Mike Driver
One Nice Bug Per Day
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@spiritdreamt
IT’S ALL IN MY HEAD——“YOU’RE TOO SENSITIVE,” THEY SAID. an independent, selective & private blog for persephone potter, a fandomless oc with the ability to see the dead. formerly @contrariian. est 5/22. loved by puck (she/they). memes never expire on this blog. PERSONALS DO NOT INTERACT.
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he's never been more furious in his life! stupid bloody antique with its stupid bloody magic. why is he the one that's suffering through the consequences? it's an outrage, if you ask him. you can't ask him, though, unless you want loud squeaks. all of these issues and he's a goddamn bloody hare. he hates it here. instead of speaking, he's going to kick the closest person to him. it's the least mark can do at this current moment.
"ow," percy grumbles. there's no real heat to it—she's hurt herself worse tripping over the curb—but he did startle her. "don't kick me! i'm trying to help you, you silly man." not that she's exactly sure how she's going to do that, but she's sure she can figure out something. especially if she calls cyn for help (two heads, and all that). "i'm going to pick you up, is that okay?" oh, god, can he even understand her? she hopes so. "i guess you can just kick me again if the answer is no."
She's too late. He sees. She is an injury dressed in easy trust, in sensible clothing, in skirts that'd feel at home among the belly of a book store, and grinning, so much grinning, for a bone split in two. He sees because it's drooling. He would notice as the smiling fails to temper the bleed. He sees because the tell is wearing like a bruising, and Driver knows bruising. Driver drives on.
(Easy trust. She doesn't know your name.
She'd buckled herself into your car. Unbled girls don't trust like this.)
"Mhm-hm. Are you looking for a job?" (He likes, likes, hates this.) Driver jokes. She knows cars. He has a seldom seen smile, something that would bring his features onto a ground most would deem too endearingly boyish, and takes them for all she cares to a funerary ground. (She should be more careful. She is lucky he cares.) "Is that what it does for you?" Get too loud? Restless? Driver can't say. If anything, silence gets too waifish for his liking, transparent like the deal-mongering of habitual wife-beaters who would trundle to the booth on their knees on Sundays. No. Girls who don't bleed don't just squirm to silence, though she's not squirming, and his words are few. (Him. She chose him. She fills the passenger seat well.)
percy laughs, ducking her head. it's true she doesn't know him, that they're barely acquaintances. it's true, too, that she's far better at divining the intentions of the dead than those of the living, so why is she trusting him? she doesn't know. impulse, probably, or her stubborn self-destructive streak. maybe he just interests her. or maybe the devil she knows has always been the one to harm her, and it's worth giving the devil she doesn't a chance.
"it's not the quiet itself that's the problem, i guess," she admits. she hasn't really talked about this outside of the pages of her journal before, thoughts and fears filtered through half-assed metaphors into poems that nobody else will ever read. "it's more... me. when there's nothing to distract me, i get caught up in my own head." and then she spirals into fears, regrets, what-ifs. it keeps her up at night. "it's weird. solitude was the only real, uh, comfort i had growing up, but at the same time i couldn't stand it." percy glances at him, clear eyes maybe asking: do you understand? do you understand me? and what does she hope his answer is? maybe she hopes for no answer at all. the only thing more frightening than being alone with her thoughts is somebody seeing her, really seeing her (but that, too, is something she hates as much as she craves).
TWIN PEAKS 2.17
don't go yet. @amobscene
she should. she has work tomorrow, and it's getting late. but—it's nice to be wanted, isn't it? it's a novelty, to have someone need her company. even if billie is a little strange, a little unsettling. it's not like percy isn't those things, too. and right now, billie seems upset about... something. she doesn't know what, but she knows how awful it feels to be left alone when everything seems dark and bleak. "okay," she says. "how about... how about you come over? i have work in the morning, but i'm not going to leave you alone if you don't want me to. we can make a sleepover out of it, how does that sound?"
i didn't swear at you or anything. @runecast
that's the embarrassing part: he hadn't. she's pale and still, but he hadn't so much as raised his voice. at worst, he'd sounded only sligihtly irritated, and likely not even irritated with her. some part of her knows that, but it's currently being drowned out by fear. and it's not even him she's afraid of, really. she's just tired. any other day, his snippy tone would have rolled right off her; she's gotten good at not letting other people's moods bother her. but she wants mark to like her, and she hasn't known him long enough to read his moods as well as she'd like, so what should have glanced off had instead cut deep.
she's holding herself very carefully, like an animal who might bolt at any moment, but percy's paralyzed. you act like i'm going to hurt you, says an indistinct voice in her memory. is it janice or felix? she can't remember. she just remembers they'd followed up with: i hate it. it hurts my feelings. fuck, he's going to hate her. she's so exhausting to be around.
"no," she agrees finally. it's an effort to force the word out, and her voice trembles on the vowel. she still can't look at him; what if she does, and she sees her self-disgust reflected in his face? percy picks a spot on the wall instead and presses her fingernails into the opposite forearm hard enough to leave marks. "s-sorry," she continues. "i know you didn't mean—it's been a long week, um, and i have this thing—" is there any way to explain this that doesn't sound impossibly juvenile? her face burns. "i thought i upset you, and i panicked. you're fine. sorry."
SAINT MAUD (ACCEPTING).
well i meant to be on here but i rolled my ankle & scraped my knee and then discovered that one of my book bins was. full of mold. so
saint maud.
dialogue prompts from saint maud (2019).
creative types tend to be rather self-involved.
what are you cooking up in there?
who's your saint?
you're prettier than the last one.
i'd be happiest to stay in my room.
may god bless you and never waste your pain.
why would someone like you end up in a town like this?
you should be around people.
why the fuck do you care so much all of a sudden?
darling, don't be petulant.
no one sees what they don't want to.
stay with me. i don't want to be alone.
have you seen a lot of death?
what made you leave?
when you pray, do you get a response?
nothing feels real anymore.
my little savior.
it's too late to be visiting now.
i'm trying to be respectful.
i didn't swear at you or anything.
do you think this is just a joke?
this is life and death. it's spiritual.
no hard feelings. i'm sure you're great in bed.
you're just a waste of time at the moment.
can you hear yourself?
don't tell ___ i told you, though.
how's it going? it's been ages.
are you taking care of yourself?
i thought you must have left town or something.
i don't see you out and about anymore.
my number. if you ever want to talk, or get a drink or anything.
it's no fun if you cheat.
i will go to bed when i damn well like.
don't run away. i'm talking to you.
what is it? am i indecent?
you know you shouldn't take anything i say seriously.
you should have some fun while you still can.
if you're trying to teach me something, i can't see what it is.
quite frankly, it all just seems like such a waste.
i remember you, you know.
you used to be out all the time.
please don't let me fall.
nothing worthwhile comes easily.
it was no small thing. it meant something.
never waste your pain.
do you mind if i sit?
that, as they say, is how the cookie crumbles.
how will i know what to do?
sorry, did i get you out of bed?
i just wanted to see how you are.
we could see you were struggling and we did nothing.
i'm so sorry. i was unkind to you.
you made me think of things i didn't want to.
you must be the loneliest girl i've ever seen.
you have no idea how dull it is to be dying.
@spiritdreamt: can i take you to dinner?
" i mean, i could cook for you instead. " it comes out in more of a rush than silas had hoped it would, which probably makes him seem like more of a creep than he originally thought. there's a soft breath out, the corner of his lips turning up into something (hopefully) comforting. it's easier for him to fake eating at home than it is outside.
" but, if you'd like that, i wouldn't have an issue with it. it's whatever you would like, of course. you're just as much a part of this as i am, you know "
she just likes him an awful lot, is all, likes him in a way that leaves her feeling girlish and juvenile. if she's honest, she'd offered going out as a neutral meeting space for him more than her. she trusts him (maybe foolishly); she doesn't trust herself not to wear on him. but for him to suggest having her over? percy's cheeks dimple with her own smile, her face tilted up to him like he's the sun.
"would you?" it's a little more breathless, a little more excited, than she intends it to be. "i can help, you know, if you'd like. i like to cook." her smile turns a little sheepish. "honestly, i said dinner because it was the first thing that came to mind. i just want to spend time with you, whatever form that takes." blinking her long, dark lashes: "is that okay?"
[txt: Percy 💘] that's soooo crazy
[txt: Percy 💘] we should make out about it or something
[txt: cyn] we tooootally should
[txt: cyn] ugh. but i'm still at work 😭 how am i supposed to make it through my shift now?
"i'm not gonna hate it," nealie bristles with something similar to real genuine offense. for all the bullshit she picks up and tucks into her pockets, percy's treasure will be among the most precious. "i don't think you're supposed to ask if i want a drink, you just kinda shove drinks my way, right?" that's how birthdays work!! maybe that's foreshadowing for what percy can anticipate for her birthday. "yeah, i want somethin' fruity." there's an arm hung loose around her friend's waist as she peeks over at the bartender, trying to flag him down.
"joking," she says, her voice pointed but not harsh. she may be prone to self-deprecation and low self-esteem, but she's pretty sure she's a good enough friend to pick a good birthday present. "but noted. about the drinks, too." percy leans in a little to nealie's touch, more comfortable than she would usually be around so many strangers and in such a loud place. it takes a moment for the bartender to come around, and she waits for nealie to order before she adds: "can i, uh, do a malibu and coke? and, uh... two green tea shots, please." and then she's sliding her debit card across the bar, turning her head to grin up at nealie. "shove drinks your way, right?"
throwing out some dnd/bg3 percy tidbits, full write-up to come later:
she's a shadow magic sorcerer, though most of her money comes from her work as a minstrel. she doesn't understand her connection to the shadowfell, but in addition to her magic it also makes her pulse slow. also, while asleep she often appears to not be breathing. she is, it's just imperceptible.
a lot of her youth was spent trying to hide her more blatantly tiefling traits by doing things like tucking her tail under her gowns or wearing her hair in a way that hid the stumps of her horns. of course, her skin is noticeably more pink than a human's (even though she is pale!), her eyes have a clear glow in dim light or darkness, and her fingernails are pretty obviously more like claws. plus her fangs!
similarly, there are exactly two portraits of percy in the manor where she was raised (which belongs to her stepmother). one is a family portrait painted when she was about 8, and the other is a solo portrait done when she was 17. in the case of both portraits, janice instructed the artist to also exclude percy's more devilish traits.
ostensibly, this was all to make percy a more acceptable match for eventual suitors. in reality, none of this did anything except give janice a sense of control over her stepdaughter, because every noble in baldur's gate already knew percy was a tiefling.
she still has the reinforced lute i gave her when she was still a bard. also, she carries a dagger felix gave her when they were together. she hates that it reminds her of him, but it's too nice to get rid of, and she thinks laura might want it someday.
relies on wit as a defense mechanism much more than in her main verse; she's just as emotionally fragile, but she's more capable of defending herself (at least physically!) so she's less afraid of pissing people off
she doesn't talk about being from a noble upbringing because she doesn't like to remember it, but if your muse is familiar w the nobility of baldur's gate they probably know her at least in passing or know Of her.
might incorporate some wild magic aspects bc i think it's fun, but she's got a good handle on her magic so it would only really happen when she's extremely upset or be referenced to as happening when she was a girl
the ghosts are still a thing, obviously
uh. more tbd!
open to mutuals!
"just promise me that if you got me anything that's too... y'know, SAPPY—" it's her birthday. despite being the degenerate little socialite that she is, she's blushing at the thought of anyone focusing on her too much. the festivities would be easier to enjoy if it didn't feel like she's being shoved under a microscope. "you won't give it to me in front of everyone, okay? not that you were supposed to get me anything at all, obviously, i just definitely don't want anyone fussing over me."
"i couldn't just not get you something," percy protests. what sort of friend would she be if she didn't? and it's nothing sappy, either, just a CD and a card—well, actually. maybe the card is a bit sappy. she smiles sheepishly. "but yes, i promise, you can open it later." then, jokingly: "anyway, that way it's way less embarrassing for me if you hate it, right?" she teasingly nudges nealie with her elbow, but her eyes are all affection. "do you want a drink? i want a drink."
do you think percy in her lowest, loneliest moments wonders if she should have stayed with felix. i think so. she wonders if she was too hasty to break things off when she found out about his marriage, if she should have heard him out, because she knows he loved her and she loved him, and maybe she wouldn't have been happy but maybe she would be less sad. rattles the bars of my cage. DO YOU THINK—
She should tell him that. She should. He wouldn't tell her his past, no, or how he, too, is a shadow, is a blur staring mutely through the window of a home, but she should gather her vowels and sic them out anyway. Because she's only just human. And she's oh so alone. And, no, he doesn't mean to so read her this greedily, to take notice of her fault lines on the edges of a quake, but that is his gift, isn't it? To notice what's broken? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.
I work in the shop on Browning.
Her eyes are storybooks. Do you know it? Driver decides right then, the color of them like 90s green-linoleum, that they hold a specific type pigment he doesn't hate. "I'm not." And he means it. He's at her side. He opens the door for her, a gentleman, a proper boy bathed in California secrets, before slipping sleekly behind the wheel as the engine stirs. "I like it up there," he says because, yes, that's conversation for the quiet boys. "It's nice. Lonely." He looks at her. I can fix things. "The good kind." I know you know.
maybe she will tell, someday. but heavy things, important things, so often stick in her throat and refuse to coalesce into words. it's why she became a writer; at least if she's spilling her guts onto paper, there's something to soak them up. she's afraid that if she starts talking aloud, she'll hemorrhage endlessly. (of course, you can hemorrhage internally, but she doesn't like to think about that. her pain is only dangerous when people can see it. when it becomes an inconvenience for others.)
she doesn't seem to realize, of course, how much the cracks show. if she did, she'd shrink away instead of buckling in, though the way she settles into the leather of the passenger's seat betrays a life spent trying not to take up much space. "yeah?" the good kind of lonely... she smiles, maybe a little wry. "that's hard to come by." but she knows what he means, she thinks. "sometimes the quiet can be so loud." or rather, the quiet makes her thoughts loud. her fingers rest on the door's arm rest, the purr of the engine settling in her bones. "i like your car," she adds. "seventies, right?"
avoiding fucking up my hands: failed (owie, It Aches) writing: in progress, but annoying (keyboard Slowly Breaking)
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