[i. Sitting inside the blanket fort is a somewhat familiar pastime at this point. Noah crosses his legs underneath a canopy, exhaling as he tries to just focus on the here and now- and not dwell on the horrors that he and Faye and Robin went through in four days. His smile is soft and hands are clasped together as he breathes out, already feeling better now that he's surrounded by familiar faces.]
Thank you. For coming, I mean.
[He knows they didn't have to, but this was something they wanted to. He's so grateful for it.
ii. At some point he's moved from the floor to the couch, resting there even as other people move about and settle in for the night. He looks comfortable, honestly, and is just fine with talking to other people. But there's something very clearly bothering him, too- something that doesn't quite seem to lend itself to the spaceship or what happened there. Noah bites his lip, calm face now moving to look more uncertain, trying to process how to actually talk about what's been eating him alive from the inside-out.]
How... how do you deal with memories that prove you're a terrible person?
[How can he live, knowing that as Sunday, he went and put people into an endless dream in order to keep them happy? That he forced his ideal vision of a pain-free life onto others who even came close to Penacony's reach? That he was willing to become an Aeon and live the rest of his existence as a lonely and isolated being, focused on making a paradise that he and Robin wanted as children? How can he just go on and act like none of this bothers him, mortifies him, terrifies him?
He can't follow the ways of Order, here. There are no Paths, no Aeons. But the fear of him being unable to help, the worry that his want will turn to desperation... Noah doesn't think he'd ever choose something so drastic ever again, but can he truly promise that, in this life? Who's to say he won't just go back into old habits? If he did it once before, what's to stop him from doing it all over again?
iii. At some point, he'll grab the case for his violin and take out the instrument. There's a sort of peace found in music, and it's one Noah has used more and more as a way to speak. When words can't do his emotions justice, song does instead.
And so, he tries to voice himself. He starts. His fingers shake, and he struggles through the first few notes. The inability to play startles him, and he abruptly pauses, clearly frustrated. But it doesn't last long. Noah exhales, shaking his head, before picking up the violin once again. This time, the notes are strong, certain, and the melody plays with both grief and also hope.
Noah varies the pieces he plays through the week, going from Vivaldi's "Summer" to Zwilich's "Violin Concerto II" to Ravel's "Tzigane," and anything else in between. The songs tell the story of him slowly processing what happened, of the care and concern he had while aboard the Event Horizon, of his fear at his own death.
And what it was like to find himself alive again after everything.
Stay to listen, or request something from him, or just talk. He just needs a presence of some sort, at this point.]
no subject
Thank you. For coming, I mean.
[He knows they didn't have to, but this was something they wanted to. He's so grateful for it.
ii. At some point he's moved from the floor to the couch, resting there even as other people move about and settle in for the night. He looks comfortable, honestly, and is just fine with talking to other people. But there's something very clearly bothering him, too- something that doesn't quite seem to lend itself to the spaceship or what happened there. Noah bites his lip, calm face now moving to look more uncertain, trying to process how to actually talk about what's been eating him alive from the inside-out.]
How... how do you deal with memories that prove you're a terrible person?
[How can he live, knowing that as Sunday, he went and put people into an endless dream in order to keep them happy? That he forced his ideal vision of a pain-free life onto others who even came close to Penacony's reach? That he was willing to become an Aeon and live the rest of his existence as a lonely and isolated being, focused on making a paradise that he and Robin wanted as children? How can he just go on and act like none of this bothers him, mortifies him, terrifies him?
He can't follow the ways of Order, here. There are no Paths, no Aeons. But the fear of him being unable to help, the worry that his want will turn to desperation... Noah doesn't think he'd ever choose something so drastic ever again, but can he truly promise that, in this life? Who's to say he won't just go back into old habits? If he did it once before, what's to stop him from doing it all over again?
iii. At some point, he'll grab the case for his violin and take out the instrument. There's a sort of peace found in music, and it's one Noah has used more and more as a way to speak. When words can't do his emotions justice, song does instead.
And so, he tries to voice himself. He starts. His fingers shake, and he struggles through the first few notes. The inability to play startles him, and he abruptly pauses, clearly frustrated. But it doesn't last long. Noah exhales, shaking his head, before picking up the violin once again. This time, the notes are strong, certain, and the melody plays with both grief and also hope.
Noah varies the pieces he plays through the week, going from Vivaldi's "Summer" to Zwilich's "Violin Concerto II" to Ravel's "Tzigane," and anything else in between. The songs tell the story of him slowly processing what happened, of the care and concern he had while aboard the Event Horizon, of his fear at his own death.
And what it was like to find himself alive again after everything.
Stay to listen, or request something from him, or just talk. He just needs a presence of some sort, at this point.]