sadfreezingbrit_archive | Philip LaFresque and Jack Daniel's depressing day in the kitchen [29/??? artefacts collected]

[ And then this happened and Philip was back in his body. Just like that. Just... like that.

Not that the time off was a breeze, oh no. The things he said to some people, the things Clarence did, but... there are the things he didn't do. The things he could've done so easily and yet--

And yet Philip is back in his body and nobody is hurt. Nobody is dead.

But the conclusions he's supposed to draw from this...

He takes a sip of whiskey. His first empty bottle now and quite likely not his last. That's how everyone will find him during the day: Sitting in the kitchen. Sipping on glass after glass, trying to make sense of what the hell happened in those past five days.

...Only later in the afternoon has he finally made his mind up about some things, leading to the following three audio transmissions: ]

[PRIVATE AND LOCKED TO DEAN]

Hey, I just... wanted to say that I'm- I'm back. I...

[ And then he hangs up, because everything else he wants to say is just so far out of his mental reach now, it's not even funny. ]

[PRIVATE AND LOCKED TO SANTANA]

Er, about... about the last time we talked, I think... there's something I think- I think I ought to tell you. Can we- Could we meet up someplace if you've got a moment? Please? Thanks.

[PRIVATE AND LOCKED TO BEISTE]

...Um, Shan-- Coach? I just... I just wanted to apologise for everything I-- for the last time we talked. That was after-- I wasn't... exactly myself then. I'm really sorry.

[[OOC: Slightly pre-dated to early afternoon on the 10th]]

[She's so embarrassed that she almost goes to text instead. But it ain't worth the fiddling, so...]

I kinda guessed that, yeah.

[Dean wasn't sure how long he'd have to wait before he heard some bad news - whether it was from somebody else, or straight from the horse's mouth. A few anxious days spent drowning his liver in booze, not knowing whether or not he should hunt down his friend's meatsuit (...again), hours spent feeling guilty about life, the universe, and everything-

And knowing that Philip feels worse makes Dean wish he wasn't so goddamn helpless.

But he calls back. It's what friends do.]

...hey, uh. Phil? You there?

[Wow, that doesn't sound slightly creepy and ominous at all. She's pretty hesitant to answer, since he was so suddenly terrifying and also she still feels a little guilty for the whole poison thing. So you know. Logic.

But finally, she does answer.]

...How do I know this isn't revenge?

[Let's just say that the past few days have been tinted with a somewhat depressing, grey filter, and even the excitement of meeting new people and finding new books to read hasn't quite paved over the rocky gulch that Clarence left behind.

...I'll remind Philip to give you a call as soon as he's available again. Take care, all right?

Not the most reassuring words, either, and it's been so long already.

A bound manuscript titled Style Moderne that Evelyn has only been half-paying attention to most of the time is open in one hand as she pushes the kitchen door wide, stepping inside.]

Sick from boozing and written in prose, Daniel has finally accepted that his current life cycle, which looks something like this:

wake up => drink => hallucinate => drink => self-prescribe => fall asleep

...is not going to help him recover from his horrible murder or even be sustainable in the long run. It's gone on even longer than the last time he died. He should really make more friends who don't kill him recreationally.

He's staggered down to the kitchen, severely unkempt and visibly hung over, for some real food. Or, in the very likely event that he can't keep that down, at least an area that isn't his own stuffy, over-lived-in room.

Daniel slips in, sees Philip, draws back an inch and... closes his eyes for several seconds, waiting for the vision to pass.

Which, when he opens them again, it hasn't.

Not that that proves anything.

[private video forever]

[Audio]

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