[mike has been as good at seeing uncomfortable truths as he has been at denying them - and seeing what he wants to (or sometimes doesn't want to) see. this itself might be more proof that the pthumerians have a sense of humor.
could the other man be lying? yeah, but why. he's too exhausted to be paranoid - and also too exhausted to do much but blink as out comes something a bit like the neck of a guitar, and out of ...well, maybe it had been there much like his end table. which he notes is gone now, and does not dwell on the where or the why. it's easier when you have few memories left to replay, and a mind that feels like a magic eight ball that's missing the juice.
reply hazy, a monster drank my memories
but it hadn't eaten him.
him who is 'mike enslin'.
he taps a finger into the air - the metronome finger, of former pumpkin curry fame - as he nods at the sound of that. yeah, yeah that sounds right.]
That's ...that's right. You couldn't know that if we hadn't...I mean, that's not something you just guess. It's too vague but also too specific. I did like it. I remember that, too.
[not the where (not here), not the when (before) and not with who, or the lack thereof. and the eight ball that is his mind is surprisingly easy to empty just now, even with the unwanted draugr barbecue - most of that's directed away from them. closing his eyes is also easier than he'd expected it to be. it doesn't feel like giving up, even though a part of him is aware it very well might be. it just feels like respite. and notes, sounding out of place not because of their own discordance, but because they might be the only thing not off kilter aside from jin guangyao's smile. his ass hit the ground moments ago, but he's only beginning to feel the tiniest bit grounded now.
he remembers to breathe, and listening is easy. oh, everything's still a mess, but there's a plan, and as distasteful as that plan is (ha again. got my memories but you didn't take my sense of humor, did you, you burning, bitey assclown? he feels as if he can and will manage it. and he isn't alone (?).]
no subject
could the other man be lying? yeah, but why. he's too exhausted to be paranoid - and also too exhausted to do much but blink as out comes something a bit like the neck of a guitar, and out of ...well, maybe it had been there much like his end table. which he notes is gone now, and does not dwell on the where or the why. it's easier when you have few memories left to replay, and a mind that feels like a magic eight ball that's missing the juice.
reply hazy, a monster drank my memories
but it hadn't eaten him.
him who is 'mike enslin'.
he taps a finger into the air - the metronome finger, of former pumpkin curry fame - as he nods at the sound of that. yeah, yeah that sounds right.]
That's ...that's right. You couldn't know that if we hadn't...I mean, that's not something you just guess. It's too vague but also too specific. I did like it. I remember that, too.
[not the where (not here), not the when (before) and not with who, or the lack thereof. and the eight ball that is his mind is surprisingly easy to empty just now, even with the unwanted draugr barbecue - most of that's directed away from them. closing his eyes is also easier than he'd expected it to be. it doesn't feel like giving up, even though a part of him is aware it very well might be. it just feels like respite. and notes, sounding out of place not because of their own discordance, but because they might be the only thing not off kilter aside from jin guangyao's smile. his ass hit the ground moments ago, but he's only beginning to feel the tiniest bit grounded now.
he remembers to breathe, and listening is easy. oh, everything's still a mess, but there's a plan, and as distasteful as that plan is (ha again. got my memories but you didn't take my sense of humor, did you, you burning, bitey assclown? he feels as if he can and will manage it. and he isn't alone (?).]