and i've said i'll be alright for the last damn time - Printable Version
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and i've said i'll be alright for the last damn time - Ari Fisk - December 21, 2024
30th December, 1894 — Brannon Fisk’s house, Bartonburg
The house had been full, everyone bundled back into the family home for Hanukkah, what had been a happy, celebratory evening. Ari had been present, of course, if a little quiet – but he had been trying to drink it all in, down to the last little details.
He had been a bad brother, in the past year or two; he had not really been present for them the way he remembered being, once. He had been – a bad husband and father for longer, but things were looking up there. The truth had all come out in the wash, and Dionisia knowing had helped. He had not forgotten that second day in February, what he had been told (they would like the choice) and what he had been given (another chance), and he had – evidently – not acted on what he had been planning then.
Deciding that hadn’t helped him in everything, because – the old coping methods had still reared their head. The cutting, the hurting himself. He wasn’t going to kill himself, he had resolved that much, but he had needed some way to still disengage. The sustained habit was taking its toll on him now – Ari could feel the various ways he was wearing his body out for the worse – and the first good sign he had found within himself was that this was worrying him. He didn’t want to be a burden on his family: but if he kept up this way, he would be, nonetheless.
He knew what he was going to do, now, and he felt a welcome security in the plan – but there was still the telling that was the trouble. He had waited until the celebrations had mostly passed them by – he hadn’t wanted to ruin a good day – but it would be easier to let them know now, while most of the family was here. Sitting on the couch, Ari pressed a hand down, unconsciously, on the old scars that littered his thigh underneath his clothes, when someone asked him when his next shift was at the hospital. He swallowed. It felt like the time. “I’m – well, actually, I’m not going back.”
invitational to Fisks! Zelda Darrow Konstantin Fisk Leonid Fisk Dorian Fisk, no post order if more than one person joins!
He had been a bad brother, in the past year or two; he had not really been present for them the way he remembered being, once. He had been – a bad husband and father for longer, but things were looking up there. The truth had all come out in the wash, and Dionisia knowing had helped. He had not forgotten that second day in February, what he had been told (they would like the choice) and what he had been given (another chance), and he had – evidently – not acted on what he had been planning then.
Deciding that hadn’t helped him in everything, because – the old coping methods had still reared their head. The cutting, the hurting himself. He wasn’t going to kill himself, he had resolved that much, but he had needed some way to still disengage. The sustained habit was taking its toll on him now – Ari could feel the various ways he was wearing his body out for the worse – and the first good sign he had found within himself was that this was worrying him. He didn’t want to be a burden on his family: but if he kept up this way, he would be, nonetheless.
He knew what he was going to do, now, and he felt a welcome security in the plan – but there was still the telling that was the trouble. He had waited until the celebrations had mostly passed them by – he hadn’t wanted to ruin a good day – but it would be easier to let them know now, while most of the family was here. Sitting on the couch, Ari pressed a hand down, unconsciously, on the old scars that littered his thigh underneath his clothes, when someone asked him when his next shift was at the hospital. He swallowed. It felt like the time. “I’m – well, actually, I’m not going back.”
RE: and i've said i'll be alright for the last damn time - Zelda Darrow - December 25, 2024
Zelda had spent much of Christmas at Evander and Caroline's before, almost-gleefully, taking her children to her father's for Hanukkah. Because despite her desire for a small family, Hanukkah in a loud house with all or almost all of her family felt more like a holiday than a roast at Evander's ever would. (She suspected that it was rude that she had left with her children before night fell. If Evander complained, she had half a mind to make him build a sukkah with her for Sukkot.)
That hadn't even been Hanukkah's last day, and now she felt all holiday'd-out, warm and pleased even though Alfred was still underway. She was thinking about all the ways she was going to describe tonight to Alfred — she wished that she could send him sufganiyot but was going to have to settle for describing the way the tart jelly had burst on her tongue, and the way that Carina had gotten jelly all over her face and hands and then gotten it in Brannon's beard — when Ari answered one of their other siblings.
Zelda refocused on him, and blinked at her brother. "You're not?" she asked, tone obviously quizzical. Ari had worked at the hospital for most of her life — it felt impossible for him to be leaving.
That hadn't even been Hanukkah's last day, and now she felt all holiday'd-out, warm and pleased even though Alfred was still underway. She was thinking about all the ways she was going to describe tonight to Alfred — she wished that she could send him sufganiyot but was going to have to settle for describing the way the tart jelly had burst on her tongue, and the way that Carina had gotten jelly all over her face and hands and then gotten it in Brannon's beard — when Ari answered one of their other siblings.
Zelda refocused on him, and blinked at her brother. "You're not?" she asked, tone obviously quizzical. Ari had worked at the hospital for most of her life — it felt impossible for him to be leaving.
RE: and i've said i'll be alright for the last damn time - Konstantin Fisk - December 27, 2024
Another year, but at least this one felt a tad more hopeful than the last. It could hardly have been worse of course, but Konstantin had decided, no matter the effort it cost him, to try to look on the bright side. He had his family and for now that had to be enough. This did mean, however, that he expected them to be solid foundations (quite unfairly), but Ari’s announcement, and the confirmation from Zelda that this was not simply something he had missed, shook those imagined building blocks firmly.
“Has something happened?” He asked, eyes burning into his brother, trying to ascertain which aspect of his brother’s life was causing him to burn down another.
RE: and i've said i'll be alright for the last damn time - Ari Fisk - December 27, 2024
He glanced swiftly towards Dionisia, hoping to make eye contact with her and be imbued with some sense of stronger resolve – but she had crossed the room to find Elliott, to stop him quarrelling with one of his cousins, so he was by himself for now.
He forcibly brightened his expression, when Zelda and Kons both looked at him like that. “No, I’m going to be away, for a while. I haven’t been – very well,” Ari explained, unable to quite meet anyone’s gaze in turn. For the last few years, he might have said – but he hadn’t wanted them to notice before, so he wasn’t going to make them feel guilty now. “But I’ve found a private, um, institution where they’ll be able to help me. So that’s good.”
Hopefully. He didn’t want to say asylum, although it was one – but he was going voluntarily, and it was a nicer place than some, almost peaceful in its walled gardens and country house rooms, and cared for its patients’ confidentiality. A hospital, of a different kind. Ari didn’t know how long he would stay, if or when he would be well enough to leave again, but the idea that his wellbeing would be out of his hands at last gave him a strange sense of relief. He hadn’t felt this light in years.
He forcibly brightened his expression, when Zelda and Kons both looked at him like that. “No, I’m going to be away, for a while. I haven’t been – very well,” Ari explained, unable to quite meet anyone’s gaze in turn. For the last few years, he might have said – but he hadn’t wanted them to notice before, so he wasn’t going to make them feel guilty now. “But I’ve found a private, um, institution where they’ll be able to help me. So that’s good.”
Hopefully. He didn’t want to say asylum, although it was one – but he was going voluntarily, and it was a nicer place than some, almost peaceful in its walled gardens and country house rooms, and cared for its patients’ confidentiality. A hospital, of a different kind. Ari didn’t know how long he would stay, if or when he would be well enough to leave again, but the idea that his wellbeing would be out of his hands at last gave him a strange sense of relief. He hadn’t felt this light in years.
RE: and i've said i'll be alright for the last damn time - Zelda Darrow - January 10, 2025
Zelda wasn't the only one who thought this was strange, and she felt a bit bad for Ari when he had her and Konstantin both looking at him as if he were a puzzle to be solved.
Ari hadn't been well. Zelda, actually, knew that he hadn't been well, ever since that strange incident when she was pregnant with Carina. And she had been pregnant with Carina, so she — had not really had time to look into it, even though both she and Alfred had agreed that something strange was happening with Ari.
And it had been strange enough that now he was going away.
"Oh," Zelda said. She looked down at her lap — the guilt was instant. "And — can we visit?"
Ari hadn't been well. Zelda, actually, knew that he hadn't been well, ever since that strange incident when she was pregnant with Carina. And she had been pregnant with Carina, so she — had not really had time to look into it, even though both she and Alfred had agreed that something strange was happening with Ari.
And it had been strange enough that now he was going away.
"Oh," Zelda said. She looked down at her lap — the guilt was instant. "And — can we visit?"
RE: and i've said i'll be alright for the last damn time - Konstantin Fisk - January 16, 2025
There had been malaise in his brother over the last few years, but nothing Konstanin had ever thought of as being serious, and to look at now he seemed…well defeated sprang to mind, but it somehow did not do justice to quite how Ari looked. Was he truly unwell?
A private institution, made his blood chill. There was little doubt in his mind that it was Ari’s polite way of saying he had gone mad, but he could see no more madness in his brother’s eyes than there had ever been. He had always been Ari. Perhaps it had been there all along?
“We will,” he said curtly. “Without question or condemnation.”
RE: and i've said i'll be alright for the last damn time - Ari Fisk - January 23, 2025
There was something still more painful in their expressions now that he had said it, but – it was not as though he could take it back, when everything was already in motion. Ari couldn’t bring himself to try and hold their gaze, not now, but he also could not allow himself to look away, in case. In case this was the last time he saw them. Forever, or for a very long time.
But they were asking about visiting, which gave him a burst of hope he had been too afraid to harbour until now. So – maybe not the last time at all. Ari’s mouth trembled slightly at his brother’s words, though, because without condemnation meant nothing if they didn’t have the answers to their questions. What could he say, though? Surely the less he said the better. And, he had supposed, if he had to present his problems to them, at least he could do so hand in hand with a solution, so that they – did not have to worry about him.
He nodded, tentative. But – “I would understand,” he said slowly, working past the lump forming in his throat, “if you didn’t want to – to see me that way. To see me there.” Ari wasn’t convinced he wanted them to – once witnessed, it felt as though they would probably never see him the same way again. “But I’d,” he fought down the urge to choke and some sickening surge of nerves at his decision; swallowed them; smiled weakly; “of course I’d like if you wrote to me.”
But they were asking about visiting, which gave him a burst of hope he had been too afraid to harbour until now. So – maybe not the last time at all. Ari’s mouth trembled slightly at his brother’s words, though, because without condemnation meant nothing if they didn’t have the answers to their questions. What could he say, though? Surely the less he said the better. And, he had supposed, if he had to present his problems to them, at least he could do so hand in hand with a solution, so that they – did not have to worry about him.
He nodded, tentative. But – “I would understand,” he said slowly, working past the lump forming in his throat, “if you didn’t want to – to see me that way. To see me there.” Ari wasn’t convinced he wanted them to – once witnessed, it felt as though they would probably never see him the same way again. “But I’d,” he fought down the urge to choke and some sickening surge of nerves at his decision; swallowed them; smiled weakly; “of course I’d like if you wrote to me.”