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)
sixthiterationlogs2017-01-17 04:53 pm
ottimismo) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-01-17 04:53 pm
002 ✝ in the end only kindness matters
WHO: Sonny Carisi
WHERE: The Fountain, the Inn, House Number 7, House Number 24 (the Church-in-progress), and in-between
WHEN: January 17th
OPEN TO: Everyone!
WARNINGS: Religion? Will update as needed.
STATUS: Open!
The Fountain
It's night time. Or, at least, it's supposed to be, the previous day creeping into the new one. Normally, it would be so dark that he could see the stars. (He's never been able to see the stars before, not in New York. There's too many city lights, and he's never really thought about it before. But now he thinks about it a lot. Now, he spends a lot of time looking at them when they're out.) Normally it would be dark and starry, but lately it's been the opposite. Lately, the sky has been so bright with the aurora lights that it seems like daytime all the time.
It's strange. It probably means something, and it's not necessarily something good. But he doesn't care. He's sort of enjoying it.
Of course, it's not the same thing as the neon lights of New York City. It's not even close. But he's been enjoying it. Most people, he's noticed, have only seen it as a hindrance. Getting a good night's sleep isn't easy when there's light pouring through every window. Sonny, though, always trying to find the silver lining in everything, finds them to be pretty and calming.
Maybe a sign from God. But even he doubts that.
Still, he's enjoying the night, despite how day-like it is. Tonight, he's sitting on the edge of the fountain, wrapped in a thick extreme weather blanket, a cup of hot, bitter tea between his hands. For once, he's quiet, looking at the lights in the sky.
The Inn
Eventually, Sonny turns in for the night, grateful for the blackout curtains he received as a Christmas gift. But when he wakes up, it's to a plain brown box with his name on the tag. And inside? The ingredients for a good batch of cookies, with some milk to go along with it.
So for the first time in quite awhile, Sonny chooses not to leave the house that morning. Instead, he stays in and bakes cookies. He gets a good two batches out of the ingredients, two dozen cookies in all. They're not as good as his cookies normally are, lacking some of the special ingredients he likes to toss into his own recipe. And truthfully, the ingredients probably could've been used for something else, something a little more useful than cookies. But everyone needs that kind of comfort food every once and a while.
Maybe a little more often, in a place like this.
He makes the cookies and wraps them up, taking them and the milk with him when he finally leaves for the Inn around mid-morning. He steps inside, into the warmth, and kicks some of the snow off his feet to keep from tracking it inside.
"Morning!" His greeting is cheerful and directed towards anybody that happens to be inside. "Anybody want some cookies?"
Houses Number 7 & 24, and the Path In-between
Later on in the afternoon, once it's warmed up a tiny bit (though not enough to make a real difference), Sonny's out and about again. And this time, he's working.
He's not doing his old job. He's not really doing a job at all, at least not one he's getting paid for. But this is different. It's for a bigger cause. A cause that's much bigger than him. He used to want to be a priest, when he was younger, but was never called upon by God to do it. Somehow, though, he's found another way to serve God. Maybe this has always been his calling, and it took this situation for him to realize it.
It's not easy. Not that he ever expected it to be.
The morning is spent rearranging the furniture in house number 24. A house he was told was lived in by a man who had planned on creating a church himself, but has since disappeared. (Something he finds very concerning, but hasn't really had time to look into.) The man hadn't gotten very far — just a makeshift cross, half-ready to be displayed. That's set aside for the time being — he'll finish it later. First, he wants to clear out the living room and get some places to sit in there. So he rearranges the couch and some armchairs, and brings in the dining chairs from the kitchen, lining them all up.
It's not enough sitting room. He doesn't want to take any of the furniture from the empty houses, just in case they get more people and the houses are needed. So instead, he retrieves chairs from the only other place he knows of — his own house.
It's not like he has much need for them. He hardly spends any time in his own home, and when he is there, it's usually just to sleep. So one by one, he begins to haul the dining room chairs from his own home, to the one that's going to be the town's church. It's a little harder than he would've anticipated. He's pretty sure he won't even be able to do the arm chairs by himself. And he definitely can't get the couch by himself.
But he'll deal with that when he gets to it.
WHERE: The Fountain, the Inn, House Number 7, House Number 24 (the Church-in-progress), and in-between
WHEN: January 17th
OPEN TO: Everyone!
WARNINGS: Religion? Will update as needed.
STATUS: Open!
The Fountain
It's night time. Or, at least, it's supposed to be, the previous day creeping into the new one. Normally, it would be so dark that he could see the stars. (He's never been able to see the stars before, not in New York. There's too many city lights, and he's never really thought about it before. But now he thinks about it a lot. Now, he spends a lot of time looking at them when they're out.) Normally it would be dark and starry, but lately it's been the opposite. Lately, the sky has been so bright with the aurora lights that it seems like daytime all the time.
It's strange. It probably means something, and it's not necessarily something good. But he doesn't care. He's sort of enjoying it.
Of course, it's not the same thing as the neon lights of New York City. It's not even close. But he's been enjoying it. Most people, he's noticed, have only seen it as a hindrance. Getting a good night's sleep isn't easy when there's light pouring through every window. Sonny, though, always trying to find the silver lining in everything, finds them to be pretty and calming.
Maybe a sign from God. But even he doubts that.
Still, he's enjoying the night, despite how day-like it is. Tonight, he's sitting on the edge of the fountain, wrapped in a thick extreme weather blanket, a cup of hot, bitter tea between his hands. For once, he's quiet, looking at the lights in the sky.
The Inn
Eventually, Sonny turns in for the night, grateful for the blackout curtains he received as a Christmas gift. But when he wakes up, it's to a plain brown box with his name on the tag. And inside? The ingredients for a good batch of cookies, with some milk to go along with it.
So for the first time in quite awhile, Sonny chooses not to leave the house that morning. Instead, he stays in and bakes cookies. He gets a good two batches out of the ingredients, two dozen cookies in all. They're not as good as his cookies normally are, lacking some of the special ingredients he likes to toss into his own recipe. And truthfully, the ingredients probably could've been used for something else, something a little more useful than cookies. But everyone needs that kind of comfort food every once and a while.
Maybe a little more often, in a place like this.
He makes the cookies and wraps them up, taking them and the milk with him when he finally leaves for the Inn around mid-morning. He steps inside, into the warmth, and kicks some of the snow off his feet to keep from tracking it inside.
"Morning!" His greeting is cheerful and directed towards anybody that happens to be inside. "Anybody want some cookies?"
Houses Number 7 & 24, and the Path In-between
Later on in the afternoon, once it's warmed up a tiny bit (though not enough to make a real difference), Sonny's out and about again. And this time, he's working.
He's not doing his old job. He's not really doing a job at all, at least not one he's getting paid for. But this is different. It's for a bigger cause. A cause that's much bigger than him. He used to want to be a priest, when he was younger, but was never called upon by God to do it. Somehow, though, he's found another way to serve God. Maybe this has always been his calling, and it took this situation for him to realize it.
It's not easy. Not that he ever expected it to be.
The morning is spent rearranging the furniture in house number 24. A house he was told was lived in by a man who had planned on creating a church himself, but has since disappeared. (Something he finds very concerning, but hasn't really had time to look into.) The man hadn't gotten very far — just a makeshift cross, half-ready to be displayed. That's set aside for the time being — he'll finish it later. First, he wants to clear out the living room and get some places to sit in there. So he rearranges the couch and some armchairs, and brings in the dining chairs from the kitchen, lining them all up.
It's not enough sitting room. He doesn't want to take any of the furniture from the empty houses, just in case they get more people and the houses are needed. So instead, he retrieves chairs from the only other place he knows of — his own house.
It's not like he has much need for them. He hardly spends any time in his own home, and when he is there, it's usually just to sleep. So one by one, he begins to haul the dining room chairs from his own home, to the one that's going to be the town's church. It's a little harder than he would've anticipated. He's pretty sure he won't even be able to do the arm chairs by himself. And he definitely can't get the couch by himself.
But he'll deal with that when he gets to it.
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Maybe things are different in Europe. Maybe people form unusually close blonds with their doctors. She did say best friend, after all. Maybe they were friends before he became her doctor. Either way, it's certainly not his place to judge.
"Man," he says, shaking his head. "I don't envy you, if this whole thing is boring by your standards."
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It's all Rory and that's what matters. "I used to think that I'd settle down, enjoy boring," she admits, "but at least it would've been a choice, then. This is being forced into the past and made to stay." It's not even the similar choice she made.
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"Sounds like a good friend to have," he says, still looking up, gaze thoughtful. "Sounds like my best friend. She's not a doctor — just a cop, like me. But she's always there when I need her."
He turns his head, looking over at her. "That's the worst part, isn't it? It might be a nice vacation if we chose it. But we didn't. So it's awful."
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She thinks back to when she'd been an idiot teenager and wonders how she could have been so stupid as to not see what had been in front of her face the whole time. If only she'd persuaded the Doctor to take her back so she could smack herself silly for ignoring the best thing she'd ever had.
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In a way, it changes the way he sees her dramatically, and that's probably not such a good thing. But he met Rory, and talked to him, helped him when he first arrived. Rory's a good guy, and that means Amy can't be bad, either. At the very least, it means she's probably not crazy like he initially thought.
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Some things different, but it's not like Amy asked to be parted from Rory and replaced by a Ganger while she was held captive and pregnant. The funny things husbands and wives do differently, and all. "You've met him, then?"
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But it'd be incredible if it did. It'd be even more incredible if they got free of this prison, first.
"I have, yeah. He came knocking on my door the first day he arrived here." There's a brief, thoughtful pause. "We talked about volcanoes."
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"Why were you talking about volcanoes?" It seems weird, even for a weird place like this.
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"Yeah," he laughs, laughing a little. "We talked about how it wasn't too bad we got trapped on a tropical island instead. I don't think anybody's enjoying the snow."
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