finlay_flynn: (so srs)
Spent most of the day with an old friend today. Parker Devon and I met on the set of Viewfinder, but he never returned for season two. He'd been offered a part on an American crime drama that would pay nearly twice as much- I can't blame him for taking it. Unfortunately the show hasn't been picked up for renewal, and we spent most of our evening at the bar discussing missed opportunities and parts we regret taking. 

He asked if I was really walking away from my new gig at the BBC, and I told him I wasn't sure. Apparently they've put filming on hold in hopes I'll come back, that's what my management teams says. I don't know if I want to do that anymore though. The idea was pitched that I do a farewell episode before someone new takes over the part- That might be more suited to my wants. Though the more I spoke with Parker, the more I wondered if I wasn't making a mistake. There are only so many parts up for grabs, and millions of actors looking for a role. Perhaps I should stay, and just negotiate more time for theater work and serious roles. After all, it's not that I don't love the series, I just...

I want more. I want parts I can dig my teeth into. Time Strider is good fun and all, but sometimes I want more than fun. There's an audition in August for a mini series based on an updated version of Winter's Tale. ...I'm terribly keen. Now I know exactly when I need to be back in London. Just before August first.
finlay_flynn: (shaggy haired fae boy)
I didn't get a cat. I thought about it, I did, but in the end common sense won out and I decided against it. My last pet wound up living with Winter and Phouka, it would be stupid to try again so soon.

I did, however, try and become a cat. Seren continued insisting via text that I'm capable, that I just need to focus more. She told me to find that seed of magic that helps me become a fox and use it to become something else. ...And of course, she was right. She's been studying and learning about magic so much longer than I have, she understands it in a way I don't yet. I'm learning, I am, but I've a long way to go still.

My cat form is a frail little thing, too thin with a slightly crooked tail. My fur is some sort of tabby mix, mostly gray with patches of ginger. ...I like it though. It'll be easier to blend in as a cat, and there's something soothing about the way I can slink about. I spent ages just climbing earlier. I scaled bookshelves, countertops... I even made it to the top of the curtain rail without shredding anything. 

I wanted to though. I wanted to dig holes in the rugs and claw at the sofa. It took a lot of willpower to resist.

It's not quite as comforting as being the fox, but it's something. It's a real attempt at testing the abilities of my power. Seren, Will, even Winter- They all keep saying I'm powerful. Maybe I am, maybe they're right. Maybe I just need to keep flexing my abilities.

I want to call Pip and tell her what I've done, but I wont. If I call her, she'll come fetch me. I miss my friends, but I'm not ready yet. Maybe I'll send them postcards. ...Maybe.

I don't know.
finlay_flynn: (Default)
The girl on the train had been watching him since he'd got on near Union square, her coffee coloured eyes locked on him with cheerful curiosity. When the older man beside him got off at the next stop, she didn't hesitate to come right over, plopping herself down beside him. Her face was round, her stomach pleasantly plump, and when she smiled there was no denying she was pretty- And that she knew it. Her hair was done up in braids, with hues of blue and violet woven through, and as she grinned it was hard not to notice how shockingly white her teeth were in contrast to her rich brown skin.

"Slumming it, are you?" she asked, in a heavy welsh accent.

"Pardon?" Fin asked, still a bit startled by her brazen approach.

"Well you are the prince, aren't you? You reek of royal, and you're not the queen. You're not that powerful," she said, digging through her purse and pulling out a little pack of honey. Tearing off the top, she sucked a little straight from the package.

Looking around, Fin expected everyone to be staring at them- But no one paid any mind. "I... How do you? ...Are you?" he asked.

The girl didn't answer, instead she held out her palm, and when he didn't react she caught hold of his wrist and guided him to do the same, getting their hands to face one another palm to palm, hovering, but not touching. Her magic reached out gently to his, and after a moment his did the same. It was light and playful, a calm greeting that felt almost like a handshake.

"Don't meet many other trooping?" she asked finally, watching him as he shook his head, then smiling brightly as she elbowed him hard in the side. "Then you're in luck, because I've got nothing to do today. I was going to the Met to see if I could pinch a box they've got there- It's full of secrets and it's been singing to me for weeks, but- This will be more fun, I think. ...Well, until it gets boring.

Fin just nodded dumbly, and didn't protest when she caught him by the arm and hauled him off the train at the next stop.
finlay_flynn: (a mess)
I've stopped eating.

I'm not on a hunger strike or anything, it's not a choice I've made, I just- Don't eat. I look at food and suddenly my stomach's like a lead weight inside me. So I don't eat. I just make another cup of tea. It's happened before, after the abduction, after losing my sight... Trauma will do it, and I suppose that's what this is. The breaking of the bond, Will's death and rebirth, it was traumatic, and my body is rebelling against it.

Yesterday I ate nothing. Today I've had a cup of tea. It's starting to make me sick.

At lunch I forced down a granola bar, because one day without food is stupid, but two and it's a problem. I didn't taste it, didn't want it, I just kept imaging Hex telling me to eat something until finally it was gone. Dinner was a little bag of crisps. Pitiful. I need to get this sorted before I go home. I can't come back to London more broken than I left. I can't let everyone down. I can't be the victim anymore. I'm a fucking prince, I need to be a fucking prince. ...I should call Pippa.

I can't call Pippa.

finlay_flynn: (boho)
I forget sometimes that not everyone in this business was bankrolled by Willy Silver. I mean, I wouldn't be shocked if they were, but they aren't, which I'm sure is why this man from NBC keeps going on about how much I'd make per episode if I'd just do a read for this sitcom they've got in the works. He's barely even mentioned the plot, but he's quoted those digits so many times that if he told me it was a show about accountants, I'd believe him at this point.

I'm not interested, I tell him, because that's the truth.

They sell these massive pretzels on nearly every corner, and I swear I've had five of them since I got here. They're not even that good, to be honest, they just smell so enticing, and there's something deeply satisfying about crunching little rocks of salt. It takes my mind off everything for a while, and boils the whole universe down to something delightfully simple. Food good, summer nice, city big.

By the time the sun starts to set I'm home again. I consider hitting the pub, but I find solitude far more inviting tonight. Instead I sit and sketch in a cheap notebook I picked up. I start with bits of the city I can see from my window, but eventually I'm drawing familiar faces from home. Phouka, Winter, Robin and Sunny... Even Felix makes an appearance. I start to draw Will, but I can't focus on his face. In the end I sketch a huge cloud of hair before putting the notebook to one side and flopping onto the bed.

It feels like it's been such a long week.
finlay_flynn: (Default)
I spent the better part of my day as a fox. Last night I even slept as a fox, a rare indulgence outside the bedroom I shared with Will. I laid with my soft white paws tucked beneath my chin, a thick pillow serving as my bed. I woke on my back, paws in the air, and I watched my tail swish slowly before impulse drove me to try and catch it. ...I failed. Failing wasn't so bad though.

After that I ran in circles until my stomach growled, but with no one to cook for me, I was forced to return to my fae self. I can't explain it, but there's something about that form that's just... Freeing. Everything in my head slows down, and the world becomes a far calmer place, no matter how manic the fox gets.

Later I found myself back at the pub, chatting with someone new. He was beautiful, his voice like warm caramel, but when he leaned in to test the waters, I found myself drawing away.

We split the tab. I took an uber home.

He would have tasted so sweet, I know it, but my mind goes back to Will, and I hesitate. I was wrong to go. I was wrong to leave him like that. ...It would have been just as wrong to stay though. So I hang in a strange sort of limbo, staring at my phone and wondering if I should ring him. Instead I go out and buy a postcard and write him a letter. I usually have so many words, but here and now, none seem right.

New York is beautiful, but the humidity is rotten.
I hope you're not angry. 
I miss you and I hope you're well. I don't know when I'll return to London.
Soon, I'm sure.
All My Love,

The stamp has a tiny flag on it, caught in some perpetual breeze. Not trusting myself to remember in the morning, I head back out and drop it into the nearest post box before dipping into a place that's open all night and serves breakfast around the clock. I eat pankcakes until I'm certain I can eat no more, before dragging myself home and crawling into bed.

I shift back into the fox, it's easier to sleep this way, especially when I'm alone.
finlay_flynn: (music)
I went out tonight. I wasn't going to, but the city was singing to me, begging me to wander its streets. This bar was playing Leonard Cohen as I walked by, and instead of continuing on I found myself heading inside. Two beers in and I was chatting with someone. He was tall, blonde hair and tan skin. Very American looking, with those perfect teeth and smile that was just a bit too wide. He knew who I was, he knew I knew, but we never mentioned it.

I think he wanted to come home with me, but he didn't ask, and I made no move to invite him. I'm not ready for intimacy, I'm not there yet.

This mark on my back has done something though, that manic lust my magic once inspired in people seems to be gone. There's no grabbing anymore, no strangers staring me down like they'd enjoy peeling off my skin, bit by bit. When I talk to people, and there's that moment of connection, it feels real now. I made that connection, not my magic. It's mine.

I'm mine again.

I bought a cheap laptop, the keys are uncomfortably soft under my fingers but they get my words out just fine. I looked at my email for the first time since leaving London, and it was too much- Too many questions, too much panic. I sent my management team a two line email. I don't imagine they'll be impressed.
finlay_flynn: (boho)
I considered getting a hotel, but the truth is I needed something private. I needed to grieve, to meditate, and that's not easy done with room service and maids coming and going. In the end I settled on an airbnb in The Village, a proper flat to call my own for a month, or until I'm ready to go back to London.

It seems silly right now to assume I'll ever be ready to go back. I think about home and I get sick to my stomach, physically nauseous. It's nerves, I know it is, and they're soon soothed by the time I reach the bottom of the cut crystal glass that holds my scotch. Do I even like scotch? Lately I don't even pause to taste it. It's medicine, down in one go to chase away the ache.

Will's death is with me constantly, playing on a loop in my head. I close my eyes and I see him fall. So much happened in that moment, in an instant he was gone, and though his death brought me to my knees- There was freedom in that moment. In that brief moment where he was gone, I became painfully aware of that thread that had linked us together, because suddenly it was gone, and all the emotions that had already been dragged to the surface after breaking our bond were suddenly impossible to ignore. I was wrong to leave him that night, I know he wasn't well, and I know he must have been a mess, but I couldn't stay. I couldn't. I needed space, I needed to breathe. I needed to deal with everything that had happened between us from day one.

...Perhaps he did too. I can only hope that he takes this time to reflect as well. More than anything, I wish we could start again, we've both grown so much since that first night, and if we'd both known then what we know now, I know it would have been so different. Starting again is impossible though, there's no roundabout here, only branching paths. It's up to both of us to choose the right one now- Independently of one another. My hope is that our paths cross again, but I wont force it. I wont fight against my own will anymore.


finlay_flynn: (Default)
Finlay Alexander Flynn

April 2019

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