Whereas usually Dare is out and everywhere during fac time, this time, he's only usually out breifly to get meals, to go to someone's room, or to the Anywhere rooms. He's no longer hiding, like he was the first few days, but he's not hanging out in the parlour, nor did he camp in front of Fizz's room. His sign is th same, and just now the door is ajar (but not a jar).
The Bon-Vivant has had an eventful few days. It's been easy not to run across each other, really. He hasn't been seen out much either: getting food, going to someone's room, or to the anywhere rooms. The Rebel's door is blank, one might have noticed. The first day, Fizz was fairly overwhelmed by various things, and probably having trouble thinking about anything else. The second, he might have been around more -- might have kept more of an eye out. The third, though, he's starting to get a little worried, and less willing to be either patient or distracted. So at some point during that day, he finds himself standing outside the Martyr's door, eyeing the design on it. Okay. Still there, still familiar, and slightly open. He extends a hand to push it a bit further open, and stick in his head. "Hey?" he greets, a bit tentatively; he hasn't shaved or cut his hair this time, and looks very much like Blaise with a decade or so shaved off.
Dare looks so much like Angel, that the small differences like the slightly longer curls and the lack of make up aren't obvious, especially since he left his make up behind in the evac. He hasn't shaved either, the stubble the length favoured by leading men in movies. Right now, he has the rightly coloured quilt over his lap. He's wearing Finn's old Shriekback shirt and reading a Spanish-English edition of Lorca's complete works, though it's not the old tattered one Angel had. The marble sized ball of ashes is on a wee stand on his bedside table under the lamp.
He looks up, all deer in the headlights for a moment. It passes and he tries to smile, something fragile about it. "Fizz. I wasn't sure... Come in. It's good to see you."
The Bon-Vivant looks a little uncertain at first, though he does, indeed, come in, closing the door to a little farther than he found it, but not entirely. "You have plants too," he observes, which makes him smile, but it still leaves him more awkward than customary. "Was kinda starting to worry," he says as he approaches, "Are you okay? What weren't you sure?"
Dare gazes at the plants wistfully, "Since I was Osiris. I no longer... do well without green things around me." He marks the book and sets it in its customary place beside the memorial ball. He looks down at his hands, "I wasn't, but I'm getting better, I think." He closes his eyes, "This was a really bad one and I was horrible to you. I wasn't sure how you felt about me here after everything." He is very subdued, not Angel, but not the usual Dare either. Where once there was fire, it's all ashy coals.
The Bon-Vivant continues to approach, and when he reaches the bed, he climbs up onto it. He's in jeans today, and a ridiculously soft cotton t-shirt, heathered red, which like everything else in his closet, fits like it was made for him. As usual but not inevitable in the Fac, he's barefoot.
"So. When I was new here, when I hadn't been anywhere else yet. Boet told me a lot about what goes on, how things work. And he said, sometimes you come back and you and someone else were complete assholes in that other life, or you did something terrible to them or they did to you, but we don't have control over that. What we *can* do is, we can come back and find each other and talk shit out and... not hold it against this us. And it's-- it's kinda weird, 'cause I can't really do that with caring about people, everyone I care a lot about out there, I come back and I still pretty much feel that way. But if shit goes kinda bad? I'm not gonna just... decide that's the only thing that matters, like it outweighs everything else."
He settles in next to Dare, and leans in a little, bumping the man's shoulder with his own. "'sides. Blaise loved Angel. He wasn't *in* love with him, and yeah shit got kinda... awkward... but if he wouldn't've wanted to not see Angel, why would I not wanna see you?"
There is a lot of bed, for all he seems to only sleep on this side, but he doesn't pull away. He listens with dark haunted eyes, and then leans his head on Fizz' shoulder. "I've been... having a hard time remembering what loved feels like or not... I think I really damaged something fundamental this time. It's like the Pendulum inside me got pulled all the way back when we were Gods and now it's swung the other way and it's stuck there." He says rapidly it's not you, Fizz. It's just everything in my nature keeps telling me things are bad so I need to... sacrifice more and more of myself and give away anything that matters. I can't find the... the counterbalance. I keep reaching for it, but it's not there, which means I need to sacrifice more and the more it hurts the stronger the impulse to do it. It's not as bad as it was, but I'm lost somewhere two thirds in Angel still and I can barely feel Osiris."
The Bon-Vivant slides an arm around Dare and pulls him in a bit closer, turning his head to plant a kiss on the one rested on his shoulder while he considers. "Well. I mean, you *are* loved, but I dunno how to help make you feel that way... but what if sacrificing more isn't the way to get there?" A small pause. "Have you tried going back to the carnival in the Anywhere Rooms? 'cause when people go places we've been, they basically turn back into who they were, right? Maybe it'd be easier to get in touch with your Osirisness that way? Like, give you the right feeling again, help pull you back that way."
Dare snuggles up against him, "I know it's not logical. It's this weird compulsion bubbling up constantly inside me. I suspect it's as strong as Braden's urge to drink back on Icarus and possibly as fundamental. It takes all my willpower to even talk about it, to leave my door unlocked and to... to let people see me instead of locking the door and... and punishing myself. It's getting better. I can say it now. I couldn't at first."
He smiles sadly, "No one wants to go with me. I think it looks like going backwards or wallowing or something like that to them." He whispers, "Would you go with me? In some time before the Great Dust when I was stronger. We could go to California wine country maybe, feel dark loam beneath our feet and just... drink and dance and make things grow... I want... to feel clean again. I know it's not still in my head, but it left an... Endolith shaped hole coated with... with filth behind."
The Bon-Vivant is all for the snugglin'. "I... dunno if I have any urges like that," he says, turning the thought over in his head. "But yeah, 'course I'll go with you. I-- Dionysus spent a bunch of time in the California wine country, we could pick one of the times he and his cult was there, or just in between, but when they are'd be better for, you know, music and all. But we can go and see if we can wash you clean in wine." A grin, there. "He'd approve of that."
Dare gazes up at him, looking so very vulnerable yet hopeful. "I'd like that. with the music. I'd like you... Dionysius you to wash me clean. Something about being with you always makes me feel better, like floating in a salt sea."
"Then let's go." Simple enough, apparently, from Fizz's point of view. He gives Dare a squeeze, and goes quieter for a moment or two. "I dunno if you saw," he says then, softly, "But Rita's door is blank." Another small pause, and he shifts position. "Anyway. No time like the present, right? Should we try and pull anyone else along, or do you think it's best just us?"
Dare's eyes go wide and then he's hugging Fizz fiercely, "Oh no! I really liked her, and I kow you... I was so happy for you when you... Here I am being selfish and you've... What do you need Fizz? Anything you want, I'll do with you."
The Bon-Vivant hugs back, just as fierce, and closes his eyes for a moment. "I'm... I think I'm okay for right now. I keep kinda..." He makes a face. "I miss her. And I keep getting these waves of feeling guilty, like maybe it's my fault. And like I shouldn't be happy about anything yet." He gaze flickers toward the door, then back. "But Nyka's here," he says a touch helplessly, "Cass, here. I thought-- I never saw her here before, she used to look different, so I didn't think she'd be here. And she is, and I can't not be happy about that, even-- if I really wish Rita was here too." His eyes go dangerously shiny for a moment with that last comment, and he closes them, swallowing quietly before they open again. "Anyway. You're not being selfish. And I think what we should do for now is, we should go be gods in the sun."
Dare strokes his hair, "It's not your fault, Fizz. Sometimes they just take people, but it's nothing you could have done. I'm glad Nyka made it, but I'm still sorry about Rita." He nods, "Well not in the sun. You'd be pouring wine into a corpse with a funnel, but evening, when the first cool breezes take the edge of the day's heat."
The Bon-Vivant laughs, thought more softly than he likely would have otherwise. "The figurative sun," he says, though whether he means that's what he meant or he's amending in agreement isn't clear. "Though, I dunno, it'd be interesting to see if you woke up pickled, I guess..." He takes a breath, and it comes out as a sigh. "When I think about it, I know it's not my fault, but I can't make myself not keep feeling like it is anyway, on and off. I wish... I mean. I don't even have a picture or anything." A tiny, wry smile, "Just Scott's fight mixtape from the lodge. That's the closest thing."
Dare perks up, "That's what I'm looking for. When I first woke up here it was like the sun inside me had gone out. Briar's... helped, but I'm never really warm. Osiris was warm all the time." He contemplates the idea, "We never tried it, Sekmet and I. We could, you know. Start enough before sunset to knock over even a God and see if I can string a sentence together when the sun sets."
He kisses his cheek, "If any of the more artistic of us come out of their rooms, maybe they could do a sketch for you. If it were small enough, i might persist. If not, then let the mixtape and our memories be our memorial and we could... pour libations in her honor and cut our hair like Achilleus when he lost his Patroklos." Unthinkingly he pronounces the names of the famous lovers the old way instead of the modern one. "She deserves a... a proper wake and to be mourned the way she was loved.
"Might be interesting to try," Fizz says, with one of his smaller grins, and he leans in a little more against Dare again. "Boet and I went through pretty much all of a bottle the first morning," first mourning, ha, "but I could-- I mean, it wasn't exactly a *proper* wake. And I didn't cut my hair." Probably not a thing that even occurred to him, really; wasn't thinking with the Greek portion of his psyche that morning.
Dare keeps stroking his hair, nose in his neck, "It might be good for both of us. the do it properly, with some of the old rites and new mixed. With fire and ash and hair and wine and toasts to the dead and stories and song. Let us celebrate how amazing she was and that she is free. Let us weep for our loss of her and what she meant to us. Let us drink until nothing is real and cleanse that grim barren place from our souls. Let us mourn like men and drink like Gods." He takes a breath, "I love you, Fizz. I think I always will one way or another." He closes his eyes, "If I... ever push you away, it's because you matter to me. When it's bad, the bigger the sacrifice the more tempting it is. Don't believe me because I never want to stop being friends."
The Bon-Vivant closes his eyes, with a quiet sigh for the hair-stroking. A nod for the general plan, and when the subject changes, the arm around his friend tightens again. "I love you too," he says, "and I don't plan to stop, so, you know. I'm, I don't know, I guess philosophically opposed to letting anything that happens out there get in the way of that. 'cause those are parts of us, or usses we could've been, I dunno, but they're not us us. This us. And this me doesn't want to ever stop being friends with this you, either. So I'll push back." Does that make analogy sense? Eh, surely Dare knows what he means. "Anyway," he says, disengaging to slide past the Martyr, off the side of the bed, and to his feet, then offering a hand. "C'mon. We've got at least one vineyard to go drink dry."
Dare sighs, content, "I feel the same. Thank you for understanding. Please push back hard." He takes the hand and disentangles from the quilt. he's wearing a replica of Danny's old blue plaid pajama bottoms. He doesn't bother with shoes either. There is more energy to him already as hey go.