Dominick "Sonny" Carisi, Jr. (
ottimismo) wrote in
sixthiterationlogs2016-12-15 05:12 pm
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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
And having a priest around, somebody who will help you communicate more efficiently with God, is the biggest comfort of all, he thinks. He's lost count of how many times his priest at home has talked him through difficult times, and helped him confess his sins. He can't do that for this church, but maybe somebody else will come along who can.
no subject
Maybe he could even drag Jake along, at least once. It would be a miracle in itself, but he thinks Jake understands how important his faith is to him and would come, just to support him.
no subject
"After all, God doesn't care about all the material things. Just that we're still believing and praying."
no subject
Somehow, having an actual church to attend has always put him just that much more at ease.
no subject
That's why he needs to go to church. That's why he has to pray.
"Hey," Sonny says, looking up again. "Thanks. For the food and for talking and everything. It means a lot."
no subject
"Make a church," he encourages, "it is more than enough payback for the eggs."
no subject
"I will," he promises, offering a bright smile. "It's not as useful as cooking or growing things or like, hunting. But it's something."