[Closed] Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man that he didn't already have;

[living_proof]

WHO: Liv Moore
WHERE: House 42
WHEN: 30 October, evening
OPEN TO: Major Lilywhite
WARNINGS: n/a

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There was a point, awhile back now, when Ravi had disappeared. Two days he'd been gone, and I hadn't even noticed for a full 24 hours. We hadn't been rooming together then, and it's the kind of situation where if it happened to someone other than me, I'd be telling that person they really shouldn't feel guilty. But I did then, and I do now.

Especially now, even though this time around I noticed right away. Because the thing is, this time, I think he might not be coming back.

That first day, I had a confab with Major, had talked about the time before, Ravi showing up right back in the fountain, soaked and brimming with months of experiences he hadn't had before. If it's happened once, it can happen again, right? Except that it's been five days now and there's still no Ravi.

This place, it makes stuff like this hard. Harder, I guess I should say; losing someone is never easy. I went through this once before, right after I hauled my own self out of the fountain. Major had poofed before I'd even gotten a chance to see him, and Ravi and I spent a week, longer, thinking he might turn back up. No dice then, and maybe no dice now, but who really knows? Ravi didn't die. There's no body to bury (or scratch). There's no closure, because his chapter here might not even be over. He could turn up tomorrow or a week from now or a year, remember everything or nothing at all. And those of us left behind are expected to just go with it.

And we do, because what other choice do we really have? I can't even tell if I want to cry, although I know for a fact I'd really like to scream.

Instead, I'm sitting at the table in the little kitchen of the little house I've been sharing with Ravi and Major, the table where we eat most of our dinners even though there's a perfectly serviceable dining room, too. Me and Ravi and Major and Bucky, and sometimes it's awkward, but mostly it's good.

Was, I should say.

I'm sitting at the table and I have a cup of herbal tea, mostly just for something warm to hold, and I'm waiting for Major to come home and have the talk he knows is coming.

Comments

[majorlyugh]

Major had been trying his hardest not to think about the newest vacancy in the household. He'd buried himself in his daily tasks to try and avoid being in the structure for as long as possible, but, unless he wanted to camp it out in the woods, he had to return to sleep. It was marginally better at this point to sleep in an actual bed than on a makeshift one of leaves and fronds.

Not that he was getting a whole lot of sleep these days, anyway. Most of his nights since The Disappearance, he'd lie awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking of random jokes or things he'd want to tell his best friend. The one who was no longer around. The one who .. might never be around again. That thought quickly sent him spiraling, and when the flurry of thoughts was at its worst, he'd slip the lead around MInor's neck - who'd taken up residence at the foot of Major's bed - and take him on late-night/early-morning strolls. He'd wander the length of the village and back again, sometimes venturing over to the second village that was still .. weird and new to him, even though it'd been around for a while. A few months, at least.

He hadn't really been talking to almost anyone, save for a quick nod or quiet hello every now and again if he happened to run into someone throughout the day. As time went on, and he realized it was more and more likely that his best friend was really gone, it became even harder to go home - especially because he knew he'd have to have a conversation about it with Liv, and his heart couldn't really take it. Not yet.

He'd sort of gotten to know Liv's general schedule, and it's when he thinks she might be out that he finally drags himself (and Minor) back to the house. As usual, he enters with a heavy, forlorn sigh, toeing his boots off by the door. He doesn't seem to care or think about where he's placed them. His limbs are heavy with sadness and guilt (for what, he doesn't know), and he only manages to get as far as the couch before he practically collapses on it with a thud, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes.