There is time

for decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse --- rp blog :: original character

[datprosthetic]

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."

[weepfortheuniverse]

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.

[datprosthetic]

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!”  

[weepfortheuniverse]

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."

[datprosthetic]

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."

[weepfortheuniverse]

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.

[datprosthetic]

Nothing but black. A confusing, frustrating, almost maddening hole where there had once been a memory. Something had happened last night, and he couldn’t account for any of it at all. All he had to go off of was the sheer feeling of dread that had translated through the event - and even now his blood felt as if it were laced with ice. The lad rubbed his shoulder worriedly, habitually, where prosthetic met skin.  Someone had been in his house. Fear could only tell him so much, leaving instead more questions than answers: had it been.. him? Had they come to take him back? Had they.. succeeded?  For what felt like the hundredth time, White peered around with a furrowed brow. No, not unless there had been an upgrade from the bloody stone ages. This place was modern, dare he say normal. It looked like any old room, perhaps a hotel room. But.. that was unlikely. Hotel rooms didn’t have doors like the one that barred his way now, and they certainly didn’t have schmucks dressed like they belonged in a LARP just passed out on another bed.  He’d tried, once or twice, at least, to wake the stranger.. not that he’d given it much effort. Part of him didn’t want the guy to wake up, because then they’d both be stuck in this damned room! That was the last thing White needed. Fuck.  White brought a hand to his brow. Okay. Okay. Think, White. Think. Don’t panic. How the fuck did you end up here…  And why was he.. afraid?

[weepfortheuniverse]

In the beginning, there was only DaRKNESs.

It reached in a thousand directions, across a thousand dimensions, in a thousand alien textures. It was everything, and everything was darkness.

The supple fabric tore, and a point of light blazed to life in defiance of the nature of existence itself. It seethed in the silence, alone and insignificant in the expanse of emptiness--but then another formed beside it. Slowly, steadily, they became tens; hundreds; thousands; millions, scattering through the abyss like marbles. They spun away to join kin in glittering flocks, like schools of fish, if fish were made of fire...

The purple figure on the bed lurched upright with a strangled, shuddering gasp, as if he had been dying somewhere in the sleeping stillness that had so stubbornly enveloped him mere moments before.

White had observed that he looked like he was from a LARP. This was not entirely incorrect. He was dressed, rather significantly, like a wizard, with not a scrap of modernity to be found anywhere on his person from the broad-brimmed, tattered hat to the curly-toed shoes made of rough leather. Under the great volume of his robes, he seemed to be terribly thin.

The artificial light was white and blinding to the oddly-clad stranger. His pupils constricted as soon as he opened his eyes, and he clapped his hands over his face with a small, sharp inhale, upsetting his glasses.

The burn did not penetrate his fingers, and soon he lowered them, shakily. His wild eyes darted from wall to door to speaker to bed. Then they flicked to White. That is where they stopped, and a breath caught in his chest.

The man only stared, his expression somewhere between owlishly fascinated and utterly terrified, his long fingers tangled in an anxious knot against his heart. The most peculiar thing about him was not the strange nature of his dress--it was his face. He looked middle aged, at a glance, but the longer one stared at him, the less sure they might become of the assumption.

More peculiar still were his eyes. They were strange eyes, the color of steel, as deep as the sea but unfocused. The man blinked them, and shed a tear in so doing, though he didn't appear to be aggrieved. It was conspicuously dark against his ashen face.

Somehow, that strange gaze did not only look at White. It lanced him.

[weepfortheuniverse]

I did not

I NEVeR ASKED fOя THiS