I seldom feel the bright relief // OTA

[dauntless_son]

WHO: Declan Lynch dauntless_son and YOU
WHERE: De Chima
WHEN: January
WHAT: Arrival, settling in, new job, new life?
WARNINGS: None yet, will update as necessary



All Work

De Chima, Virginia, is not a place that Declan ever remembers existing. But here it is, existing, nestled on a map of Virginia that is otherwise very familiar to him. After changing clothes and taking a moment to recharge in his apartment, the first order of business is the new job. He's assured he can take a day or two to settle in more, but he requests a schedule as soon as possible. Much of his first day is spent learning the gallery itself: current installations and exhibits, upcoming events, an overview of current staff, and a run-down of projects that Declan might take on in the next few months.

There is a danger here, of course. This is the kind of job that Declan would like to do well, which sets off a clamor in his head of warnings and bursts of worst-case-scenarios, possibilities, outcomes. He spends half the afternoon shadowing his manager, learning the routine of the place as much as anything else.

Before he leaves, Declan finds himself drawn to one of the exhibits. He stands there for nearly half an hour, slowly moving from one piece to another, taking his time in front of each one. It's difficult to tell if he's appraising or simply appreciating, and it's entirely possible that he's doing both. He isn't sure he likes that someone here knew he has a history with art dealing, but maybe that's the most vanilla thing to call him. Still too exciting, but not inaccurate. He has experiencing with managing creative types and keeping their books.

At the end of his day, Declan sits quietly at a table in a cozy cafe with his binder of things to learn flipped open in front of him. He is possibly taking up more space than he needs to. What is the danger of becoming invested here? He still has reasons to keep himself safe, to keep his head down, to get along. He supposes there's nothing wrong with being a perfectly adequate (though not outstanding) gallery manager. If it starts feeling too exciting, he can look for another job. Something that won't tempt him to excel or otherwise stand out.


And No Play

Within twenty four hours of arriving in De Chima, Declan Lynch finds a Catholic church and a suit to wear to Epiphany services. The suit fits well, at least. A respectable deep charcoal. He arrives to service early and sits quietly in a pew, contemplating the body on the cross at the end of the nave, suspended above and behind the alter. His dark curls have been more or less tamed and he sits with a straight back.

That there is a church at all in town is a comfort; that it is Catholic lends some much needed familiarity and routine. As people filter into the church and the pews, Declan offers polite nods, faint and bland smiles. He sat in a place that won't be in the way as people filter in on either side of him. It doesn't bother him to be in the middle of a group of strangers. Usually he and Ronan sat on either side of Matthew during service.

Shit. There's that wicked roil in his stomach. Is Matthew alright? Is Ronan? The last thing Declan remembers is the fucking security system at the Barns.

He lets go of a slow breath and re-focuses his attention as the service begins. Declan sings every hymn, effortlessly follows every cue to genuflect and rise and sit. He takes communion, and when mass is over, he lingers again.

He just needs time to think. Or time to not think.

[if your character is church-going, feel free to strike up a conversation with Declan before or after mass]


Makes a Dull Boy

His apartment is perfectly adequate. Not as big as the townhouse, but he can manage. It's just him, after all. The first night, he doesn't sleep. He has a prescription for his sleep pills in his wallet, he hopes he can get it filled. If not, he'll have to find a doctor that will write him a new one.

Declan takes the day to run errands. There's things he'd like to have for the apartment, and he can make his current budget work until his paychecks start coming in.

At least De Chima has a wide variety of shopping options. It's not that different from Richmond or some of the NoVA urban centers; this could be his life. He can find the Declan Lynch that lives here, that lives this life.

His eyes are currently glued to his phone screen, eyebrows drawn together as he tries to orient himself with the map he has pulled up. It's his fault, really, when he collides with someone. He has the reaction time of someone used to averting small disasters and, if his victim loses their balance, he's there to help them catch it.

"Pardon me," he says, appropriately contrite and mildly embarrassed. "My fault, completely. Are you alright?"


Wildcard

[Feel free to surprise us! If you want to plot something out or run an idea by me, I'm at givemedragons and givemedragons#7125]

Comments

wildcard ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[nightmarist]

It's been over a year since the final episode of fuckups + tryhards aired on ETV, but that doesn't mean the Lynch-Murphy fandom has quieted down. In fact, there's been a resurgence of interest since Murphy's reappearance, though Murphy himself doesn't remember a single thing about starring on any reality TV show. ETV has been working on Ronan (and presumably Murphy) for weeks now, trying to convince them to return for a third season. Ronan, somewhat preoccupied with the apocalypse and then dying a hideous nightwashed death, hasn't given much thought to the proposal.

But it's January now, and time to consider what the next year will look like. Ronan heads down to ETV's De Chima headquarters for a brief meeting with executives, and apparently his arrival (and the rumored revival of the show) is documented by an excited fan on social media, because there's an entire crowd of teenage girls waiting to greet him by the time he exits the building.

Once upon a time, this would have represented Ronan's idea of Hell. But now he snaps into celebrity mode by reflex, taking the first sharpie that's offered to him and scrawling his name across several oversized photographs of himself (and sometimes Murphy, because who can tell the difference?) in between hunching down to pose for selfies with girls one or two feet shorter than him.

[dauntless_son]

This is Declan's Hell.

Since arriving in this brave new world, Declan has slowly eased into the possibility of another life. He doesn't like it. He doesn't want to be here when he's left so much left behind at a tenuous moment, but if he has no choice, he can cope. He can be Declan Lynch, art gallery assistant. He can be just Declan.

But then he turns a corner and some perverse version of one of his worst nightmares is playing out before him. He has spent his most of his life trying to keep people from turning their eyes toward Ronan, from wondering, from digging into the Greywarren. But there's Ronan - and it is unmistakably Ronan - smiling and posing and--autographing?

Jesus. Jesus.

The earth moves beneath him and his head feels too light for a few seconds. Maybe he's wrong. Maybe this is just some boy who happens to look like his brother, some face that will haunt him here because he will never be able to walk away from any of this.

Declan pulls himself together, once more staid and relatively impassive as he watches the scene unfold. Declan Lynch, art gallery manager. Not Declan Lynch, brother and son of dreamers. The young man he becomes has never had a gun pulled on him, has never had trouble sleeping, and has certainly never had guardianship over two very unusual brothers.

By the time the crowd starts to dissipate, Declan's fingertips are numb. There's really only one way to know.

"Ronan."

[nightmarist]

It has been two weeks and somehow simultaneously three years since Ronan Lynch laid eyes on his older brother. He looks up sharply at the too-familiar sound of his name being spoken like a reprimand, and he answers the call with an irritated, "What?" before it occurs to him that Declan shouldn't exist in this world. This is De Chima, and Declan belongs in the other DC.

"Oh, fuck me."

That's the end of selfie time. Ronan quickly shoos away the last of his fans and pushes past them to join his brother. He greets Declan with a punch to the arm, which is about as much affection as he can muster while several realities go tilting sideways.

[dauntless_son]

The sharp answer is a comfort: that's the Ronan he knows. It's also terrible, because that's the Ronan he knows. Half a dozen questions manifest in Declan's head all at once, the primary ones being how and why? When Ronan punches his arm, he barely feels it; he doesn't even have it in himself to react because the last time he saw Ronan (not the one in the nightmare of crossing the security system at the Barns), he'd been planning to do something stupid. Something that clawed at every instinct Declan has used to survive. He'd been about to make himself known.

And here he is, a world away in a place that is both vaguely recognizable and also picture viewed at an unfamiliar angle.

And in that moment, almost all of his Declanisms fail him.

"Jesus and Mary," he breathes, because he needs the intercession of several saints to make it through this moment and the next several. He wants to touch Ronan, but doesn't. He wants to punch him back; doesn't. And part of him very much wants to hug Ronan. He doesn't. Everything about his brother is familiar, but looking at him long enough tells Declan that isn't so. Ronan's behavior in front of the adoring crowd speaks to a kind of familiarity, a kind of routine, that Declan simply can't imagine him embracing.

Say something.

"You weren't at church."

Not that. Even Declan winces at himself and he lifts a hand to rub at his brow like that might somehow clear the static in his head. It doesn't. He tries again anyway, grasping at something that might be useful.

"Is Matthew--?"

[nightmarist]

If Ronan seems different now, just wait until he takes off his winter hat later and reveals his luxurious mohawk.

He assures Declan quickly, "No." No, Matthew hasn't been here in years, and thank god for that, because there's been so much that Ronan would never want Matthew to experience. His unmaking in particular. But they'll tackle that topic later.

"You went to church?" Alone? goes unspoken. Honestly, Ronan hadn't thought Declan still cared about the state of his soul, considering his foray into politics. "How the fuck long have you been here?"

[dauntless_son]

"It was the Epiphany," he says, as if that explained everything. "I've been here just a couple days."

Going to church had been a much-needed anchor in the middle of a violent eddy of change. At least Catholic mass hadn't changed that much between one world and another. Christ. He's still working on adjusting to that.

It occurs to Declan that Ronan's answer might be (probably is) different.

"How long have you been here?"

All Work

[helpdesk_hero]

There are a lot of people who make use of this cafe, including David Alleyne, a local knower of things. This was where he came after work most days, and here he was now, coming in with a coffee in one hand, a stuffed full shoulder bag over one arm and even more books tucked under one arm.

He too soon has a table taken up, one next to where Declan has settled down. He even gets a few sips into his drink before his eyes come over to the other man and he raises an eyebrow.

"Adjusting to a new job?"

[dauntless_son]

Declan glances up at the address when he realizes it's directed at him. He offers a bland smile.

"Is it that obvious?" he asks, wondering if this somehow makes him stand out or if it was just an observation by someone close enough to see the binder. Declan sits up straight and picks up his coffee; he's well-dressed, carefully styled, and handsome in a way that is difficult to really remember once one's attention drifts somewhere else.

[helpdesk_hero]

Entirely just an observation from someone close enough to see the binder. And, at that, someone with a genius intellect who sees the binder. Plus who is a regular at this particular cafe. But David lets his eyes roll over Declan quickly, briefly interested. Well-dressed, carefully styled and handsome. As fitting a description for David himself. However, he manages to remain memorable due to small things, like wearing gloves inside and having nearly all of his skin colored and the yellow tinted glasses.

It's almost like David wants noticed. Which absolutely isn't true.

"No. Your binder, it's got things in it that seem like either you should be reviewing or learning. And I've never seen you around before, so I'm assuming it's new material. I made a shot in the dark. So I guess I succeeded?"

[dauntless_son]

Declan isn't even the kind of uninteresting that draws notice. He isn't mysterious, he's just boring. And he prefers it that way. He takes a drink from his mug as he considers the binder in front of him.

"A new job," he confirms. After a beat he adds, "And a new arrival."

If it's obvious to someone, there's no sense in lying about it. That's a way to get caught. Declan sits back and runs his thumb along the edge of his mug.

"It's a lot to take in. The being here part, on top of being handed an entirely new life and living situation."

[helpdesk_hero]

A new arrival? Oh. David gets it then. He gives the man a bit more attention for that, extending his own hand to offer it for a shake.

"David Alleyne, also an imPort, and definitely still adjusting though I've lived here for a bit now. And the adjustment really is a bit weighty."

He does feel bad for people dealing with the change.

"Hopefully you like the job."

[dauntless_son]

He accepts the offered hand in a brief, firm shake.

"It's a job," he says with a bland smile. Declan suspects he will do at this job what he has done at every other: well enough to stay on, unremarkable enough to avoid accolades or special recognition. Maybe it doesn't mater as much here with the way Ronan is so public, but maybe it will. And this is how he survives.

"How long is a bit?"

Makes a Dull Boy

[mofi]

De Chima, the same city that one (1) John Murphy resides in. It isn't too often he strays from the Meadows. It's home, it's safe and there's no real reason to wander through De Chima. Things have gotten askew in the last month, however. How he treated Ronan. How he attacked Rupert. He needed space or maybe he was giving space to everyone else because John Murphy is a lot to handle. And, so, we find Murphy traipsing through the streets of De Chima.

That makes two people not paying attention to what's ahead of them. Murphy has done a fine job of scrolling through his phone without a hiccup. Until, well, until Declan walks right into him. Murphy's phone nearly slips out of his hand. He curses, under his breath, clutching his phone; his dialysis machine.

"The hell are you going that you need to mow people over, asshole." he asks, a very pointed look is being shot at Declan.

[dauntless_son]

Two things happen immediately: another dizzy rush of familiar-but-not when he sees the person that just slammed into him, and a sharp flash of reactionary anger at the comment. The anger is easy to hide. The intense way he looks at the boy is not.

The face is Ronan's, but it isn't. The body is learner, shorter, the hair different. The look on his face, though pointed and annoyed, is not the same look Ronan has ever given him when feeling the same.

Declan stands straight and brushes non-existent dust from his coat.

"Doesn't matter," he answers blithely. Who the hell is this wearing his brother's face? Ronan couldn't have warned him? "At least I was looking up."

[mofi]

There's a vague familiarity in Declan's face, but it's not quite there. The man's features do awfully remind him of Ronan, though. He doesn't know why he thinks that. The thought slips through his fingers the moment Declan says something.

His eyes tick down, an indiscrete look over before they drift back to Declan's face. "Then I guess you need glasses if you didn't see me." Murphy straightens himself and dusts off Declan's bullshit off his shoulders.

[dauntless_son]

"Glad we could make that clear," he sighs, already done with this non-fight. He wants to ask questions, wants a name to go with this face that is intimately familiar and on a person he doesn't know.

This isn't the way he usually does things. But he's done a lot of abandoning business-as-usual lately, what's one more thing?

"What's your name?"

[mofi]

His brows furrow, one quirks higher than the other. Murphy wasn't expecting that question.

"Ronan." He lies through his teeth, much like Declan Lynch himself. Giving out his real name did not seem like a good idea.

The edges of his lips curl, a small smirk blossoming across his face. "I got shit to do." Another lie. "It was nice chatting with you." Third lie.

[dauntless_son]

The first thing to becoming a good liar is to have the right information. This kid fails with the first claim out of his mouth. Declan looks at him harder, debating. It’s too late to feign recognition now.

“No, you aren’t.” The confidence is set in stone; this is not Ronan and longer Declan looks at him the more differences he finds. “You aren’t tall enough, and you have no idea who I am.”

He doesn’t care if the kid goes on his way now or not. Declan just wants him to know the lie was a bad gamble.

Makes a dull boy

[sassydadfriend]

To be fair, Sammy's not completely paying that much attention to where he's going either. He's lost in his thoughts about something he's working on at work and simultaneously he's rolling his eyes still over the fact that he's working for a conspiracy publication. How is this is life? It's worse than King Falls AM and there's no Ben here to provide a balance in the stories to his cynicism.

So he's responding with, "Oh no, I'm sorry. I wasn't looking." At least he was sturdy enough that he hadn't been knocked off balance or something more embarrassing.

"I'm fine," he assures.

Wildcard, after the fight. What fight? Sophie asks

[ficcion]

She asked him if he wanted to see how her power worked, and he had said yes. So Sophie was going to go and show him, she guessed. Nothing like pulling something into reality from a piece of paper as a talent show, right?

The whole getting to wherever Declan is dynamic though... Sophie needs to work the maps and the buses and the everything because she has never been to the States, weird alternate version or not. There's a lot of fidgeting with her phone and double guessing and a bit of getting lost, too. She's pretty sure that Declan would've probably met her halfway had she asked, but that would be rude, Sophie thinks. He's offering his house for the demonstration (and most likely to talk without the barriers put by being behind a screen) so she couldn't ask more of him.

But eventually, Sophie finds herself in front of a nondescript door that's most likely Declan's. She thinks. It has to be. Sophie lifts a hand and knocks gingerly first, but then adds a couple more of stronger knocks.

"...Declan? It's Sophie."

[dauntless_son]

He answers after the second round of knocks and for two seconds doesn't recognize the person at his door. His device is pretty good, but there's a difference between seeing people on a screen and seeing them in person for the first time. She's young, sixteen, and he feels ancient at twenty one.

It doesn't hurt that he is currently dealing with bruised ribs and fading black eye. The nanites are working over time to heal the damage, but they aren't instant miracle workers. He offers Sophie a smile when she says her name.

"Hey, Sophie. I would've come to meet you somewhere if I knew you were on your way. Come in."

He opens the door more. His apartment looks like something out of a magazine or advertisement. It's aesthetically pleasing and utterly impersonal. It's hard to tell if it was like that when he moved in or if this is his decorating style.

[ficcion]

He sure could've brought her over... but once Sophie takes a good look at him, she forgets about it. Any thought about it vanishes she moment she gets a good look at him. His face... and the way he stands, the damage goes beyond that, she can tell.

She takes a step forward, one hand reaching out before she realizes what she's going. Fingers curl in the space between them. It's not as if she was going to touch his face

"Declan? What happened to you?"

She walks in anyway, but doesn't go too far in. Worry is evident in her face and she's not walking ahead Declan. What if he trips or falls or anything?

[dauntless_son]

"A misunderstanding got out of hand."

It is, quite possibly, the most benign way to describe his first, and possibly last, visit to the Meadows. He lets the door close as Sophie steps further in. Declan tries to think of what he can do to assuage her worry.

"I'm alright," he assures her. Physically, he's alright. He isn't sure what to do about Kylo and Ronan, or the way his brother seems so completely wrapped up in this other person. "I grew up boxing, this isn't so bad. And apparently the nanites we have make healing faster."

[ficcion]

Sophie stares for a moment before sighing, also deflating a bit as she does that.

"You got beaten up, too. Do I need to worry about the other guy?" Because if Declan looks like this, she's not sure she want to know how he left them. The bit about the nanites makes sense... in a weird way that she's not technologically advanced enough to understand.

She ultimately goes and sits in the first sofa she sees, sinking a bit. "Maybe I should make you some ice." Ah yes, that's clever, right?

[dauntless_son]

He almost laughs. "No, I don't think you need to worry about the other guy."

Declan isn't sure if he managed to actually hurt Kylo. He knows he landed some good hits in some vulnerable places, but it had been dark. He runs one hand over the other, lightly touching the fading bruises on his knuckles.

"I'll only ask you to make ice if it's for a drink or something," he says, pausing after she sits. "Would you like one?"