meadowlark | @ian.fowler

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@ian.fowler

I've put some plans together for some safehouse improvement. One of the biggest complaints was a lack of privacy & nowhere secluded to withdraw to, particularly when trying to sleep. Some people mentioned not being able to sleep whatsoever around strangers.

I'm thinking one wall of stacked sleep pods, and then the opposite wall with (fewer) sleep boxes for people who might be more claustrophobic. We should net out to having more beds than we started with thanks to the vertical space sleep pod stacking.

I know this doesn't solve the overall issue for people who don't want to be stuck in the safehouse to begin with, but I think it might make things a little easier.

Does anyone have any issue with me starting construction this week? I'll only be doing one wall at a time, so everyone currently staying there should have minimal disruption to their sleep.

A few features I plan on incorporating, in case anyone's curious about the functionality:
-interior locks & curtains
-exterior emergency release in case of fire etc
-temperature control & vented airflow
-personal lighting
-noise cancellation

I'm open to suggestions, but I may or may not be able to incorporate them in version 1.

( feel free to collaborate with anyone, but please take private threadjacks to personal contact posts for the sake of my inbox, rip. )

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( The honest answer earns Lance a quiet, appreciative little smile. Just a brief tug of his lips in understanding, not quite sad but perhaps some lighter offshoot. )

I'm glad you're at least thinking about it. That's a good start.

( Because it probably could've been very easy to just keep on ignoring the fact that there was a problem at all. Not acknowledging splinters under your skin is a tendency Ian definitely has — arguably, he might be burying his own right now, too. )

What options have you been mulling over? Any ideas so far?

[The encouragement without making a big deal out of it helps put him a little more at ease, not that he'd really expected anything different from Ian, but although Lance tends to be optimistic he's also prepared for the worst. So it's always nice when the outcome is his optimism being rewarded, instead of the alternative.

He shrugs at the question, as if the topic is casual, but his gaze is still fixed on his coffee even as he does offer a real answer.]

Right now I'm just trying to identify as many aspects of everything as I can, so I'm not surprised by or end up missing anything I should be working through when I start doing so.

[It's easy to mistake one trauma for another, or to not recognize a connection or underlying part of it. Without facing all of it, the process can drag out and become disheartening, because dealing with what's thought to be the issue doesn't yield the expected results.

And because the followup question is probably obvious, and he's doing his best to hold to that decision to actually talk, he elaborates a little.]

You know, um... When I woke up in Hadriel, I was healed enough that I could survive, but that was it. Healing naturally took months; I still have some lingering effects, and I'd have more if some of my friends hadn't been able to use magic to take care of the worst of it.

[He taps the fingers of his right hand against his coffee mug in an indication, but doesn't explain that particular part further.]

I've been thinking about what I do remember of that whole experience, but mostly I've been realizing that there's so much I don't. At the time--and up until now, I guess--I'd kind of just brushed it off as something that was necessary to get through because I didn't have any other choice, but maybe it was a little more serious than that if I've blocked it out.

[It sounds really stupid to put into words, which is part of the reason he doesn't like to talk about his own problems, even though he'd never think that about someone else.]

( He's got a quiet, patient energy to him. Happy to silently sit, moving only to gently lower his mug and absently thumb around the rim of it while Lance talks. Not that he's ever attended more than like two undergraduate psych classes, but he's got the vague notion in the back of his mind that sometimes it's more about letting someone talk about something out loud than anything else. Just talking about things can be hugely important. Especially someone like Lance, who even plays "playing things close to the chest" close to the chest.

It doesn't slip past him that it's probably a really rare display of trust. )

I don't know how... impactful it is from a mental health standpoint to remember every detail of what happened, because I just, like... build trash compactors and have strong opinions about screwdrivers. You'd know way better than me. But, I think... at the very least, the fact that not knowing is weighing on you even now means it's probably important to you at least on some level. If it's been this long and you're still thinking about it, it seems like... the only way to get that to ease up is to maybe like... detail what you remember. Somehow. Write it out, or... have someone help you replay it, or something. It's probably hard to analyze why you don't remember what you don't remember, or... analyze what upsets you about what you do remember if you don't have the whole picture.

[There are many reasons why Lance is so guarded, most of them coming down to two main categories: not wanting to make other people have to worry about dealing with his problems, and a fear of how they'd react if they knew about them. He doesn't want to hurt people, and he doesn't want to deal with their judgements.

But for now, so far, he's been convinced that neither of those main reasons are an issue here. Of course he's still hesitant, still waiting for something to go wrong and to realize he's made a mistake by extending the trust and belief that this is all okay, but so far that hasn't happened.

So he's able to talk and to listen in return, even if he hasn't been able to actually look at Ian again yet and is still speaking to his coffee when he responds.]

That's good advice. You have the right idea; that's the sort of thing I'd normally suggest.

[And in fact Lance had kept a journal in Hadriel, at least for awhile; in doing so, especially in writing down things as they happened and as he'd figured out how they affected him, he'd learned most of the things he knows are still problems now.

But he realizes he hadn't really made his point clear, which isn't Ian's fault at all, and so after a moment more of hesitation he clarifies a little.]

I remember the important things, I think; meeting people, learning about Hadriel itself, even some casual conversations. But it isn't so much that I'm concerned about what I might've blocked out, it's...

[He stops because he finds it difficult to talk for a moment, a rush of sudden tangled emotion that he has to try to control taking all of his attention. Great. Another indicator that dealing with these sorts of things--whether or not this issue specifically--is long overdue.

It only takes a few seconds before he finds his voice again and he tries to pass off the pause as just a moment of choosing his words, though how his grip on the coffee mug tightens probably gives him away all on its own.]

There wasn't really any medical care, in Hadriel. There were a few healers, and some really basic supplies, but that was it, so I was just kind of... On my own, not just for the emotional aspect, but the physical part of it too. I guess I've just never really stopped to let myself realize how hard that was.

[It's hard enough dealing with finding yourself in another world to begin with, let alone doing so after something like what happened to Lance at home. But having to handle of that while also going through the kind of physical aftermath that came with his altercation at home, to the point where a few of the moments he does remember are just nothing but how much pain he was in, is its entirely its own trauma that he hasn't really allowed himself to consider until recently.

But although he's convinced himself to share this much, the urge to deflect and make himself less vulnerable is too strong to ignore, so he adds with a false lightness--]

At least that's one good thing about this place, right? Free medical care.

( That deflection at the end is exactly the kind of thing Ian would do himself. He gets the impulse, he really does, he understands a few dozen potential reasons why. He's always been decent at letting people talk about themselves, and he's always been decent at being fake as fuck. He knows wise-sounding kind things to say that make people feel heard, but that don't actually involve giving away any part of himself in the process.

He could do that here really easily.

But he's got Kyna now, and he's got Nate, and he's learning from both of them. Plus, like, five minutes ago he dropped the whole we have a trusty honesty bond-y thing, so.

Yeah, maybe he'll keep on this whole streak of trying to do stuff right. )

I can't say that I get it. I mean, I get it in bits and pieces. I survived it, but I went through the end of the world alone. It's kind of like falling down a well and just... living down there not acknowledging the fact that it's dark. Physically, I was usually fine. When I did die in the aerie... that fucking sucked, but you actually... kind of made it a point to be there immediately, so I never really had to deal with being alone after that. So like—

( They've never been particularly touchy, him and Lance, but he's... kind of channeling somebody here, and it feels like it might be... the right call? So he reaches out to slowly wrap a hand around Lance's sleeve. )

I know this doesn't really... help fix the stuff you're still gonna have to work through over that, because that's a huge box of trauma to unpack. But. Just so we're clear, you know you don't have to deal with stuff on your own anymore, right?

Edited 2021-03-01 08:43 (UTC)

[He isn't really expecting Ian to share anything, and so when he does--especially as an expression of understanding--Lance listens carefully, even if his gaze is mostly on his coffee and only briefly flickering toward Ian. He's still listening, taking in what Ian says, that connection there in different situations and yet similar experiences.

'Not acknowledging the fact that it's dark' is a very good descriptor of the last two years.

The slow movement means Ian reaching out toward him prompts more confusion than alarm, but then it's just a reassuring touch and even more reassuring words, and suddenly Lance realizes something as though pieces have finally clicked together.

Maybe it's less that he needs anyone to help him in actually dealing with what happened--he knows how to do that, knows how to face things and identify them and work through them--and more that he just needs an acknowledgment that what happened was really difficult to go through. That it's valid to be so traumatized by it all, that he isn't overreacting, that so many things happened at once and all of them were horrific in their own rights. That someone cares, even if they can't necessarily understand all of it, and that he isn't expected to just be okay.

He knows, logically, that this is something that he's been denying himself by refusing to truly talk to anyone. Even people he truly, completely trusts, like Nate, he'd always found a reason not to talk to; he hadn't wanted to give him more problems, or put that kind of pressure on him. And with others, even people he'd logically known would care, he'd still be so afraid he'd be wrong. That they'd judge him, or dismiss him, or not even attempt to understand, and in a way he wouldn't have been able to blame them; this is so much to deal with, and he still feels that irrational sense that it isn't fair to put that sort of thing on someone.

And so he never really has. He's told some people pieces of what happened, or sometimes even the entirety of one of the particular experiences, but always in a way in which he wraps it all back up at the end and moves on.

So he wonders, really, if that acknowledgement might be a lot of it. Not all of it, of course--like Ian said, it's so much to unpack--but much of what he couldn't just do on his own. A missing piece right at the start.

It isn't an emotional revelation, more of a logical one, and so it isn't so overwhelming; not just yet, anyway. Maybe it will be more when he thinks about it later, but for now it's just new understanding, and maybe a little hope that dealing with all of this won't be quite as daunting as it feels.

And so, with a weak smile and a quiet but certain tone, he manages to look at Ian as he responds.]

Right. We're clear.

[Then, slightly stronger--]

Thanks. For...

['For listening' is what he'd normally say, but that's not quite right.]

For caring.

[To listen, to try to understand, to offer support and want to help. Any one of those things is more than he expects from anyone, let alone all of them.]

( Ian doesn't always get to know when he's made the right choice in a relationship or a dynamic. That's one of the reasons he struggles with them so much. With machinery, with math, there are rigid rules and logic. There are clearly defined solutions with unmistakable outputs that tell you whether or not you were successful in the work you've done. Relationships are a wide and turbulent ocean, they're abstract and things ripple out in ways he can't preemptively quantify. He rarely gets an immediate payoff that makes him feel confident.

But he's pretty sure he just nailed it. It isn't that it hits his ego, it's not that it makes him feel smug or anything. It just feels satisfying, like taking a deep breath after holding it for a while. Amazing what can happen when you actually let yourself connect with somebody instead of taking the less frightening dodge action.

He gives Lance's shoulder one last soft squeeze, and then his hand drops away. )

You're welcome, man. Of course.

( It's genuinely his pleasure, he's got a lifetime of fucking up to balance out. )

I think this is the part where I deflect with humor to gloss over the emotional vulnerability of the moment, but I can't really think of anything witty and off the cuff, so... You know. Fill it in with your imagination.

[The comment gets a weak laugh, more out of a combination of relief and exhaustion than because it's particularly funny, but he responds in kind.]

Are you sure you want me to do that? Because this is also the part where I twist the conversation around to turn it back on you and your problems, both because I genuinely care but also so that I can avoid any continued emotional vulnerability of my own.

( He pulls a face, nose wrinkling in exaggerated discontent. )

This is a real psychological chess match here, man, I'm not sure I'm equipped to counter that without getting real weird. Come back with something really off the wall, I don't know, ask you to braid my hair while I take a bath and tell you about my relationship with my mother or something.

( Don't worry, Lance. He doesn't own a bath tub. )

Are you sure you want to get into a psychological chess match with a psychologist who's also a chess master?

[It's all false bravado, clearly aware of how ridiculous that sounds even if it's true, and he finally remembers to take a sip of his coffee again. Thankfully it's still warm.

And, both to prove his earlier statement and because Ian brought it up--]

Do you want to talk about your relationship with your mother?

I think you even asking me that question just took my bishop.

( He's played chess, like, fifteen times in his life total or something like that. He definitely doesn't want to get into either of those areas competitively against Lance, thank you very much.

Which is an excellent deflection because no he should never talk about his mother ever there's nothing to talk about and also shut up. )

That would only be a moderately good move in a chess game.

[He says it just to be annoying, allowing the deflection; he didn't really expect Ian to want to talk about his mother, though it's always important to give the option.]

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