change your name and keep your face
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Jun 20, 2016 14:06:03 GMT
Post by nemesis on Jun 20, 2016 14:06:03 GMT
seriously, fuck the subway.
the thing barely works on a good day, and then they have to go and break it or something - max has no idea, he just knows that the usual line to his shitty little sentinel hill neighbourhood is down for no reason and he has to take the bus. fuck the bus also.
he hates public transportation because it's a weird kind of extrasensory overload to him - same reason he doesn't go to movies, prefers dive bars to clubs. psionic claustrophobia. thank god he doesn't hear them because if he did he'd have gone so, so nuts by now, but it's an uncomfortable crush for him on both levels.
if he could fit workplace smart casual under his bike leathers, he wouldn't even be here.
but wishful thinking is wishful thinking and he can't fit a car in the tiny lockup garage he shares with his upstairs neighbour, so here he is. and something feels wrong. really, really wrong.
it's not the same as the prickling sense of peril he gets with other psis, with people who can repel him, and as he sits sweeping his gaze across the various backs of heads that he can see he tries to place the sensation. the closest is that one exhibit at the science museum on balance when he was in 5th grade, the spinning tunnel of lights that had dragged him to his knees even with a solid grip on the handrail. he can't stop it from reeling his mind forward. he feels a little like he's being sucked in.
him, max realises, zeroing in. he doesn't realise until it's too late that he's weaving a link between them on instinct, a full bridge that he doesn't intend to cross but is already stepping onto. it's barely even curiosity any more, more like a sort of sick magnetism.
he feels his eyelids slipping closed, against his will. and when he opens them...
"oh. shit." a long pause. "what the actual fuck, though."
grey
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Jun 21, 2016 12:59:20 GMT
Post by grey on Jun 21, 2016 12:59:20 GMT
Mentally, the human mind was divided into different levels. There was the conscious, and there was the subconscious, followed by the unconscious. Each of them varied in properties and function; of course, there were more to them, but Grey never really knew what they were for, or what they actually did for the human psyche. All he knew was that thinking took considerable effort, and it was why he preferred just going with the flow.
The bus trundled down the busy streets of Sentinel Hill far too slowly for his liking. Grey had found himself dozing off shortly after boarding the bus in the window seat he had obtained entirely by chance.
Sometimes, he had vivid dreams. Sometimes, these dreams happened to have other people and incidents in them -- by now, he figured he had seen most of what it had to offer, but today's dream was a little different. It wasn't quite the same because of how different the landscape seemed; it had apparently changed to accommodate what Grey would probably call a 'guest.' It wasn't an unwelcome one, though.
Grey - Odysseus, really, in this strange dream - stood face-to-face with their mysterious guest, who seemed like an average person who spent way too much time in the gym.
They stood on a massive platform floating in the middle of a red sea that burned with undying flames; Odysseus seemed unperturbed as to what was happening.
The platform buoyed in rhythm to the bus' swaying as it picked up passengers from its designated stops. Blankly, Odysseus stared at the guest? intruder? whoever he was, and without speaking verbally, said in the plainest way possible, 'Why are you here?'
-- because everyone else was supposed to be dead.
nemesis
(( basically the idea is that grey's brain is structured like dream levels in inception, with J's mental landscape being the deepest level and odysseus, the surface; you could say that grey's own consciousness is scattered throughout the levels like the protag's wife from the movie lmao. they're pretty much only on level 1 rn. ))
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change your name and keep your face
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Jun 21, 2016 16:36:44 GMT
Post by nemesis on Jun 21, 2016 16:36:44 GMT
he’s seen some pretty weird shit, he knows. he’s even been deep enough into a few people to see right down into their mental landscapes - endless white warrens of neat cubicles, darkrooms hung wall to wall in memory snapshots, but this... this is new.
it’s open, for one thing, like it was torn open, taken to with a wrecking ball. it’s also a whole lot like the inside of a volcano or a kind of stereotypical representation of hell, but he can deal with that later. the thing that makes him worry is that there’s no door.
there’s always a door. there’s always a way out if there’s a way in and the fact that all he can see is a fundamentalist preacher’s wet dream is. worrying.
it feels a little weird to be standing here in his work clothes, especially when he turns to see the guy standing there, hears the thought as if it was spoken. “i don’t know. i didn’t want to be, man, you dragged me in.” he takes a step forward, past the other man, towards the edge to look out into the indistinct distance stretching out in all directions around them. it’s almost like light pollution, blurring into the light from below, but it’s unnatural. this whole thing is as artificial as a fucking twinkie.
“someone has fucked you up good, kid,” he murmurs. there’s no small amount of awe in his voice. “who are you?”
grey
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Post by grey on Jun 22, 2016 1:42:59 GMT
Odysseus usually had a face that showed little to no emotion, but upon hearing what seemed like an accusation, his eyes softened and he turned to look away like a puppy kicked in the gut. He shifted to let the other man walk past him.
The platform started to grow to accommodate the stranger's movement, but the flames did not budge. In fact, the platform seemed to grow straight into the flames and beyond. The stranger could stare all he want, yet see nothing but odd flames, red seas, and red ... skies?
Slowly, the sky started to turn a sickening shade of red. It wasn't the type of sunset red that made people gasp in awe of its beauty, no; it was the shade that looked like the first droplet of blood that fell from cut wrists, the tint that people see when they feel anger, the hue that clouded senses when they felt what they thought was love.
'You can leave if you want.' Odysseus's voice was like a child's. Slightly hurt from rejection, but all too willing to give the other person a second chance. Then, as if not knowing how to answer his second question, Odysseus looked over at the man with a curious gaze. Who was he? Wasn't that a more appropriate question for the stranger himself?
'This is my home. It's not yours.' Something flashed in his gaze.
nemesis
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change your name and keep your face
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Jun 23, 2016 17:53:16 GMT
Post by nemesis on Jun 23, 2016 17:53:16 GMT
plastic mental architecture, at least that works in his favour. it means that there’s at least a way to find a way out, if one exists. he’s manipulated his own, manipulated that of a single willing subject, but he’s not exactly in kansas any more on this one.
the change of the sky draws his attention. edgy, is the only thing that comes to mind - mostly he’s still a little numb with shock, with the pressing uncertainty of the unknown. and, well, whoever this guy is, he’s still a person.
max has a fallback, but he’s loathe to use it.
“‘fraid not. you see a door anywhere?” he turns, looks back to just gaze at the other man. there’s little intensity in it - it’s the naive quality of the voice that takes the venom out of him. you’re such a fucking sap, he reminds himself. “if i force my way out, it might hurt you.” it will hurt him, max knows, but the lie is for comfort. for both of them.
“so who’s home is it?” he starts rotating, slowly, just scanning. feeling, gently, with the gentlest touch of his mind, the same way he would if searching for memories from outside. memory has outside access, the point where information comes in, and inverting the door might not be impossible. “i mean, i’m sorry to burst in uninvited, but...”
a sigh, facing the other again, extending a hand. extending his intention, laying open the part of himself that is confused and concerned and disarmed by this kid and his terrifying fucking psyche. “i’m max. i don’t wanna hurt you, i promise.”
for once, he isn’t lying.
grey
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Jun 24, 2016 14:12:25 GMT
Post by grey on Jun 24, 2016 14:12:25 GMT
So many questions. So many things this man wanted to know. Odysseus did not answer them all at once; it would have been too trying to attempt.
The platform floated across the ocean in a serene fashion. It weaved through the maze of undying flames slowly and gently, as if it were a boat being taken for a leisurely row across a lake.
'The door is that way,' Odysseus eventually said. The door was on the other side of the platform, behind where Max stood. Perhaps it had been there all along, and hadn't appeared until Max wanted it to. Or maybe all he had to do was ask.
A quiet calm took over the ocean.
'Good-bye. I'm glad you did not hurt me.'
nemesis
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change your name and keep your face
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Jun 26, 2016 13:54:38 GMT
Post by nemesis on Jun 26, 2016 13:54:38 GMT
so.... yeah. probably the weirdest he’s ever seen.
there’s a weird feeling of being completely helpless here, and he can’t exactly put his finger on why - he’s seen the inside of a shattered mind before, sure, but there wasn’t this kind of... shit, he doesn’t even know. floating through the blood-red abyss is like being swept along in an undertow current. he has to try and keep his head above the surface, but it’s difficult when he doesn’t know which way is up.
which way? he turns, looking, and shit. so it is. the discomfort is growing, the tension in his thoughts. even his projection is tense, body language tightly-wound.
“... thanks, kid. i appreciate it.”
max doesn’t bother asking if the other man is okay, if he will be okay, because to his mind the answer could never be anything other than no. he just hopes he won’t get caught in the same pull again.
he steps through the door.
grey
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Jun 26, 2016 14:21:34 GMT
Post by grey on Jun 26, 2016 14:21:34 GMT
The door provided no resistance. Nothing stopped Max from making his way through the doorway that led to yet another wide expanse of sea. Except this time there were no flames, no burning skies, no danger -- only peaceful waters. Max now stood upon an island's dock with a houseboat anchored near it, and with no door behind him.
The houseboat swayed invitingly upon slow waves. Above Max, seagulls cawed as they flew past the clear skies.
It might as well have been an idyllic island resort in an island with a dormant volcano as a backdrop.
A different man came from behind Max; he was thinner than Odysseus was, but it was obvious that he was made up of muscle. He had a unique gait in his step, as if he were walking on water -- lightly, he approached Max.
Like Odysseus, he spoke without really speaking. 'Are you here ... for the boat?'
Unlike Odysseus, his syllables were uttered with a sort of mental resonance that ended brutishly. It was like someone had taken a jackhammer and swung it around in a room of ceramics -- the room was still intact and the shelves were still standing, but something had definitely been damaged.
Gale bristled, his hand stopping midway through his white hair. 'Or Gale?'
nemesis
(( ftr gale's fc is heine from dogs ))
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change your name and keep your face
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Jun 28, 2016 12:35:16 GMT
Post by nemesis on Jun 28, 2016 12:35:16 GMT
the new environment is much more pleasant than the last but there’s something about the peace and quiet that makes him even more on-edge than the last. he’s never liked idyllic - it just leaves him waiting for the chaos to descend.
the footsteps prompt a turn and max’s surprise is evident on his face - who the fuck is this supposed to be? it’s certainly not the guy from the bus.
“i don’t know. where does the boat go?”
it’s a wary answer, because he can read the predatory lilt of the gait and the guy projects words like an attack, hostile. it’s the kind of thing he instinctively throws up shields against in reality, but if he wants to keep up a line of communication...
max stands his ground, albeit with both palms outward, placating. “i don’t know who gale is, either. that you? i’m just lost, man, i’m trying to get home.”
grey
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Jun 29, 2016 12:10:04 GMT
Post by grey on Jun 29, 2016 12:10:04 GMT
'To safety,' came the answer, vague as it had always been. (What was 'always'? What had 'always been'? Was it the environment, or was it the feather-light footsteps that Gale took as he skirted closer into Max's personal space?)
Gale tilted his head as he looked at Max's expression of surprise. People who came to the docks were either after the boat, or after him. There shouldn't have been anything to be surprised about.
Lightly, he moved out of view, and came to a stop behind the other man. Standing behind someone else was safe -- it meant that he had their back. He could also take them down if he needed to. Face-to-face was dangerous, and was generally more conducive to getting stabbed in the gut.
'Home is not safe,' said Gale, after a moment of silence where the waves lapped idly against the side of the houseboat. 'Being lost is not safe.' Gale took a step closer to Max, as if realizing something. Somewhere in his brain, something had clicked.
'But Max -- said no harm. Max is safe, right?' There was less edge to his syllables now. 'Gale is safe too.'
He stepped around Max, and now stood in front of the other person. Gale was not smiling; his face was a picture of confusion as he gave Max a proper look for the first time in minutes.
'Boat is safe as well.' He pointed at the boat.
nemesis
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change your name and keep your face
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Post by nemesis on Jul 3, 2016 11:29:03 GMT
he stays facing forward even as the guy moves behind him, even as every instinct he has is screaming at him to turn around. but he doesn’t want to look like he’s spoiling for a fight, doesn’t want to make any sudden moves. just wants to get out of here, because it’s making him extremely uneasy.
max opens his mouth to speak but he’s got nothing - i don’t understand, he wants to say, but who fucking knows if it’s even possible to. this guy is a nesting doll of rabbit holes, apparently. is this MPD, is it something else?
he turns only his head, very slowly, to bring the guy into very, very restricted view right behind him. to attack him here would be to attack the mental link, maybe sever it with max himself parted from his own body, and he doesn’t want to find out. “... yeah. like i said, uh... gale, all i want is just to get out of here. i don’t wanna hurt... anyone here.”
who knows how many there are.
he watches as the other man comes back around, still with the distinct air of a predator, and max breathes in slowly and turns to face the boat finally. in there?
the houseboat sways, and he has to time stepping onto it. boats have doors, right? doors to the inside? he moves slowly, tentatively, to the back, gets his hand on the door handle. opens it slowly.
he has little hope that this will be his exit, but he can try.
grey
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Post by grey on Jul 4, 2016 3:39:14 GMT
The door swung open without resistance. Max found himself within the houseboat, which was modestly furnished. Outside, the island and docks were still there. Above him, the seagulls still flew in the skies. The volcano stood, regal and unmoving, as a backdrop to everything.
The houseboat rocked lightly as it was buoyed by the waves. The door had not been a portal out from the maze; it was also not a portal to a different dimension.
A few stools and shelves were within the small living space. A kettle sat upon a portable stove, humming its way to perfectly-brewed herbal tea.
Gale poked his head into the houseboat. He stared at Max with a sort of apathetic curiosity, if it was even possible -- 'Does Max fight for someone?' He paused, and his face scrunched up in thought. 'Does he do bad things?'
He sounded genuinely curious.
nemesis
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change your name and keep your face
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Post by nemesis on Jul 5, 2016 11:54:23 GMT
and it isn’t. good. fucking good.
he’s thinking, trying to, but it’s like this whole thing is sapping what little energy he has. he’s standing in the world’s most quaint little boat when he should be in his apartment suiting up to hit the security truck he knows is going to be making rounds. mostly he just wants to go to bed.
he puts a hand up against the ceiling to steady himself against the movement of the floor, but turns at the inquiring voice. the use of his name is a little disorienting in the context of a sentence addressed right at him, but hey. not like this is the weirdest thing.
the pause before max actually speaks is a long one. “yeah.” it’s the answer to both, if he’s being completely honest, and it’s not like he has a decent enough grasp on the situation to know if lying will actually help or not. “i have sisters. three of them. i’m trying to make sure they can grow up to live good lives. they’re good girls.”
he leaves the second question unaddressed.
grey
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Post by grey on Jul 5, 2016 12:04:23 GMT
'Max does bad things for good girls? But Max ...'
Gale tilted his head. He didn't seem to grasp the concept of what sisters were, or even the idea of siblings.
All the same, he pulled himself into the houseboat. It swayed to accommodate his movement, and the kettle rattled on the stove dangerously. Gale was ignorant of the danger it posed.
He took a jar of goji berries from a nearby shelf, cranked open the cover, and dropped a few of them into the boiling tea for additional flavour. After screwing the cap shut and replacing it where it was, Gale looked over his shoulder at Max.
'He might make them cry?'
nemesis
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change your name and keep your face
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Post by nemesis on Jul 7, 2016 21:29:03 GMT
... well he’s not wrong, that’s pretty much it.
he feels a little like this must be what it’s like to be an alien, alone on earth. he has no fucking clue where he is or how to leave, and the local lifeforms make little sense. he’s still using the ceiling for purchase against the rocking waves, so he sidles over to the wall. probably less rude to leave handprints there.
“they don’t know,” he admits quietly, watching the other man tend the tea. “i make sure that they don’t. i probably couldn’t keep trying to take care of them if they knew.”
he doesn’t go into detail about the delicate balancing act, the need to stay well under the radar of the heroes to make sure he lives to thieve another day. the conflict shows in him anyway, the body language, the slump of his shoulders.
grey
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