WEEK 7

[grimgrinningghosts]

[You've all been here for well over a month and it's getting harder and harder to keep spirits up. There has been small hope thanks to a mysterious person talking to you through your dreams. A small hope that maybe you'll be able to escape and get your friends back, but you'll have to escape first.

There are no new floors to explore, the outside area remains the same as it's always been. Might as well get comfy here.

11 guests remain.]

[ SUNDAY MONDAY TUESDAY WEDNESDAY THURSDAY ]
 

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Comments

[terribibble]

[He could scold Ford for that kiss. He has half a mind to, honestly, but decides against it. People clearly already know. Maybe not everyone, but enough of them that maybe it's stupid to keep pretending they aren't anything more than friends. It might help to normalize the whole thing, and he would like to think of this as normal instead of something new and frightening. It's something he would, in all honesty, like to get used to.

Ford's question does give him pause, though.]

Oh, ah -- well I wouldn't know, it's not as though I'm familiar with -- she didn't say?

[Mmm boi. Falling apart in the home stretch huh.]

[sixfingeredstan]

[Let's be honest. Scolding him wouldn't do much at this point. Ford's pretty sure that if Naminé of all people figured them out, that everybody else probably has an inkling, too. Mike, for sure. Maui probably knows. They might as well go public while they have the chance.

He huffs a laugh and shakes his head.]

No, she didn't. All she said was to share it.

[He holds it out for Fiddleford to take.]

After you, I suppose.

[terribibble]

Right.

[Sure, Ford, make him go first. What if he fucks it up? He is absolutely capable of fucking up something as simple as eating fruit. Watch him. He's going to fuck it up. He's going to. Just watch --

He does not fuck it up. He manages to take a reasonably-sized bite and not get juice everywhere, even. He chews, swallows, and then holds the fruit back out to Ford.

All the time he thought about getting remarried, a scenario like this never crossed his mind. Mainly because all the times he thought about getting remarried prior to showing up in this house he immediately dismissed the idea. It felt disrespectful to how much he still cared for his wife, then. It doesn't now. Not because he doesn't care about her -- he will always love her, more than likely -- but because he's put that care in a little box and put that box on a shelf in his heart and it's fine. There's room for her and Ford both in there. He used to think there wasn't, but he's revised a lot of his views on interpersonal relationships recently. It's amazing the kind of perspective a place like this gives you.]

[sixfingeredstan]

[Listen, he was trying for once in his life to have good manners. He watches Fiddleford take the first bite, and then accepts it when it's his turn, taking an experiment sniff of it before he bites into it. It tastes good; almost like starfruit, funnily enough.

Ford's brow furrows, and he looks down at his lap almost in self-examination. He doesn't feel any different, but then again—why would he? He's always felt this way. Always wanted to do this, or at least something like it. He looks back up, and chuckles.]

I guess that's that, then. [Paaaaause.] ...Does this mean we don't have to sneak around anymore?

[terribibble]

I... I suppose it does. 'Specially since most folks seem to already have us figured out.

[By contrast, he feels very different. He's the kind of person who ties his sense of self to his accomplishments, to his relationships with other people, and Ford Pines' husband is a big descriptor to add in terms of both. Because that's what this is, really, no matter how much he tries to tell himself it's not that big of a deal, and it's still how his brain is going to parse it. Maybe if -- when -- they get out they can do it properly. Maybe thirty years from now he'll get remarried for keeps. Maybe thirty years from his time that's a thing you can legally do.]

Just, y'know. You still don't need to shout it from any rooftops.

[Ford Pines is absolutely going to climb onto the roof at the first opportunity.]

REMARRIED FOR KEEPS end me

[sixfingeredstan]

It does seem that way, doesn't it?

[He'd really thought they were being quite subtle, aside from the fact that they've been sleeping in the same room for about two weeks now. Even then, they'd been cautious. It's puzzling.

Still, it'll be a relief not to have to worry about it anymore.

He chuckles, setting the last bit of Paopu fruit back down on his handkerchief, and stretches his arms out like he's making himself comfortable—it just so happens that his one arm ends up settled around Fiddleford's shoulders.]

Luckily for you, I still haven't figured out how to get up there.

[He pauses, pondering something for a moment.]

...McGucket-Pines? Pines-McGucket?

[terribibble]

Pines-McGucket sounds better. Rolls off the tongue nicer.

[He can't believe Ford just pulled the casual stretch-and-hug, like they're teenagers at a drive-in movie, and so he doesn't comment on it.]

Though I honestly hadn't thought -- I guess it's harder to figure who takes what name with, ah. With two men.

Is that somethin' done in your time? Men gettin' married?

[sixfingeredstan]

I agree. It sounds...nice. Homey.

[It makes him miss his cabin. Makes him long for the day when the two of them can settle down in a new place of their own in between him and Stan's seafaring adventures.

Ford lets out a thoughtful hum.]

It's starting to be. In a few states, anyway. I believe Washington just legalized it in the year I came from, from what I managed to glean in between fixing catastrophes.