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tampered2010-12-28 06:11 pm
gilthart.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2010-12-28 06:11 pm
☼ log; closed; complete
When; Early morning, December 28th, 2010.
Rating; PG-13, for now. Discussion of mental illness and self-harm practices.
Characters; Sage (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gilthart) and Elliot Argento (schisming)
Summary; Sage is hit by the cluestick curse, leading to some serious discussion.
Log;
The new apartment still doesn't have much in the way of furnishing, although Sage was still surprised to find that included things like a bed with a mattress and adequate chairs and tables in the living room and kitchenette alongside the usual permanent fixtures. He guesses it falls under the same category as free rent, and so he's just as suspicious of it. There's always a catch in these kinds of negotiations, and despite what he told Eden he's still ready to hit someone if that catch turns out to be something he's unwilling to see paid. He can sustain calm and even a surprising amount of amicability in front of other people (he thinks the distance the technology imposes helps, which he might call irony if he thought that far) but the truth is that this whole place bites into his nerves like a tightening net of wire. It's hard enough to live in a world he half-understands; coming to a place where everything is spun out of turn means new rules to learn, new systems to grapple with, new ways to fuck up, and he's already half-homesick and endlessly anxious about what's happening at home. They say time stops, but he doesn't know if he believes that yet: if they're outside time, where is that?
It's these kinds of thoughts that moved him out of bed this morning, along with the weight of everything else he's been worrying about from before they arrived, these thoughts circling and biting at each other's heels to track wet, slippery blood in sweeps through his mind. It's an overcrowded, overfull feeling, like being sick to his stomach except inside his skull, and like nausea the thing he thinks to do about it after a quarter of an hour spent inside Elliot's arms unable to get back to sleep is to get some fresh air. So he got out of bed, kissing Elliot's eyelids in turn among murmured promises to be back back and a garland of little endearments laid on him in part because Sage means them all and in part because if it's bad for him, he knows it's worse for Elliot.
So he got up and got dressed, or mostly dressed, slipping into a thin thermal, the same jeans he's been wearing since they got here, and a pair of shoes as a concession to normality that only vaguely bothers him. With that and a bracelet and necklace he'd seen when they were shopping for the bare minimum of clothing (on credit, a tab to pay back, and he has to make sure they put together an account book and keep it, so there's another thing to worry about) and then rediscovered at the bottom of a bag where he also found out why Elliot had sent him to another store while negotiating their purchases at that one. He should take them back. He means to, just--not right now. In this he set out into the City, hands shoved into his pockets and his head down, and he discovered fresh air didn't do as much as he thought it would, or maybe standing just made him think better--
He's not really sure how the branch chose that moment to snap out of a support of ice and suddenly whip down to hit him across the eyes as he raised his head at the sound of breaking ice too slowly to dodge it, and in the first moments he spent stunned and blinking on his back he was only thinking the usual thing people think at such moments, which is mostly where did that come from? with an occasional dash of the sky is so gray today. It was only when his thoughts started to coalesce that he realized there was only one immediately important one coming to mind; an obvious one, but something he'd misplaced and been unsure of before, although in his new clarity it was how to understand how. So he didn't bother trying, because what mattered was getting up and going home, right then.
Sage still has snow in his hair when he opens the door of their apartment, and even a few ice crystals caught in his eyelashes and eyebrows, which catch the light when he toes out of his sneakers and goes to the bedroom door to stand there, blinking and wide-eyed in the semi-blindness of coming inside from the outdoors so fast.
"Elliot, we need--I want to make you tea."
Rating; PG-13, for now. Discussion of mental illness and self-harm practices.
Characters; Sage (
gilthart) and Elliot Argento (schisming)Summary; Sage is hit by the cluestick curse, leading to some serious discussion.
Log;
The new apartment still doesn't have much in the way of furnishing, although Sage was still surprised to find that included things like a bed with a mattress and adequate chairs and tables in the living room and kitchenette alongside the usual permanent fixtures. He guesses it falls under the same category as free rent, and so he's just as suspicious of it. There's always a catch in these kinds of negotiations, and despite what he told Eden he's still ready to hit someone if that catch turns out to be something he's unwilling to see paid. He can sustain calm and even a surprising amount of amicability in front of other people (he thinks the distance the technology imposes helps, which he might call irony if he thought that far) but the truth is that this whole place bites into his nerves like a tightening net of wire. It's hard enough to live in a world he half-understands; coming to a place where everything is spun out of turn means new rules to learn, new systems to grapple with, new ways to fuck up, and he's already half-homesick and endlessly anxious about what's happening at home. They say time stops, but he doesn't know if he believes that yet: if they're outside time, where is that?
It's these kinds of thoughts that moved him out of bed this morning, along with the weight of everything else he's been worrying about from before they arrived, these thoughts circling and biting at each other's heels to track wet, slippery blood in sweeps through his mind. It's an overcrowded, overfull feeling, like being sick to his stomach except inside his skull, and like nausea the thing he thinks to do about it after a quarter of an hour spent inside Elliot's arms unable to get back to sleep is to get some fresh air. So he got out of bed, kissing Elliot's eyelids in turn among murmured promises to be back back and a garland of little endearments laid on him in part because Sage means them all and in part because if it's bad for him, he knows it's worse for Elliot.
So he got up and got dressed, or mostly dressed, slipping into a thin thermal, the same jeans he's been wearing since they got here, and a pair of shoes as a concession to normality that only vaguely bothers him. With that and a bracelet and necklace he'd seen when they were shopping for the bare minimum of clothing (on credit, a tab to pay back, and he has to make sure they put together an account book and keep it, so there's another thing to worry about) and then rediscovered at the bottom of a bag where he also found out why Elliot had sent him to another store while negotiating their purchases at that one. He should take them back. He means to, just--not right now. In this he set out into the City, hands shoved into his pockets and his head down, and he discovered fresh air didn't do as much as he thought it would, or maybe standing just made him think better--
He's not really sure how the branch chose that moment to snap out of a support of ice and suddenly whip down to hit him across the eyes as he raised his head at the sound of breaking ice too slowly to dodge it, and in the first moments he spent stunned and blinking on his back he was only thinking the usual thing people think at such moments, which is mostly where did that come from? with an occasional dash of the sky is so gray today. It was only when his thoughts started to coalesce that he realized there was only one immediately important one coming to mind; an obvious one, but something he'd misplaced and been unsure of before, although in his new clarity it was how to understand how. So he didn't bother trying, because what mattered was getting up and going home, right then.
Sage still has snow in his hair when he opens the door of their apartment, and even a few ice crystals caught in his eyelashes and eyebrows, which catch the light when he toes out of his sneakers and goes to the bedroom door to stand there, blinking and wide-eyed in the semi-blindness of coming inside from the outdoors so fast.
"Elliot, we need--I want to make you tea."