Oh - like exercise? Ahaha, no, if I wanted to do that, I'd just go for a run!
[but he's just going to shift so that he's balancing on one hand, then tapping his own head with his free hand]
But I thought maybe I'd think better if I got some more blood to my head - no dice so far, though. It's weird to still have things I didn't remember... I was hoping the memories would come back!
[buzen is running around! as usual! but when he sees libby he waves to her in greeting as he approaches]
Libby-san! Wanna look at the new places with me?
[and he'll automatically reach to take her hand in his! though after their palms slide together, he seems to realize and pull away automatically - ] Oh, wait, I didn't ask—
[he's so much more polite with girls. it's the barely knowing what a woman thing is,]
[the way she would normally say no even with a touch effect... luckily it feels totally normal to her for whatever reason, so she just nods. hand holding accepted.]
he's standing in the center of it all, looking upward at all the imagery and the stained glass. the light filters in through and paints him in all the fragmented colors. he raises his hand upward, as if trying to catch them - or maybe trying to reach one of the religious portraits above.
the expression on his face can only be called contemplative. maybe just a bit rueful.
though when the doors open, he looks toward it - and smiles when he sees her]
[happy monday! if he wanders into the library, he'll see libby with a few books laid out beside her. possibly more notably, if he approaches, he's going to get hit with a wave both of anxiety and deep, deep anger, so that's fun and probably fine. it doesn't change the casual way she calls out as she sees him.]
[buzen is truly just a bundle of Chill Vibes. he's calm as he looks around, a little curious - until the wave of anxiety hits and then concern comes automatically. when he notices libby, new feelings intertwine with his current ones: the worry gives way to a general pleased, warm feeling when he sees her! like when a dog is happy you've come home after a long day]
Whoa—hey, Libby-san!
... you don't have to tell me but - is everything okay?
[there's a feeling of ??? coming back because she wasn't expecting to feel chill vibes, combining with a general sense of defensiveness both from the new emotion and the question.]
[boring starters for everyone because i haven't written anything yet
but buzen is just going to be doing his little jog around the way, and his track is the whole city so he'll probably run into libby inevitably! he looks surprised for a moment and opens his mouth to say something polite in greeting
which is about when a pig noise will fly by and get them trapped. oink oink. mem please]
jk this is tuesday now ty for your patience dana (also cw for kidnapping)
[there's a moment where she looks surprised as well, before this pig noise (poise? noig?) runs by and gets them both stuck in a barrier! and then it's memory time. i wrote this all with full capitalization and then remembered i never capitalize things in bracket text but i'm not going through and changing it now let's gooooooo
It's a small apartment unit that you find yourself in, when the memory begins. The area is just big enough for a bed, a stockpile of non-perishable food, a stack of neatly piled clothing, and a bathroom with a small shower. You're scared, but more than that, you're furious. You're also alone in this place, which is part of the problem - but the larger problem is that you can't get out.
The first few hours you're locked in here, you spend checking the walls and the door, the ceiling, the floors. It's all in the vain hope that the person who left you here forgot some small part of the room to enchant, the hope that there will be a space left without the wards that cover the entire area. You don't know exactly how long you spend running your hands over every possible surface, trying to push with your powers to see if you can bend any part of your surroundings to your will; there aren't any clocks here, any way to tell how long you've been stuck. You assume it must be at least hours until you stop trying, exhausted and desperate.
That's when you start screaming - mostly for help, for someone named Ezra to let you out. You would give so much to get out of here, but you don't offer him anything or concede anything. You didn't do anything wrong. You shouldn't have to give him anything. You trusted him, and he left you here alone. You can't say exactly how long he intends to leave you here, but the store of food and water he's provided could last months. Years, probably. You start to feel sick with dread.
The days (or what you imagine must be days) start to drag on. You check the wards. They're still intact. You eat, thinking about whether it would be better to spite him by leaving the food alone. You realize he'd have no way to know. You stare at the window (an illusion, you realize after you try several times to break it), the walls, the ceilings, the floor. Sometimes you cry and sometimes you yell, but you learn new things about this place all the time. The first time you lay down on the bed, you catch a floral scent in the cloth of the bed - after a while, you place it as a scent that your grandmother loved, and the hysteria comes in waves along with a fury beyond anything you've felt. Oh, you think, he wants to make this comfortable for you. Oh, look how much he cares about you.
When you start beating the walls with your fists and feet hard enough to draw blood, you learn there aren't any bandages. When you notice how unnaturally tired you're getting after attempting only a little bit of magic, you realize there's some kind of spell keeping you exhausted. You start to sleep more, both because of this fact and because you haven't been provided anything else to occupy your time. You are not giving up, but you're sinking into a kind of numbness that makes unconsciousness so tempting.
In your dreams, you visit people you can't see. Your sister, always closing doors behind her that you can't open. Nico, whispering words he's said to you before - you're a wildfire, he coaxes. Let it burn. Reina, peering at you over a book and quietly telling you that you are a fool, that you are not missed. Tristan, a hand on your shoulder, urging - look at the pieces, see the whole. You're always trying to reach for his hand, for Parisa as she tells you that your despair is not interesting enough to entertain her. It's always whispered, low, as she moves to lean towards your ear. The dreams take on a darker tone when Callum comes, murmuring and irritated. Nobody likes a martyr, he says, and your stomach twists with guilt. Shouldn't he be—?
Days begin to blur together; time begins to lose the meaning it once had between cycles of sleeping and waking unhappily. Your thoughts keep racing, both furious and terrified, now plagued by both the drive and the anxiety that has always fueled you before now. You come to realize that you are the most exhausting person possible to be alone with. Even when you're awake, you lay there, trying to remove yourself from your thoughts, your fears, the rage that just keeps on burning inside you.
The memory doesn't have a firm ending as much as it peters out, returning from a dreamlike state to the present, fading with a feeling of being half asleep for a few moments as it lingers. By the time it ends and she registers that the barrier here is still up, there's something wild eyed and terrified happening in her expression. It's not the same barrier, not the same trap, but:]
Let me out. Let me out, let me out—
[it's not really directed at him; jury's out on whether she's fully aware she's not alone, after reliving that.]
[ - there's not much that he can do to help her. it hits him when it comes to the memory, and in the moment that follows. the most he can offer is to give as much space as he can, keeping his hands raised to either side of his head in a mercy gesture to make himself seem like less of a threat.]
Libby-san, hey&meash;Libby-san.
[he tries to make his voice firm, but remain short of shouting to catch her attention]
[she takes a few more deep breaths after his voice brings her back to herself, dragging her hands down her face for a moment. for all that she's been unwilling to take proper accountability for what she did to him and her team, there's still something that digs at her about him jumping to try and help her calm down.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
weekend zero saturday
Oh - Libby-san...? Are you feeling better today?
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Should I be asking you that...?
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I mean - you can, but I'm doing good! As well as anyone can be, probably.
[he knows that he's probably one of the more cheerful people around,]
no subject
[gestures at him]
Are you working out or something?
no subject
[but he's just going to shift so that he's balancing on one hand, then tapping his own head with his free hand]
But I thought maybe I'd think better if I got some more blood to my head - no dice so far, though. It's weird to still have things I didn't remember... I was hoping the memories would come back!
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week zero monday
Libby-san! Wanna look at the new places with me?
[and he'll automatically reach to take her hand in his! though after their palms slide together, he seems to realize and pull away automatically - ] Oh, wait, I didn't ask—
[he's so much more polite with girls. it's the barely knowing what a woman thing is,]
Can I hold your hand?
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Yeah, sure. Um, to both.
[exploring time!]
Where did you want to go?
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There's a building that I don't understand...
Could you help me see if I'm missing something? I wonder if it's art... I'm still trying to get better at art.
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Sure thing. Lead the way?
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w0, friday (2)
...Hey.
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Libby-san. You okay? Are you unhurt?
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Not a scratch on me. Same for you, right?
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[he looks visibly relieved that she's not harmed]
That's good - even if the rest of the day is still pretty bad.
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week 1 monday
he's standing in the center of it all, looking upward at all the imagery and the stained glass. the light filters in through and paints him in all the fragmented colors. he raises his hand upward, as if trying to catch them - or maybe trying to reach one of the religious portraits above.
the expression on his face can only be called contemplative. maybe just a bit rueful.
though when the doors open, he looks toward it - and smiles when he sees her]
Libby-san. Yo.
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Weird that they've got this in an afterlife, right?
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[ . . . he looks thoughtful for a moment, looking back up at all the religious imagery]
... this doesn't feel like any paradise that I could've dreamed up.
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Yeah? What would you have dreamed of instead?
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w2, monday.
Oh - Buzen, hey.
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Whoa—hey, Libby-san!
... you don't have to tell me but - is everything okay?
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Um... Yeah, I'm fine. Why?
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[the emotion is the equivalent of a question mark. but he'll tilt his head, confused and thinking about it.]
I just got this sense of.... anger...? And a - needling feeling. [has buzen ever had anxiety] When I got closer to you.
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week 4 mon
but buzen is just going to be doing his little jog around the way, and his track is the whole city so he'll probably run into libby inevitably! he looks surprised for a moment and opens his mouth to say something polite in greeting
which is about when a pig noise will fly by and get them trapped. oink oink. mem please]
jk this is tuesday now ty for your patience dana (also cw for kidnapping)
It's a small apartment unit that you find yourself in, when the memory begins. The area is just big enough for a bed, a stockpile of non-perishable food, a stack of neatly piled clothing, and a bathroom with a small shower. You're scared, but more than that, you're furious. You're also alone in this place, which is part of the problem - but the larger problem is that you can't get out.
The first few hours you're locked in here, you spend checking the walls and the door, the ceiling, the floors. It's all in the vain hope that the person who left you here forgot some small part of the room to enchant, the hope that there will be a space left without the wards that cover the entire area. You don't know exactly how long you spend running your hands over every possible surface, trying to push with your powers to see if you can bend any part of your surroundings to your will; there aren't any clocks here, any way to tell how long you've been stuck. You assume it must be at least hours until you stop trying, exhausted and desperate.
That's when you start screaming - mostly for help, for someone named Ezra to let you out. You would give so much to get out of here, but you don't offer him anything or concede anything. You didn't do anything wrong. You shouldn't have to give him anything. You trusted him, and he left you here alone. You can't say exactly how long he intends to leave you here, but the store of food and water he's provided could last months. Years, probably. You start to feel sick with dread.
The days (or what you imagine must be days) start to drag on. You check the wards. They're still intact. You eat, thinking about whether it would be better to spite him by leaving the food alone. You realize he'd have no way to know. You stare at the window (an illusion, you realize after you try several times to break it), the walls, the ceilings, the floor. Sometimes you cry and sometimes you yell, but you learn new things about this place all the time. The first time you lay down on the bed, you catch a floral scent in the cloth of the bed - after a while, you place it as a scent that your grandmother loved, and the hysteria comes in waves along with a fury beyond anything you've felt. Oh, you think, he wants to make this comfortable for you. Oh, look how much he cares about you.
When you start beating the walls with your fists and feet hard enough to draw blood, you learn there aren't any bandages. When you notice how unnaturally tired you're getting after attempting only a little bit of magic, you realize there's some kind of spell keeping you exhausted. You start to sleep more, both because of this fact and because you haven't been provided anything else to occupy your time. You are not giving up, but you're sinking into a kind of numbness that makes unconsciousness so tempting.
In your dreams, you visit people you can't see. Your sister, always closing doors behind her that you can't open. Nico, whispering words he's said to you before - you're a wildfire, he coaxes. Let it burn. Reina, peering at you over a book and quietly telling you that you are a fool, that you are not missed. Tristan, a hand on your shoulder, urging - look at the pieces, see the whole. You're always trying to reach for his hand, for Parisa as she tells you that your despair is not interesting enough to entertain her. It's always whispered, low, as she moves to lean towards your ear. The dreams take on a darker tone when Callum comes, murmuring and irritated. Nobody likes a martyr, he says, and your stomach twists with guilt. Shouldn't he be—?
Days begin to blur together; time begins to lose the meaning it once had between cycles of sleeping and waking unhappily. Your thoughts keep racing, both furious and terrified, now plagued by both the drive and the anxiety that has always fueled you before now. You come to realize that you are the most exhausting person possible to be alone with. Even when you're awake, you lay there, trying to remove yourself from your thoughts, your fears, the rage that just keeps on burning inside you.
The memory doesn't have a firm ending as much as it peters out, returning from a dreamlike state to the present, fading with a feeling of being half asleep for a few moments as it lingers. By the time it ends and she registers that the barrier here is still up, there's something wild eyed and terrified happening in her expression. It's not the same barrier, not the same trap, but:]
Let me out. Let me out, let me out—
[it's not really directed at him; jury's out on whether she's fully aware she's not alone, after reliving that.]
I'M THE ONE WHO MESSED UP AAAA I'M SORRY ELI
Libby-san, hey&meash;Libby-san.
[he tries to make his voice firm, but remain short of shouting to catch her attention]
Libby-san, you're not there anymore.
YOU'RE GOOD!!
—Sorry.
[it's muttered, glancing down at the ground.]