entranceway | [video] once there was a way to get back homeward

[It wasn't enough, she thinks, to lose so much back home that she had to return here to another loss she was only just rebuilding. It wasn't enough to take away, it wasn't enough to really hurt, no, to quietly return to a familiar room, empty with its vast walls and dark corners. Slowly she filled it again, odds and ends of furniture and the trappings of a home to which she can never return.

She has a reputation to uphold even in spite of the circumstances, better to nurse the greatest wound out of the public eye, a garish scar across her stomach. Evelyn could swear the blade reached her heart.

The exhaustion nestles deep into her bones, a palpable chill that reminds her what she is.

What she isn't.]

I've been informed I was away for a little while, [she addresses the network, unable to muster more than a tired smile.] Perhaps someone might catch me up. I'll be-

[For a moment Evelyn appears distracted, hand gravitating toward her waist.]

I'll be in the library. I've also got several, erm, dogs that need homes. Please let me know if you're interested.

Private to Philip, 11:31 AM
I’m back. May I come and see you? It's important.
-E

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[It sets in slowly, at first - realisation dawning over him as his face falls, as Evelyn watches something crumble and she is certain she appeared the same way when he told her about his own loss. Heartbreaking news, to come from a messenger who is simultaneously the victim. Evelyn's initial instinct is to comfort him in spite of the irony of that desire, when she is the one who should fret.

For much of that first day she sat in Dean's rooms, staring into the middle distance while he hovered nearby in anxiety, occasionally walking into her field of vision to see if she wanted something to eat. She didn't sleep well the first night, and she has the uncanny feeling that she won't be doing much sleeping in the future, either.

Evelyn moves around to seat herself in the chair opposite Philip, quiet, folding her hands together in her lap.]

I got back yesterday morning. Dean found me.

[ His memories knit themselves back together, and the tapestry they weave is repulsive. The decade buried in her last leave of absence was-- At the time it was a grim reminder that the grass looks a lot greener if you're not six feet under it. Somebody else's bright future, clearly illuminating everything lost to him, everything beyond Wonderland that wouldn't be waiting for him anymore. No marriage, no children, nothing even close to ten years to decide if he eventually wanted either. Not even ten minutes left to breathe.

Philip carries a vindictive streak, and no qualms about wishing his brand of demise on worst enemies, but misery only loves company as long as that company is sufficiently miserable to deserve it. Evelyn is not, and Philip wouldn't have wished his lot on her for all the worlds.

But she drew it, right down to the fine print. Right down to his recollections of a day almost three years ago. They don't come easy, but the effort is grounding. Remembering somebody else's words, when his own thoughts are still reeling too quickly to make her hear them. ]

'I wish I could say the grass is greener on the other side. But I've been to both of afterlife's options, and neither of them are all they're cracked up to be.'

[ He looks at her, his exhale weary. The smile he forces predictably strained. ]

That's what he said to me when I got-- when I told him, please--

[ Philip shakes his head. ]

Please tell me he's become a better welcome committee over the years.

[Evelyn wishes there were grass on the other side - as far as she knows, as much as she remembers, everything was black, and black, and black. Feeling the life draining from her while Rick cradled her head and shoulders, her vision swimming in delusion and tears, the slow creep of consciousness of the beach felt calm by comparison.

She isn't certain what she expected from Philip, but silence sums it up neatly, the tight smile another façade she knows well, wears well. It is easier here to relax that residual anxiety, letting it melt into the chair to ground her on the floor beneath her feet.]

He...was afraid, I think. I couldn't move when I realized-

[She takes a careful breath and it still feels foreign, inhaling when she shouldn't be able to.]

He carried me, to his rooms. Made sure I cleaned up, sat with me until I felt like- until I couldn't sit still anymore.

[Evelyn still wants to, mind, but Dean was persistent about ensuring she not hurt herself further, as if she were the type. Gratefulness trumps a desire to squirrel herself away when there are people who would be the sort to sit with her, to hold her while she cried.]

I'm thankful for that.

[ Philip frowns. He can picture the support, not the fear. It doesn't take more than one hand to count the times he's seen Dean afraid, genuinely afraid. How a stranger's death could raise that count is beyond him now. Then again, the Dean he knew has been a thing of the past for a long time. And the present is about neither of the two. With a deep breath he lets the uncertain expression go. ]

Seven out of ten, that'll do. I'm glad he was there.

[ Glad it was Dean instead of many other candidates. Glad it was Dean instead of him? That much... he doesn't feel entirely sure about.

What he does feel is the quiet. Sharp and loud terror, sinking slowly into the back of his mind; not gone, not forgotten, but duller. Dull enough for another thought to take the stage, to offer the only thing he has at a time when comfort, he thinks, couldn't possibly do. ]

Listen. Listen, before I-- For some time after I died I was looking into alternative ways out of Wonderland. To leave... differently than people usually do, that is to say, to. To leave for a different world, or a different time than their own, because. Because if it can take people from any place and any time, what's to say there isn't a way to make these paths accessible for anybody?

[ Right. Right, the bottom line. ]

What I mean to say is... is, if that is something you want, then I'll help you start looking again.

[ Not a different world, but... if it was possible to escape with your knowledge, if it was possible to return just a few moments sooner than intended... ]

[With everything that Dean has seen Evelyn wouldn't have imagined fear either, but there it was staring down at her as she opened her eyes. At the time she had really wondered if it was too much to ask for the beach to be empty so early, to let her sweep back out with the tide and if he wouldn't mind coming back later, but the realisation that this was her last stop had sucked any and all levity from the scenario and left her drifting in a vacuum.

Philip's suggestion isn't an objectionable one but it is too much, too soon. Dean would have argued for her to rest several more days before re-entering the public sphere and perhaps that would have been best. Hope feels dangerous, now.

It didn't used to.]

...You would do that?

[The emotion that bleeds into her words is evident, afraid of the possibilities, afraid of the lack thereof and afraid of trying and failing.]

[ Philip didn't abandon the project for his lack of success, although he has to wonder how long he could have kept looking before arriving at just that conclusion. The task is anything but small and simple, and Evie's voice is a painful reminder of the gravity of even making the attempt.

He nods, all the same. ]

It's nothing short of making Wonderland let you go at your own terms, and everything that means for our odds, but. I would. I will. As long as it takes.

[ He leans forward, somewhere in the back of his mind watching his own motions curiously. But he takes both her wrists into his hands, lightly, and remembers a discovery that gave him pause those few years ago. He doesn't know if it could be comforting, or grounding, or anything at all, but he leads her fingers to her own wrist, and presses them down to her pulse, where she can still feel the blood pumping. ]

It's not over. You're still alive here.

[Part of her is afraid to start looking when the odds seem to lean heavily in favour of "no one leaves, not now, not ever." Wonderland has a habit of forcing its residents into precarious positions and theirs is a very specific niche of Involuntary Guest. Even with Philip's reassurance - one of the strongest and most resolute she has heard in some time - it is hard not to be dissuaded from the endeavour by hypothetical impossibility.

Evelyn remembers her last return and their estrangement, reaching across a table that felt like a vast chasm for the hand of a dead man who curled his fingers in and pulled away. Philip leans forward now, and takes her hands in his, slipping to her wrists and pressing a pulse beneath her fingertips. The contact from another person itself is almost more validating than her own heartbeat, swallowing a protest that being "alive" shouldn't feel this cold.

She never did wear cynicism well.]

Thank you.

[video] once there was a way to get back homeward

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