[Carlisle, who had been scribbling down a few things in his journal (both ideas for enchanted rocks actually sound good, so he doubts he came up with them initially), comes to a stop at Pratt's question. His eyes flick to his companion, then away as he considers the answer.]
I remember being tired. Cold. It was my natural state for the last month I can recall before I reawakened. I had lost the feeling in my hands. It was... hard to focus on the world around me, as so much of it didn't seem real. My dreams bled into my waking hours more than they ever had.
[He flips back several pages in his journal, then beyond a few blank ones, and the change becomes obvious: gone in the earlier pages is the tiny script he writes with now, small letters Pratt has seen him write in before, replaced instead with large, uneven scrawl. The sentences move up and down, inkblots obscuring entire phrases, new ones written around them. He flips again and again, going for nearly a dozen pages back before his writing returns to nearly normal.]
I think I knew that day that I would not last until night. I remember that, despite my exhaustion, I walked the length of the house, making sure everything was as it should be for one last time.
[He tries to remember what he was feeling while strapped to the chair, but after so long in Hadriel, and the very brief moment back home, he really can't. Maybe that's a blessing - he's not quite as focused on the fact he's about to die. But it also makes it feel so strange, almost as if it's happening to someone else. It's weird what distance and time will do to your senses.]
And then it was just nothingness? Until you woke up again?
[He closes his eyes, tightly this time as he tries to remember them, flipping back through memories like the pages in his journal.]
A barren, colorless land - the Land Beyond Living. But then I recall people as well. My home. Bear Den. I could not be in both places at once, could I? But it- it felt like that. Separated, but in unison.
[His face twists, the wrinkles around his eyes etching deeper as his brow furrows.]
Faces I know. I- I know them, but I- what were their names? They lose themselves. They wanted to run, but something... kept them there. They couldn't run. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything but- but the bidding of their- of—
[The Blight Heir. His breath rattles through his throat, hands trembling as he shoves his fingers under his glasses, pressing against his eyes to quell the incoming headache.]
I was so angry. Bitter. Alone, as always. I wanted them to feel it, and suffer as I had. I wanted them to—
[He pulls his hands away, opening his eyes as ink oozes from them, trailing along the stains that cut a path down his face and below his mask.]
I can't. I can't think about this anymore. S- sorry.
[Pratt listens, but he doesn't really understand. Is this what it was like for Carlisle? He'd said something about being twice-cursed. Was his soul actually separating from his body? Could he sense that? It sounds awful and traumatizing and no wonder Carlisle is acting even stranger than usual.]
No it's fine you're..
[Oh the ink thing is startling. He'd seen something similar once before, but never like this. And he was too terrified at the time to really notice what was happening to Carlisle. ]
Uh.. Are you.. You're... It's fine. You don't have to think about that right now. I'm sorry I brought it up, I was just curious. Not really looking forward to dying but I don't really have much of a choice.
[He averts his eyes, watching Carlisle cry ink seems strangely vulnerable and he doesn't want to make him more uncomfortable than he already is.]
[Carlisle's eyes glow brightly, finally focusing on his hands before him; the black stains on the fingertips of his gloves alarm him, quiet panic crossing him as he digs into his bag, producing a kerchief. He's grateful for Pratt's polite avoidance, the man giving him a moment of privacy to remove his glasses and attempt to wipe away the ink before it seeps into his mask.
He turns away as well, desperate to keep secret what lies beneath his quilted layers, despite the fact that Pratt is one of the few who truly knows. He cannot bring himself to bare his face; the shame of what he has become is far greater than even his need for secrecy.]
My apologies, I- I didn't expect to react like that. My temperament has been... unsteady since I awakened.
[It is the nature of Revenants, after all, as their bitter loneliness and spiteful rage are said to form a volatile concoction of energies capable of keeping them animated, ones they then use to lash out at those around them. Given that, and his discomfort with the uncertain and unknown, it's no surprise he's been struggling to keep his composure these days as he adjusts to both his body and his surroundings simultaneously. His handkerchief is ruined when he turns back to Pratt and replaces his glasses, but at least his mask is stain-free for now.]
As for dying, I assume it is far more peaceful for most. Perhaps a calming experience of leaving this dreadful world behind, so long as you have no regrets when the time comes.
I hope it's peaceful but as for no regrets... well... I don't think I'm there yet. Maybe eventually.
[Assuming he remembers this, since apparently Carlisle didn't. And others in Hadriel who had left and returned had said the same. They didn't remember anything about Hadriel and no time had passed. But he doesn't want to bring that up now. They have more important catching up to do.]
You don't have to apologize - you're kinda adapting to a bunch of new shit. You're doing better than I would. I probably would have had a breakdown and not left my room for a month.
You say that as though I haven't been hiding for days, mulling over our first encounter. Well, the first for me, perhaps.
[Despite the fact Pratt knows him well enough to have probably expected it, Carlisle is still embarrassed he fled. Avoiding his problems in the most literal sense has been his way of life for as long as he can remember, a habit only exacerbated by his affliction. It was easier to hide; it kept people from being tainted by his curse, or so he thought. He's not sure what to think anymore, save for that he does feel some sense of camaraderie with Pratt already, as though he could commiserate with this man about many of the regrets they carry with them. Perhaps that's why Carlisle was his friend before.
His natural paranoia tells him not to trust any of this, despite the proof Poison has of his existence in Hadriel, but Carlisle finds that in all honesty, he wants to believe its real -- the city, the people, the connections, all of it. He was angry at first for having lost it all, and still is in some way, but the thought he could have all this again is painfully enticing... and far better than the alternative. He has lived that way for far too long already.]
Okay but you came out. When I first showed up in Hadriel I didn't leave the house for a week and basically ate sticks and marinated in my gross clothes because I couldn't work the laundry machines.
It was pretty bad.
I guess this is kind of a new beginning, I didn't stay in my room being gross, and you came out and didn't go into hiding for a year. We're getting better.
[He smiles widely enough that it pulls at the edges of his mask.]
Far gone as I worry I may be, with what life I had in shambles a world away... I do like the thought that this could be a new beginning, and a chance to do better. A chance to- to make up for what he did. For what- for what I—
[He has a hard time admitting it, not wishing to picture himself as a monster. The distance provided by treating the Blight Heir as a separate entity helps, but does not assuage his guilt. His fingers curl, his expression hardening.]
I will do better. It will take time, though. Time I am not sure I have.
I think in this place you have all the time you need. It doesn't follow the same rules of nature that back home did. Hadriel.. well.. people said no time passed if they went home and came back. Which I think means no time was really passing.
That's how someone explained it to me anyway. So you're kind of.. in stasis I guess. That's good right?
You said you sort of knew you were going to die when you did right? So if you get that feeling again, we can be prepared in advance and.. I dunno.. do.. something. Someone probably has an idea of how to .. contain.. that.
I suppose that is something else I should seek out soon. Hopefully, there are individuals here incapable of being controlled, ones who can... handle me, should the need arises. I would do it myself were I not uncertain of what would happen to my corpse.
[He glances toward Pratt, realizing that saying expression such morbid sentiments in front of a friend, even one he does not remember, is not likely to do either of them any favors.]
There's gotta be. There's like... robots and aliens and people from space. Folks with super powers too.
Makes me feel pretty boring.
[He takes it in stride. He's wondered sometimes if killing himself wouldn't be a better option. But in the end he's too much of a coward to go through with it. But that doesn't mean he won't put himself in dangerous situations for the sake of others and secretly hope he gets killed.]
Yeah, stay with the positives. It's gonna be better here.
[Carlisle had once wanted to be extraordinary, desperately wanting to be able to make his lineage proud; now knowing what he would eventually become, he wonders if he should have wished instead to be perfectly average.]
I can only hope, Deputy. But please, do not doubt your importance to this place and the people in in because you feel 'boring' by comparison. To have such 'gifts' is not as wonderful as it may seem... and more notably, you have already had an influence on at least one of us. That matters.
A little is more than nothing, which is more than some have now.
[Like himself. He has nothing left back home, and so little hope for the future, but... what little he has, he will try to foster. And if nothing else, he has someone who may be able to help him in Pratt.
He picks himself off the ground, dusting off his coat.]
I suppose I should get started with this new life, shouldn't I?
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I remember being tired. Cold. It was my natural state for the last month I can recall before I reawakened. I had lost the feeling in my hands. It was... hard to focus on the world around me, as so much of it didn't seem real. My dreams bled into my waking hours more than they ever had.
[He flips back several pages in his journal, then beyond a few blank ones, and the change becomes obvious: gone in the earlier pages is the tiny script he writes with now, small letters Pratt has seen him write in before, replaced instead with large, uneven scrawl. The sentences move up and down, inkblots obscuring entire phrases, new ones written around them. He flips again and again, going for nearly a dozen pages back before his writing returns to nearly normal.]
I think I knew that day that I would not last until night. I remember that, despite my exhaustion, I walked the length of the house, making sure everything was as it should be for one last time.
no subject
[He tries to remember what he was feeling while strapped to the chair, but after so long in Hadriel, and the very brief moment back home, he really can't. Maybe that's a blessing - he's not quite as focused on the fact he's about to die. But it also makes it feel so strange, almost as if it's happening to someone else. It's weird what distance and time will do to your senses.]
And then it was just nothingness? Until you woke up again?
no subject
[He closes his eyes, tightly this time as he tries to remember them, flipping back through memories like the pages in his journal.]
A barren, colorless land - the Land Beyond Living. But then I recall people as well. My home. Bear Den. I could not be in both places at once, could I? But it- it felt like that. Separated, but in unison.
[His face twists, the wrinkles around his eyes etching deeper as his brow furrows.]
Faces I know. I- I know them, but I- what were their names? They lose themselves. They wanted to run, but something... kept them there. They couldn't run. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything but- but the bidding of their- of—
[The Blight Heir. His breath rattles through his throat, hands trembling as he shoves his fingers under his glasses, pressing against his eyes to quell the incoming headache.]
I was so angry. Bitter. Alone, as always. I wanted them to feel it, and suffer as I had. I wanted them to—
[He pulls his hands away, opening his eyes as ink oozes from them, trailing along the stains that cut a path down his face and below his mask.]
I can't. I can't think about this anymore. S- sorry.
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No it's fine you're..
[Oh the ink thing is startling. He'd seen something similar once before, but never like this. And he was too terrified at the time to really notice what was happening to Carlisle. ]
Uh.. Are you.. You're... It's fine. You don't have to think about that right now. I'm sorry I brought it up, I was just curious. Not really looking forward to dying but I don't really have much of a choice.
[He averts his eyes, watching Carlisle cry ink seems strangely vulnerable and he doesn't want to make him more uncomfortable than he already is.]
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He turns away as well, desperate to keep secret what lies beneath his quilted layers, despite the fact that Pratt is one of the few who truly knows. He cannot bring himself to bare his face; the shame of what he has become is far greater than even his need for secrecy.]
My apologies, I- I didn't expect to react like that. My temperament has been... unsteady since I awakened.
[It is the nature of Revenants, after all, as their bitter loneliness and spiteful rage are said to form a volatile concoction of energies capable of keeping them animated, ones they then use to lash out at those around them. Given that, and his discomfort with the uncertain and unknown, it's no surprise he's been struggling to keep his composure these days as he adjusts to both his body and his surroundings simultaneously. His handkerchief is ruined when he turns back to Pratt and replaces his glasses, but at least his mask is stain-free for now.]
As for dying, I assume it is far more peaceful for most. Perhaps a calming experience of leaving this dreadful world behind, so long as you have no regrets when the time comes.
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[Assuming he remembers this, since apparently Carlisle didn't. And others in Hadriel who had left and returned had said the same. They didn't remember anything about Hadriel and no time had passed. But he doesn't want to bring that up now. They have more important catching up to do.]
You don't have to apologize - you're kinda adapting to a bunch of new shit. You're doing better than I would. I probably would have had a breakdown and not left my room for a month.
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You say that as though I haven't been hiding for days, mulling over our first encounter. Well, the first for me, perhaps.
[Despite the fact Pratt knows him well enough to have probably expected it, Carlisle is still embarrassed he fled. Avoiding his problems in the most literal sense has been his way of life for as long as he can remember, a habit only exacerbated by his affliction. It was easier to hide; it kept people from being tainted by his curse, or so he thought. He's not sure what to think anymore, save for that he does feel some sense of camaraderie with Pratt already, as though he could commiserate with this man about many of the regrets they carry with them. Perhaps that's why Carlisle was his friend before.
His natural paranoia tells him not to trust any of this, despite the proof Poison has of his existence in Hadriel, but Carlisle finds that in all honesty, he wants to believe its real -- the city, the people, the connections, all of it. He was angry at first for having lost it all, and still is in some way, but the thought he could have all this again is painfully enticing... and far better than the alternative. He has lived that way for far too long already.]
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It was pretty bad.
I guess this is kind of a new beginning, I didn't stay in my room being gross, and you came out and didn't go into hiding for a year. We're getting better.
Kinda.
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[He smiles widely enough that it pulls at the edges of his mask.]
Far gone as I worry I may be, with what life I had in shambles a world away... I do like the thought that this could be a new beginning, and a chance to do better. A chance to- to make up for what he did. For what- for what I—
[He has a hard time admitting it, not wishing to picture himself as a monster. The distance provided by treating the Blight Heir as a separate entity helps, but does not assuage his guilt. His fingers curl, his expression hardening.]
I will do better. It will take time, though. Time I am not sure I have.
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That's how someone explained it to me anyway. So you're kind of.. in stasis I guess. That's good right?
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Perhaps. But unless I am in stasis here, there might be a problem if this... awakened state is not permanent.
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[That could be.. problematic to say the least.]
You said you sort of knew you were going to die when you did right? So if you get that feeling again, we can be prepared in advance and.. I dunno.. do.. something. Someone probably has an idea of how to .. contain.. that.
[Not Pratt but.. someone.]
cw: suicidal ideation
I suppose that is something else I should seek out soon. Hopefully, there are individuals here incapable of being controlled, ones who can... handle me, should the need arises. I would do it myself were I not uncertain of what would happen to my corpse.
[He glances toward Pratt, realizing that saying expression such morbid sentiments in front of a friend, even one he does not remember, is not likely to do either of them any favors.]
That, and I cannot do better if I cease to exist.
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Makes me feel pretty boring.
[He takes it in stride. He's wondered sometimes if killing himself wouldn't be a better option. But in the end he's too much of a coward to go through with it. But that doesn't mean he won't put himself in dangerous situations for the sake of others and secretly hope he gets killed.]
Yeah, stay with the positives. It's gonna be better here.
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I can only hope, Deputy. But please, do not doubt your importance to this place and the people in in because you feel 'boring' by comparison. To have such 'gifts' is not as wonderful as it may seem... and more notably, you have already had an influence on at least one of us. That matters.
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Thank you. That means a lot.
I'm trying to get better. More positive. Glad it's working a little.
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[Like himself. He has nothing left back home, and so little hope for the future, but... what little he has, he will try to foster. And if nothing else, he has someone who may be able to help him in Pratt.
He picks himself off the ground, dusting off his coat.]
I suppose I should get started with this new life, shouldn't I?