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hadriel_logs2017-12-14 07:13 am
circumitus) wrote in hadriel_logs2017-12-14 07:13 am
Entry tags:
buckshot is my bread; i'll drink whiskey instead of water.
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.
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.
no subject
He knows himself a little delusional, trying to follow impossible dreams, childish, or altruistic, as she puts it. He has to look up at her, the ghost of that smile still lingering. Does she really need the answer? He's there already, he'd think that's enough of an answer.
"All I can."
He told her the first day, he's not giving up on her.
no subject
Not that it isn't an admirable trait -- just a phenomenally frustrating one.
"What if they do something you can't agree with?" Rey pauses, biting the inside of her cheek. "Something that could end up hurting a lot of people. So they get angry, see your act as a betrayal and leave. There's nothing you can do for them anymore, because they're gone before you can have the chance to make them understand. You don't know if they died hating you or not."
Rey started regretting what she was saying the second she started speaking, but it's too late to take it back now.
She sighs, burying her face over her knees. "That's what this feels like."
no subject
"You say that as if I hadn't had to make that choice before." He doesn't know her, but in return, she doesn't know him either. It went both ways. Fighting a friend, stepping up to save them from themselves to stop them from doing something terrible, he's done that before, or, more accurately, his partner did. But this is not like that, here, Maketh is gone, and with her, the answer Rey so desperately seeks.
"If she..." Hmm, "If that person couldn't let go of their hate, it's not your fault... You did all you could, and it was enough."
Could he have forgiven himself if Jounouchi had died then? If he had drowned because of him? He doesn't know. Probably not. To this date, he still held guilt over that duel, over putting him in danger, to exposure him to Marik's irrational hate. But everyone had trusted their friend would come back to his senses, and he did. They did all they could, for him. Maketh, she may have left too soon, but if she had people who believed in her, and she did, people like Rey, it was not their fault.
"You did enough, Rey..."
no subject
It doesn't feel that way.
Rey can't help the hole left in her heart. She can't fill it to make the emptiness go away. Maybe she could put on a mask for a while, fake it until she makes it. But it'll never be enough for her.
She wonders if this is what it felt like, for all those people she made to suffer. Everyone whose spouses and loved ones she's left, children orphaned. And not all of them for some noble cause, or because it was her duty.
Because she remembers what it felt like to enjoy it. The last thing she wants is to be that person again, who can only find happiness in the feeling of life fleeting from a living body.
So Rey doesn't answer. She can't bring herself to muster the words to agree or argue. The fight is gone and she's just tired now.
She shakes. Stifling the pathetic whimpers against her hands when her response comes only in broken sobs.
It's not enough.
no subject
Atem doesn't dare to touch her, he doesn't want to breach her personal space even more than he has. Were he with Yugi he would have taken over already, hugged her, maybe even he would have been much more help than he's been... But the kid is not there, so, he lets her cry, he lets take out her sadness in the most healthy way she's managed by far. Maybe she'll fall asleep again, when she tires herself or when there are no more tears left — she hasn't drank much water, if at all — but until that happens, he stays there, just as the shade he used to be.