[closed]

[blitzcheer]

WHO: Tidus & others
WHAT: just some closed starters
WHERE: around
WHEN: during january!
WARNINGS: will be hecking added if applicable

tidus

& arkady: link; mention of drug use (in the past)
& harry du bois: link; mentions of drug use, alcohol consumption
& crazy jane: link
& harry du bois, arkady: penguins
& nida nomura: vroom vroom

Comments

[blitzcheer]

[ Harry actually had music on him? Tidus can’t fathom why, but the reason’s unnecessary to ask when he instead thinks: What was he holding before he came here? What could he have right now?

There was Brotherhood, his sword, but he of course he wouldn’t have that; as if the Head would let him keep a weapon. The memory spheres of his father... but he left them on the airship before they went inside Sin. There was no point in bringing them when he was finally going to see his old man for real.

And...it wouldn’t have mattered if he had, or if the Heart would’ve allowed him the sword, would it? He wouldn’t have had them. He couldn't have had them.

He couldn’t even hold Yuna. How could he hold a blade, or even one of his father's memory spheres?

His gaze drops from the player and Harry, hardly listening, but still the words catch in his ears -- in a pawn-shop last week -- enough for him to recognise what Harry is saying. Head snapping up, he speaks without caring about tone, an insistence to it that borders on a plea. Is a plea, hopeful and hoping. ]

Can you show me sometime? The pawn-shop -- can you take me?

[hobocop]

[Harry - breaking out of his reverie around disco's heyday - blinks stupidly at what strikes him a sudden, blindingly sincere request. There was a mood change there and he missed it.]

The pawn-shop? [Good old repetition to pad out the time required for his brain to play catch up.] Uh... sure. Yeah, man. No problem.

[His eyes drift over to the phone he left sat on his mess of bed sheets. It strikes him that he has no idea what time it is, and therefore no idea whether or not the place would even be open.]

Sometime after work, maybe?

[He'd suggest before, first thing in the morning, but dragging Tidus around in the midst of some brutal hangover sounds hellish, frankly.]

[blitzcheer]

[ Harry agrees, and for all that Tidus wanted him to, joy doesn’t exactly succeed it, but a feeling akin to a buzzing in his chest, or stomach. Somewhere in there.

But -- what will he find? Anything? Music from Zanarkand? Trinkets, any signs that his home used to once … be. Existed. A life he was ready to forget. ]

Yeah.

[ His reply as lightheaded as the rest of him, Tidus untucks his legs from under himself, a small ache in his calves as his feet meet the ground. There’s a stiffer ache in the rest of him, and it takes a second for his blood to circulate in all the right places, his mind to figure out some string of words. ]

I should get going. I… thanks for this, Harry. Our chat. You, uh… you can tell me what’s a good day for everything. [ His nods his head aside, remembering somehow to lower his voice; remembering maybe a little too late. ] The other thing too.

[ --The feeling, it's ether apprehension or anticipation.

Both similar, but he can't tell which. ]

[hobocop]

[It doesn't take much for Harry to put himself in Tidus's shoes, and guess why his tone changed all of the sudden. Not now he's had a moment to think, anyway.

Although he sees his heraldic bird as a cockatoo of all things, a magpie might better represent the man he's become. At least in that he's arrived here having hoarded every piece of shrapnel that struck him as interesting. Tidus likely didn't have the fortune of coming in with a jacket overstuffed with books, reels and useless plastic figurines.

Yet for all he can sympathize on that particular score, he still gets an unpleasant lurch as Tidus announces his departure.

INLAND EMPIRE — He's leaving?

Harry simply stares for a moment, jaw set firmly. Then he nods, because object permanence is a thing and he's an adult and people leave all the time. That's normal.]

Sure. [Casual. Cool. He's not a co-dependent piece of shit.] I'll call you.

[He pushes himself away from the wall and gives a wide, sweeping gesture as he approaches the door. A come on, hop to it.]

You look after yourself, okay?