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
"It's lovely," he says after a moment. Sophie looks so delighted, he doesn't really want to see her deflate for any reason. The rose is imbued with the same kind of strange promise that some dream things are: a flower that won't wilt when, by all rights, it should be as susceptible to age as any of them.
He'll keep it somewhere safe all the same. Maybe in his room, next to the wallet-sized photo of his family.
"Thank you."
He sets the rose aside carefully.
"I'm not sure something is worth more or less because of what it cost someone to get it. Or maybe the cost is just different."
no subject
"Hmmm... I guess it's unfair not to give value to something for their intrinsic value against the effort required to obtain it." Still, it doesn't sit entirely well with her. "I hadn't thought it about it that way. Maybe there's space for compromise on both views."
But that also reminds her of something else. "So what power do you have? Or... maybe it's private? I've heard some people get silly powers." Declan seems to be a lot of things, but silly isn't one of them.
no subject
Her question makes a faint, sad smile flicker across his face. A real expression, even if it only lasts for a second.
"My only talent lies in stripping other people of what makes them special," he says after a moment. "And whatever powers that be have decided to make that more literal."
Maybe that's too cryptic, but part of him feels this should be guarded, somehow. Sophie seems safe, she's like Ronan and has as much to lose as his brother does. Maybe here, none of that matters.
"I can--cancel out other people's powers, I guess."
no subject
"But you can control when it happens, because my powers are still working. I think it could be useful, sometimes people don't want to have to worry about things like powers." She smiles at him reassuringly.
"And I think they chose the perfect person to have that power, you don't seem like the kind of person that would abuse it."
no subject
Declan isn't inclined to abuse this power, but he can already see its applications. The government must know and he has mild concerns about having a few suits knock on his door. Paranoia hasn't failed him yet.
He looks at the rose again and a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, something real, just for a second. He thinks of the ORBMASTER he has hidden in his room; he needs to find a better place for these things.
"But it's the kind of thing that's difficult to practice."
no subject
Sophie herself hasn't considered the ramifications of her own power in relation to the powers that be... yet. She'll have that small headache to deal with some other time.
"Well, you can practice with me. No chance of you causing problems; either I pull a pair of socks from a page or not. Totally safe."
no subject
"Thank you," he adds. Because he wonders if - he worries - something bad might happen to Sophie if he did it. What if her power is somehow keeping her... alive?
no subject
It's okay. That's the only power they gave you? If you are going to get powers, you should at least get something you want to use.
no subject
Which is utterly appropriate for who Declan is, or who he has made himself into. Why would they give him any sort of power that wasn't utilitarian? Nothing that might spark wonder or joy the way Ronan's power can.
All he can do is take all that away. Maybe it's fitting.
no subject
Somehow, Sophie can tell Declan isn't all that happy about it anyway. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy that sees happiness as a regular feeling in his life. It's a bit sad, but also... mysterious. And Sophie likes a good mystery.
"I'm sure it'll be a time when you have the chance to shine like a hero... maybe."
It's the best she can do right now.