Dominick "Sonny" Carisi, Jr. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ottimismo) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2016-12-15 05:12 pm
ottimismo) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2016-12-15 05:12 pm
001 ✝ there's an angel with a hand on my head
WHO: Sonny Carisi
WHERE: The fountain and the inn
WHEN: 12/14
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Nooothing? Will update as needed.
STATUS: Open
THE FOUNTAIN
At first, Sonny thinks he's dreaming.
There was a place their parents would take him and his sisters on vacation when they were little. As he got older, he learned that they were really just visiting his mother's family in Jersey, which really isn't much of a vacation at all when you live in New York. But they always got to swim in their auntie's pool while they were there, and Sonny would swim until his fingers were wrinkly and his eyes were red from the chlorine and his mother had to tell him three separate times that it was time for dinner.
He and his sisters got older. They did more sunbathing than swimming, and Sonny found he enjoyed helping his mom and aunt around the kitchen more than taking a dip in the pool.
Still, this reminds him of that, at first. The water's around him, warm to the touch, and it takes him a moment to realize he's not, in fact, dreaming, but that the burning in his lungs is real. He's drowning.
It's all instinct after that. The water presses around him, pushing him upwards, and Sonny kicks his feet, straining towards the lighter part of the water. He doesn't think about how he got in the water, or what body of water he could possibly be in. He only thinks about getting out, about breathing, about breaking the surface. And when he manages that, it's with a dramatic gasp of air, his lungs expanding painfully as he pulls in a much needed breath. One hand gropes blindly until he finds stone, gripping the edge of the fountain.
A fountain. He's in a fountain. He blinks water out of his eyes, pushing his sopping hair back with one hand. It occurs to him quite suddenly that the water wasn't warm, but that he was numb. It's sleeting, and it stabs at his exposed arms painfully. He's aware that there's a backpack strapped to his back, but more important, where the hell is he?
"Hello?" he calls out, and he can't even be bothered by how silly it feels.
THE INN
Eventually, he gets some answers, though not very many. And in the process of that, he manages his way to the inn, where he changes into dry clothes that are apparently his and sits down beside the fire to warm up. His hair's an unkempt mess and his bones still feel cold, his eyes tired. He's hungry, too. But he's too busy thinking for anything like food or sleep.
He tugs his backpack into his lap, digging through it a second time to review what's inside. Like maybe it'll hold more answers than it did before. This is what he does, though. Review, and review again, and again, until something looks different, until you notice something new.
After all, he is a cop.
WHERE: The fountain and the inn
WHEN: 12/14
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Nooothing? Will update as needed.
STATUS: Open
THE FOUNTAIN
At first, Sonny thinks he's dreaming.
There was a place their parents would take him and his sisters on vacation when they were little. As he got older, he learned that they were really just visiting his mother's family in Jersey, which really isn't much of a vacation at all when you live in New York. But they always got to swim in their auntie's pool while they were there, and Sonny would swim until his fingers were wrinkly and his eyes were red from the chlorine and his mother had to tell him three separate times that it was time for dinner.
He and his sisters got older. They did more sunbathing than swimming, and Sonny found he enjoyed helping his mom and aunt around the kitchen more than taking a dip in the pool.
Still, this reminds him of that, at first. The water's around him, warm to the touch, and it takes him a moment to realize he's not, in fact, dreaming, but that the burning in his lungs is real. He's drowning.
It's all instinct after that. The water presses around him, pushing him upwards, and Sonny kicks his feet, straining towards the lighter part of the water. He doesn't think about how he got in the water, or what body of water he could possibly be in. He only thinks about getting out, about breathing, about breaking the surface. And when he manages that, it's with a dramatic gasp of air, his lungs expanding painfully as he pulls in a much needed breath. One hand gropes blindly until he finds stone, gripping the edge of the fountain.
A fountain. He's in a fountain. He blinks water out of his eyes, pushing his sopping hair back with one hand. It occurs to him quite suddenly that the water wasn't warm, but that he was numb. It's sleeting, and it stabs at his exposed arms painfully. He's aware that there's a backpack strapped to his back, but more important, where the hell is he?
"Hello?" he calls out, and he can't even be bothered by how silly it feels.
THE INN
Eventually, he gets some answers, though not very many. And in the process of that, he manages his way to the inn, where he changes into dry clothes that are apparently his and sits down beside the fire to warm up. His hair's an unkempt mess and his bones still feel cold, his eyes tired. He's hungry, too. But he's too busy thinking for anything like food or sleep.
He tugs his backpack into his lap, digging through it a second time to review what's inside. Like maybe it'll hold more answers than it did before. This is what he does, though. Review, and review again, and again, until something looks different, until you notice something new.
After all, he is a cop.
no subject
He was going to go--honestly, he really and truly was--when something catches his attention. It's the brash, almost nasal way he speaks. He'd recognize that accent anywhere.
It's strange: his time in New York, his life, it hadn't been a happy one in the least, and yet that accent still makes him homesick. Terribly, terribly so, and he thinks of Modesty and Chastity, and the other kids he knows by at the very least sight. He thinks about the kind Witch who helped him with his Ma, and the British man who tried to help him.
This feeling, Credence realizes, is homesickness.
"I don't mean to be a bother, but--a-are you from New York?" He asks, and he almost feels bad, asking him questions. He clearly just wants to check his bag.
no subject
There's something about the boy in front of him, something about the way he draws in on himself, the way he speaks softly and stutters his words just a bit. Something that makes Sonny feels like he's at work.
That's probably not a good thing. But by default, he slides right into victim-handling mode, his voice softening, his smile encouraging.
"I am from New York Staten Island's where I grew up, but I live in Manhattan now." He sets his bag aside and gestures to the empty chair beside him. "Do you wanna sit down? Some company would be great, honestly."
no subject
He thinks, again, of the knife Jess has given him. If he should give it to Sonny, too. He mulls it over before he realizes that Sonny's invited him to sit, and by the time the other's finished he looks vaguely startled. He really hadn't expected that.
Credence pulls the chair out from the table neatly, and glances at the general direction of where he'd last seen Kate. Surely, he could talk and sit a spell? Surely, Kate wasn't like Ma. It's this train of thought that causes him to lean in conspiratorially, like they're sharing gossip and not just chatting.
"I've lived in New York all my life--I didn't think I'd miss all of those tall buildings until I woke up in the fountain, here. Were you scared?"
no subject
The other boy joins him, and Sonny finds solace in that, too. He's always done better with company than when left to his own devices, especially in a situation such as this one — a little bit scary and a whole lot unfamiliar.
He'll have to locate a church soon. Surround himself with what he finds to be the ultimate comfort.
"A little bit," he admits, smiling just a little bit. "But mostly I was cold. You know it's sleeting out there? Let me tell you, winding up in a fountain in the middle of a sleet storm is not fun."
no subject
"Do you know how to swim?" He asks, and it's still shy but a little less timid. He's been learning that others won't actually mind him speaking up--or speaking at all. It's something he's working on.
"Did Annie save you, too?"
no subject
"Yeah, thankfully," Sonny remarks, his accent coming out particularly harsh. "I mean, I'm not winning any marathons, but I wasn't gonna drown. Just almost freeze to death."
He doesn't recognize the name Annie, and he shakes his head in response. "Nah. When I got out of the fountain, there was a woman named Riza there. She gave me a towel and a blanket. Good thing too, or I might've been a goner."
no subject
Is this a cultural thing? Maybe Sonny's from a different New York. Maybe Sonny's from a Brooklyn where strangers, while nice, do things like this completely unprovoked.
Maybe he's still getting used to the amount of kindness this place offers. Maybe Credence hasn't met anyone as quick to adapt to it like Sonny is. He finds himself playing with the hem of the blanket, confused, before looking up and snapping out of it.
"This place is small, but everyone looks out for each other, it's--" How does he put it? "It feels like purgatory."
no subject
It's more or less what he's experienced here, too. Which is good — a little kindness goes a long way in an unfamiliar situation.
"Purgatory," Sonny echoes, and he's surprised to hear the word come out of Credence's mouth. Maybe because the only other time he hears a word like purgatory is when he's in a church. "Yeah, I get that. Are you catholic?"
no subject
It's a complicated question. He was raised as such--perhaps harsher than Catholicism, and he wrestles with whether or not to say yes or instead to just clarify. It's a mix, one he's not sure he should really say. Religion isn't as popular as it is when he's from, he knows thanks to Kira--or maybe that's just Kira's world? So he tries his best to tell the concise truth without going overboard on details unless the other asks.
It's still strange admiring it. His hands flatten on the table and then curl, fingertips pressing along the edge as he speaks.
"That's the closest, I think. I was part of the New Salem Philanthropic Society, we--" He cuts himself off. Simple. Concise. "My Ma, she ran it. Why?" And, very cautiously: "Have you heard of us?"
no subject
Though, the other boy does strike him as somebody who might get wrapped up in a cult as a naive follower.
"Nah," Sonny says, shaking his head. "I only asked because 'purgatory' isn't a word I hear much from people who aren't religious."
He shrugs a shoulder, hands smoothing absently over the blanket in his lap. "I'm Catholic, born and raised that way. Still go to church every week back in New York. I heard there's no church here, though. I was thinking about starting one, sort of."
no subject
Dreaming is alright, as long as it's not said out loud, Credence thinks. That's when it gets dangerous. But this stranger has shared his blanket, so maybe it's alright this time. Maybe, just maybe, good things can happen.
He's quiet for a few more seconds, and after a moment he chances to look up and actually into Sonny's eyes. It's a remarkable amount of courage for him, so he drops it after only a few seconds, and returns his gaze on his hands.
"May I ask your name?" He's still thinking about it, that knife he owns. He's still thinking of if he should let this stranger borrow it.
no subject
And it sounds like it'll be a good thing for a few people. For himself, for Cougar, for the boy sitting across from him. A chance to decompress from their situation and talk one-on-one with God.
"Oh, oh right, sorry." Sonny laughs softly, smiling. "I'm Sonny Carisi. It's great to meet you, even given the circumstances."
no subject
His face flickers; another smile that's not really a smile.
"It's nice to meet you, too, Mr. Carisi. I--I have a theory. It's not a very good one, but, I think this place is a second chance."
no subject
"A second chance?" he echoes, and he doesn't sound skeptical or malicious. Simply curious. "How do you figure?"
no subject
"Like purgatory. But--I don't know if some people have died or not here."
no subject
"I never thought of that before, that this might be purgatory. I--" He pauses and frowns, looking into the fire for a second. "I don't think I died. I don't remember it. But they say memories get messed with here, right?"
Dear Lord — he's going to have a crisis over this.