[ It takes Max a day or so to realize what's going on, and she does because of Basil.
Since their heart-to-heart in the woods, when she realizes they share more than a few maladaptive coping mechanisms, she's made an active effort to reach out to him. It's never anything big, just asking if he wants to tag along when she goes into the city, or if he has plans, or how his flying is going. Things like that. What she promised herself was, if she noticed him shutting himself up, she'd stop it. Whatever way she could, she wouldn't let him be alone.
So when he starts not coming out of his room after the strange violin music fills the air, she gets worried. The first day it may not be anything, but the second? She goes to knock on his door and try to get an answer out of him. Calls his name, and opens her mouth to ask if he's okay, and then, apropos of nothing— ]
I used to pray that—
[ Max shoves her hands over her mouth and backs away from the door, eyes wide. It's muffled but she's still talking, oh god, why is she still talking, she practically chokes on her pawpads as they effectively gag her. One, two, three struggling clops of her hooves, before she races down the hall, slams her door, and buries herself under her headphones.
It's just a reactionary response. But it fixes the issue. So, like Basil, that's where she stays. Shut up in her room, isolated from the world, in fear of turning herself inside out against her will. Again.
Max returns to the Palazzo on the night of the 20th. Her car needs to air out, the interior soaked. Her legs are missing chunks from them, a consequence of the mutant fish getting too close. Her beloved Walkman's a waterlogged lump, and she prays her cassette is salvageable. But, she should be grateful. Eddie and Nanami got her home in one piece, and that's all she can really ask for.
She hasn't fully dried off yet when she drags herself up the stairs, under the pretense of getting some rest for the first time in twenty-four hours. Max wants to be alone, she thinks, wants to lick her wounds in piece. She's somehow paler than before, and her body feels both too warm and too cold, like the fevers she'd get in Hawkins at winter's start. Everything seems to hang loose on her, and her tail drags across the floor. Everything feels heavy. Like her muscles tensing up. Seizing. Max knows in trying so hard to help others, she's doomed someone to be her next meal. She should be on her way to talk to Fugo and arrange something. She should fall into her bed and cry out whatever liquid's seeped into her sodden form. She should at least wrap the bites on her legs, which irregularly ooze purplish-red sludge instead of blood.
But she does none of those things.
Just like at the start, she finds herself at Basil's door.
Max can still hear the music, louder than ever now. It doesn't compel her out the door back to the lake, however. Maybe it compels her here. But, she wants to foolishly believe, at least in some way, that this is in part her choice. ]
Basil?
[ A weak knock at the door. Her voice is scratchy, like she has a cold. She doubts it'll carry. ]
Basil, I—
Please let me in. I- w-want to- [ Something aches in her bones. ] I need to see you.
[ If this damn thing wants her to tell the truth, fine. She'll tell the fucking truth. ]
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timeasmymeasure
truth event | cw: mild gore -> suicidal ideation, homicidal ideation, omori+st4 spoilers!
Date: 2023-04-19 12:06 am (UTC)Since their heart-to-heart in the woods, when she realizes they share more than a few maladaptive coping mechanisms, she's made an active effort to reach out to him. It's never anything big, just asking if he wants to tag along when she goes into the city, or if he has plans, or how his flying is going. Things like that. What she promised herself was, if she noticed him shutting himself up, she'd stop it. Whatever way she could, she wouldn't let him be alone.
So when he starts not coming out of his room after the strange violin music fills the air, she gets worried. The first day it may not be anything, but the second? She goes to knock on his door and try to get an answer out of him. Calls his name, and opens her mouth to ask if he's okay, and then, apropos of nothing— ]
I used to pray that—
[ Max shoves her hands over her mouth and backs away from the door, eyes wide. It's muffled but she's still talking, oh god, why is she still talking, she practically chokes on her pawpads as they effectively gag her. One, two, three struggling clops of her hooves, before she races down the hall, slams her door, and buries herself under her headphones.
It's just a reactionary response. But it fixes the issue. So, like Basil, that's where she stays. Shut up in her room, isolated from the world, in fear of turning herself inside out against her will. Again.
That's almost how she stays through the week, but of course her plans change.
Of course they don't go well.
Max returns to the Palazzo on the night of the 20th. Her car needs to air out, the interior soaked. Her legs are missing chunks from them, a consequence of the mutant fish getting too close. Her beloved Walkman's a waterlogged lump, and she prays her cassette is salvageable. But, she should be grateful. Eddie and Nanami got her home in one piece, and that's all she can really ask for.
She hasn't fully dried off yet when she drags herself up the stairs, under the pretense of getting some rest for the first time in twenty-four hours. Max wants to be alone, she thinks, wants to lick her wounds in piece. She's somehow paler than before, and her body feels both too warm and too cold, like the fevers she'd get in Hawkins at winter's start. Everything seems to hang loose on her, and her tail drags across the floor. Everything feels heavy. Like her muscles tensing up. Seizing. Max knows in trying so hard to help others, she's doomed someone to be her next meal. She should be on her way to talk to Fugo and arrange something. She should fall into her bed and cry out whatever liquid's seeped into her sodden form. She should at least wrap the bites on her legs, which irregularly ooze purplish-red sludge instead of blood.
But she does none of those things.
Just like at the start, she finds herself at Basil's door.
Max can still hear the music, louder than ever now. It doesn't compel her out the door back to the lake, however. Maybe it compels her here. But, she wants to foolishly believe, at least in some way, that this is in part her choice. ]
Basil?
[ A weak knock at the door. Her voice is scratchy, like she has a cold. She doubts it'll carry. ]
Basil, I—
Please let me in. I- w-want to- [ Something aches in her bones. ] I need to see you.
[ If this damn thing wants her to tell the truth, fine. She'll tell the fucking truth. ]