Feels like I'm returning most everything I bought;

[reasonablepatterns]

WHO: Steven Crain
WHERE: South Village Inn
WHEN: 23 November 2018
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Hill House spoilers, most likely; discussion of mental illness

---

This must be, Steven thinks, his inevitable break with reality.

For the better part of his life it's loomed, pale and ghostly, a thin sheen of anxiety beneath his foundation. At first, he'd believed that if the bricks he'd laid atop it were sound enough, the mortar between thick enough, that he might forget, mostly, what lay nestled in the mud below. He understood, though, didn't he, how futile it all had to be? That mental illness was creeping steadily, slowly up behind the walls and spider-webbing cracks through everything he'd so carefully built?

He ought to have known better, and he knows that. He does. But who wants to really admit their life is nothing but borrowed time?

There is no making sense of where he is now, there is no squeezing of his eyes closed to call up his skepticism and logic it away. It is a fact: In the sudden, sharp air as he surfaced, disoriented and gasping; in the scent of wood smoke and flat bread and lye soap; in the creaks and hums of the building around him. That all of these and a thousand other details seem far too vivid for even the most elaborate hallucination may be the most terrifying part of any of this yet.

Because it had been real, the House, all along. Hadn't it?

Whether reality is firm here or not, one thing Steve's never been particularly skilled at is simply waiting for the tide of delusion to carry him away. The first day he'd spent in a haze, little remembered about it now except for strong, capable hands leading him to warmth and relative safety; the second day, he'd wandered, shaggy-haired and wrapped in a new black pea coat, peering into buildings and asking a few questions. Mostly, he'd spent his time listening, although none of what anyone's had to say has made him feel much better.

Presently, he's crouched in front of the wide, smoke-darkened hearth in the main room at the South Village inn, squinting at the latest evidence that he's clearly lost his mind: A little lizard, about five inches long, vibrant orange and basking leisurely in the pale gray ashes just in front of the cracking fire.

"What the fuck," he murmurs to himself, barely audible, brow tightly pinched.

Comments

[can_fight_ugly]

Anne has come to the hearth to warm up, newly arrived herself, but she's curious about what this gentleman is curious about, and leans over his shoulder to look into the flames as well. A year ago, the sight of a lizard sitting in a fire without taking damage would have gotten more of a reaction, but it's been one hell of a year and this is not the most outrageous thing she's ever seen.

However, she can appreciate this is not the way lizards usually behave.

"Huh ... well that's definitely unexpected."

She moves to pull a couple chairs around to sit by the fire, giving Steven a curious look, "Did you put it in there, or was it like that when you got here?"

[reasonablepatterns]

The sound of a female voice over his shoulder startles Steven, a jump of his upper body as he catches himself on the bricks edging the hearth. It's embarrassing, but only marginally — He offers a vaguely pained, abashed smile the woman's way as she steps away to fetch a chair.

No, two chairs. That's... surprisingly thoughtful.

"It was already there," he answers as he pushes himself up again, a faint nod and soft, "Thanks," as he reaches for the extra chair. "And I'm not an expert, but it looks pretty satisfied to be there." His smile quirks. "As lizards go."

[can_fight_ugly]

She hadn't really intended to give him a start, but ... aw hell, it was fun. She has the presence of mine to smile with a hint of guilt as they settle into their chairs.

"Agreed - I don't think we should try and move it." No need to go sticking hands in fires, quite yet. "You have to wonder where he came from. Did he get too cold and wander in?"

[womanofvalue]

"I wouldn't touch that, if I were you." Peggy's still healing, still feeling rather weak. Honestly, if it hadn't been for the fact that she's going stir-crazy, she wouldn't have left the hospital at all, but with people starting to grow healed, she'd taken the chance to escape not to the house, but to the Inn for people and for food.

Apparently, other things have moved in, in the meantime. Glancing around for something like a stick, she reaches for a very long thing, shivering as she tucks her coat tighter around herself to ward off the chill, approaching and giving the man a nod. "Unless you like suddenly combusting fires, that is."

[reasonablepatterns]

"What?" Steve can't help but reply, a baffled crease of his brow as he glances up to the woman. She's all authority despite looking like she might topple over any moment, and he momentarily shoves aside questions about the lizard in favor of pushing himself back to his feet to drag over one of the nearby dining chairs.

"I'm guessing you've been here awhile, then," he adds as he motions to where he's placed the chair in front of the fire. People have been sick here — He'd been told right away, although it had taken a little time to really process the information. Uncharitable as it probably is, he's really hoping this woman isn't contagious; His life at present is upside-down enough without adding fever dreams into the mix.

[womanofvalue]

Peggy feels like if this place is going to get her this ill, then it certainly ought to give her something to cope with it after. Alcohol would be lovely. Fire-creating salamander lizards (or whatever they are)? Not so much.

"Too long, one might say," Peggy assures, glad that they're leaving the creature alone because she just got the fever to start coming down, she doesn't want to rile it up again. "I take it you're the opposite, if you're so keen to poke at our wildlife?"

[connatural]

Things seem to maybe be making a turn for the better. Whatever the illness has been in the village might be getting a solution, and the great minds are working on that. Mostly Ashley has worked on what she can with gathering snakes, seeing to friends who got themselves bit, and trying to just hold things together. Certainly it's finally come to be the kind of busy she's needed since she arrived, the kind of things that let her forget about who all isn't there, and very specifically who is.

Now though she's finding herself not sick but certainly worn down. On the go for a couple of weeks, throwing herself into everything needed, running between houses to check on those she knows, seeing to the hospital mostly as an orderly, doing the kind of grunt work that most don't want to do, and now she's just tired. Beyond tired, she's exhausted and to that point where the idea of sleep seems foreign. As does most things she should have been doing for herself which is what reminded her to get to the inn and at least get herself something to eat.

Half laid back in a chair, an empty bowl on the table by her side as she just tries to generate the strength to get up and head up the road to her house. Instead turning her head, staring into the fire. Or just down from it as she makes a face.

"What's with the lizard," she asks suddenly, glancing up at the man by it. "Tell me you see it too." Because if she's hallucinating, it won't matter that she didn't get sick, because she's still going to be in a bad place.

[reasonablepatterns]

A soft huff pushes from Steve's throat, and he glances back over his shoulder with a faint, lop-sided smile. "I thought that was my line," he replies by way of an answer. "I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks it's weird."

He looks back to the hearth, and the lizard wriggles contentedly further down into the ashes, throwing up a little opaque puff with a sigh. "I didn't know lizards sighed," Steve adds, absently, still squinting down at it. "I guess everything does. But this—" He motions toward the hearth and snaps his attention back behind him again. "That is weird, right?"

[connatural]

"Seen a lot of weird in this place," she admits, which is likely not all that reassuring but at least it's honest. "House lizards though, that's new. Least it's not the body of a dachshund and a lizard's head," she notes, smirking at her own joke. "Cause, you know, they're hot dogs," she explains just in case. "Though better than the chihuahuas with alligator heads."

There's a bit of a matter of factness to her tones, shaking her head in a motion that mostly just rolls it back and forth along the back of the chair.

"Weird is kind of normal here in a lot of ways," she says, moving to sit up a bit more and give him some of her focus. "Never seen that before, I admit, but the more you accept weird is going to happen, the easier it gets? Which sounds defeatist, but after seeing what amounts to unicorns and purple llamas? It just is easier."