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

[dauntless_son]

Declan frowns as he listens, but it's more of an introspective, concerned sort of expression rather than something outright disapproving. He seems to consider that information for a moment, quiet and staring off at nothing in particular.

When he looks up, he tries to push down his worry.

"And you're alright?"

Because it sounds like Ronan has become more easy to abuse, the danger of losing himself more real. Worst case scenarios run through his head as automatically as breathing. Damage control, protection, complications, consequences.

And some flicker of him wonders what it would feel like to be a dreamer.

[nightmarist]

Ronan meets Declan's eyes, anticipating the worry he finds there. Even he recognizes the cause for concern. The legend come true, a wish-granting something that can now be possessed by anyone. For someone devoted to maintaining Ronan's status as Ronan Lynch and not the Greywaren, it must be a nightmare.

"Yeah."

Declan is a little too late.

"I like it, actually. Not being alone."

[dauntless_son]

Declan's nightmares are real; he can't shape them, just watch them play out, helpless to turn back the momentum. He runs his thumb along the lip of the mug and nods, if only to let Ronan know he hasn't completely retreated into his head about this. How could he not be worried? How could he not consider all the worst things he's seen during a life with Niall and Ronan?

But Ronan had always been his own, not beholden to other people. He never got caught up the way Niall did in a world that would (and had, in their father's case) eat him alive. Not that dreams were any safer, but--

"It's probably much too late to tell you to be careful." He knows that. He knows Ronan. Everything Declan has tried to protect him from has manifested, not just back in their world but here, too.

[nightmarist]

This is where Ronan would have previously leveled a flat stare at Declan and snapped back a shitty remark. But no, too much has happened - here and back home - for him to dismiss Declan's warnings, however unnecessary.

"I'm picky about my dreamers," Ronan assures him, though he and Declan probably don't share the same criteria. What Ronan deems worthy has never proven to be particularly good for him.

[dauntless_son]

"That's a start."

He tries to be generous with that; Ronan is still alive, still himself, and if being picky helped with that then it's a step in the right direction. Declan thinks he needs to be more than just picky, given Ronan's general tendency to just throw his heart ahead of him and follow after it.

Declan drinks his coffee. There are words sitting between them that he doesn't know how to nudge toward Ronan. Despite everything, he loves Ronan. And he feels like he should say it that simply. But love has been dangerous for both of them. He should've said it before Ronan went off to find Bryde.

"This is where I'm working." He takes a business card out of his pocket and leaves it on the counter. He'd mentioned an art gallery, but he'd never said which one. Ronan probably could have found him without much difficulty, but now he knows the concrete place. "My number's the same."

If Ronan still has the phone he arrived with. Or if he remembers it.

[nightmarist]

Ronan regards the business card with a flicker of disdain. Not because it's Declan's, but because it's a business card, which feels like an awfully impersonal method of passing information. He is not a mere associate, after all.

He pockets it, anyway.

"I still don't answer my phone," Ronan warns. "But you can find the Meadows exactly where the Barns would be. There's not even a security system."

[dauntless_son]

Declan's jaw ticks, only because he remembers the mounting desperation he felt trying to get a hold of Ronan when things were falling apart with Matthew. He isn't surprised that nothing has changed.

So he nods.

"I don't expect you to," he admits. Ronan has almost broken Declan of ever trying to depend on him. And he had dozens of reasons to never go to the Barns again, but maybe he shouldn't attach those to the Meadows. He has no childhood memories of it, no trauma attached to it, no reason to avoid it.

"Do you... want me to come by?"

Ronan has a life here. Declan realizes he hadn't assumed that he'd be invited to be part of it. A lot of the things that caused tension between them for years aren't here. But a lot of things travel just as easily as the Lynch brothers do.

[nightmarist]

What kind of question is that?

Sure, things haven't always been the most peaceful between them, but it's been a long time since either of them wanted to be free of the other. As uncomfortable and awkward as it will be to introduce Declan to the many strange elements of his life here, Ronan would never have considered excluding him.

They're brothers. The only family they have, now. And after they're done here, they might never see each other again.

"Dipshit," Ronan mutters. "Yeah, I want you to come by."

[dauntless_son]

Declan nods. Maybe he earned that look Ronan is giving him, but he doesn't apologize for asking. Three years is a long time.

"Tell me when to stop by and I will." If the Meadows is where the Barns is supposed to be, Declan is pretty sure he can find it even without directions. How will it feel driving to a home that's completely different?

Where is he going to get a car? He'll cross that bridge when he gets to it. He's sure he can rent one or something.

[nightmarist]

"Let me check my ledger," Ronan drawls sarcastically. "As you know, I keep a very busy schedule, but I'll try to pencil you in between cow milking and naptime."

He pushes off the counter and stalks over to fetch the coffee he's been ignoring until now. It gives him a good excuse to keep his face turned away from Declan.

"Come by whenever. I don't leave."

[dauntless_son]

"You never leaving doesn't mean that you'll want me there at any time," Declan counters. "Or showing up unannounced."

It doesn't surprise him to hear that Ronan has settled into a life at the Meadows, though. He'd done that at the Barns before a series of unfortunate events starting in Boston and culminating somewhere between Maryland and Virginia. He'd seemed happy enough before all that. Maybe he's found more stability here.

[nightmarist]

Ronan slurps down the entire mug of coffee in three gulps, then toasts Declan with it before plunking it back onto the counter.

"Okay, well, knock before you come barging in. It's a very clothing-optional household these days."

[dauntless_son]

Declan sighs, pained, at that information.

"Jesus, Ronan."

He'll call ahead, though that means practically nothing if Ronan doesn't answer his phone. Maybe he should just insist that Ronan visit him here, if he wants to socialize. Declan can at least guarantee that no one will be walking around his apartment without clothes on.

In the very back of his mind, something about that knowledge feels pathetic, but he simply doesn't bring people back home if he can help it. He goes to their place, he gets a hotel room, he finds excuses. He decides not to dwell on it and finishes his coffee.

[nightmarist]

They would all be worse off if he gave Declan no warning whatsoever. That was the very gentlest way he could possibly touch on that topic.

"On that note, don't google me, either."

[dauntless_son]

Of course, now he'll have to google Ronan.

"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.

[nightmarist]

"I'm pretty sure it's what you don't wanna see," Ronan scoffs. "Just believe me when I tell you that all the redtube stuff is deepfakes and I haven't actually embarked on a professional porn career. Even in your absence, I have not fallen quite that deeply into sin."

[dauntless_son]

Declan wonders if this alternate universe has somehow perfected bringing actual nightmares to fruition. He rubs his forehead, not sure if it's a headache coming on or just his pressing sense of propriety and dedication to being unknown pounding against his skull. There are deep fakes of his brother doing God knows what on the internet.

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?"

[nightmarist]

"Probably, but you look like you've got the vapors and it's nothing we can't tackle later."

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.

[dauntless_son]

He needs to stock his medicine cabinet and soon. Declan doesn’t even bother to argue that he’s fine; it’s been a long few days and now he has more to think about as he tries to settle into this new life.

“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?”

[nightmarist]

Ronan is reasonably sure Declan's telling him a lie. There's no way he's not picking up a girl named Ashley in the next day or so, now that he doesn't have to keep an eye on Matthew anymore. But Ronan leaves that comment unspoken. His skeptical eyebrow does enough of the talking.

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."

[dauntless_son]

Declan probably will find someone, but that doesn’t mean he intends to bring them back to his place to have sex.

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?”

[nightmarist]

Ronan laughs humorlessly, incredulous. They've had the same spiritual schooling. Declan should know. Unless he has been very determined not to think about it, all this time: that he's the only one in their family who would be welcomed by God.

"I'm not human."

[dauntless_son]

Declan has not thought that. Not about Ronan, anyway, if only because he knows very well what will happen to poor Matthew if Ronan should die. But this is different; Ronan isn't a dream.

"Because you're a dreamer or because Aurora is your mother?"

He just wants to know where he needs to start building his argument.

[nightmarist]

"Because I'm not human."

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?"

[dauntless_son]

"No," he says quietly. "You've always spilled out of yourself."

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.