First Reply Paint the sky

[Daniel Wing]

10th​ January

Daniel would quite likely never get used to gifts – mainly because no holidays had been a thing in Republic, his family not having any extra money for birthday gifts. They couldn't even afford food most days. Here, no one even knew when his birthday was and after 3 years of making a point of not celebrating anything, it felt odd to bring it up now.

But Edgar had gotten him paints for christmas. Beautiful, vibrant ones, more precious than anything he'd ever owned. Supposedly for therapy, but he'd remembered how sketching helped him adapt to those world in the early days. Somewhere along the way this hobby had gotten lost and he owned it to his friend to try again, use the gift.

Not alone again though, hidden in some room. Maybe there wasn't anyone to invite along, still he could be among people, a bit of social bustle. One of the small cafes along the harbor served just fine, terrace with a beautiful view, magically protected from the glum winter weather. Enough passerbys, yet a pocket of calm. And the owners didn't mind a young man lingering around carefully trying out paints, as long as he ordered some drink, a bit of food.

(OOC: I'd like for this to be a peaceful slice-of-life)

 

[Bill Denbrough]

Bill was giving himself a break from working on the ending to a novel. He was also trying to take a break from missing his friends and the guilt that came with that. To that end, he had gone to a cafe in another part of Pandora. The change of scenery might help.

He sat at a table with a cup of coffee. In his hands, he held a sketch book and began to draw with a pencil. He was tempted to draw his friends, happy and safe back home. He resisted that idea, because for Eddie and Stan, that could only exist in his imagination. Instead, he began drawing the view of the harbor with calm water. Nice and soothing.

It didn't take long for Bill to become completely lost in his art, only stopping when he had finished his coffee. He'd feel like a real jerk if he stayed at the table without something from the cafe, so he politely gained a sever's attention and ordered himself another coffee and a blueberry muffin that she recommended.

Bill was about to return to his sketch, when he noticed someone else on the terrace, also working on art. If he had to guess, he'd say the guy was a teenager. Of course, in Pandora someone could look seventeen and be seven hundred, and an artist was an artist. "Hey." He said to get the guy's attention. "This is a good spot for art, isn't it?" He added in a friendly tone.

 

[Daniel Wing]

Even if he wanted, the kid could never truly loose himself so much he forgot the surroundings. Not after a lifetime of being hunted and wary of everyone around. So he isn't at all surprised being talked to, though 3 years in Pandora aren't enough to get used to casual conversations. “I suppose” He looks over the harbor, considering from a different angle. “Picked it more because it's a good weather bubble. Not cold.” Winter was something his post-climate change upbringing would never get used to.

Feels odd that there are other artists around and he's a bit ashamed of his work – no one ever taught him how color mixing works so while he has an eye for perspective and relation, capturing the scenery in near-perfect realism, it's all in bright bold colors that turn it surreal. Not like he imagined. There's bits of paint in his short, white-blonde hair too, from forgetting about his dirty fingers and a habit of running them through it.

 

[Bill Denbrough]

Bill hadn't peeked at the kids' work. He would have appreciated the coloring if he had. His own sketches tended to be very realistic, trying to capture people he loved or the places that brought back fond memories. During the years he'd lost his memories, he'd find himself drawing a home he thought he imagined, but it was actually his childhood town. Today, he'd branched out slightly by drawing this place, but it was still very real. His writing however, was more creative. He'd made a career out of horror novels and screenplays, some which could be very surreal.

"I get that." Bill commented. "I grew up in Maine. We had cold winters, makes me appreciate places like this during the winters here." He'd grown up in a family and time of kids sent to play outside, no matter the weather. It was never that bad, since they had Ben who found ways to keep their clubhouse and other hang out spots warm. Having real magic was even better, except for the not having his friends part. Nothing was ever perfect.

 

[Daniel Wing]

“No winters in 2132 anymore” he replied with a sad smile. “Got heatstroke just being out a day in December” Though that had been under bad circumstances, chained to the roof of the prison. “Fairly sure Maine isn't there anymore in my time, but that's Colonies territory, not Republic. Didn't see it on the maps though.” Which meant it was somewhere on the east coast, lost under the rising sea levels of global warming.

Daniel glances back at his painting, the many colors. “Do you know how to make the colors do what you want? It's not looking like what I'm seeing.” No one had introduced him to surrealism and all the other fine nuances of art that were purposely off from photorealism, so anything he could produce looked wrong to the kid. Had been easier back when he made jewelry, everything there already of a specific color, needing only putting together.

 

[Bill Denbrough]

"Shit." Bill muttered, with a sympathy in his voice. A life of not being able to go outside and take a long walk, or anything else in fresh air sounded horrible. He still rode a bike at his age, in better weather. "I'm from 2016. If my generation fucked up the environment for you, I'm sorry." If they were even from the same world. He'd heard of better futures. Now didn't seem like the time to mention it. "You didn't miss much with Maine. The only part of it I've missed are my friends." Even they weren't in Maine anymore. "I hope you've been able to see a lot of good places here."

"I never would have guessed. It looks great, look you were going for an abstract touch or a bit of surrealism." Bill commented sincerely, allowing himself to take a longer look at the painting. "I mostly stick to my pencils these days." He admitted. It made things easier when he had a sudden urge to jot down a story idea next to a picture. "I remember using a color wheel when I was younger, finding colors close to the ones I want and mixing them. Or using opposite colors to get good shades of grey and black." He chuckled at himself. "I must sound like a basic old man. There's probably an app for that these days."

 

[Daniel Wing]

Of course people still went outside, had to. They got used to it, with time and people dying. “It got really bad in the 2030s, so I suppose by your time it's too late to do anything.” He shrugs a bit – too late to do anything about it and from what little he knows not the fault of one single person. Couldn't change the life he came from and Daniel was glad to at least not live in the time where it'd be really bad. “Everything is better than Republic. No ones trying to kill me for a chance.” In comparison to that life here was peaceful.

Daniel made a small noise of frustration at the comment – surreal he had in his home enough, with all the magic around. And he wasn't an art student, only wanted to use the gift and create something without having to learn all the proper techniques, reality there for comparison. Though it seemed he'd at least need to look into some of the color rules to make it work as he wanted. “A what now?” The future was bleak in many more ways and since he'd somehow ended up making his home here in magic country, it wasn't exactly easy to learn about modern tech. “I used to just sketch in the early days here, but it got lost between... everything. Friend got me those stuff, it'd be a shame not using it.” Especially since those looked expensive, something he could never bring himself to buy for mere recreation.

 

[Bill Denbrough]

It might be too late either way. Bill had heard that people didn't remember this place when they were sent home, at least not until they were returned to Pandora again. Besides, people didn't really listen to him for more than his stories. He wasn't that type of celebrity back home or in Pandora. "I'm glad things are better for you here." He said softly. The kid's words had stirred up his protective side. He did see him as a kid, even if he was much older than his little brother Georgie was, when he lost him. "But don't let your guard down. This place can be dangerous; it's got its share of assholes and crazy shit." He was starting to think those were the two constants in any universe.

"An app. It's a program on a phone." Bill took out his phone and turned it on. He got out of his chair, moving close enough so they could both see the screen. "I just have simple apps. A calendar, one for checking the weather, stuff like that. There's an app for almost everything though." He demonstrated the calendar and the weather one, as he spoke, then grew quiet for a moment. "I get that. Friends are important. You gotta appreciate all the gifts they give you." He owed his life to his friends. He swallowed hard against a lump that was forming in his throat. Way too emotional for a causal conversation. He went back to his table and sat down. "You said the early days here. Have you been here long?"

 

[Daniel Wing]

A little bit of compassion was all he'd have on this topic. Republic was his home despite everything, but arguing for the little bits of good made people pity him even more, so he tried not to. Anyone found soon enough just how it'd been, pretty much any question leading down dark paths. Better to stick to this world. Though the warning had him laugh out. “Oh, I know” Living with half-gods, friends that were beings he couldn't even explain, a girlfriend that was sometimes a boyfriend and then not even human, the world redoing itself... he'd seen many things here. And even if he wanted, there was no way to stop being cautious, to prepare for the worst.

Oh, so one of those modern things. Stuff he should know but didn't because Republic had everything backwards. “Don't have one of those. My phone is just earbuds, voice activated. Better to keep your hands free and half the time they don't work in this area anyway.” Mostly he rather came over to his friends for company, knowing that Palmer at least would never turn him away, no matter the time. A soft humming at appreciating gifts – Edgar had gotten it to him 'for therapy', with the usual sharp words. Their friendship was an odd one, but he knew better than wasting something precious. “Uhm... 3 years or 103 or 2 months or maybe it's 4 or 104, depending on how you want to count it.” Long enough with remembering all of it, yet not changing, growing wiser, not older.

 

[Bill Denbrough]

"Good." Bill said instinctively and then realized that needed a follow up. "I mean not good that you've been through shit here, but good that you're ready for it." He didn't need to know the details. The crazy shit sucked. There was the occasional thrill, or sense that he'd stopped evil, like when he killed the clown back home. But generally he just wanted a quiet life and to leave the danger to his wriiting. "Some of the shit here could almost come from my novels. I'm a horror writer."

Bill gave a nod. "I get that. I have an earpiece for when I'm riding my bike." Though he rarely used it. He preferred losing himself in the fun of a simple trip, like when he was a kid before texting and needing to stay updated constantly. "Wow. I'm coming up on my first year here and I thought that was a long time." He'd had bad luck with people disappearing far too soon. "You must have been here for that calamity." He guessed, judging by the hundred years difference in dates. He'd only heard rumors of course; this might be the first person he'd met that had actually lived through it.

 

[Daniel Wing]

Daniel shrugged. “Don't know it any other way. It's still way better than Republic and not like I can shut off instincts.” At least after a couple years of not being attacked daily he was slowly overcoming the reflex to brand his knives at anyone startling him. Still, there were nightmares and the odd sense of being not safe alone. Took time to tackle all that trauma, one small step at a time. “Oh, most of them are fine if you get to know them closer.” was his casual remark. He had quite some friends that others might cast as 'horrors'.

The earpiece was a bit of technology from his world, so he'd never considered getting rid of it. And it was useful, when he ended up having a panic attack on a rooftop, needed to hear someones voice to pull him out. Less risk of loosing it too. Mention of the Calamity had him pull a face. “Yeah, that I don't want to ever go through again.” Landscape shifting, people dying left and right, no safety to flee to and just about every trigger he could think off. No thank you. “Been also taken back and dropped in again once” Which on top of the hundred year timejump really screwed with his sense of time and the question just how long he'd been around for real.

 

[Bill Denbrough]

"That's true. Always gotta trust those instincts too." Even after having his memories stolen for twenty seven years, Bill's instincts had kicked him when the clown returned. Now, he simply knew when there was that kind of danger around. "It's the others you gotta keep an eye out for. I had a brother." He trailed off for a moment. Pennywise wasn't here. Not in Pandora. "I lost him to a monster." He said simply. Another moment of quiet. "That was a long time ago. Here in Pandora, all kind of shit's happened. Some asshole tried to kill me with a fucking golf club awhile back." That was easier to talk about. Looking back at it, his encounter with Justin was almost funny.

"Must have sucked. Do you want to talk about?" Bill offered sincerely. "The coming back thing happened to a friend of mine once. He told me about it. He left here, went home for years and then got dropped back here." He commented. "He, uh, he disappeared again. There's hope though. That he might come back here. I guess that's one of the good things about the randomness. I might get him back." He might get them all back. He never could fully give up.

 

[Daniel Wing]

With his own instincts not coming from a single instance but a lifetime of dangers, it was so ingrained it got hard to relax. Took a long time to recognize this, to go and actively work around it, since a life led constantly wary was exhausting and not very nice. He knew all about loosing family to others. “Humans can be monsters too” was his quiet reply. John was dead, his mum was, his father and while he couldn't remember how it happened clearly, there was enough of an inkling that it hadn't been accidents or something normal. They were gone and it'd never be enough time passed for it to stop hurting.

Compared to the countless horrors he'd been through, someone trying to kill him with a club of any sort would hardly frazzle him – and given that one time he ended up in a fight using broken pipes over some trash pickings, chances were the other would loose. Daniels abilities were naturally a good deal above the human average. But no, he didn't want to talk about the Calamity, shook his head. Some things he worked hard on forgetting. “Friends of mine been gone and back a couple times now. It's ok for me, here at least I know they're fine. People in Republic vanish, they're dead or worse.” Sometimes being alive wasn't a mercy anymore. “Just keep connecting to others, don't just wait. That'd leave you lonely eventually.” Not that any friends or family were replaceable, just better to be aware of this worlds rules.

 

[Bill Denbrough]

"Yeah." Bill agreed and gave a simple nod. He had a feeling there was a story there. Both the writer and the protective, older brother-nature in him was curious. He repressed the urge to ask about it. Not everyone shared his desire to open up now that he was finally in a place where what had happened to him could be believed. And what the hell could he do to help with a human-monster anyway? He couldn't fight a person in the same way he fought the clown. That certainly hadn't worked with Justin. Human monsters were better left to the police and others with that kind of experience.

"Most of my friends will be fine too." Bill said softly. "Guess I should focus on that." He should be taking comfort in the knowledge that his surviving friends would have better lives without the clown, and thinking fondly of them. Yet his thoughts kept returning to Stan dying alone in a damn bathtub and the even more horrific way that Eddie had died. He'd never see them again. He nodded again at the sound advice. It made sense. Loneliness sucked, and the guilt was at its worse when he was alone. With that thought in mind, he decided to introduce himself. "I'm Bill."

 

[Daniel Wing]

Not just a story, a whole life. Too much for such a young age. And he had learned that it helped to just talk about it here, that it eased the burden and slowly chipped away the hurt – but there was a lot, people always pitying him and it weren't exactly topics to bring up in any casual conversation. Especially not when he couldn't yet know if the other were mentally fine facing such horrors. That at least was easier with adults, who knew the world wasn't fair.

Good that at least some people didn't have to worry about their friends back home. Daniel couldn't even say that about himself, arriving in a coma with severe injuries, wouldn't even have woken up if not for magic help here. Most of his family was dead and his memory refused to so much as call up the vague circumstances. “I'm Daniel.” he introduced himself back. “You live around here?”

 

[Bill Denbrough]

"Nice to meet you Daniel." Bill said in a friendly tone. Dan, Danny, Dan the man, other nicknames occurred to him. All the 'losers', him and his best friends, had nicknames. It was simply their way. Of course, it might not be Daniel's way, so he kept them to himself.

Bill shook his head at the question, glad for the change in topic. He'd purposely chosen to get a change from his daily life in Pandora. "I live in Ark City in Centria, got a place in Levitton. It's nice for a big city, with parks and lakes." He had the best of both worlds there, living in a log cabin that almost felt like camping and close to the big city with all the things he needed for his career. "There are good spots for drawing and painting there too."

 

[Daniel Wing]

Daniel had nicknames, multiple, they just all were connected to stories – Day from his time on the streets, the one he picked himself. Danny, what his mother had used and no one else was allowed too. D-Day, a term he didn't quite understand that Edgar had coined on behalf of his trauma-ridden past. But then no one had called him by his birthname since he was ten, so he'd grown attached now that it was safe to use.

“Oh, I've been over there. It's closest to how home was” provoked the question why he choose to live in a backwards magic-land instead. No electricity alone proofed challenges, though people rarely guessed that he'd grown up without it. That the future could develop for the bad too. “Though not for drawing. I've been climbing skyscrapers – there aren't really any around here and cliffs aren't the same.”

 

[Bill Denbrough]

"Is that good or bad?" Bill asked softly. Reminders of home could be either or both. With with the way, Daniel had talked, he could understand wanting a change. The server finally arrived with Bill's food and he thanked her, before refocusing his attention back on Daniel.

Bill arched an eyebrow in surprise. He'd been in Pandora long enough to have seen buildings being climbed, even in costumes that would have been reserved for comic books back home. He hadn't pegged Daniel as the type, though he supposed no one would see himself as a fighter of alien killer clowns. "Seriously? Are you one of the superhero types or just in to extreme climbing?"

 

[Daniel Wing]

The question had him pause, having never really thought about that. “I don't know.” Republic had been bad, but it was his home. Ark City was modern, less full with strange creatures even if it got its share of powers, but it also was good in a way his home had never been and that hurt to see. And he couldn't imagine not living near the ocean, be able to just go and stare at waves in the night, the irregular noise calming him.

Not being recognizable as a climber was a tad irritating – people in Republic had always sorted him as a runner, the kind of soldier best off in physical activity, able to get places. Now... well. Peace and being a merchant seemed to rub off on him, despite staying active. But there was something worse to be addressed: “I'm not a hero” he snapped – then, forcing himself calm again, quieter: “Never that” Now he couldn't tie a specific memory to it, but it felt very wrong. “It's just what I'm good at. Running isn'exercise enough” Given that he could go for hours without really getting out of breath normal sports weren't cutting it when he tried to get exhausted, to forget everything.