Donquixote Rosinante (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
callada) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ximilialog2022-09-26 07:57 pm
callada) wrote in ximilialog2022-09-26 07:57 pm
The night comes, your stars are missing
CHARACTERS: Rosinante, open
LOCATION: Around the Ximilia
DATE: Late September after Law's disappearance
CONTENT: Losing one's best friend in the face of an uncertain future is hard
WARNINGS: brooding
It's not that unusual to wake up and find Law already out of the room rather than curled up under blankets. He's an even earlier riser than Rosinante is, and Rosinante's habit of cocooning them both in a sound barrier on the station when sleeping means Law can get up, rummage around in the closet, make coffee, and whatever else he wants to do without the noise being a problem.
It's only later he realizes he didn't smell any coffee that morning, when thinking back on it. After swinging by the infirmary to find Law never came in. After checking the common room, the sunshine room, and then, reluctantly, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, the contacts list on the Ximilia network.
Unlisted. Gone.
He keeps to himself and their room most of that first day. Smokes more cigarettes than he really needs to, but he's not really hungry enough to leave. He organizes their things. Punches the wall hard enough to split a knuckle. Cries like he's eight years old again, until he gets his head under control and lights another cigarette. Hopes nobody heard that thunk from the punch out in the hallway, as he gets a bandage from the bathroom.
But as good as he is at being a complete hermit, he doesn't want to be, not around this group. It would stand out too obvious as different from how he's been for months and invite too many questions. So the next day, he drags himself to the mess hall right after showering, digs around in the kitchen until he finds someone's open-to-all leftover rice, and dumps some disparate ingredients on top of it just for general nutrition before sitting down with his bowl to eat breakfast.
His elbow knocks his water glass off the table, and it shatters. He flinches, but doesn't get up right away to do anything about it.
Eventually, he winds up in the simulation room. The simulation runs all day, unless someone stops him and insists they need some time in there too. Inside, a lavish study full of books, portraits, and velvet-covered chairs awaits - though a more careful inspection will notice that the portraits cover cracks in the walls, the wood floor is stained and stressed, and the furniture doesn't quite match, as if assembled piecemeal rather than acquired as a set. A large window behind a table looks out onto a trash heap that stretches all the way to the shoreline.
Bizarrely, an open door on one end of the study connects to what must be the interior of a ship, for it rocks in the waves visible outside the windows. In here, between upended treasure chests and scattered sheets of paper, amidst a cloud of his own smoke, Rosinante paces with his hands in his pockets.
"Where the hell would he have it," he mutters under his breath - and a quick glance toward anyone entering shows he's clearly not oblivious that he has wound up with a visitor.
LOCATION: Around the Ximilia
DATE: Late September after Law's disappearance
CONTENT: Losing one's best friend in the face of an uncertain future is hard
WARNINGS: brooding
It's not that unusual to wake up and find Law already out of the room rather than curled up under blankets. He's an even earlier riser than Rosinante is, and Rosinante's habit of cocooning them both in a sound barrier on the station when sleeping means Law can get up, rummage around in the closet, make coffee, and whatever else he wants to do without the noise being a problem.
It's only later he realizes he didn't smell any coffee that morning, when thinking back on it. After swinging by the infirmary to find Law never came in. After checking the common room, the sunshine room, and then, reluctantly, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, the contacts list on the Ximilia network.
Unlisted. Gone.
He keeps to himself and their room most of that first day. Smokes more cigarettes than he really needs to, but he's not really hungry enough to leave. He organizes their things. Punches the wall hard enough to split a knuckle. Cries like he's eight years old again, until he gets his head under control and lights another cigarette. Hopes nobody heard that thunk from the punch out in the hallway, as he gets a bandage from the bathroom.
But as good as he is at being a complete hermit, he doesn't want to be, not around this group. It would stand out too obvious as different from how he's been for months and invite too many questions. So the next day, he drags himself to the mess hall right after showering, digs around in the kitchen until he finds someone's open-to-all leftover rice, and dumps some disparate ingredients on top of it just for general nutrition before sitting down with his bowl to eat breakfast.
His elbow knocks his water glass off the table, and it shatters. He flinches, but doesn't get up right away to do anything about it.
Eventually, he winds up in the simulation room. The simulation runs all day, unless someone stops him and insists they need some time in there too. Inside, a lavish study full of books, portraits, and velvet-covered chairs awaits - though a more careful inspection will notice that the portraits cover cracks in the walls, the wood floor is stained and stressed, and the furniture doesn't quite match, as if assembled piecemeal rather than acquired as a set. A large window behind a table looks out onto a trash heap that stretches all the way to the shoreline.
Bizarrely, an open door on one end of the study connects to what must be the interior of a ship, for it rocks in the waves visible outside the windows. In here, between upended treasure chests and scattered sheets of paper, amidst a cloud of his own smoke, Rosinante paces with his hands in his pockets.
"Where the hell would he have it," he mutters under his breath - and a quick glance toward anyone entering shows he's clearly not oblivious that he has wound up with a visitor.
no subject
He takes another step back to idly thumb at some loose sheet of paper, or some desktop trinket, just another detail in this elaborate simulation.
He shakes his head. ]
That way lies a very dangerous line of thinking, my friend. There are always going to be the 'what-if's and the 'but's. Of course, there are fixed points in the universe where events will always happen the way they're meant to — far too much rides on that fact — but the rest of it might split off into different branches, and most people will never see what they might look like. It's really all a bit wibbly-wobbly. You just need to learn to be at peace with it, I'm afraid.
And it isn't easy, no. But knowledge never really is.
no subject
But he resists, if only because he doesn't want to snap at one of the few people here he thinks he can generally put some amount of trust in. He tenses, though. Doesn't like the response one bit.
It's also not the first time he's heard something like it, and long ago he decided that if all he can do is make one parallel timeline a better place, then it's worth it to do so. It just hurts, knowing how many might end in misery.]
Knowledge isn't easy, but it's preferable to ignorance.
[A protest against that answer, but a tamed one after giving himself a few seconds to hold his tongue.]
But I understand your point. And I don't think it's productive to spend my whole time here suffering because I can't set every world right. It's just... difficult. I want Law to be happy no matter where he is.
no subject
[ And while it does hurt, and it does often hurt a lot, the Doctor agrees with the sentiment. He'd rather know than not know, every time. It's why he does the things he does — and why he continues to do them despite the pain that comes along with it. ]
I know. [ His voice is soft again. ] And I'm sorry that there's no real way to tell whether that might be true or not.
no subject
[He flops himself down into a large plush chair, one sized properly for someone like him. He's sat in the real thing plenty of times, knows exactly how it looks plush and elegant if you overlook the chipped paint, but how inside it's not as comfortable as it looks like it ought to be - the back is a little too firm, and the padding in the seat isn't even anymore. Shame his brother was never satisfied with being king of the rubbish pile.]
I have a bad habit of trying to do more than what's supposed to be possible. Stubbornness runs in the family.
no subject
[ The Doctor hums, and he presses his mouth into a thin line even while his eyes alight with the spark of someone who can relate so succinctly to a statement that's just been said.
He crosses his arms and his smile, while very slight, is ruefully amused. ]
I believe you and I have that in common, all the way down to that stubbornness. And it gets me into much more trouble than it doesn't, honestly. But we don't give up, do we? How can we if there's even the barest possibility that something might be possible?
[ He frowns. ]
Take the reason we're all here, undoing some regret that could change everything for some of us. I don't even know if it's possible. I don't even know if it should be.
no subject
Hasn't stopped me from trying anyway. They're good at picking people desperate for any chance at change, aren't they?
no subject
[ The Doctor offers his friend a rueful smile. ]
We all hold that glimmer of hope, and it's that glimmer of hope that those pesky little buggers are using to hold us close. Suppose we'll have to see it all through to the end then, eh? Whatever happens.
Because if it isn't anything good, we'll need to stop it too.
no subject
[What a tragedy that would be, assembling all these things only to realize they've made a terrible mistake they'll have to undo themselves. It's very much the sort of cruel irony he's seen so many times in his life already.
But. He'd be right there to help, he knows it. Better to undo a mistake than to leave it for everyone else to handle.]