ataraxion | text.

My best mate disappeared. One Jump he was here, the next he was gone. They do memorial services over less. They play sad CDs and run video, put out photos, and everyone gets together for a meal and a cry and a few drinks. I haven't been to a funeral in years and years. I know it's not changed. Humanity doesn't change.

I don't know why I waited a month to say anything about him. I suppose it doesn't matter. Those memorials, and the wakes, and funerals, those are all for the people left behind. I know that and I'm still writing this. You want it to matter. You want them to matter.

I don't know if he's dead or not. And if he is, I don't know what happens to him next. There's no ghosts here, except the ones that have come in with the rest of us. I've been on this ship nearly two fucking years and I don't know any of it. And that's the worst of it. People talk about this ship like it's sentient. Like it's got some bloody personality, someone behind the wheel. We're always trying to figure out bits of it, like it's all somehow going to come clear. Like there's logic to it. There's no logic. It's like a wheel. It turns, and shit happens, and then it turns again, on and on and on. You can trust me on that. I've lived a long fucking time.

What I know is I'm tired of this. Being the last one left.

His name was George Sands. I wanted to put it down somewhere. It's stupid, but now it's done.

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left flowers in his room a couple weeks ago

they're probably still there

[Like a tomb, but Sally knows everything about graves. And it wouldn't be funny. And it was a nice gesture, anyways.]

You didn't have to

you think i did that for you?

it was for george. he was my friend too

Yeah I knew what you meant. I didn't mean I thought it was for me.

Better way to remember him is to go down and tidy it up I guess

that's where you come in

[She hasn't said much about it, but-]

You're not the last one left.

[She almost sounds a little hurt by that, curled up on their couch and watching him.]

I'm not the tidying type. Not even in memorial.

You didn't seriously tell me about the flowers so I'd go and clean them up did you

[Hunched over his device, he turns a mild glance on her, a sad little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.]

No. Not while you're around.

[Annie is even more eternal than he is. It isn't something he wants to consider, or wants her to consider. Everything has an end, right? The wolf-shaped bullet. Some things are just meant to be.]

But you know what I mean.

[She moves closer to him, close so she can touch him. She's been doing this a lot this month, as if to assure herself that he's still here, that she hasn't gone mad yet.]

I do, but-

Please don't say you're the only one left.

[It's easy to take Annie for granted. He ought to know better. Ghosts are so easy to unmoor. That was Herrick's ultimate plan, get rid of Mitchell, get rid of George, and Annie would come untethered. A ghost doesn't have to get her door, she can just-- dissipate.

But that would never happen to Annie. He'd gone to Purgatory to fetch her out again, and here she is, more solid than ever before. Not because of his conviction, but-- because of the ship. Or something. That part, it's not so bad.]

Hey. [Quietly, and he takes her hand, his fingers winding through hers.] Hey, don't worry. You're not going anywhere.

[And, pitched more quietly still, he adds:] I'm sorry.

[She is quiet for another moment, but then she nods like its forgiveness, and maybe it is. It's hard for Annie to keep from forgiving, really. She nods again and tightens her fingers, to grip his better.]

I don't want you to go anywhere without me, too.

All right?

[Well shit. You touched him, why'd you have to go and do that.]

Sounds like he mattered. Good friend? Kind that would loan you a few bucks knowing he'd probably never see it again?

[lots of feelings sorry]

More the kind that would bitch till kingdom come about the 50p you owed him but

Still a good friend, yeah. One that mattered to me anyways.

I'm not going anywhere.

[And when he does, they won't go together. They can't. He rubs his thumb over her fingers, over the curl of her knuckles.]

D'you remember Hal, and Tom McNair?

Yes, of course.

[That seems like a bit of an odd segue, to be honest.]

[look just go with it ok]

For Hal--before Tom--there was another werewolf, and another ghost. The werewolf died, the ghost got her door. That's what I heard. And-- Sally, she's got Josh, and Aidan.

[still a stupid name btw but Josh was okay]

Why's it always in threes, y'know? I thought we were something, you, and me, and George. But it's all been done before. And I keep thinking about it.

Tom and Hal had a ghost, too. Alex.

[She thinks about it.]

Maybe it's stable that way. Maybe it's the only way it works. Is with three.

[That makes her worry.]

I don't like that Sally thinks she was George's friend.

[Maybe because it feels too much like replacing Annie. Like Annie is just a cog that can be moved around. It's irrational, but-]

[It can't only work in threes. He's had success before, with no ghosts, no werewolves. It's the identity of the person that matters, not their type. Right?

Only that's a question that has no answer, or at least, not one that he knows. There's no guide to sobriety. There's only what's worked in the past. Maybe there is some magical combination, some alignment that spells out success.]

Yeah.

[That's to the first bit. He catches up to the second bit, a little delayed, and turns a mild glance on Annie.]

Ah, she means well. And they were friends, weren't they. Sort of.

You can't be funny about this, not with how you didn't like anyone I was friends!

[And maybe that high pitched reply shows what she really feels: she doesn't like Sally being friends with Mitchell, but she feels bad about it, she's trying and failing.

But she curls her hands into fists for a moment-]

No, I'm sorry, it's not, I just-

It's supposed to be the three of us. That's all.

I'm not--

[Right, hang on, he tells himself, just wait--because Annie is upset as well. There's no flickering lights yet, no shaking furniture. There's just this, that plain sad statement, and he moves so he can take her hand again, uncurl her fingers, gently.]

I know.

[He could come back, he wants to say. But they should be happy that George is gone. No matter what they've got to face, when they get home-- if that's what happens. If people get returned.

Christ.]

It'll always be the three of us. Sally isn't you.

All right.

All right.

[She doesn't make him promise, because she believes him, she does, so she just tilts her head forward to press it against his shoulder.]

I miss George.

So if you wanna do any of those things, the meal or the drink. I mean the liquor here is shit, but I've actually had worse.

what? no

i told you about the flowers to tell you somebody else gives a shit that he's gone

what kind of person do you think i am?

I don't think it's stupid at all. I'm sure he'd appreciate you remembering him like that.

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