Declan Lynch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dauntless_son) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2020-01-06 02:16 am
dauntless_son) wrote in maskormenacelogs2020-01-06 02:16 am
Entry tags:
I seldom feel the bright relief // OTA
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![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
givemedragons and givemedragons#7125]
dauntless_son and YOUWHERE: 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
no subject
"On that note, don't google me, either."
no subject
"What is it that you don't want me to see?"
If it is sufficiently scandalous enough, Declan might consider not looking. There are some things he probably doesn't need to know about his brother, regardless of how open or honest Ronan might tend to be. And there are clearly things that Ronan doesn't want Declan to see.
no subject
no subject
This is fine.
"I won't google you," he promises. Not without one hell of a safe search function on. "Is there anything else you need to warn me about?"
no subject
That, and Ronan needs some time to figure out how to explain that he's fallen in love with a warlock prince from outer space.
no subject
“I’ll get you a key.” He’s said it once but he says it again to remind himself to have a copy or two made. “You can come over whenever, I don’t expect there will be anyone naked for you to worry about.”
Jesus help him.
“Are you still going to mass?”
no subject
The next question bothers him. He can't help but feel judgment hiding somewhere behind it. "Sometimes," he answers with a shrug. "I mostly pray alone. Sacraments are kind of wasted on something that doesn't have a soul."
no subject
But he’s entirely focused on Ronan’s verbal answer, not with judgement but another flash of concern.
“Why would you say you don’t have a soul?”
no subject
"I'm not human."
no subject
"Because you're a dreamer or because Aurora is your mother?"
He just wants to know where he needs to start building his argument.
no subject
And it serves no one - Ronan least of all - to pretend that he is. It's what Bryde set out to teach him, but even without his help, Ronan spent countless hours curled up in the chapel leafing through enormous theological tomes and came to the same conclusion.
"Humans are in one place. All of you - your entire soul - is contained in one vessel. It's why you have a soul and angels don't."
Formless. Spirits without an anchor. Purpose without personhood.
"And then there's me. What do you think? Is all of me contained in one place?"
no subject
Once upon a time, Declan saw it with awe and wonder. Then terror. The wonder. Appropriate, given the stories he knows about celestial beings. Ronan is more, more than even Niall had been. Something in him cracks a little, and he wonders if he is truly so separate from both of his brothers, from everyone in their family. And he wonders if somehow, sometime soon, he's going to lose Ronan and Matthew, too.
He takes a deep breath and lets it go slowly.
"You're still my brother. And I'll be at mass on Sundays, if you decide you'd like to go."
Maybe Matthew isn't here and maybe Ronan doesn't go anymore, but Declan will. It's the one ritual they kept up even when they lived apart. If nothing else, it's a routine to keep. Something he can do here. Even if he is, ostensibly, supposed to be on some kind of vacation.
no subject
Declan should have led with that invitation. Piety, although present in all of them to varying degrees, was never the reason any of the Lynch brothers went to church.
It catches up to Ronan slowly, that what Declan thought he was rejecting was him. Which is a mark of Ronan's growth, because back home it would have escaped him entirely. His eyebrows draw together as he considers his older brother. He should say something more, but with Declan, he never seems to know what. So he just gives his brother's arm an affectionate and hopefully reassuring slap.
no subject
It's not the best hug, it's awkward and unsure because it's been years, probably a decade or more, since he tried this. But it's also fierce, trying to make up for things Declan doesn't know how to say.
It doesn't last long. He lets Ronan go and steps back, giving them both space. Distance. It's almost effortless to button back down. He isn't the kind of person that has a brother that was nearly murdered for being a dreamer. He isn't the sort of person that has another brother that walks with purpose towards a riot of a river thundering between state lines. This apartment is as interesting as he gets.
"And... maybe I'll come by the Meadows after Sunday service."
no subject
I'm not dead. Stop acting like I'm dead.
But it's over before he can get the words out, and then there's no need for them. "Come by sooner," Ronan tells him instead, his voice edging on annoyance to cover how shaken he is. And then, to avoid anything verging on a goodbye, he swiftly shows himself out.