buckshot is my bread; i'll drink whiskey instead of water.

[circumitus]

Who: Rey and close CR/semi-OPEN.
What: In the wake of the Null attack, Rey tries to deal with current events by straight up not dealing at all.
Where: Robot House (1401).
When: Catch-all for December. Please put the date in the subject line!
Warnings: Poor coping mechanisms, depression, anger, suicidal ideations, starvation, fun stuff like that.

Note: As of December 12th, Rey will temporarily be without network access until further notice.

---

Not long after the light of the twin suns peeked through the cracks of every window did Rey do everything in her power remedy this new situation. Having lost Maketh and so much more than that has left a hole in her chest that she can't quite bring herself to even try and fill, and the sun is the last sensation she wants on her skin. Can't drag herself off the floor and go about business as usual, either. Can't do much of anything.

At first it comes in bursts of anger. Screaming and clawing at her own arms. Whatever pain and damage done to herself only heals again in a matter of hours -- sometimes days, before there is a risk of anyone noticing. Her selective healing has its benefits, depending on one's perspective.

Not that Rey gives one much opportunity to stop by and notice. The windows of her room are blackened with layers of opaque cloth, boards sealing them shut from any unwanted visitors peeking inside. The bed pins to the sliding door, leading to that balcony connecting the neighboring bedroom; its mattress props up to serve as a barricade from prying eyes.

In a sense, she's created her own tomb; a place for her to curl up and die. Food is far from her mind, and with the prospect of a shortage in sight, it's decided that any supplies are better passed on the likes of her.

She's no good to anyone, least of all herself.

At least Nick has been kept busy with the Guard, given his new rank. She hates to think of the circumstances that got him there, but he's had more than enough to deal with without Rey piling onto the stack. Though it probably didn't take long for the synthetic detective to figure out why Rey wasn't answering any messages, why her presence on the network has been nonexistent, why she's made herself so scarce. It didn't take a private eye to notice the discarded device floating in a concoction that has since liquefied in the kitchen blender. In a passing moment of blind anger and grief, Rey severed her ties to the outside. She knew the apologies and grievances that would follow Maketh's death, and if she could lay here and pretend that things are still okay, that she will wake up tomorrow and things will somehow be different, that they will work themselves out one way or another...

What did she do wrong? It isn't something Rey thinks about much, simply because she usually knows the answer already. But now the answer is muddled. Clouded. Her head a fog. And maybe it's from the extended hours of sleep, of nothing but sleep; the days of not eating or drinking, barely parting from her dark room to handle some of the personal necessities she has deemed worth tending to, she just hasn't been able to think. And yet she's had too much time to think.

Maybe she's hoping for another dream again. A fantasy to play out so that she can at least find an illusion of peace. In some sick twist, she would rather be on a battlefield than this, surrounded by the music of gunfire and mortar and the smell of smoke and blood. Give her something tangible, something that she can hurt and kill. Send her anywhere but the prison of her own head, harrowed by affliction and terrible memories.

Strange, how she hasn't cried. The tears are there, close to the precipice, and yet she can't cry. To most, Maketh is just gone home. For Rey, the truth is much more grim than that.

So she lays there, curled up on the floor of her black room. Buried under a mountain of blankets and the weight of guilt. Anyone able to push through the door will immediately notice a lump on the floor, in the middle of the bedroom. Sometimes that lump stirs in sleep, unwilling to wake at the slightest hint of intrusion. And sometimes her feral instincts want blood between her teeth, to find something that she can claw and stab and tear apart.

It's been a long time since she's eaten now. What supply water she has acquired from her first day has been stored in stacks inside the closet, along with a cache of liquor from the Speakeasy. She won't be making any pitstops at her establishment, so she might as well stock up on the only thing she wants while she can.

Even if that desire will ultimately destroy her, she can't find a reason to give a damn anymore.

Comments

December 13th

[foundafamily]

It's been a while since he's seen Rey.

At first, it was easy enough to imagine that she was just tied up defending herself and her people from the Null, but it's precisely because of that invasion that Firo's uneasy about her seeming disappearance. He tries to be patient when his message on the morning of the 13th doesn't get a response, but Firo doesn't really do patient.

So only an hour later, he's at the door to her home, pounding on it a little too loudly for a guy who wants to pretend he's still chill.

"Hey, Rey!" He tries to keep his tone light even as he shouts at the door. "You can't just not show up to work, you know."

People are going to worry about you.

[circumitus]

Sure she can. And she has. Rey hasn't been the best at communication, even more so when the last thing she wants to deal with is another person.

Curled up in a fetal position on the floor, she tightens the blankets around her. Teeth grinding. Eyes burning. She can only hope her silence is answer enough.

"Go away," she mutters under her breath, far too quiet for Firo to hear. "Go away, go away, goawaygoawaygoawaygoaway..."

Although she doesn't respond, the front door isn't locked. Neither has the ground up phone in the kitchen blender been removed, should Firo come to notice.

[foundafamily]

Hearing nothing, Firo knocks a few more times before realizing that--although he hates to do this to a lady's home--he'll have to just try the door to let himself in.

"I'm coming in!" He pauses several seconds to give her time to flee or tell him to fuck off if she's not decent. Then he clenches his teeth together and turns the knob, keeping his eyes downcast just in case.

Hm. Not there.

He casts his eyes around the house, looking for any signs of a struggle.

"Rey? Uh, I let myself in..."

He makes his way through the house, knocking on each door he finds.

[circumitus]

To be fair, it's also home to a robot detective, but a 'lady' does still live there.

Given that it's just Firo, Rey isn't so swift to remove the intruder from her home. She isn't happy that he's there, and doesn't rush to greet him, either. She hasn't eaten in a few days, and though that isn't enough to drain her energy completely, already she is feeling the early effects. Fatigue and irritability being one of them.

It's the room closest to the entrance that Rey resides in. And, if Firo tries, he might find that the knob would turn but the door doesn't budge. Not when there's a heavy dresser blocking it.

If she doesn't speak, maybe he'll go away. She can only hope so, nails digging into her arm and feeling blood rise underneath them, through her fingers.

whenever works for you tbh

[hasitsthorns]

In her own peak of grief, Rose has taken to doing the opposite of what she has for months. For a long while, she was skating by on bare minimum social interaction and showing her face only to play the part of the fool. It kept people none the wiser to the true way she was struggling but eventually, the mask started to crack. Now that she can't pretend she's fine anymore, she can do something else. Get involved. Stay busy. Keep her mind from wandering to the darker recesses and people from worrying about her being reclusive, withdrawn.

There's someone though that's missing. Someone that seemed practically omnipresent in the cave despite the fact that they had only been interacting regularly recently. Rey. She doesn't really make the connection between Maketh disappearing and this since she'd never really... pried into Rey's love life after the whole Love shipping chart debacle. It was made clear that it wasn't her place, that she needed to back off. What she thought was all in good fun had clearly pushed buttons she didn't intend. And then ones she did because she saw it as a convenient excuse to hurt.

No one said Rose was really the most functional person either, but- It's easier to worry about other people than herself so that's what she's doing now. "I know you're in there," she says. Rey's scent - and the stench of blood, the blond notes - lingers. She doesn't so much push her way past the door as just. Kick it open. Even without eating, she still has semi-enhanced strength so it's almost effortless. It doesn't take her long to find Rey, crumpled up and miserable. Yeah. Rose knows how that feels. Though while sympathetic, she also knows Rey isn't the type to want to be coddled so-

"How long has it been since you ate something?" A bit of a hypocritical question, maybe, but. Still.

[circumitus]

In the weeks that have gone by, Rey has seen better days. Then again, she's seen worse, but not many involve self-imposed exiles and fasting. While she can live for longer periods of time without the need for food and water, even she has her limits, and she's just about started to reach her peak.

There is a hint of blood lingering in the air when Rose barges into the bedroom, impeding on Rey's solitude. The marks on her arms are evidence of that, where her fingernails dug into her own flesh. Her face also bears evidence of compulsive scratching, red lines run down over her eye and cheek.

She recoils at the sound of another's voice, so sudden. It's been several days since the last she's interacted with anyone, and with her phone on the fritz (and purposefully so), she's been more isolated than before. The moment almost feels surreal, like a dream. Shouldn't be happening.

Wrapping the blankets over her shoulders to hide the marks inflicted on herself, Rey just sits there, curled up next to the wall. Doesn't even stand, at risk of losing her equilibrium and collapsing. It's bad enough that she's weak, exhausted, and wants to sleep until it doesn't hurt anymore. Which will probably be never, and that might as well be so. She can sleep until she's dead, for all she cares.

"Not hungry," she mutters under her breath, staring at the wall near the boarded up window with a half-lidded look. The hypocrisy on both their parts isn't lost on her, at least.

[hasitsthorns]

How many times had she said the same thing and to how many people? Yeah, the hypocrisy definitely isn't lost on her. Even now, if anyone asked her how long it'd been since she'd eaten... If she didn't just lie outright, she'd fib the same as the woman on the floor is now. But this isn't about her. This is about Rey.

"You will be," she says, before flopping unceremoniously onto the floor next to the other woman. She's in a bad way. Rose remembers when the ghosts had haunted Hadriel and how she'd let hers kill her slowly from the confines of her own apartment. It was after that she'd moved in with Alphys, loathe to let anything like that happen again. She doesn't want Rey to suffer the same fate, even if this time she's haunted by demons that Rose can't see.

And haunted by the demon known as Rose herself, but this is a good haunting. Even if Rey doesn't think so now, maybe she will someday. And even if she doesn't, that's alright too. Rose will know she what she thought was right at the time. "And I'd rather you eat now than have to force you to later. I don't think either of us would enjoy that." She doesn't comment on the wounds yet because she remembers the way Rey had harmed herself during the reflections. It was a way to cope, a way for things to feel real maybe. The blond wasn't going to take that away just yet.

17th

[puzzlingly]

Rey hasn't been okay. One didn't need to be her confidant to notice it. Ever since Atem met her at the Guard Headquarters, it was obvious she had been biting more than she could chew, that the problem wasn't what she shared, but what she didn't.

The way Nick had avoided to answer one simple question, had been more than enough to worry. Atem didn't really need the full history, even though it could have helped a little to know what she was dealing with.

To say that he simply wanted to help her out of the goodness of his heart was a bit of an overstatement. The fight had taken a toll on him in a way that he hadn't anticipated, nor noticed. The irony of having to witness the people he cared for (and even those he didn't even knew) die in battle, again, to be unable to help them, again, reopened a wound in his heart that he thought had healed a long time ago.

Perhaps it never did, and maybe, it never would.

Sure, you cannot save them all, as Law wisely said; sure, they were back, and he was incredibly thankful about it, but somehow, that was not the point. It still made him feel useless, it still hurt him, more than his heart could handle. So, upon finding out that Rey probably needed some support of some kind, gave him a little hope, that maybe he could help her in some way. That maybe he could make himself useful for a change. (No matter that, in fact, he had been more than useful out there).

--

"Rey?"

How he came into the apartment doesn't really matter, but he's there, leaning over the lump in the middle of the floor, trying to discern her in the gloom of the room.

This is worse than he thought.

tw: self harm in this thread.

[circumitus]

Sleep has come easier than expected, but not for the reasons one would hope. This is beyond mere physical exhaustion; this is something more insidious and unseen.

Rey doesn't respond at first. Not when the door opens, not when someone steps in. Knowing how things have been, she could hazard a few guesses as to who the intruder might be already.

But the one who does speak catches her in a moment of fleeting surprise. Okay, this one she didn't guess. That's fine. People in this place are nosey as hell, and that's nothing new.

She curls up underneath the blankets. Despite the stuffiness of the house and the rising heat of their new environment, the darkness of this one room provides a lingering chill that creeps up on one's skin. Or maybe it's just Rey. Malnutrition does that to you. Makes you cold, tired, sick. And for that reason, it's just too much effort to get herself off that damned floor.

What strength she did have had been reserved for the damage done to herself. She's worn several wounds over the passing month. Part of her had even made the excuse that this was a test. After all, she had nearly died during the Null's attack. In fact, she should have died, and didn't. Maketh didn't let her. Because of some ridiculous demand she had made a long time ago that she just couldn't let go even then, that Rey isn't allowed to die. As if her own life isn't in her hands -- as if that's something anyone has control over.

Stupid.

Now, she's taken that control for herself. Maketh isn't around to order her whether she's allowed not to die or otherwise. Can't treat her like a soldier or more. Evidence of that is all over. Despite the fact that she was dying, any sign of her brush with death has been erased. Healed. The ghost of her mother had been correct in Rey's ability to heal even scar tissue; it just takes time.

Time that's inconveniently compromised by concerned parties. She groans, bringing the covers tighter around her like a shield, tucking her head as she draws herself into fetal position.

"The fuck do you want?" Rey finally mutters from under her dome. Her throat is dry; she's parched and the mere act of talking is a herculean effort. All the more reason why she's a far cry from hospitable at the moment. Besides, she doesn't know this guy very well, neither does he know her. Obviously he came here for something.

[puzzlingly]

The moldy smell is not very welcoming, nor is Rey, but, here we are. He gives her a bitter smirk — not that she can see it— as if the question had been expected. At least she's responding. That's, in fact, a good thing.

"To check on you." He has no reasons to not tell her why he's there. "... How long have you been there?"

20th

[synthedick]

It really has been too long.

It's been too long since Nick and Rey had a talk of any kind. They've exchanged a few words here and there since the end of the invasion, but while things have calmed down in some ways, they've gotten a hell of a lot more complicated in others. The change of scenery isn't sitting well with everyone; the lack of necessities like clean water and food has made things difficult for those who need them. The gods have been quiet, presumably putting themselves back together again after Delight's betrayal. The people of Hadriel are having to do the same, both with their buildings and the lives they've made within the city.

It's harder for some than it is for others. The assault had taken its toll, and the Door as well, as some folks had vanished without a trace... Maketh Tua included. Her departure from the Guard meant more responsibilities for Nick, who was stepping up to fill her shoes; her disappearance from town, in light of how their last conversation had gone, has left the old synth uncomfortable. It creeps up his neck through synthesized nerves and fabricated pulses, making him feel almost human.

But his troubles are nothing compared to what Rey is feeling. Nick wanted to reach out to her when she sequestered herself away in her room, but what was there to say? What was there he could do? He couldn't bring Maketh back, and hell, it wouldn't fix things even if he could. The fact she obliterated her phone in the blender said that she wasn't particularly interested in talking, so he'd given her space to sort it out herself. That worked sometimes... but the longer the month went on and the less Nick saw of her, the more he realized that wasn't going to cut it this time around. He's been burying himself in his own duties, using productivity as a distraction. The new headquarters is coming along, and the patrols are just fine. He's needed elsewhere.

You help who needs helping. That's what he's tried to live by for as long as he can remember, and right now, Rey needs help.

It's been too long indeed, but better late than never. He knocks on her door and lets himself in anyway, not waiting for an answer. He wasn't expecting one from Rey, though he does get a sideways glance from Tripod. who has taken to nestling anywhere he can in Rey's room. That cat did always like her best, and he seems to know something is wrong. If only he had the answers.

Nick crosses the room and takes a seat on the bed without a word, easing onto the mattress carefully so he doesn't disturb Rey more than he already is; Tripod rises on his three legs, stretching before he butts against Nick's arm.

"Let's talk." Nick's voice is quiet, more of a suggestion than a demand.

[circumitus]

As far as talking goes, Nick at least made the attempts, and that's admirable enough. Rey, on the other hand, was less than conversive, often offering only a curt word or two or nothing at all. Some days, he was lucky to even get a weary wave, as she cocooned herself in blankets, tight enough to suffocate.

Unfortunately, she didn't lose air. She'd go to sleep, but wake up several hours later, cognizant and remembering clearly the events of the past several months.

Sleep had been her escape. From pain, from consciousness, from everything. She could fall into memories, remember a time where she wore someone else's skin, carried someone else's name, had their memories and their rank. She was not the Rey she is now, not a cocktail of trauma and misfortunes. Just one lifetime of errors. There's an odd sense of comfort in that; one that she doesn't expect anyone to understand -- not even Nick.

How could he? For all the likeness that they shared, there are still many things that have isolated Rey from everyone else. Kept her from relating to other people. That's what Gregory wanted when he injected all those memories into her mind. To prevent her from connecting with anyone the way a normal but typically fucked up person could have. In some ways, that had never left her, but haunted her even now.

You are a vessel -- you are born to die.

Memories of smoke and fire and burning flesh dissipate from her senses as Rey wakens to Nick's voice over her. The visions shift from cold metal walls to the room of that shell-like house in a spiral neighborhood. A house that she shared with someone that the Rey she is of now cares for. And for that reason, she has been more lonely than ever.

She is feeling no more sociable today than she was yesterday, or the day before that, or the week before that. Casting a look towards Nick, then to the concerned mutant cat beside him, Rey just breathes a heavy exhale before turning over in her spot, back facing Nick.

"Not interested," she mumbles. Hands curl around the blankets over her, bearing deep gashes and holes piercing through her palms from last night's episode -- or, what she thinks is last night. Hard to tell with this place, in this room.

Considering the state that she is in, Rey would sooner rather speak with Nick's cactus than the man himself.

[synthedick]

"I know you're not."

He says that quietly, too. Nick's glowing eyes settle on the single one of the cat walking across his lap, his brow knitting. Does he pry? Does he push? Does he keep being soft, or does he try to snap Rey out of it, keep her from digging that hole a little bit deeper? He's always gone with his gut in times like this, when he felt uncertainty crawling in his gut like a restless animal, but he's been questioning it a lot lately. He's been questioning a lot of things: his memory, his position in the city, his humanity, what makes him him.

He doesn't want to question his family too... but he doesn't want to lose it either. He knows what guilt looks like, knows how it feels to let it consume you -- and he can't stand by and watch Rey dig and dig and dig at herself until there's nothing left. Mechanical or not, he doesn't think his heart could take it.

Nick pushes a sigh out, setting his bare, metal hand long Tripod's back. "We need to talk," he tries again. "I need to talk."

28thish

[tongueamok]

"I warn you, I doubt she will be interested in seeing us."

Carlisle straightens his tabard as he and Glacius make their toward Rey's home, his nerves clearly showing. He hasn't seen her in days, but it's not hard for even someone as purposefully distant as he is to tell that something is wrong. First there was the fact she didn't answer her phone when he called to check on her at the end of the invasion, then there was the message from that child on the network, and last was what he heared belatedly: Miss Tua is gone. It's just one more bit of bad news in all the city has faced lately.

But Carlisle said he'd consider visiting her, and so here he is with Glacius in tow, unsure of what to say, despite his experience with counseling those who would bare their burdens to him. He expects she won't do that at all, knowing Miss Rey, but perhaps she should. Maybe she'll send them away, he considers. On fire. Or in pieces. They shouldn't have come. This isn't their business.

He sighs, coughing in the back of his throat. No no no, Miss Rey is... well, not his friend, exactly, but something. He healed her. He should follow up on that, and perhaps see what else can be done, as well.

"Thank you for coming with me," he says to his companion, pausing as they near the door.

[glacius]

"Of course," Glacius replies, giving his partner a somber smile as he pauses at the door. "I would never make you go through anything that you were even the slightest bit uneasy about alone, and besides... we're both a bit out of our element, here. It's good to go to support one another, and moreover it's good for us both to go to support her, too."

Though he'd had to do a bit of convincing himself on the walk over here, too. He's not worried about Rey sending them back in fiery pieces-- he knows he could fender her off should she try but moreover he knows she simply wouldn't do that-- but like Carlisle he, too, has been wondering if it was in their place to come here. He doesn't know if Rey would call him a friend either, and maybe it's presumptuous to show up when she hasn't expressed any desire to see them or anyone... but if they don't at least try to help her, then they certainly wouldn't deserve the title.

They might not be the best equipped to handle this situation, but it simply wouldn't be right not to try. He's always said he can't abide suffering; he's recently begun to learn that doesn't just apply to physical threats and trauma.

"Anyways, remember that we are not here to fix things for her-- it might not be possible. She doesn't have to be interested in seeing us or even hearing us; but we are here to remind her that we are but two of many who care, and that we will be here for her should she need us." A beat and a small intake of breath, and then Glacius tacks on, "We just... have to figure out what that will mean. Together. She might not be able to tell us now, but as long as she knows she has the support, hopefully it will give her some modicum of strength or heart with which she can use to get to that place."

That's what he's hoping, anyways, but there's only one way to really find out how this is going to go. Giving Carlisle one last little glance, Glacius then moves to the door, knocking more to politely announcing their presence rather than out of any expectation to be invited in. If Rey does, then it'll already be going better than expected; if not he waits a bit--also out of politeness-- then gently makes his way inside, looking for where the woman might have holed up.

[circumitus]

As one might come to expect, Rey doesn't answer the front door. The house is quiet and seemingly unoccupied at the moment, though if anything of what Atem had said is true, then at least one occupant hasn't left her room in some time.

The first series of knocks jolts Rey awake. She's been sleeping on the floor, too drunk to grab the blankets and pillows around her and tucking herself in. Now she's just a hungover mess, too slow to rise from the ground even if she wanted to answer the door.

Then the door opens. Rey winces, shifting to grab a nearby bottle that had rolled towards the wall. After a few attempts at leaning towards the drink, she finally snags hold of the neck, before pulling it towards her.

Uncapping the top, she attempts to finish off what's left of the emergency bourbon she's kept in her closet. But all that touches her tongue is air.

"Shit!" Rey snaps, throwing the bottle against her bedroom door. Her face falls into her hands. The prospects of guests now forgotten to her most current misfortune.

To say that the drinking helps would be almost wishful thinking. It doesn't. But it does make her not care for a while. Shuts her mind up long enough for her to sleep on days when she cannot.

At the end of the month, sometime after speaking with Atem;

[hotspurred]

Henry still remembers Rey's silence when he initially reached out; it does not give him hope that he will achieve much here. But that does not mean he won't try. He gave his word to Atem, and more importantly, Maketh had loved Rey.

Maketh would not wish this for her. As Maketh's brother, he cannot forget that.

Henry does not force his way into their house. Knowing Nick makes it unnecessary. Seeing her efforts to entomb herself on his approach, he feels a heaviness in his chest, his own grief for Maketh stirred. There is a soft thud as he leans his weight against her door. Speaking from the other side of it, his voice is low but nonetheless determined.

"How often did you drag Maketh from desolate throes such as this?"

[circumitus]

Something must have happened recently, because the last few visitors weren't the type Rey expected to come around. Guess that's to be expected, though. It's a small city, and not a whole lot else going on. This room, with its boarded and blackened windows, might as well be made of glass.

Rey is quiet for a moment when she hears Henry's voice on the other side of the door. She's sitting on the bed, legs crossed with a bottle of bourbon on her lap. All things considered, this probably was a familiar thing for Henry, if they both knew Maketh as well as they did.

She sighs, rubbing the side of her neck.

"Does it matter?" Rey finally replies with a lazy drawl. Now is not a good time, dammit.

[hotspurred]

Rey is more responsive than Maketh could be at her worst. That is... something, Henry supposes. Rather than directly answer, he follows up. The precise number is not the point. The memories invoked are.

"You knew that had you left her, she would only destroy herself. Ever did a buried part of her wish to, and misery unearthed it."

He presumes that Rey is familiar with as much, having been so close to Maketh. He counts on it.

"So you must know why you cannot go on this way."

After his thread with Atem (~December 22nd)

[foundafamily]

Firo makes his way to Rey's home soon after his talk with the strange man from the network. In spite of their conversation, Firo can't bring himself to trust a stranger's words so easily, so the thought of someone unknown being near Rey when she's so vulnerable troubles him.

Having learned from last time, he knocks once before going to push the front door open. "I'm coming in."

Once he's inside, he goes straight for her room, assuming she'll still be there. Louder, he calls out, "I need to talk to you about something."

It could be nothing. But he can't take the chance that it might not be, especially when she's in this state.

[circumitus]

For fuck's sake, it never ends.

Rey has half a mind to stab the door when she's woken up by Firo's voice. Sure, she's been sleeping for days at a time at this point, but no amount of rest has ever been enough. She still wakes up exhausted. Still drags her feet when she tries to haul herself across the house to carry out menial tasks before collapsing under the sheets again.

Unlike before, the barricade over the door to her room is gone. That doesn't mean she's worried that Firo will bust in like some people would, though, so she isn't quick to block it.

"I told you before, I'm not interested in going to work."

At least, that's what she thinks this is about. Firo trying to coax her into leaving again, that is.

[foundafamily]

"Work?" He shakes his head and sighs, "It's not about that. Can I come in?"

He doesn't wait for a response, though, just clears his throat and speaks from outside her door.

"I need to ask you about that guy with crazy hair who says he's been coming by. First off, is that the truth? And second, do you trust him?"

9th/10th-ish

[puzzlingly]

A few days passed, not much has changed, only Atem has or his approach has. He's no longer too afraid of what she might do, not with Rose's advice. She had given him insight, something he had been lacking during all this time.

He makes it into her room unceremoniously, as he had during all this time (he at least knocks, once, not that it matters), he remains by the door frame this time. It's too hot to go into the closed off room.

"Do you know what day it is?"

[circumitus]

No matter how much she rests, Rey is still tired. She wonders if there will ever be a day when she isn't, but today is not that special.

Even Atem's appearance proves to be something of a ritual, like so many others that have asserted themselves into her business. It's maddening, but Rey can't say she wouldn't have done the same in their place.

There's work to do, so she's trying to wake up. Instead, she finds herself a tangled mess of blankets still by the time Atem does enter.

"Time for you to get a watch?" Rey replies with a hint of more levity and less anger and despondency that she had been drowning in over the previous few weeks.

[puzzlingly]

There is a response and Atem can't help a smirk, that's been getting better, he supposes. Whatever the others were doing might be working, or she's getting even more impervious to people's approaches that it no longer matters... He opts to believe the former.

"Nah, I always know what time it is." It's time to du-du-du-duel! He steps into the room after all, padding somewhere near her and sitting down with his legs crossed, and in between them, he places a jar no bigger than a pickle jar, something shiny floating inside.

"It's almost Door day."