[once she's steady, he'll pull his hand back and then take a step. and then a few more.]
No.
That must've been me. Oddities are happening today. Emotions flowing between people, as well as thoughts. More rarely, physical sensation is being shared.
rosamund will feel something in turn. there is the initial burst of surprise and annoyance at all the emotions hitting him at once—but then something curious happens. before any of them becoming too much, before they manifest completely and reach the peak of their strength... they stall. then disappear. as if being erased. as if something in the answering system cannot process them.]
Yes. If it happens again, don't breathe for as long as you can help it.
[Her expression shifts in time with him. Whether the sudden cut to their link is the same as the pain, vanishing without warning, or whether it's a willful shut down is hard to say. He's looked unflappable through this whole exchange, even in spite of all the bizarre goings on.]
That's a tall order. Are you not breathing? [Stupid question. She waves it off.] What is this? What's going on?
Is it part of that thing that kills you when you're twenty three?
[She's not got a great head for science, but she can understand the impetus. Going great lengths to fix something beyond your means. Her gaze stays square on him, but it's rounded out at the edges. He gets a sudden softness. Not pity, not affection. An understanding, both bone-deep and light of touch at once.]
If...well. I don't know that I trust them one bit, but, if we really do return to our normal selves sometime, there's something I could try? At least to make it a little easier to bear. Maybe.
[Another smile blooms, little and modest. Perhaps even self-deprecating, but the wistfulness that bleeds between them speaks to something else.]
If my friend Timothy were here I'd send you straight to him, but no such luck. I'm afraid I've only got very small tricks up my sleeve. What's left of it, anyway.
[he watches her for a moment - and again, his emotions don't come through quite right. they seem more heavily processed than anything, rather than an organic feeling. still, he regards her with a sense of curiosity and slight confusion.]
Why bother offering to help me? When you know it will do little to change my manner of behavior?
[when he will still probably choose to torture others when pushed to it, because that's an act of necessity not convenience.]
Regardless, I will turn you down. Even this feeling is data that can be used for my research. I've chosen to live with it, rather than abandon it.
[He's got the strangest read she's garnered yet. The muffling retains a certain consistency, to a point where she thinks the connection's not to blame. Something's either wrong with him, or he's much better at controlling himself than she is.]
I told you before. I don't like cruelty. I don't think anyone should be in pain all the time.
[His response is a bit disappointing, though perhaps expected. She hadn't endeared herself much to him anyway, not after that first talk. Maybe she can sneak a Cure Wounds on him some other time?
...No no no, she should ask permission again later.]
If you're sure. It doesn't have to be so hard, even if there's a point behind the suffering. [Rosamund sighs.] My offer's open, if I ever get my spells back. Come find me whenever.
[And now she'll rise to leave.
Which is when he'll feel the slice. Pointed razors, digging into and pricking skin that has long since passed its limit, cut over and over in the same places. The worst is around his middle. The weirdest is the inside. Tugging, strain placed on roots hooked into flesh, organs. The old scabs in her lungs and stomach have healed at least.
But the strangest of all is the thumping of her heart. It isn't beating. It's being squeezed. Dead muscle, coaxed into a parody of life by a suffocating cage of briars, flexing against it in perfect rhythm. Anything to protect their princess.
With it all comes a voice, high and cold and inhuman.
he doesn't bother to stop her though, because scien isn't the type to get anyone to stop from leaving a conversation. though it's when the feeling starts that despite everything, he winces in surprise.]
Ugh...
[given the sharpness of his own pain at all times, he's not used to actually registering any types of aches. but it's the way that there's a squeeze in his chest - his own bizarre heart being forced to move. his remaining hand comes over his chest in confusion, before he looks back at her and finds himself incredulously asking despite himself - ]
[She startles when he does, reaching for him on reflex.]
Scien?
[Then she freezes on the spot. Her eyes dart between his.
One by one, her fingers curl back into her hand. She draws it to her own chest. He heard them? She barely hears them anymore. Even thought they might be dormant now, save for their perfunctory duties.
The panic streaks through her quick, though she remains rigid and pale faced in front of him. What if they start growing again? The ships not big enough, no one could outrun them.]
...Yes. [Rosamund bites her lip. Winces. Then gives a helpless shrug, a wafer thin laugh.]
[she probably didn't expect an answer to such an obviously rhetorical question, but he says it with such certainty. he's so tired of curses, of magic, of people claiming all these things that he's fairly sure that he can resolve with science. even if he's run into the same walls over and over, he's never stopped.
again - any feeling she has that's too strong peters out before it fully forms in his answering emotions. as if there's an error in the processing.
instead, upon witnessing her shrug and hearing her laugh, there is a wisp of irritation. something like it, anyway.]
Why do you force yourself to laugh when you're in pain?
[Even in its original condition, this specific man couldn't have cracked her curse. If he has a romantic side it's buried so deep even the worms can't find it.
Then he has her drawing back whole. His irritation feeds her own, blends with her indignity.]
Whooooooa, okay! You're telling me to stop acting like I'm not in pain? You?
What else should I be doing? Lying on the floor and crying? When did that ever get anything done?
And what's wrong with a little laughter anyway? Isn't the world dark enough on its own? Sometimes all you can do is make the best of what you have.
Though her fists clench and more sour words gather at the tip of her tongue, Rosamund takes a steeling breath. Fine. Maybe she jumped to conclusions, just because he gets on her nerves so much.
But maybe he should stop getting on them in the first place.]
It's not as if there's some grand reason behind it. I just don't know what else to do, when I'm so far away from anything that can be done.
No, because it would be a waste of resources when I know how to help myself. This body is nearly at the end of its lifespan, I only need to record my findings and not commit the same experiment upon myself again.
It hits a bruise in her, still fresh. It was practically last week, really. Why do people with so much to live for give it all up so easily? Her jaw clenches, and she looks between his eyes for signs of contradiction. Waits for a trickle of emotion to tell her the truth.]
Then we're in the same position. Waiting for the next chance.
[She presses her lips tight. Then shakes her head and makes for the door.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fucking never
[once she's steady, he'll pull his hand back and then take a step. and then a few more.]
No.
That must've been me. Oddities are happening today. Emotions flowing between people, as well as thoughts. More rarely, physical sensation is being shared.
[so it must've been the last one]
Breathe. You'll be fine. Keep your distance.
do it coward (no)
Confusion, fright. Worry. Shock. A long and unshakable pull of sadness.]
That's you? [It's a question but not one she needs answered twice.] All the time? That's what you feel?
no subject
well.
rosamund will feel something in turn. there is the initial burst of surprise and annoyance at all the emotions hitting him at once—but then something curious happens. before any of them becoming too much, before they manifest completely and reach the peak of their strength... they stall. then disappear. as if being erased. as if something in the answering system cannot process them.]
Yes. If it happens again, don't breathe for as long as you can help it.
no subject
That's a tall order. Are you not breathing? [Stupid question. She waves it off.] What is this? What's going on?
Is it part of that thing that kills you when you're twenty three?
no subject
[he does still look unflappable - and his emotions return to that fairly neutral thrum, not much to find]
I'm simply used to the pain. It's something I brought upon myself, so I don't have any right to complain about it.
[even if with every breath, it feels like hell.]
no subject
[She's not got a great head for science, but she can understand the impetus. Going great lengths to fix something beyond your means. Her gaze stays square on him, but it's rounded out at the edges. He gets a sudden softness. Not pity, not affection. An understanding, both bone-deep and light of touch at once.]
If...well. I don't know that I trust them one bit, but, if we really do return to our normal selves sometime, there's something I could try? At least to make it a little easier to bear. Maybe.
[Another smile blooms, little and modest. Perhaps even self-deprecating, but the wistfulness that bleeds between them speaks to something else.]
If my friend Timothy were here I'd send you straight to him, but no such luck. I'm afraid I've only got very small tricks up my sleeve. What's left of it, anyway.
[She tugs playfully at a torn edge.]
no subject
Why bother offering to help me? When you know it will do little to change my manner of behavior?
[when he will still probably choose to torture others when pushed to it, because that's an act of necessity not convenience.]
Regardless, I will turn you down. Even this feeling is data that can be used for my research. I've chosen to live with it, rather than abandon it.
[to improve the lives of others.]
no subject
I told you before. I don't like cruelty. I don't think anyone should be in pain all the time.
[His response is a bit disappointing, though perhaps expected. She hadn't endeared herself much to him anyway, not after that first talk. Maybe she can sneak a Cure Wounds on him some other time?
...No no no, she should ask permission again later.]
If you're sure. It doesn't have to be so hard, even if there's a point behind the suffering. [Rosamund sighs.] My offer's open, if I ever get my spells back. Come find me whenever.
[And now she'll rise to leave.
Which is when he'll feel the slice. Pointed razors, digging into and pricking skin that has long since passed its limit, cut over and over in the same places. The worst is around his middle. The weirdest is the inside. Tugging, strain placed on roots hooked into flesh, organs. The old scabs in her lungs and stomach have healed at least.
But the strangest of all is the thumping of her heart. It isn't beating. It's being squeezed. Dead muscle, coaxed into a parody of life by a suffocating cage of briars, flexing against it in perfect rhythm. Anything to protect their princess.
With it all comes a voice, high and cold and inhuman.
keeeeep her saaaafe...]
no subject
he doesn't bother to stop her though, because scien isn't the type to get anyone to stop from leaving a conversation. though it's when the feeling starts that despite everything, he winces in surprise.]
Ugh...
[given the sharpness of his own pain at all times, he's not used to actually registering any types of aches. but it's the way that there's a squeeze in his chest - his own bizarre heart being forced to move. his remaining hand comes over his chest in confusion, before he looks back at her and finds himself incredulously asking despite himself - ]
Your briars are sentient?
[girl what]
no subject
Scien?
[Then she freezes on the spot. Her eyes dart between his.
One by one, her fingers curl back into her hand. She draws it to her own chest. He heard them? She barely hears them anymore. Even thought they might be dormant now, save for their perfunctory duties.
The panic streaks through her quick, though she remains rigid and pale faced in front of him. What if they start growing again? The ships not big enough, no one could outrun them.]
...Yes. [Rosamund bites her lip. Winces. Then gives a helpless shrug, a wafer thin laugh.]
Curses. What can you do?
no subject
[she probably didn't expect an answer to such an obviously rhetorical question, but he says it with such certainty. he's so tired of curses, of magic, of people claiming all these things that he's fairly sure that he can resolve with science. even if he's run into the same walls over and over, he's never stopped.
again - any feeling she has that's too strong peters out before it fully forms in his answering emotions. as if there's an error in the processing.
instead, upon witnessing her shrug and hearing her laugh, there is a wisp of irritation. something like it, anyway.]
Why do you force yourself to laugh when you're in pain?
no subject
Not this this one, you won't.
[Even in its original condition, this specific man couldn't have cracked her curse. If he has a romantic side it's buried so deep even the worms can't find it.
Then he has her drawing back whole. His irritation feeds her own, blends with her indignity.]
Whooooooa, okay! You're telling me to stop acting like I'm not in pain? You?
What else should I be doing? Lying on the floor and crying? When did that ever get anything done?
And what's wrong with a little laughter anyway? Isn't the world dark enough on its own? Sometimes all you can do is make the best of what you have.
no subject
the only emotion coming off of him now is truly a flicker of confusion, some vague shape of it. he has no idea where her indignation is coming from]
I never said there's anything wrong with it, or that you should stop. You're fond of putting words in my mouth.
I only asked why. If you don't care to answer, then don't.
no subject
[Mature adults only in this room.
Though her fists clench and more sour words gather at the tip of her tongue, Rosamund takes a steeling breath. Fine. Maybe she jumped to conclusions, just because he gets on her nerves so much.
But maybe he should stop getting on them in the first place.]
It's not as if there's some grand reason behind it. I just don't know what else to do, when I'm so far away from anything that can be done.
Until I get home I just have to live with them.
no subject
sadly he won't. there is just a slight raise of his brow]
There is an entire universe at our fingertips, and you don't believe a single one of these planets or galaxies has an answer that could help you?
no subject
[terrible timing tbh.]
If they really mean what they said about sending us back, then it'll all be all right. I just have to stick it out.
What about you? You don't think anyone in all the worlds, in all the lands that ever were could help you?
no subject
[alright. ok.]
no subject
It hits a bruise in her, still fresh. It was practically last week, really. Why do people with so much to live for give it all up so easily? Her jaw clenches, and she looks between his eyes for signs of contradiction. Waits for a trickle of emotion to tell her the truth.]
Then we're in the same position. Waiting for the next chance.
[She presses her lips tight. Then shakes her head and makes for the door.]
Have a good day, Scien.
[She leaves without waiting for retort.]