Recuérdame.

[riptorn]

[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!)

Comments

you know i was going to leave it there but

[terribibble]

[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.

[sixfingeredstan]

[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?

[terribibble]

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.

[sixfingeredstan]

[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.

[terribibble]

[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.

[sixfingeredstan]

[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.