ph_logs | [OPEN] The world is spinning endlessly

[OPEN] The world is spinning endlessly

Who: Siebren and friends
What: October Shenanigans
When:...October? Possibly also November
Where: Siebren's home, the
Warning(s): Potential cannibalism mentions, unreality, mental unwellness, memory manipulation (self-inflicted), more in comment titles

1. This is the sound of energy [Gala Aftermath]
You can't believe how easy it is. You just have to go... a little crazy. And then, suddenly, it all makes sense, and everything you do turns to gold.
He calls into work the morning after the gala. And a couple more days beyond that. In that time, he is
~~metamorphosing~~
~~assimilating~~
~~unpacking~~
~~digesting~~ everything that occurred that night. He stays at home, alone, trying to avoid everyone and everything.

much. It's too
The fragments of past that he's avoided for their sharpness rotate in him mind, turning their points toward him, crystal shards of time that threaten him. And yet, some part of him reaches out with Pandoran curiosity, like Sleeping Beauty toward the spindle. What he pricks isn't a finger, but he feels the pain just as instantly. And yet, and yet...

too much. It's
There it is, the multiple choice past solidifying in fractals, like frost spidering across a windowpane. Siebren has no way of knowing whether this is a correct past, but it is now his, memories feeling more stable than they have in years. Some things are lost, others are fake, but the end result is more real than anything he's been able to grasp before.

For three days, anyone approaching Siebren's home for any reason may hear, even from outside the building, the sounds of someone having a Bad Time™, with pained screams or furniture being thrown against walls as his gravitational powers pulse and fluctuate. For three days, he struggles.

And then, there is silence.

Traveling through the galaxy [The Library; CW vertigo]
Siebren returns to work. Nothing is wrong. He is fine. Can't you see how fine he is?

Somewhere, a book falls off a table and he flinches. And then, to anyone within a certain distance of him, the floor seems to fall away, in a dizzying cloud of galactic light, just for a moment, before he regains control, glancing around to see if anyone noticed.

Into eternity [Stargazing Night]
A notice goes up on the bulletin board, and letters are issued to penpals with explicit invitations: Crane's Ridge, 9pm on a given night. Bring snacks, drinks, something to sit on. Siebren will have his telescope and star charts.

He's brought some cheese and crackers and apple butter himself, as well, and is floating beside his big brass telescope, dressed in a comfortable sweater. For the moment, he is completely at ease. For the moment, nothing could possibly bother him.

Right?

A One Note Symphony [Wildcard]
Find me on Discord to plot, PM me, or just throw a thing!

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“‘Even’ you, Fever?” One eyebrow lifts, something about the wording catching like a burr. Still, she’s right. Safety is the priority.

“Whatever’s coming will best be faced at home, I think.”

She's not going to answer the question, instead wobbling as she's trying to lead him step by step in the direction of town, of his home. Her dress is still the night sky, but an unsteady one.

"Okay. Home. And if it's too much, you tell me, okay? I'll help."

She'll do what needs to be done.

"Where is home?"

Out of the lights, hopefully. This is not going to be easy. This is beyond her ability to help anyone with, he's just going to have to endure. See if he's poisoned or not.

"Near to the library."

Near work. He can focus enough on that landmark to point the right direction. Things are going sideways and up-down, gravity playing even more tricks on him than usual. But the grip his newly-acquired power on her has slips, like a rabbit wriggling loose from a snare.

A rabbit with the color pulled from it, save red, red eyes. One that keeps a grasp on him as they walk, or well - she'll walk, he'll float, untethered as he is. Like a large balloon. She's braced for it to hit again, for something else to happen, but the library's a good enough marker to head for.

"Why was she mocking you?"

Is it weird that Blanche's exact words, the cloying, saccharine tone of her voice sticks in his head more than his own address? Perhaps.

"We both thrive in delusion, in delirium. Do we not? Neither of us are at home in reality, are we? Far better here, among whirling songs and flitting falsehoods."

She's quiet for a second, mulling that over in her head. There are things she can say out of her own experience, but will they help? Will they make sense? Perhaps, perhaps not. Step by step, the rabbit guiding him home.

"I thought devils were supposed to have some degree of subtlety about them. I guess not all of them."

"Mendel's court is--was--of misdirection, but not deceit. It's a shell game, a magician's patter, it's..."

He catches himself feeling defensive of the demon clown and his court, and wonders immediately if that's Blanche inside him, affecting how he feels about them.

"You don't need to justify it to me. I keep faith in the myriad forms of madness, after all. The two are not the same in the slightest, though she may have enjoyed pretending they were."

She pauses, thinking it over.

"And a scientist would not go very far if he dwelt in lies."

"Myriad forms of madness..." He almost seem to chew on the words, before a wave of dizziness comes over him again. Just him this time; Fever is still as stable as she ever is.

She pauses when she sees his face from the corner of her eye, letting him right himself before they can continue.

"The point is, I can see the insult in it."

"Insult in what part, exactly? I've lost an antecedent somewhere along the way." He almost manages to fake amusement over that, instead of being worried by his own confusion.

"Her implying you're a liar, that you'd dwell in lies."

The answer is easily given back, simple as picking up a new dance step in a combination.

"Oh! Yes, I prefer not to. When I have the choice for myself."

He doesn't always. He hasn't, always.

"But one insult does not lend itself to claiming flesh in your teeth. There's more to it, isn't there?"

More than just being mocked. It's faith in Siebren himself, that a few cutting remarks from a demon wouldn't be what sent him down such a road.

"She wasn't made out of flesh. She was made out of candy." He said that before, but now it comes out defensively, as he looks at his hands, trying to see if there's any white chocolate left on them, from where she melted under him.

"Candy-flesh. Do you want to argue the finer points or do you want to talk about it?"

She can do either, guiding his floating self home, but she needs to know.

He puffs out his cheeks for a moment, looking quite childish, like he's about to throw a tantrum.

"I wanted to know I had won for good. That she was defeated absolutely, finally. I wanted to not just destroy her, but to...obliterate her wholly. She was made of candy. She was made of flesh. I was angry, and hungry, and wanted it to be complete. It was not good candy, either. You've never had Hershey bars, but it was that quality of white chocolate. Waxy, flavorless."

"Was it worth it?"

She feels the breeze on her face. Still waits for the world to fall away into sheets of glass, or to be back in the operating room, or in hell, or in anywhere else.

"I don't know yet. Worth is hard."

It will be a while before he has certainty in anything.

"So's a stomachache from devouring your enemies."

A long, long pause there.

"Are you going to do this again, you think? I'm not here to pass judgement, I just need to know, for the future."

To know how far he may or may not unravel.

"I control gravity, Fever. I don't see the future. I'm not currently planning on it, though. Turn down this street."

That last request is paired with a vague directional gesture.

She obliges, leading onward until otherwise directed.

"All right. Just would have been difficult to manage your new appetites, in the wake of everything tonight."

How this will all affect the town, she doesn't know, but it's not something she wants to consider at present. Only Siebren.

"Do you need me to call anyone to come stay with you, at present?"

"No. Drelasa's probably under her own strain at this point, and anyone else...no."

There's others he'd get comfort from, but he hesitates to request attention, even if he feels like he's on a sheer cliff face and slipping.

"I don't love the idea of leaving you to digest this on your own."

A more selfless woman would offer to stay. But she can only pretend to be put together for so long.

"I don't love the idea of anyone watching what comes next. When I'm not in control, people get hurt."

His eyes soften. "Perhaps afterward, we can reconnect?"

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abhorrently - 2024-10-17 21:08 (UTC) - Expand

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