foolishmortals | Recuérdame.

Recuérdame.

[Those of you who wish to see those who passed on? You'll be directed outside by Zeus, where he raises his arms, and marigolds begin to float around him. They float upwards, and form into a bridge.

It's structurally sound, and it seems fitting that you can cross it.

Eventually, you'll see it. Elysium. The Land of The Dead. Gentle music plays as you cross over into the city.

It's...festive. It's always festive. The architecture is colorful and full of spirit, and your group seems to be the only ones...human in appearance. Even your old friends seem to be a bit more skeletal in appearance. You can spend as much time here as you like, but eventually, that bridge will disappear. And you'll have to leave.

But...they'll never truly be gone. Not if you remember them. And someday, you'll join them. But for now, you celebrate. You've earned your happy ending.]

(ooc: This is the last log for the three canon rounds of Foolish Mortals! Thanks for coming along for the ride - we loved having you, and we hope to see ya real soon!)

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No?

[Ford lets out a half-laugh.]

I'm glad. I was terrified.

[admitting this is a clear sign of CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT]

[LETS SEE HOW FAR WE'VE COME, LETS SEE HOW FAR WE'VE COME]

Really? You, lone action hero Stanford Pines, scared? Well hang me out and call me laundry, I never would've thought it was possible.

[he's in a great mood can you tell]

[Ford lays a bony finger across his nonexistent lips, and shushes Fiddleford.]

Don't you dare tell a soul. They all think I'm heroic and fearless. I'd like to keep it that way.

Besides. [he winks.] I wasn't alone this time.

Guess you weren't.

[It wasn't just him, either. It was all of them, and that's why they had to make the choice they did. They had so many other people to protect. Maybe that's why it didn't scare him. When you only have one option, it's harder to be afraid of making the choice.]

I love you, hon.

...You think people can get hitched after they die?

[Ford breathes out a sigh, a happy one. Which is saying a lot, considering he has no lungs and doesn't technically have to breathe. His arm snakes around Fiddleford's bony waist.]

I love you, too, F.

[His gaze widens, and then he beams over at his husband.]

Don't see why not. There's no death to part us this time, either. Though I might need a slightly smaller ring size...

Forget the rings, we've got to get crackin' on what we're doin' for names. I ain't never lettin' a hyphen into my house.

[Clunky. Inefficient. Hyphenated last names are a travesty of linguistic engineering. No, they have to rebuild it... better... stronger... they have the technology.]

[Ford's brow wrinkles, which, again, it shouldn't be able to wrinkle, but there you are.]

...Pinesgucket? McPines.

... McPines.

[Pinesgucket is. Not great. It's got personality but yikes.]

That sounds real neat. Straightforward.

McPines.

[He chuckles. It's a good amalgamation, he things, but it's just off-kilter enough to feel like it belongs with them.]

Think they allow inter-faith marriages down here?

I figure they must if we're both here.

[He has never once been Jewish in his life. Even taking into account this probably isn't Hell so Ford being here makes more sense, it sure isn't like any Heaven Fiddleford has ever seen glass windows of. Looks like nobody got it exactly right. ~~He is, unfortunately, not familiar with Dia de Muertos~~.]

Edited 2018-03-18 22:35 (UTC)

Good.

[He rests a hand on Fiddleford's cheek. Or, well, his cheekbone.]

Because I'm sure as hell not letting anyone get in the way of this again. We've got a whole lot of forever to catch up on, after all.

Well... well. Now we have time, don't we?

[It's sooner than he thought it would be, but a lot has taken him by surprise in his lifetime.]

I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you but the rest of my death works out just fine too, I figure.

[And this solves the issue neither of them had wanted to address, the issue of age, of those thirty years that stretch between them. Even if they had managed to work around the timeline issue, Ford would still probably have left Fiddleford behind a lot sooner than either of them were ready for.

He places a hand over Ford's on his cheekbone. He's glad that even in death he got to keep his sideburns, even if they came with the beard he hadn't found time to shave. It's kind of growing on him, no pun intended. Makes him feel just a little more like a respectable backwoods folk singer.]

And, hey. No time here. You can't tell me not to play my banjo after eight. You can't tell me not to play my banjo ever again.

We do. You might even have time to get tired of me all over again

[He's been thinking about that, too, these last few hours since they died. How it solves a lot of problems, even if it's not the ideal solution. It's...neat. Elegant. Several birds with one stone. Or, rather, one scissors.]

I don't think I could ever get tired of banjo. Not anymore. Betty sat in the corner of my bedroom for so long, I sometimes thought I could hear you playing. I always wished it was true.

[That's... boy. He's so glad Ford had Lefou and Wendy and Elsa and all the rest to get him through all that time.]

Oh, honey, I could never get tired of you. Might get a little tired of dealin' with you sometimes but that's normal.

[He loves Ford, even when Ford is a huge idiot. That's always been true. His husband isn't a perfect man and he wouldn't be Ford if he was.]

You want me to play you somethin'?

If I learned anything in the last year of my life, it's how very normal that is.

[But he's glad for the assurance. Maybe someday he'll stop needing it. For now, it's more then enough.

Ford heaves a contended sigh, and drops carefully to the grass, sprawling out with Moth Boy hovering near his shoulder.]

I'd like that an awful lot.

Then you got it.

[Last time, Fiddleford had tried his best not to pick a song that was... shall we say... too gay. This time he doesn't bother. There's no need for pretense anymore.It's a relief, honestly, because almost every single Herman's Hermits song is very gay.

In retrospect it's incredible he spent so long convinced he was straight.]

[The first few notes are all he needs to know what song it is, and he closes his eyes, letting it drift over him, music from all those years ago.

The first day of the afterlife, and he gets to spend it with everyone he loves. There are worse ways to be dead.]

[Sometime later, after they've had time to make the rounds and say their goodbyes and tie up loose ends, Fiddleford finds his way back to Ford. He's still feeling good, all things considered. He's heard there's going to be a wedding and that, especially, has him in high spirits. But there's something he has to discuss with his husband-to-be.]

Hey Stanford? Y'know Buck Cluck?

He had a son.

[Ford's been sticking close to his family, both adopted and otherwise, because who knows when he'll have a chance to see any of them again? He needs to take advantage of every moment he can. But that doesn't mean he isn't more than glad to see Fiddleford.

His brown eyes blink twice in their sockets, still owlish behind his glasses.]

That...pardon my French, that ass had a kid?

He sure did.

And he... I mean I don't want to go into it because I'll just rile myself up all over again but he treated that boy awful. And now he's here. That kid's dead, Stanford.

[And he didn't hear the whole story like Jiminy did but he'd wager a guess it has something to do with the incredibly shitty treatment Chicken Little suffered back home. Just a hunch.]

So if you see a tiny chicken skeleton with glasses -- keep an eye on him, alright?

And if you see a big one with a tie you point me at him so I can break every damn bone in his body.

[He doesn't have to explain. Not really. He's known Fiddleford long enough to know how he feels about fatherhood. He remembers the aghast look on his face back in college, when Ford had mentioned offhand things his own father had said and done. It wasn't hard to suss out.

A fond smile steals over his face.]

I certainly will.

[He pauses, just for a moment, and then elbows Fiddleford in the ribcage.]

We're not even properly married yet, and you're already talking about adopting kids.

[Oh. He can't blush -- no blood -- but he kind of gives the impression all the same. It's not hte immediate understanding in Ford's tone that has him abashed, of course. He would expect nothing less from any man he loved. Having the basic decency to want to look out for kids who need looking out for is on his shortlist of 'must haves' in a partner. It's the other thing.]

Well -- well -- it only feels right, y'know. Poor kid doesn't have a dad he can be proud of.

[Ford nods, smiling sidelong at Fiddleford, his fingers scratching idly under Moth Boy's chin.]

It is only right. And more than fair, considering I've adopted two kids today alone, by my count. And a step-nephew.

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Recuérdame.

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that icon adds 10 years to my life every time you use it

it's easily the best icon I have

it is so dear to me

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you know i was going to leave it there but

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