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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
Never again. With the gods, she's choosing to feed them and made that choice on her own early in. With Yao, she never signed up to be tortured and experimented on. Back home, she never agreed to being in a fighting ring. "You can't," she says, something melancholy behind her words and empathetic.
"After a while, it weighs on you too much. You can't think about the fact that was someone's brother or mom or friend or loved one you just killed. It'd drive you crazy." In her case, it was either them or her. And she chose herself, every single time. "So if it's what you deserve, I don't wanna think about what I do. But I guess if I'm going to Hell at least I know I'll be in good company."
no subject
"'In heaven, all the interesting people are missing,'" Rey says with a scoff.
Okay, maybe quoting fucking Nietzsche is a terrible idea, but the idea remains the same. Especially given Rey's own experience with death.
"Still, it's... I've known someone who I hurt, took away someone she loved during wartime. Can't help but wonder if this is what she felt like all those years." Rey falls quiet a moment, thinking. "Don't know why, but... she didn't kill me. She had more than enough chances, but it didn't seem like she ever got better."
So it probably never gets better, does it?
no subject
It doesn't. They just get better at dealing with it. Grief is an omnipresent thing once it strikes that never truly dies. One just learns to handle it better as they go through life.
"I didn't kill the guy who fucked me over royally and killed Ren. I had the chance and I just... I couldn't. For me, I worried if it made me no better than him. And I couldn't stand that thought. I don't know about this lady. Maybe it was the same, or maybe- Maybe she saw you had no other choice or that you weren't just a senseless killing monster. It's hard to say." And war is different, besides. Or at least in Rose's mind it is. Just like anyone would argue the ring was different, but... It was harder to believe that than she wanted it to be.
no subject
"She... said to me, 'I'm not better than you.'" Rey bites her lower lip, thinking about the words that should have been vindicating at the time, but just served to make her feel even more wretched than ever. "'If anything, I'm worse, because I chose that life.' That's what she believed after all those years. That she carried so much hatred inside of her that she couldn't possibly deserve that woman she loved anymore, no matter who killed who."
That's why she cried. Because Rey was a person, not the remorseless killing machine that Faye wanted her to be. Something that she could keep hating without regret.
Interesting to think how different and yet alike they really are.
no subject
"I mean, she has a point. It was her choice. I don't think that makes her less though. Or more. We all have to make decisions sometimes... and even if they aren't what most people might call the right ones, maybe they were the best we could do with what we had."
no subject
Reality just doesn't work that way, unfortunately. Least of all her own reality.
After a thoughtful pause, Rey scoffs despite herself. "It was a fucked up conversation, honestly."
Not like this one is any better. Just familiar.
no subject
"But it was probably still an important to have. Usually, the hardest ones are." She still remembers her conversations after heading off to Haven East and being recovered by Wade. All the things she didn't say before coming to light, all the things she didn't say finally spilling past her lips and realizing herself just how deep into depression she'd fallen.
Just like her conversation with Rey on the ledge of a building here.