http://datprosthetic.tumblr.com/post/112098500442/it-just-keeps-getting-better
The silence was almost.. nice, actually. One could almost get away from all thoughts of responsibilities and chores and honey-do lists; after all, they no longer mattered when one was not sure where they even— The sudden start was more than enough to cause White himself to jerk from his thoughts. “Ga-ah-d damnit!” he snapped, “What the fucking fuck is with you!” The bastard had awoken as if something had just.. breathed life into him, rather than rousing from a slumber. Paired with his almost risen-from-the-fucking-grave look, he appeared terrified, mortified, horrified- and his eyes! They wouldn’t leave White’s face. Somehow the wide-eyed stranger’s unending gaze was unnerving.. unsettling. And that was the nicest way to put it. It didn’t take long for the sickly boy to grow perturbed; he shifted uncomfortably on his bed, gazing right back. "Stop it. Stop staring."
White’s voice caused the man to startle violently in alarm: the demand might as well have been a gunshot. Graceless, fumbling, he brought his quaking fingers up to his mouth as if in fear, but he didn’t so much as blink. The black tear rolled down his thin cheek, leaving a streak where it had flowed. Another began to well and follow it, dark and slow as tar.
"I-I—" The man shivered, and swallowed. His single stuttered syllable had been papery, dry, rustling from his throat like dead leaves. He tried again, and managed more than a whisper that time. "I-I am… I am s-sorry."
It was English—but even those three lonely words bore a thick and strange accent. White might recognize it: Gaelic, if a rather archaic variety.
The wizard, or whatever he was, finally ended his blank stare by reaching up and wearily rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. They came away stained. Apparently without any recognition for the strangeness of it all, he wiped the tear-trails from his cheeks, smearing them into his freckles, and then he looked around the room again. There was no wonder or confusion on his face. It wasn’t the face of a man about to ask questions like ‘where am I?’ or ‘who are you?’ It was the forlorn face of a man who was terribly, hopelessly lost, and knew it.
"I am s-sorry," he said again, folding one of his bony hands over his chest in a gesture of apology, but he did not make eye contact again. That gaze was more bearable when it was pointed elsewhere, and the purple stranger kept it humbly lowered to his bed. "Y-your… your Thread. It is so… s-so short… but so… far away. No—no, par…. parallel. You are parallel, Pale Man. White. Forgive me. F-forgive me…"
The man’s brow wrinkled with consternation as he spoke, until his bizarre words trailed off into distant silence. The substance on which this entire room existed had coagulated in his head like a migraine. It pressed a third trickle of black into life, this time oozing from the beaky nose.
Without many other options, the wizard arduously began the process of swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, as if he weren’t entirely sure that all of the associated pieces of anatomy were present and functional. It was clear in the way he moved that he must have been recently drugged; if it were the case, perhaps it would explain the hollows in White’s own mind and memory.
White’s face contorted into one of disturbance. What on earth was wrong with this guy? He was dribbling black from practically every orifice! Worse, he hardly seemed to notice. And the drivel that was spewing from his mouth.. not only was it hard to understand at first, but it was.. off, in more ways than one. Every word, every syllable raised more questions than answered. It left the pale lad with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. The stranger was.. surreal. But he most certainly wasn’t beyond pushing. ”What do you mean, my thread? And what’s all this about parallels?” Wait a minute. “And how do you know my name!” He pushed himself to his feet with a vengeance, his hands raising to his hips. Strangely comparable to a scornful mother speaking to a child, his amber eyes glowered like roiling bonfires. Seemed the wizard’s hints and tidbits of knowledge had fueled that very fire. ”Speak up, and stop your bumbling. Tell me already!”
The melancholy stranger did not answer any of White’s demands or inquiries until he had stood up. His legs were uncertain, and he was bowed with his arms up and his wrists crossed like a very purple praying mantis, but there was something of long-fallen nobility about him. He lifted his head again, and the silver eyes bore into the gold ones like daggers. They were compelling, in a terrible way, as if gazing into them would reveal all of the blackest secrets of the universe. Perhaps that was why their owner looked so mournful and afraid.
"I-it—" The man’s voice caught in his chest on the edge of one of its stutters. He looked away. The spell was broken. He swayed, and gazed down at his hands; slowly, he pulled away the veil of his sleeve, and saw the red band that now embraced his skinny wrist. Something horrified flashed across his face.
"You must f-forgive me, Pale Man," he whispered, laboriously lowering his arm to his pocket, as if he had already known that he would find the piece of paper he withdrew and began to read. The tears began to gather anew in his eyes. "In this… this, this p-purgatory, there is… n-no reason, no… no answer… that matters."
The sickly young man's furrowed brow only deepened in severity, and yet, the pit in his belly had evolved into something more. The longer his gaze connected with the mercury of Edward's own, the more he felt as if he were swimming in that deadly toxin, unsettling and nauseating. He was almost grateful when the lock broke. Typically, he'd never thought to check his own pockets. He did so with haste, and when his pocket yielded a scrap of paper, he yanked it out to stare at it incredulously. Several times he found himself gazing back to Edward, to the paper, and right up to the wizard again. The entirety of the letter took several attempts to settle in, and when it did, he was left with a torrent of frustration. A crumpled ball, tossed with disdain to the floor, was all that remained of the letter afterwards. "Someone's fucking with me. Fuck!" His fingers dug into the mechanics of the bracelet, giving it a few good tugs, but in the end, he was forced to leave it. The angry little spitfuck thrust the braceletted wrist towards his new roommate. "You, Stutters. You know something you aren't telling me. What the fuck is this! I have a right to know what you know, even if you think it doesn't matter!"
