The Worst Sleepover Ever

[sailorgenerous]

Who: What's left of Defying Atmosphere plus Sans
What: It's not easy to sleep after what's happened, is it.
When: The night of February 3rd
Where: Virgo Penthouse
Warnings: Talk of torture, brainwashing, the aftereffects of the above...you know, all that fun stuff.

It's been anything but a quiet day. Still, it's evening, and hopefully that means that everyone can finally get some rest.

Except, for one reason or another, nobody seems to be able to sleep.

Comments

[panspermia]

Earlier, Greg had been a mess. He had been anxious, jittery, unable to sit still. Uncertainty and fear were apparent in his every movement, concern for his bandmates and friends rendering him useless and lost.

After vanishing for an hour or so, Greg's whole demeanor has changed--and not for the better. He wanders through the penthouse like a lost soul, aimless and unfocused. He doesn't feel like talking, or eating, or playing music, or doing much of anything but wishing he were back with Steven. Exhaustion has crept into every part of his spirit, but he can't sleep. Existing is about all he can manage for the night.

[exhumerus]

Sans isn't sure if he should feel accomplished or not. Did taking Greg over there even help? From all indications it just made the guy worse, giving him that feeling and then taking it a way.

He can sympathize with that in ways Greg maybe wouldn't understand. Which is why, a short time after they return, he'll come up and put his hand on Greg's shoulder and try to usher him in the direction of the bathroom.

"C'mon man, hit the showers."

[panspermia]

For the most part, Greg doesn't resist Sans' nudging. Sure, a shower. He does feel pretty disgusting right now. It can't hurt, probably.

Still, he doesn't quite make it the whole distance before coming to a stop, not looking over at his friend.

"Do you have a family, Sans?"

[exhumerus]

Oh, geez. Sans pauses, a little caught off guard. His answer isn't very exciting though.

"Not really," he says. He answers it as concisely as possible, hoping that Greg might move on more quickly.

[panspermia]

"I can't remember mine. The--the one I... thought I had." His head is pounding. He knows he has parents, he knows they're estranged and live on the other side of the country. That's it. He can't pull out any specifics. "No one around here likes to talk about theirs."

[nibelungvalesti]

Surprise grab from behind, Greg. Meril wrapped her arms around his waist, the better to pull him close and press up against his back.

After a moment, a distinctly displeased voice came out from the depths of his hair.

"Greg, I do not regret a moment of the time we have had together and I will comfort you when you need it, but I hope you will understand if I do not push into you from this specific angle again in the future."

So much hair.

[panspermia]

There's a pause, before Greg makes a tiny little noise. That's right, it's a laugh.

"Come at me any way you want." He pulls his hair around so it drapes over one shoulder. "Sorry. I don't think I've combed all week."

[nibelungvalesti]

"I can tell." A few hairs clinging to her lips, she stepped around him and swatted them aside as she did. Then she re-engaged the hug, from the front this time. "There, this is better."

[panspermia]

He gladly returns the embrace. The numbness clouding his mind lifts in seeing her face. "Much better," he agrees. "How are you feeling?"

[heymcfly]

Sleep? What is sleep?

Marty hardly even knows what that is anymore. What he can pull off as 'sleep' is often riddled with nightmares, waking him up in the dead of night after tossing and turning so much, he gets tangled in the blankets. All he can remember is pain. Pain in words, and in actions, in everything. He especially remembers about how much he had been pushed, fighting back as much as his pride would allow, and then. Snap.

He pleaded, he begged. Marty cried. But something grabbed his wrist, and a second later it was broken. Just like his career.

Apparently he had got off lucky, if that made any sense. Instead of both wrists and a shit-on career, Marty was just left off with one, and a possible hiatus...which he would never accept. A trip to the hospital a-la Rarity helped to settle his arm in a cast, from his elbow all the way up to his fingers. How he was still even in the band was beyond him (why have someone hogging up a spot when you weren't able to play?), but he's not going to bring that up.

Marty doesn't feel like himself anymore. They broke him, in ways that Marty wished even he didn't know. His only salvation right now is music.

You might hear him in his room, trying his best to play guitar with a bum right hand. It's incredibly difficult and it hurts like hell, but that's not going to stop him.

[sailorgenerous]

Rarity throws his door open with a bang and storms in in full-on lecture mode. "Marty McFly, you stop that this instant! The doctor told you to rest, and I will not have you hurting yourself worse!" It's not the best bedside manner, true, but sleep deprivation does not agree with Rarity.

[heymcfly]

He doesn't even hear Rarity coming, let alone have time to hide the guitar. But for some reason he tries, shoving the guitar under the covers on his bed. It doesn't necessarily work...since the shoulder strap is kind of hanging out, and she knows damn well what he was doing already.

If Rarity was a mom, she would be the best mom.

"Aw, c'mon, what else am I supposed to do? I can't sleep!" He throws his arms up rather dramatically, giving her one of those looks that only a moody teenager can supply. "I haven't been able to since!" Since...yeah.

There's a pause before he continues. "We lost our drummer. We can't lose a lead guitar either. There's gotta be a way I can play with this. I'm gonna find a way whether the doc said to or not."

[sailorgenerous]

She gives him a very flat look. Marty, please.

"Watch a movie! Write music! Watch cat videos on the internet! Anything but exacerbating your injury!" She's not going to tell him to go to bed; Rarity has the feeling that nobody is going to sleep tonight, and it's rather fruitless to fight it.

"What you're going to do is injure yourself to the point where you can't play at all, and then we will be truly up a creek." She takes a seat next to him on the bed, careful to avoid the guitar and the...messier spots. When she speaks again, her voice is considerably gentler. "We'll borrow from ViP. They need a vocalist for performances anyway, and any of us can fill in for that. Your priority is to get better."

[heymcfly]

[ Marty listens to Rarity, not daring himself to interrupt. In a way, she was right. Messing around with the guitar and aggravating his wrist probably wasn't doing anything to help the healing process. It was in his best interest to take it easy...which he honestly didn't want to do. ]

What good am I to you guys then? [ Marty shakes his head, picking a few dust bunnies off of his cast. ] I was hired to be here for a reason. I just wanna play with my band. [ Marty looks up, and gives Rarity a sad look. ]

I'm gonna get fired, if you guys don't kick me out first.

[sailorgenerous]

It's later than Rarity would like. Still, she's awake and in the common room, robe on over her pajamas, hair pulled back, quietly working. There's sheet music and lyrics scattered across the coffee table in front of her and next to her where she's sitting on the sofa. Some of it has been set aside after only a line or two: "we belong to the light/we belong to the thunder" reads one sheet; "keep holding on/for we have to make it through, make it through/just stay strong" is on another; a third is covered in nothing but roughly written sheet music on imperfect hand-drawn staff.

She's been working on the current sheet for fifteen or so minutes; she'll be happy to share, if interrupted, or to put it down and help if anyone needs it. For now, she's simply writing lyrics:

There is a house in Vista City
They call the rising sun
It's made and ruined many a poor girl
And I'm afraid I'm one

[nibelungvalesti]

Meril drifted past, glancing down at the lyrics as she brushed by in a terrycloth bathrobe. As she took them in, she stopped -- then put a hand on the back of the chair to support her as she began to softly, and quite uncharacteristically, laugh.

[sailorgenerous]

I thought I'd seen the sunlight
I thought I'd get ahead
I signed my soul into that house
It's broken me instead

Rarity blushes bright red and flips the paper over. It's late and she is tired and this is obviously not going as well as she'd hoped. "Oh- at least I'm trying!"

[nibelungvalesti]

The indignant protest immediately sobered Meril up. "Oh -- oh, I am not laughing at your efforts, I promise! I am laughing because of all of this, you are most certainly the least ruined of us all."

[sailorgenerous]

That doesn't exactly help. "After the past few days, I'm not certain that's much of an accomplishment." She's the least ruined of a very, very injured band. Wonderful.

[exhumerus]

Sans isn't paying attention to what Rarity is doing, exactly, because it's clearly work, and who cares about that. Instead, Sans is once again casually in their house with a level of ease that makes it feel like he lives there now. At the moment, he is in thier kitchen doing some lazy ass baking.

So why not distract her from being constructive?

"Hey," he calls to her from the kitchen, "what kind of shit should I put in this pie?"

Allies or no, he still finds being intentionally crass in Rarity's direction sort of funny.

[sailorgenerous]

Rarity closes her eyes for a moment and tries not to sigh too loudly. He does this just to irk her, and she knows it, but that doesn't make it any less...well, irksome. "Language, please," she reminds him for the umpteenth time. "And some form of fruit, of course."

[exhumerus]

Camping out in other people's houses is something with which Sans is very familiar - in fact, he's spent the majority of his 20's doing just that. Normally, though, he didn't have his own room conveniently waiting a hallway's width away...which kind of defeats the practical purpose.

All the same, he's found himself just sort of hanging around a lot recently, apparently reluctant to go the fuck home. Mostly because he doesn't feel especially welcome there, at the moment.

Most of the time his purpose in being there seems to be commiserating with Greg, or hanging out in some kind of depressed solidarity, but when Greg is busy with something else Sans is still very much present. He's just sort of...sleeping on one of their couches, or on Greg's bed, or smoking weed on the balcony. Mostly sleep, though. Sleeping accounts for approximately 70% of his schedule, even on a good day.

[nibelungvalesti]

About the third or fourth time Meril spotted him around the penthouse, she finally had to stop and arch an eyebrow in frank confusion. Not that she minded his presence, just... was this really all he had to do in life?

[exhumerus]

Yes, actually.

Sans cracks open an eye as she stops nearby, grinning a little despite apparently just having been asleep. Without moving, he acknowledges her.

"Hey," he says. "Meril, right?"

[nibelungvalesti]

"And you would be Sans." She'd picked up THAT much at least, from general assimilation. "You have been helping Greg." Not a question, but it begged an answer nonetheless.