Doug Rattmann (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
suckersluck) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ataraxionlogs2012-01-22 09:41 pm
suckersluck) wrote in ataraxionlogs2012-01-22 09:41 pm
Entry tags:
a truth so strange it can only be lied into existence
CHARACTERS: Doug Rattmann (suckersluck) and OPEN!
LOCATION: A random side hallway near Engineering.
WARNINGS: Mild craziness?
SUMMARY: Doug's spent a week trying to cope with his arrival, and he's well overdue for a slightly manic art therapy session.
NOTES: Doug won't hang around very long after finishing the painting, but you're free to have been watching him, catching him fleeing the scene, or miss him completely and just admire his ramblings. All up to you!
The paintbrushes were the easiest to find: stored away in his locker and wrapped in cloth, they were worn and reliable and familiar. The paint was more difficult, but an unlocked storeroom finally provided enough to work with, and a quiet corridor near Engineering felt out of the way enough for a mural.
Finding the paint couldn't have come at a better time; Doug's mind hurt. He'd spent a week with his thoughts tying themselves in knots, trying to work through what was real on this impossible ship, and what was just his mind lying to him. It was an overload -- there were people here, not sleeping test subjects or dead scientists or homicidal AIs. There was food, showers, beds, hints of normalcy that left him nervous and paranoid. His fingers itched to paint.
With one hand clenched around the brush, he sorted through the mess of his thoughts, finding a thread and following it to an idea, and expression. The first stroke came slowly, carefully, thoughtfully -- but with the second, third, fourth, his paced picked up, and he lost himself in the art.
Doug came back to himself with a clearer mind and a paint-speckled lab coat. He felt settled, tired but calm, and he took one long look at his work before quietly gathering his supplies and turning to leave.
suckersluck) and OPEN!LOCATION: A random side hallway near Engineering.
WARNINGS: Mild craziness?
SUMMARY: Doug's spent a week trying to cope with his arrival, and he's well overdue for a slightly manic art therapy session.
NOTES: Doug won't hang around very long after finishing the painting, but you're free to have been watching him, catching him fleeing the scene, or miss him completely and just admire his ramblings. All up to you!
The paintbrushes were the easiest to find: stored away in his locker and wrapped in cloth, they were worn and reliable and familiar. The paint was more difficult, but an unlocked storeroom finally provided enough to work with, and a quiet corridor near Engineering felt out of the way enough for a mural.
Finding the paint couldn't have come at a better time; Doug's mind hurt. He'd spent a week with his thoughts tying themselves in knots, trying to work through what was real on this impossible ship, and what was just his mind lying to him. It was an overload -- there were people here, not sleeping test subjects or dead scientists or homicidal AIs. There was food, showers, beds, hints of normalcy that left him nervous and paranoid. His fingers itched to paint.
With one hand clenched around the brush, he sorted through the mess of his thoughts, finding a thread and following it to an idea, and expression. The first stroke came slowly, carefully, thoughtfully -- but with the second, third, fourth, his paced picked up, and he lost himself in the art.
Doug came back to himself with a clearer mind and a paint-speckled lab coat. He felt settled, tired but calm, and he took one long look at his work before quietly gathering his supplies and turning to leave.
no subject
He wasn't sure he believed that, and it came out flat, like he wasn't sure he believed it. How the hell could someone come out okay from that, anyway. She might've looked away, but he was busy scrutinizing every detail of her face. Then again, he wasn't sure if he wanted to pry. So yeah. That was all he had to say; he went back to his cigarette and frowned down at the leaf he somehow still held in his other hand.
Smelled nice.
no subject
"Seriously," she insisted, looking back at him, though her eyes lingered at his boots and then his hands before they tracked up to his face. "It was terrible, but if it never happened I would've been stuck there. Things were so different after I got away. So much better."
She shook her head, exhaled in a huff. "I hate it when people say everything happens for a reason like that means you oughta be okay with the shit people put each other through. But I got a better deal because of it and I don't see how that could have happened any other way."
no subject
So when she kept going he blinked over, somewhere between surprised and annoyed. Maybe he should've recited more poetry instead of. Uh. Talking.
"Okay." Yeah, the Dutch personal heart-to-heart time was closed, done, over with, at least in his book. "If ya want a therapist, find Austria. He likes that kinda stuff," he muttered, then decided that was more of a brush-off than he meant it to be. "Pale, brown hair, stupid curl in the front - real pretty guy."
no subject
"Sounds cute," she said. He did not. Heather didn't do pretty, and from what she'd picked up via the network Austria was attached to a lunatic.
no subject
"He is, yeah," he idly agreed, taking her smile to mean she was genuine about thinking the guy sounded cute. He ashed and blinked down at his cigarette before resuming. "Cuter when he's not bitchin' about something."
So basically, when Austria's mouth was shut. And he had a comment about that, too - it was so obvious it was screaming to be made - but kept it to himself, unaware that she knew about Hungary.
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She grinned, embracing the opportunity to change topics; she had no clue why she'd said as much as she had. "So there's you, Austria, Hungary, and - uh, two of Japan?"
no subject
He nodded and took another second to smoke. "An' France, Russia, America.." he was missing someone. "Uh. Belarus. If ya mean here. Not all of 'em are from 2012, either."
no subject
But... wait a minute, what? "You're from 2012?" She squashed the urge to ask him if the Backstreet Boys ever had gone ahead and reformed. It'd make her feel better about being yanked out of her life if he said yes, sure, but it was sort of a horrifying prospect.
no subject
Netherlands flicked his cigarette to the ground and shot a confused look over, a what now? "Movie trauma shower," he repeated, slowly, just to make sure he heard that correctly.
And instead of looking confused when she asked about the date, his face fell. He should've figured. "Mm." A nod. "Guess you're not, then."
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"Like in crappy movies when something terrible happens to someone and they just stand under the shower either comatose or crying, as if the water's going to wash the trauma away." Okay, it was way less funny out loud. On second thoughts, it might not have been funny in the first place.
"Just a bit earlier," she said, tilting her head, noting the change in his expression. He'd mentioned being homesick; was that part of it? Maybe he'd wanted updates on his country. "2003, for me."
no subject
"Mm. That's not long. Some of them're from further back than that," he said, finally picking at the leaf with both hands. Thank God, he wasn't about to give someone a history lesson on the beginning of the 20th century, and he didn't envy Japan for having to do that.
no subject
"Really? How far back?"
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"Uh," he stuttered over it for a second. "Mostly before the second World War, an' after. The other nations, I mean."
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"Do you think - would it be rude for me to introduce myself and ask questions? That's not taboo or anything, right?" If he said no she'd - well, not cry. Try to find away around it, in all honesty, but she'd be sad first.
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"Japan. Uh, the female one. Sakura. She's... still an Empire." Which, to him, was warning enough and actually answered most of those questions of hers.