveat that some dimensions can be odd..." he adds. "The ones with gravity have stars at the center, with the planets orbiting. The Sun is the most massive object in our solar system, so it holds everything else in that system in place - more or less."

Perusing Dan. He doesn't seem like he comes from a dimension with different fundamental physical forces to their own. Oh.

"You've... never seen a chart?"

He reaches up to grab the poinsettias. Dan's never seen a chart, has he? Or been to a Planetarium? But he has access to the internet? This fact was taken so for granted that he's not sure what to make of it.

Edited 2023-12-24 15:28 (UTC)

"Planets and stars are different?" Dan wants to push back with no, moons orbit, not planets, but he has enough humility to understand when he's wrong about something everyone else takes as understood. He doesn't shift out of his casual, unthreatening demeanor, especially as he sees how Boba closes himself off against the wall. That this kid has been brutalized in the past is like a billboard over Boba's head.

"What kind of chart?" Dan thinks of maps of terrain, but he isn't sure how this relates to whether the sun orbits the Earth or vice versa. "Thank you for the gift of your armspan. I get leg cramps from having to go on tip-toe all the time."

talking to ghosts

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