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ryslig
WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, CHARACTER NAME/ALIAS. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 018.07.154.55 *** CHARACTER NAME/ALIAS has joined 018.07.154.55 <Daisy>This is Basil! I'm not around right now, but if you leave a message I'll get back to it as soon as I can. <BANNED USER> SCREENED MESSAGE. UNSCREEN? Y/N -- sample for when you ban someone <USERNAME> First sentence of message. <USERNAME> First sentence of message. | ||||
backdated, immediately post september event
The sun will be rising soon, but Max can't sleep.
Part if it is how much she's wondering, waiting for the world to start turning how it always has again. Part of it is how offput she is, how she's wondering, how much is wrong with her, what doesn't she remember?
But mostly, it's because right when she thinks she might never be able to sleep over the cacophony of thunder and wind, the storm screaming outside as the heavens baptize the world in harsh rain.
It feels wrong in her bones. As she looks out her window at the forest, she can feel that this isn't good. How connected she's felt to it since she returned from whatever limbo she was stuck in—Max knows, this isn't...okay. This isn't good.
She still hates those fucking trees.
Ultimately, she's mesmerized. Max watches the storm until the moment it all stops, and the fog rolls away like always, and the sun emerges. It stings her eyes, but she's not focused on that, instead feeling something like a glassy film wash over her mind. Max has to sit down for a moment, consciously acknowledging the haze that's setting over her.
She doesn't feel any different. That's what Max settles on, at least for the moment. The only thing that's changed, she...
Doesn't want to think about it. Instead, her ears perk up, trying to catch the sound of any movement from down the hall, as she rushes to Basil's room without sparing more than a moment. ]
cw: disassociation
And what a dream it's been. Actually, he might have assumed that's all it was, if he wasn't startled by the state of his bedroom upon "waking". His polaroid camera- the one Nanami gave him, anyway, not his- sits on the bedside table, and all across the room are polaroid photos that have been hung up carefully on twine and little wooden pegs. It's exactly how he might have decorated his room when he was younger, though it's more likely the photos would have ended up in an album...which he's lacking at the moment.
It's not the fault of his previous self, who had been more than happy to take them. But seeing the polaroids, seeing all these images staring back at him of people and places he barely remembers...it's terrifying.
When Max enters Basil's room (she'll have to let herself in, he doesn't respond to any knocking), she'll find the Gargoyle standing in the epicenter of disarray. The photos have been torn down from the walls, string and the little pegs scattered. The photos are on the floor too, but they haven't been destroyed. They've just been dismantled in Basil's confusion as he stands there facing the window, his back to the door.]
cw: implied domestic abuse
He can't have been caught in the early lights of the sun. He's good about pulling the blinds. And he's not that heavy of a sleeper.
Worry wins out. After a few knocks, a few quiet calls of his name, Max lets herself in, finding Basil utterly disoriented. Her hooves clop on the floor softly, and she raises her voice. ]
Basil? Hey, are you with me?
no subject
[When Basil answers her, he doesn't turn around. His voice comes out in a small whisper, barely there, as he wraps his arms around his middle in a self-hug.]
W...where did all of these pictures come from?
no subject
You took them. [ Quiet, almost equally so. She closes the door behind her, as she makes her way toward him, leaving photos where they are. ] This last week, you... You thought you did it all the time.
no subject
Basil shakes his head a little, but he doesn't move from the middle of his bedroom. He's avoiding looking at the pictures, which are all of people in Ryslig, going about their day or posing for the camera...he can't stand looking at them.]
...I h-haven't....taken pictures like this since Mari died. I haven't wanted to.
[That...isn't entirely true. It's more that his desire to had been snuffed out by guilty association.]
no subject
Oh, fuck.
Max swallows behind him. It would make sense if it was tied to that, wouldn't it? That's how trauma works. ]
Basil... [ She can't find the right words. Instead, just walks up and reaches for one of his hands wrapped around his middle. To try and get him to move, something. ]
no subject
He looks over to her finally, his expression a touch frightened.]
I...I don't like it when I can't...remember stuff like this, Max.
no subject
I know. [ Softer than usual, in an attempt to be soothing. ] It was a...one of those things. Okay? A lot of people had different memories, last week. It wasn't only you. I'm... Even my memory's a little...hazy.
[ Not incredibly. But it's strange. Disorienting. Like everything's been moved slightly, and she has to sort through it. ]
no subject
One of those things...]
...but I was. Different. Right?
[He had to have been, to be doing this.]
no subject
You were...happier. More...carefree.
[ Is Max happy that he's not anymore? How...awful is it, to think that? ]
no subject
[Happier. He...has an inkling as to what could have possibly been the reason, but thinking too deeply on that makes his stomach hurt.]
I see. I'm...I'm sorry if that was...weird, at all.