shitposting rave 4: (almost) anything goes

-makes drinks happen. They could probably knock out a bear-

 

-Oh look, someone who's not leaking emotion like an exploded hydrant, a fighty fuck, and/or Static's clade. She investigates from a polite distance-

 

[Morgan and Stalker] -this is not a deterrent. Morgan is constantly being pumped full of steroids and, as a Hyperion, has a ridiculous metabolism that sometimes has her doing things like slathering pizza in butter, deep frying it, then coating it with butter again just to meet her caloric needs. Stalker... is Stalker, and has probably tried to outdrink a bear-

 

-well i mean he is probably emanating a low level of anxiety but that's pretty normal for him. he is mostly stable right now though and greatly enjoying the cloth he is looking at. but there it is. the creeping feeling that he is being watched. it does not leave and so he looks up from the cloth. who are you. what are you. if you are watching me.-

 

-It's better than the techno fae, all full up on emotion and never matching. She twitches a few fingers in a small wave of greeting and sits nearish, in view. The questions aren't spoken, which is an immense relief as she assumes responding psychically wouldn't be offensive for once. To the first: a sketch of a rose, drawn by an uncalloused young hand [but not one without blood]. To the second... the impression of being caged, taken apart, beaten down small and made too big, clumsy and uneven and never knowing which way is up. Freedom and fear, the agoraphobia of seeing the sky for the first time after life in a cell. Digging roots in deep in places where one is unwanted, and thorns in the hands of desire. Hope for a world of wonder and a fucked up little ball of rage for a world of hate. All are brief, with only the barest touches of emotion, like reading them written rather than experiencing them. These things she's long learned to control.-

 

-he catches his breath as the thoughts fill his head and a pit of anxiety grows. oh god had he mindbound this person. or them him. FUCK. the blood spikes it further. no, no there's been no bloodbinding but he's not at all fond of it even the barest hint of it. and then there's the prison. the being held against one's will. only bare touches of emotion or no it brings to mind the master's house and with it a touch of pity. and it's too much like dreaming while awake. far too much like it-

Please stop that.

 

-Nope shit she fucked it up again goddammit she really wishes she'd had more chances to talk before she was free. She defaults back to sign, hoping he either knows it or this new-flavored dreamspace will facilitate understanding now-

<Sorry> <Words> <Difficult>

 

-now what in god's three names is this. hands. he watches them intently, certain they're a form of communication. one that he is oddly getting. hrmm.-

They're hard then? Words that is. Unless I'm not actually understanding, which is entirely possible.

-his anxiety is evening out now that his head is his again. it's quiet and alone. good. his sister will probably pop up in it at some point as is her won't but for now things are silent-

That thing from earlier, just to clarify. That was you, yes? Not me.

 

-She nods to both. Nodding is pretty much universal, can't fuck that one up-

 

Ah. Good. Not good about the difficulty speaking part, but more the good that I haven't somehow bound you without thinking. Which probably isn't a thing you understand. Outside of myself, my sister, and those who are acquainted with her most here don't.

Sorry.

-the sorry is multipurpose and vague. it is a sorry for being tetchy, though he'd never admit he is tetchy, and sorry for saying as much as he has, because words are hard.-

 

-she gives a little shrug to show she's not upset. Remembering what drew her attention she gestures to the cloth, tilting her head curiously. She doesn't mind listening; when she first got out she used to spend time with Micah, who isn't the best conversationalist but will lecture at length about anything with minimal prompting-

 

Ah?

-he holds up the cloth for her to see. swirls and lines and patterns of thread. upon close examination one might notice repetition in the patterns.-

It's just knotwork.

-this is a lie, but also not a lie. it is in fact just knotwork, but there is a logic behind it. one of language. a secret he keeps out of respect for the others he knows. out of respect for the ladies who have been good to him, however few they may be-

 

-She examines it, not understanding the art but appreciating it.-

-She tries signing again, much slowed, so he can follow her hands easier, but it seemed to work last time-

<Precious> -and a curious head tilt that marks it half a question, half observation- <Keep safe> [possible 'kept'; she doesn't do tense well.]

 

...you are asking for me to keep it safe? I'm certainly doing so. It's a gift from a friend.

 

-considers, then shakes her head-

<Confirmation [the verb]>

 

...so that is...a yes?

 

-another headshake. Shit this one's going to be more complicated-

<Was asking for>

-that's practically a sentence! And actually a bit of an achievement for someone coming out of clinical aphasia-

<Hard> <read> <people> <not> <mind>

 

...Oh.

-he turns a bit paler at that. and he is already pale as a fucking sheet.-

Hmm. D'you think that it'd be easier then if you, well, got back inside my head? It seems like it was a pretty temporary thing and it might not be so bad if I know it's coming.

 

~she arrives in the rave, invisible as and more insubstantial than wind~

~she is a spirit~

~and feminine, in an indescribable way~

~and she is just watching peacefully, detached~

 

...i think she was asking more if it was something important to you...a valuable belonging

at least, i think...the way the rave works, it might be easier to understand sign language in the rave if you don't know it...but it's harder to understand for people who do know...