((Marshall West continued from Dissolve.))
Checking on classmates wasn’t going so well.
Some people were still unconscious, and yet more were deliberately not answering the door. Whether they were tired or just ignoring him, Marshall wasn't sure. But he could try again tomorrow. Marshall had only just learned the meaning of the word quit on the island, and wasn’t ready to put the idea into practice yet. And they might change their minds, once the dust had settled.
He did need to try and check on Juanita--there were extra obligations there--but there were other rooms that were closer. It had nothing to do with not knowing what to expect regarding her. Out of those who had killed more than twice, Juanita was the only one he hadn’t seen on island at all, except for a glimpse of her getting onto the boats during the rescue.
No, it was definitely efficiency.
He knocked on the next door, after getting a confirmation from the (reluctant) guard that the occupant was awake and relatively healthy.
This time, he was allowed in pretty quickly. Maybe because Amy Chen hadn’t been on the announcements at all, and didn’t have to fear Marshall’s judgemental tendencies. (Maybe he should add onto his knocking a confirmation that, right now, judgement was too tiring a concept.)
In he went, IV wheels squeaking alongside his already loud footsteps.
“Good morning! How are you faring?”
Making A General Racket
PM For Entry. Pretty much immediately after Dissolve.
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ViolentMedic
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Amy yawned, her arms flying high in a full-body stretch. She found it kind of funny that she didn't panic. She should, really. But there were no residual survival instints.
After a few seconds, she shrugged. “Well, I’m alive,” she laughed. “But I’m doing fine! Really!”
Two pats on the bed, gesturing at the boy to sit down. “I’m hoarding snacks. Do you want some? These are all, like, hospital-level food, so not the best, but it's nice. I wish I could keep the gelato. The gelato's nice.
"If you want to talk about what happened, I'm afrid I'm not your best choice of conversation partner, but... who cares. We're alive. Isn't that nice? Wow, it's so good to have sugar again. They'll pry the pudding away from my cold, dead fingers. Bad choice of words.
Sorry, it's just..."
What would the mind-healers on Aecor think? They were the spiritualist type, always seeing things as a sickness of the soul. She didn't know how to act, but she did know how the priestesses would.
"Anyways."
After a few seconds, she shrugged. “Well, I’m alive,” she laughed. “But I’m doing fine! Really!”
Two pats on the bed, gesturing at the boy to sit down. “I’m hoarding snacks. Do you want some? These are all, like, hospital-level food, so not the best, but it's nice. I wish I could keep the gelato. The gelato's nice.
"If you want to talk about what happened, I'm afrid I'm not your best choice of conversation partner, but... who cares. We're alive. Isn't that nice? Wow, it's so good to have sugar again. They'll pry the pudding away from my cold, dead fingers. Bad choice of words.
Sorry, it's just..."
What would the mind-healers on Aecor think? They were the spiritualist type, always seeing things as a sickness of the soul. She didn't know how to act, but she did know how the priestesses would.
"Anyways."
Blood Tongue Nails Teeth
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ViolentMedic
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Marshall’s smile flickered at Amy’s bad choice of words.
“It’s… alright.” He brightened up. “Oh, hold on! I’ll be right back.”
Marshall turned around and vanished, the wheels squeaking back down the hall towards his room. It gave him a moment to compose himself, and it wasn’t long before he was back with his still-sealed pudding cup.
“Here. I didn’t eat mine.”
His stomach hadn’t known how to handle regular food. He hadn’t been much for sugar even before the island – he thought eating it now might put him in shock. Anything with flavour had been too much after so much stale bread and flavourless bars. And he hadn’t been able to drink the water until it was room temperature – when it was cold, touching it had been too much.
He took a seat on the bed where Amy had patted it, holding the pudding out for her to take.
“It’s fine! I’ve never been good at conversing! Lots of wrong words at wrong times, or saying them too loud and making people cry. I just thought I’d check in and see if you needed anything. Maybe more pudding cups if they give me any.”
Marshall beamed, but he quickly looked away.
“I’m glad you can be positive. ...It really is nice. Being alive… and all that.”
It was a simple thought. Somehow not one that had occurred to Marshall yet. It was all about how to use it. Not how nice it was to have it.
“It’s… alright.” He brightened up. “Oh, hold on! I’ll be right back.”
Marshall turned around and vanished, the wheels squeaking back down the hall towards his room. It gave him a moment to compose himself, and it wasn’t long before he was back with his still-sealed pudding cup.
“Here. I didn’t eat mine.”
His stomach hadn’t known how to handle regular food. He hadn’t been much for sugar even before the island – he thought eating it now might put him in shock. Anything with flavour had been too much after so much stale bread and flavourless bars. And he hadn’t been able to drink the water until it was room temperature – when it was cold, touching it had been too much.
He took a seat on the bed where Amy had patted it, holding the pudding out for her to take.
“It’s fine! I’ve never been good at conversing! Lots of wrong words at wrong times, or saying them too loud and making people cry. I just thought I’d check in and see if you needed anything. Maybe more pudding cups if they give me any.”
Marshall beamed, but he quickly looked away.
“I’m glad you can be positive. ...It really is nice. Being alive… and all that.”
It was a simple thought. Somehow not one that had occurred to Marshall yet. It was all about how to use it. Not how nice it was to have it.
She watch his back as he left. She did something wrong, for sure. But what?
When he came back, Amy was tweedling her thumbs, her lips pursed. What was he- oh. Well, alright,
"I... I was offering you- ah, well, it's fine. Here, have a jello cup!"
"Being alive is nice." Unless you're being tortured, or whatever. "It's kind of fever-dreamy, you know? I knew for sure I was going to die- " A big fat lie, really, because for her there's only death and not-death and never will-die or is-dying, just like how in terms of time everything is either now or not-now and that's why everybody thinks she's so lazy all the time- "And, like, I guess I never expected this-" Another lie, because she never expected anything at all- "And now I'm talking to you and having pudding, isn't that great?"
"But I'm guessing that's not how you feel."
Gauge his reaction. See what stories he could tell. Even know she was ravenous for information. Even now, she wanted more matrial to build off of in her own head. How would someone... different than her take this whole journey?
When he came back, Amy was tweedling her thumbs, her lips pursed. What was he- oh. Well, alright,
"I... I was offering you- ah, well, it's fine. Here, have a jello cup!"
"Being alive is nice." Unless you're being tortured, or whatever. "It's kind of fever-dreamy, you know? I knew for sure I was going to die- " A big fat lie, really, because for her there's only death and not-death and never will-die or is-dying, just like how in terms of time everything is either now or not-now and that's why everybody thinks she's so lazy all the time- "And, like, I guess I never expected this-" Another lie, because she never expected anything at all- "And now I'm talking to you and having pudding, isn't that great?"
"But I'm guessing that's not how you feel."
Gauge his reaction. See what stories he could tell. Even know she was ravenous for information. Even now, she wanted more matrial to build off of in her own head. How would someone... different than her take this whole journey?
Blood Tongue Nails Teeth
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ViolentMedic
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- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:53 am
Now there was another snack in his hands that he didn’t know what to do with. Amy seemed immune to help, or so far even needing it. He came in here trying to help her, and all that was happening was more snacks were landing in his hands.
The struggle between trying to pretend he was fine for the sake of keeping a strong, helpful front, and his dislike of telling lies even by omission, caused a brief struggle over his face before he looked down at the jello cup he’d been handed. In the end, honesty won out.
“...No. No, I guess it’s not.”
Marshall rolled the jello cup in his hands. At least it was room temperature.
“There’s a lot I keep thinking about, even when I try not to. Everyone that didn’t escape, and all the things that went wrong. All the little mistakes that meant someone didn’t leave…”
The words were slipping out before he had a chance to restrain them. Amy didn’t need to hear the details, but they fell out anyway. Maybe because she was so isolated from everything else, free of crime and so comparatively cheerful, that it didn’t feel like he was dumping a huge burden on her.
“How leaving a house at the wrong time meant Chloé’s death, one turn left instead of right might have saved Jess, how California died because I didn’t notice Matthew until it was too late... if I hadn’t shouted at Jacob and driven him across the lake... or wondering if there was a way for the rescue to have happened without Kai dying to make it happen—“
He clamped his mouth shut finally, then shrugged.
“It’s endless, you know? Like studying for an exam that already happened. But… I understand those thoughts, at least. What I don’t understand why I can’t feel happy about the good things. I should be happy to be alive. Especially since I spent my whole life before the game studying, exercising and making sure I was productive for a future that, once we got to the game, had a low chance of ever happening. I should be happy that I have a second chance at life. But… I’m not. I’m not unhappy, I’m just...”
He tailed off. He wasn’t sure how he felt, exactly. He wasn’t quite afraid. He wasn’t quite sad. He wasn’t quite confused. But there was… trepidation. ‘What now?’ And that ‘what now’ squashed everything else, whenever he stopped to think about it.
“I don’t know. I want to be happy. What’s your secret?” Marshall lifted the jello cup, waggling it slightly as he managed to put the smile back on his face. “Is it the sugar?”
The struggle between trying to pretend he was fine for the sake of keeping a strong, helpful front, and his dislike of telling lies even by omission, caused a brief struggle over his face before he looked down at the jello cup he’d been handed. In the end, honesty won out.
“...No. No, I guess it’s not.”
Marshall rolled the jello cup in his hands. At least it was room temperature.
“There’s a lot I keep thinking about, even when I try not to. Everyone that didn’t escape, and all the things that went wrong. All the little mistakes that meant someone didn’t leave…”
The words were slipping out before he had a chance to restrain them. Amy didn’t need to hear the details, but they fell out anyway. Maybe because she was so isolated from everything else, free of crime and so comparatively cheerful, that it didn’t feel like he was dumping a huge burden on her.
“How leaving a house at the wrong time meant Chloé’s death, one turn left instead of right might have saved Jess, how California died because I didn’t notice Matthew until it was too late... if I hadn’t shouted at Jacob and driven him across the lake... or wondering if there was a way for the rescue to have happened without Kai dying to make it happen—“
He clamped his mouth shut finally, then shrugged.
“It’s endless, you know? Like studying for an exam that already happened. But… I understand those thoughts, at least. What I don’t understand why I can’t feel happy about the good things. I should be happy to be alive. Especially since I spent my whole life before the game studying, exercising and making sure I was productive for a future that, once we got to the game, had a low chance of ever happening. I should be happy that I have a second chance at life. But… I’m not. I’m not unhappy, I’m just...”
He tailed off. He wasn’t sure how he felt, exactly. He wasn’t quite afraid. He wasn’t quite sad. He wasn’t quite confused. But there was… trepidation. ‘What now?’ And that ‘what now’ squashed everything else, whenever he stopped to think about it.
“I don’t know. I want to be happy. What’s your secret?” Marshall lifted the jello cup, waggling it slightly as he managed to put the smile back on his face. “Is it the sugar?”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Aecor was... it was something she wanted to share, but it was also a little secret of her's. Somthing that existed in her mind, and her mind only. To speak it out loud was to admit something deep and painful about herself. She wanted to tell him everything she's been telling herself to keep herself sane, the worlds and the stories and the details and the characters, but she was scared that he would twist it. She let enough of herself go, already. But it also felt unfair- she was worrying over such a little thing. Meanwhile, the boy in front of her...
Amy did not know any of the names she mentioned- not closely, anyways. Not by heart. She deliberately did not listen to the announcements- that made it feel to harrowing and real, and that ran opposite to what she wanted to believe. But that would be cowardice.
She paused between every other word, a bit embrassed that she didn't have any cool speech prepared.
"First of all, I'm not... not-unhappy. People died. It's not exactly weird for grief to over-weigh relief... ah, that's a rhyme. But, happiness and... un-happiness are not a binary. No matter how happy you are at getting to go home, it's not going to counter all the bad stuff that's happened, you know?" She made a gesture with both hands, up-and-down like a seesaw, or a scale.
(She had a flash of realization, like, how her joy right now is some kind of logical fallacy, because the status-quo should be a normal life, like, two weeks ago she was in a much better spot but for some reason she was all cheering for simply being alive? Talk about moving the goalposts. But then she thought about something else, and, suddenly, that thought evaporated from her mind.)
"So if you're thinking of it like a binary, of course you're sad, because all that terrible stuff's happened. But if you think of it, like, that you're happy despite it all, and let yourself feel nice without guilt, that helps." Guilt for not doing enough? Guilt for daring to celebrate while a hundred others lay putrifying on the ground? She wanted to clarify, but then decided against it.
Performatively, she smacked her hand to her face. "I'm not making any sense, am I?"
The real trick, which she left unsaid because it'll make her look like a total psychopath, was that she didn't let herself care. She disconnected herself, wholly and entirely, from everything, but she was pretty sure that this isn't a thing normal people can do, and it'll just make her look bad.
Amy-the-spectator was powerless. Amy-the-spectator couldn't feel guilt for watching her friend die and leaving them behind, because she had no other choice/wasn't capable of doing anything else/was trapped by fate/etc. How could you blame the audience for a tragedy playing out on-stage? How can you blame a driver speeding 60 miles an hour down the highway for a crash that occurs behind him, only visible from the rear-view mirrors? And if she told herself that nothing she said could've stopped Mariya and Wendy from running away? That Jezzie was some evil mastermind force of nature that couldn't be held back, and that Prii had chosen to die for her and she had to respect their choice? And that Josh deserved what was coming to him and she couldn't have talked him out of anything he would've done because he was a monster? Well, if she told herself all these self-consoling half-lies, and they made her feel less horrible inside, then she'd continue to grind these dead people down to digestible caricatures.
By now, Amy thought, she had fully lost the plot. She had no idea where she was going, or why she was acting like this. It felt weird. She should be in bed, doodling. She shouldn't be playing the role of a therapist for someone else, trying to make up some theory.
Amy did not know any of the names she mentioned- not closely, anyways. Not by heart. She deliberately did not listen to the announcements- that made it feel to harrowing and real, and that ran opposite to what she wanted to believe. But that would be cowardice.
She paused between every other word, a bit embrassed that she didn't have any cool speech prepared.
"First of all, I'm not... not-unhappy. People died. It's not exactly weird for grief to over-weigh relief... ah, that's a rhyme. But, happiness and... un-happiness are not a binary. No matter how happy you are at getting to go home, it's not going to counter all the bad stuff that's happened, you know?" She made a gesture with both hands, up-and-down like a seesaw, or a scale.
(She had a flash of realization, like, how her joy right now is some kind of logical fallacy, because the status-quo should be a normal life, like, two weeks ago she was in a much better spot but for some reason she was all cheering for simply being alive? Talk about moving the goalposts. But then she thought about something else, and, suddenly, that thought evaporated from her mind.)
"So if you're thinking of it like a binary, of course you're sad, because all that terrible stuff's happened. But if you think of it, like, that you're happy despite it all, and let yourself feel nice without guilt, that helps." Guilt for not doing enough? Guilt for daring to celebrate while a hundred others lay putrifying on the ground? She wanted to clarify, but then decided against it.
Performatively, she smacked her hand to her face. "I'm not making any sense, am I?"
The real trick, which she left unsaid because it'll make her look like a total psychopath, was that she didn't let herself care. She disconnected herself, wholly and entirely, from everything, but she was pretty sure that this isn't a thing normal people can do, and it'll just make her look bad.
Amy-the-spectator was powerless. Amy-the-spectator couldn't feel guilt for watching her friend die and leaving them behind, because she had no other choice/wasn't capable of doing anything else/was trapped by fate/etc. How could you blame the audience for a tragedy playing out on-stage? How can you blame a driver speeding 60 miles an hour down the highway for a crash that occurs behind him, only visible from the rear-view mirrors? And if she told herself that nothing she said could've stopped Mariya and Wendy from running away? That Jezzie was some evil mastermind force of nature that couldn't be held back, and that Prii had chosen to die for her and she had to respect their choice? And that Josh deserved what was coming to him and she couldn't have talked him out of anything he would've done because he was a monster? Well, if she told herself all these self-consoling half-lies, and they made her feel less horrible inside, then she'd continue to grind these dead people down to digestible caricatures.
By now, Amy thought, she had fully lost the plot. She had no idea where she was going, or why she was acting like this. It felt weird. She should be in bed, doodling. She shouldn't be playing the role of a therapist for someone else, trying to make up some theory.
Blood Tongue Nails Teeth