...Figured it out on my own from your letter. [ he'll scoot a little closer wherever they're sitting. void seats. ] How're you feeling about that? Clarity.
[ the reason she says so much more in letters than in person is because she doesn't have to like. look at a person and see them reacting to it and can just hit send and walk away from it. so there's a long pause while she decides how willing she is to actually talk about this like at all.
... but. ]
I prefer when I can think straight. But I know that it's temporary, and that's annoying.
nooooo it's a good thing its not emotionshare anymore he's a little touched she's willing to talk to him about this actually ]
Damn. Can't say I blame you. [ there's sympathy, there in his voice - softening a little, brows furrowed. being possessed and soupbrained really gives you some perspective on other people being soupbrained. ] How long's something like that last...?
[ kind of glancing off at nothing so she doesn't have to look at him, but. ]
It's kind of... unpredictable. Like mania. Or like an undertow. Stress doesn't help, and some things—exacerbate it, but... It's always there, regardless.
It's kind of like a force-reset. The build up is gradual and steers the way that I think, and it skews what sounds like a good idea, and then... drowns everything out.
It's more like climbing a ladder than falling off one, anyway.
[ oof. the frown on his face darkens, though it seems more annoyed for her than at it. ]
Bloody hell. [ sworn softly under his breath, because - having to deal with that all the damn time? it sounds not unfamiliar to what rosamund described, but it's organic, and that's even worse. ] Alex, I'm sorry.
[ does not really love that people keep having to babysit her ghostbrain like she's a fucking ipad baby, but she does appreciate it at the same time, so. ]
Course. [ okay. spreading his hands like a storyteller, with a bit of drama: ] Picture, if you like, a garden designed for a tea party, and a fine seating area. Floor pillows, comfortable cushioning, sweets and tea set out to be enjoyed that never seem to run dry. Lovely sort of place, except for the fact that it's inside a gigantic golden cage with a door. And picture, the beautiful Lady Iris and a companion, drinking said tea and cordially inviting the others to come inside.
Upon seeing it, surely, a wise person might think - this is clearly a trap. Clearly so. Right?
That's what Iris said, too. It's just normal, a themed eating establishment. But one person went into join her, and then another, and then another. And then, before I knew it, everyone was getting drawn in by the wiles not of Iris' very compelling personality, but the actual cage.
... Thus all the insane messages. It was booby trapped with some sort of charm spell.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
week 6, monday
Welcome back. [ feels like she should just say this properly. ]
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Thank you, you menace.
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[ ........................ ]
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...How's your head doing, these days?
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It's clearer.
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...Muggy like mine was?
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...Figured it out on my own from your letter. [ he'll scoot a little closer wherever they're sitting. void seats. ] How're you feeling about that? Clarity.
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... but. ]
I prefer when I can think straight. But I know that it's temporary, and that's annoying.
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nooooo it's a good thing its not emotionshare anymore he's a little touched she's willing to talk to him about this actually ]
Damn. Can't say I blame you. [ there's sympathy, there in his voice - softening a little, brows furrowed. being possessed and soupbrained really gives you some perspective on other people being soupbrained. ] How long's something like that last...?
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It's kind of... unpredictable. Like mania. Or like an undertow. Stress doesn't help, and some things—exacerbate it, but... It's always there, regardless.
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And that's the only way to...?
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It's more like climbing a ladder than falling off one, anyway.
[ another pause, and then. ]
But it is still me. It's not like I'm possessed.
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Bloody hell. [ sworn softly under his breath, because - having to deal with that all the damn time? it sounds not unfamiliar to what rosamund described, but it's organic, and that's even worse. ] Alex, I'm sorry.
... I take it Jonas is aware, too?
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... I think you should be more sorry for other people, in this scenario.
Uh. But yeah. He's—aware. [ what does that mean. ]
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[ dryly as all hell but it is very genuine. ]
Mm. [ okay. that explains some stuff too. he frowns a little further. ] Any sign when it starts to get bad? Things to look out for?
[ Is there anything I can do to help you? ]
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[ her thoughts kind of static out and go no. but she shrugs. ]
I get bored faster when it's getting bad. Can't concentrate, get forgetful... The empathy gets washed away and leaves gaps.
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... Right. [ ughhh. ] I'll keep an eye out, too. 's a hell of a fight you've been fighting.
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Mn. Can we talk about anything else?
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[ baby. he takes that at ease - casually reaches an arm up and slings it around to ruffle her hair, even. ]
Could tell you about the horrors of the cage, if you'd like.
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Please. Iris wrote to me about it, but I'm still unclear.
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Course. [ okay. spreading his hands like a storyteller, with a bit of drama: ] Picture, if you like, a garden designed for a tea party, and a fine seating area. Floor pillows, comfortable cushioning, sweets and tea set out to be enjoyed that never seem to run dry. Lovely sort of place, except for the fact that it's inside a gigantic golden cage with a door. And picture, the beautiful Lady Iris and a companion, drinking said tea and cordially inviting the others to come inside.
Upon seeing it, surely, a wise person might think - this is clearly a trap. Clearly so. Right?
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[ does not believe this. ]
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That's what Iris said, too. It's just normal, a themed eating establishment. But one person went into join her, and then another, and then another. And then, before I knew it, everyone was getting drawn in by the wiles not of Iris' very compelling personality, but the actual cage.
... Thus all the insane messages. It was booby trapped with some sort of charm spell.
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