ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴘᴏsᴛ.

[ruffian]

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[makedamnsure]

[Sunday is not often one to enjoy unpredictable things. Having an invitation to meet with Gallagher at the bar he drinksmiths for is certainly an unpredictable thing. Usually, he would find unpredictable things to be ... quite annoying. All meetings and rendezvous should be properly scheduled and properly organized.

Yet, here he is. Walking towards the cozy dimly lit bar that many other Penacony goers visit. It's comfortably warm here. Like walking into a familiar friend's home. And that's not something Sunday often associates with.

He wanders up to the bar and taps gently on the counter...]

[ruffian]

[ Gallagher is well-aware of Sunday's preferences for the expected, so to have him agree to a spontaneous invitation is surprising. Not that he's complaining, because it's not often one can say that they've managed to score an audience with this particular person so easily.

The bar is relatively quiet tonight, not too many patrons wandering in and out. It's better this way because it allows Gallagher to pay close attention to who he's serving currently and who's next. His gaze slide over to Sunday's approaching form even before the man taps on the counter.

He finishes up the drink he'd been working on for another customer, and then Sunday has his full attention. A pleased smile graces his features, his eyes crinkling. ]

There you are, birdie. Which one do you want first? Your cake or a drink on the house?

[makedamnsure]

Hello, Mister Gallagher.

[The quieter atmosphere is something that Sunday appreciates. While he still feels the need to be on his guard more often than not, the bar being quieter than usual puts a margin of ease in him.

His eyes glance at the taller man and while he doesn't exactly smile there's a small nod of his head before he slips into the bar seat to sit.]

If we're to make the most of my time I think a drink first would be the appropriate thing to do.

[Sunday doesn't drink alcohol often, if at all. It's something that can hinder his senses and his thoughts and that is not something he enjoys. And yet, here he is. Another unpredictable thing.]

[ruffian]

[ Gallagher's eyebrows raise a tiny bit. Huh. A surprising choice, really, because even if he's the one who offered it, he didn't expect Sunday to agree to have a drink in the end. Still, this makes him grin, pleased with the response nonetheless.

He reaches for a few bottles from underneath the counter and sets them up. ]

Then, I'll mix something up for ya. [ He also gets to show off, so that's always fun. ] Might wanna tell me now if you want something non-alcoholic or not.

[ Since he knows Sunday isn't the type to drink this stuff on the daily. ]

[makedamnsure]

[He's surprised that Gallagher gives him the option. Well, if that's the case? He hopes for something that will go well with his cake.]

An alcoholic drink is fine. Nothing terribly strong, if you please.

[There's nothing wrong with having one drink, though.]

adds to your sunday collection | end of 2.2 spoilers

[fideistic]

There is a law of physics that has become something of a common expression in our general lexicon. The saying is "what goes up must come down."

Just now, I've had the unique experience of both usages at once.

It seems flightless birds do not grow their feathers back after all.

hoards all of you

[ruffian]

That's not what I heard, birdie.

A bird belongs in the sky, so it will always want to fly even if it has no wings right now. But feathers can grow back, right? Just needs time.

[fideistic]

Then perhaps this particular bird is simply defective, because no matter how long it's been, he cannot accomplish anything he was born to achieve. Unable to protect, plucked bare and broken and laying in the rotten fruits of his failure.

Tell me, Mr. Gallagher. Where would you go from here?

[ruffian]

This little bird might be too hard on himself. I've watched him accomplish many things, even if they weren't perfect— but there's beauty in perfection. I think this little bird just needs to see that.

If I were him, I'd keep moving forward as long as I can. He shouldn't take that for granted, you know?

[fideistic]

Mr. Gallagher. I would like to prepare a meal for you personally. What are some of your favorite foods?

[ruffian]

A meal for me personally? What's the occasion, birdie?

[fideistic]

Oh? Should I need an occasion in order to prepare my partner a meal?

[ruffian]

[ ... Partner. Gallagher can't help but smile. It's too bad Sunday won't see it. ]

No, but I could become spoiled and start demanding more of it if you're not careful.

wake up

[befehl]

( Each time he falls asleep it feels as though he traversed multiple lifetimes and each moment he spends with Gallagher feels like years. That’s the magic of giving himself the opportunity of experiencing true sleep, but there is a fine line between rest and reality.

He can still feels Gallagher’s heartbeat whenever he wakes up in the small dorm room of the express. It’s disorienting at first, feeling the bedsheets instead of his body or heat. He’s immediately greeted by shortness of breath, and it all starts flushing into his mind. The violent fall, the chains, he never truly got to say goodbye to Gallagher, so where is he now? No.

Two familiar pair of eyes stare at him from across the room, shiny from a statue. Sunday slides out of bed and practically races to kneel in front of it, holding onto it. )

You.. liar, I knew it.

You lied to me.

( But did he? He can’t recall the details, the longer he thinks about it the deeper they begin to disappear back into another realm, absent from his reality. He doesn’t even realize tears are etching their way down his face, blinded by anger. )

Where are you, you damn Hound.

[ruffian]

[ There are many promises Gallagher wishes he can keep, but at least he manages to make good on the one that matters more. Getting Sunday to safety, far away from the reach of the Family and anyone else who will try to prey on his fragile heart, is the best thing he can do for him within his means, and there's nowhere safer than the Astral Express. All it takes is a letter penned in his handwriting with a final favour from an old, withering Hound. They can't refuse him, surely.

But it's not like he ever gave them a choice either, so maybe he isn't playing fair.

He isn't playing fair at all when it comes to Sunday, watching quietly as the other man collapses in front of the statue he left behind in his room, unable to comfort him no matter how much he wants to. All he can do is gaze at him from the other side, always out of reach, always too far away. He wants nothing more than to hold onto him and promise that he'll always be here—

Right here, birdie. I'm right here.

Perhaps if the gods were kind, they'll grant him the chance to convey this message somehow. ]

[befehl]

( The farther the rails take them from Asdana and the ocean of memoria, the farther he gets from Gallagher's voice. Frequencies in his halo are potent enough that they could penetrate the glow in the statue's eyes. He knows Gallagher put it here or ordered someone to. )

Always going around my back.

( He whispers, every part of him is withered and pained as he caresses down the slope of the hound's chest and leg. It's cold to the touch but it feels real. )

Going against what I wanted.

( Gallagher is unfair, even if he has the best intentions in his heart. Funny how that's something they both share in common now. )

What makes you think you're the righteous one?

[ruffian]

[ Truth be told, Gallagher hadn't been expecting Sunday to hear him, but he's glad he can reach him even if their connection is tumultuous. He tries, and tries, and tries to convey all the little things he wants to tell him, that if he had any other choice, he would have never left him, but these things are out of his control. They always have been. He's regretful, he feels sorry. He wishes he can turn back time.

Even leaving the statue behind took the most of his power. He wonders how long it'll remain corporeal.

But I got you outta there, didn't I? So at least in that part, he didn't lie. I just can't be with you.

If only the statue could move, because he'd like to nudge Sunday's face right now, to make sure he isn't crying over an old Hound like him.

I don't know how long I can stay, but I'm here for the time being. No need to be sad. ]

[ruffian]

( from here. )

You'd do that for an old Hound?

[makedamnsure]

If it's for you? Yes. Is that a surprise?

[ruffian]

Didn't think you'd go that far. Not for me. I'm nothing special.

[makedamnsure]

And tell me. Why do you think that?

a reunion;;

[makedamnsure]

[Sunday figures it's been nearly a year since he's left Penacony and said his goodbyes to the life he used to know. Travelling the stars with the Astral Express now has been... interesting. Cathartic, in several different ways. While he hasn't travelled to other planets as much as the others have, Sunday has come to enjoy the different planets and cultures that they've come across. There is something new to learn in each galaxy and planet that they see. Something new to discover about the stars they see and about ... himself.

While Sunday wouldn't say he's found his perfect paradise just yet, he has come to terms with quite a lot of things. Easing up on the way he has to control every little bit around him. Realizing that the surrounding worlds are more than capable of taking care of themselves, despite the little bumps and mistakes along the way. He has done a lot of reflecting. And searching...

There are still points of his life that he hasn't forgiven himself for. The darker things. The lost things. The people he used to see...

Sometimes he finds his thoughts wandering to the man that he used to quietly speak to in the lonely corners of Penacony's bars. Wonders what happened to him after he mysteriously vanished and was presumed dead after everything was revealed. Sunday sometimes dreams of his face and wonders if he still has the details right. The jawline, the scruffy hair, the messy unshaven look.

He's sitting in the Party Car of the Astral Express now in a quiet spot in the corner with a good book. It's late and he can't seem to sleep. The train has been making circles around Amphoreus again, probably in hopes of catching word from Dan Heng and the trailblazer. He's worried, of course... And yet, his thoughts are starting to drift again.

People comes and go from the Astral Express all the time. So he barely takes notice When the car doors open and close again.]

[ruffian]

[ Gallagher knows he is breaking the rules in more ways than one.

His existence was meant for only one story, and since that has since reached its conclusion, he no longer had any reason to exist— and yet, here he is anyway. Perhaps he doesn't quite look the same, because many parts of him were borrowed (stolen) from others who belonged to Penacony's tale, but the sunset in his eyes is still there. He has the same scruffy hair, the defined jawline... The messy look, the kind that makes it obvious that his whole person is stitched together.

At the very least, he exists. That's more than enough for now.

The Astral Express is quiet, but he supposes the crew might be tucked away in bed. Maybe his arrival can be a surprise for them, considering the way he said goodbye before they left for the stars. He makes his way over to the Party Car, not quite sure where exactly he is headed, but that doesn't matter once he sees the only other occupant in the room. This is where he's meant to be.

Quietly, he approaches where Sunday is settled, walking up to him from behind. ]

... Hey, birdie. Shouldn't you be in bed?

[ Funny, considering Sunday has been asleep for so long, but still. Leave it to him to act like no time has passed between them at all. ]

[makedamnsure]

[At first, Sunday thinks he might be hearing things. The deep sound of Gallagher's voice... That can't be something he's actually hearing right now. He lifts is head up, wings twitching curiously at the greeting.

He's had dreams of Gallagher in the past. Quiet, lonely dreams of what was left unsaid between them. He's dreamed about what he might say if he could speak to Gallagher one last time. But ... Is he dreaming now?

Sunday turns around slightly, expecting to see nothing but shadows in the party car. But ... Seeing the taller man there has Sunday staring ...

... Is he dreaming? Maybe he should try to get some better sleep? This isn't-]

...? You...? You're not here.

[Somehow, he's speechless. Opp.]

[ruffian]

[ The disbelief on Sunday's face is not that surprising. After all, even Gallagher himself knows what his presence here means. He's breaking a lot of rules, some of which he's set for his own good, but simply seeing the other man again makes it tall worth it. Who would punish him for such a selfish wish, anyway? Fate, perhaps, or maybe even himself.

He smiles at the other, offering a shrug. ]

If it's easier for you to believe that, then sure, I'm not here.

[ He reaches for Sunday, anyway, his hand stretched to brush his fingers along the man's cheek. ]

At least it'll be a pleasant dream?