ataraxionlogs | put me in the hospital for nerves and then they had to commit me

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put me in the hospital for nerves and then they had to commit me

CHARACTERS: Alex "talkin' to myself" Shepherd, his poor CR, and aaanyone else who runs into him.
LOCATION: Lots of places. Scattered through the following week.
WARNINGS: General 'craziness' brought about by mask issues. Not sure where the threads'll go, but it could get a little dark if it takes that turn toward Bad Memory Lane. Alex isn't gonna be violent in any unplanned circumstance, but he may see your character as someone else, or something to that effect.
SUMMARY: Alex put on his mask a while back. On the 9th he put on the mask again. He saw some pretty bad things. The 10th, and Alex is pretty sure what he feared might be coming true. It'll take a little fixing up to make this engine rumble right again.
NOTES: Prose or action fine. And of course like usual, A-OK with any character interaction at any point in this narrative.

(Nov. 10th)

He's lost track of time again. Not in the way you do aboard the ship, either. Sometimes he loses pieces and ends up somewhere with no memory of traveling. It's mostly when he wakes up from sleeping (if he even wakes up at all before he leaves). Ever since he'd put the mask on yet another time and saw vacant dead eyes of too many people (wheeler riddled with holes, holloway with a gushing chin, mom and dad, halved, his brother soaked in lake water), he'd hid that thing away in his room and struggles to keep away from it. It's weird, because he's had that sensation before, like the mask were pills given to him day after day to ease his freewill. The mask itself is simple: A very angular red shape that fits against and around the face like a overwhelming bird beak; he'd have to be a complete moron not to know what it was referring to.

At any rate, he decided not to touch the damned thing again. Hopefully. But even trying to keep the urge to wear it at bay wasn't helping the fact that its already done the damage. Today he snaps awake and finds himself lying across the steps in the pool, half hanging out with his hand on the ledge. It shakes him up enough that he paces out of there, toward the showers and blasts himself with ice-cold water with his clothes still on—minus the heavy jacket. At this point, just to make sure he's awake.

("Did I say you could touch my jacket?")

He leans on the wall and feels frozen there for a moment, water dripping off chin and nose. Eventually he just walks back to his room, cold and wet but at least entirely lucid. He hasn't entirely holed himself up; that'd just make certain convicts upset with him. His 'patrolling' takes the stage front and center, and whatever work he'd done in the gardens was halted altogether. He doesn't go back to say so, either.

(Nov. 12th)

He'd fallen asleep after a few long hours of scribbling on the walls. Originally, he'd wanted to snoop, see if he could see anything regarding Chase's vision. Nothin'. So he just scribbled up the walls more with useless little pictures. He draws until his wrist cramps a little (and people may or may not pass by; he might invite them to draw if they want).

He wakes up leaning on one of the walls further out in the ship. There's a moment where he looks around, bleary-eyed, and glances up to a burn mark on the wall that a certain little girl had left back then, when they drew together; yeah, where she'd drawn a thing with a pyramid-shaped head and then zapped it out of existence for his sake. He wasn't scared of it like he used to be.... Wonder where that place was, that Murphy drew all those words at, though. Alex remembers going back and scratching it all out for him... He wonders if Murphy really could get it. That feeling like you slip away for a second, lost in your own... burdens? Thoughts? Memories? Who knows at this point.

"Mr. Shepherd, you--

--need to take your--"

"--been prescribing-"

"Shut up." His hands draw in towards his ears, as if a piercing sound had reverberated through the halls. He winces at the sensation, all the while bitter with the implications of hearing what isn't really there. Not that he didn't already have plenty of implications that he wasn't doing as well this month. "Just... shut the fuck up."

Or at least stop talking so loud. Christ.

(Nov. 14th)

Wakes up at the pool again. He just sits with his legs in the water, thoughtfully staring down into the scarcely rippling waters. Alex was afraid to visit here sometimes. Had a... dislike of anything like it, honestly.

For some reason, he feels okay. Sometimes he forgets why he didn't like it in the first place. Other times, he remembers how much he swam around in Toluca Lake, with his brother.

Wonder where Josh could be now...?

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"The mask... I remember—I saw everyone. From home." He swallows hard as the memories curdle into some unwanted muck in the back of his mind. "You see the dead, too, but not—not when they were alive. You see all of 'em... Fuck, I forgot—"

He digs his palms into his eyes, trying to banish the sounds. He hears something, obvious by the hiss between his teeth, the aggravated voice replying back— "Shut up..." He's not as hopeful as Murphy is there at the end of it. Then again, it makes sense to give up; how do you battle something like this? Before he had a town that ripped the insanity right out of his head.

(... or was it him? Was it both?)

His face drains of anything but defeat.

Murphy wants to help, but doesn't know how, or if there is even a way to undo the damage that's been done. He hates feeling like he can't do anything.

What should he do now? Take Alex to his room? God forbid he gets locked up in the medbay... That's the last thing he needs.

"It's not your fault. I don't know what it is with those masks... it's been hard for me, too. But I know that it's not impossible to fight it." Murphy takes Alex's shoulder, not sure if there's any way to try and anchor the kid to the present, in reality. "You can fight it, alright?"

"... Yeah. Yeah."

Fight it. He can fight it. How, though? He's not even sure...

But he knows he will fight it, as best as he can. That much, he's determined for. And yet... there's one thing that drives down into his skin, makes him anxious... afraid. Because while he can fight it as much as he'd like, he can't guarantee one thing that's most important of all—he remembers Dr. Copen saying it time and time again, and it's embedded now in his thoughts for the future.

He looks back toward the door, sounding wary (of himself, really).

"... I'm not fit to be around other people."

The fact that they aren't going around in circles here, or that Alex isn't just looping back into his previous state in a spiral of denial says a lot.

Murphy sighs, relieved of that much, if he has nothing else to be grateful for. "Probably. But I'm not goin' anywhere, and that's not gonna change. I may not be this doctor of yours... but I know that you can do this. We've still got that deal, remember?"

Sure hope you do.

Part of it involves kicking his ass if he starts hurting other people.

Murphy doesn't know the first damned about what he's doing. He isn't a head doctor, and he doesn't understand what in God's name could be going on in Alex's own head, how to fix it, or if this is even something that can be fixed. Maybe they were all just broken beyond repair...

He then thought about Frank -- the one person who ever gave a shit about him when no one else did. Even when Murphy was a hopeless case who'd lost his mind, stole a car, and gave chase for as long as he could hold out, that man still somehow saw something in him that was worth something. Murphy may not know what that was, and, hell... he probably never will. But he sees now what it's like, to be on the other end of the spectrum. He understands why a person would do something like that, even if it only hurts him in the end.

"This... might not be the best place to be right now." Too much water here. He doesn't like water; neither of them do.

He could do this. He could do this. He's not the same person he was before—he could fix this, without the help of some fucked-up town. He just feared what it would take, how long it would go on before he could do something about his own state of mind. He's distracted from his thoughts by the mention of where the hell they are to begin with—he groans and runs his hand over his face, mostly talking to himself.

"Did I wake up here again...?" He pauses, looking back awkwardly at Murphy with some attempt of a smile. It's all sheepish and hardly uplifting, like someone who just got caught egging their teacher's house. But he's trying, okay? "Didn't even drink with Heather or anything."

No, it's not very comforting... but Murphy gets it. Kind of. He's trying to, anyway.

He just snorts at Alex's reply, shaking his head. If only this were an issue with good, old-fashioned drinking; then the problem would be much easier solved. "Gotta say, kid... your subconscious has shitty taste."

Seriously. Neither of them seem to be very fond of open spaces that involve bodies of water -- for obvious reasons. Sure, the pool was a nice, contained area, but only nice if you forget the fact that someone died here. Which goes to say that nowhere on the ship is safe...

Particularly when you're out of your mind.

"Did it really take you this long to figure that out?" is the tired but humored reply. Tired but humored are two perfect descriptors for people who came from their situations back home—welcome to the family, or something. With that in mind, he slips out into the hallway, breathing a long, heavy breath.

"At first it was just... little things. Voices and seeing people that weren't there. Now I don't even know which of my conversations lately have been real... Can't even trust my own memory."

A pause. He scoffs, looking at the ground.

"... Not like that's a new thing."

Edited 2012-11-25 10:13 (UTC)

"Not really." It may not be the time or place for that sort of thing, but fuck it -- Murphy humors back. It's seriously the one thing keeping him from snapping at this point.

His one saving grace is that Alex has at least half a right mind to tell the difference between what's real and what isn't. For now.

Murphy's just grateful that he doesn't have to wholly hold onto his end of the deal. He'd rather not have to kick this kid's ass for losing his head.

"You can trust me. Even if I gotta follow you around just to make sure you don't wake up one day in a holding cell--" Murphy may be joking about that. May be not. "--I'll do whatever it takes."

He's sick of losing people when he can help them.

"I know. I know I can trust you," he replies, understanding and thoughtful. Something appears to suddenly catch his interest, like it'd just surfaced from the murky swell of threads his mind had been untangling. He frowns and can't get himself to look directly at Murphy when he adds, "I'm sorry I forgot. And that I called you doc. I mean... shit."

He'd never want to be misidentified as Dr. Copen.

Though 'Adam Shepherd' would be way worse, at least. Right?

Hearing Alex say that is more of a relief to Murphy than anyone realizes. Not just because he's gotten through to the kid, but it's also been so damn long that anyone's ever felt they that could place their trust in him. Nobody likes a lying cop killer, or a husband who can't do anything to protect his family or be a good enough father.

Also yes, on that note -- being called doc is a monumental step up from being an Adam Shepherd. More so than Murphy would care to admit.

Murphy even forces a laugh at that. "Hey, I've been called worse things." He's not mad, really. He'd be more upset if Alex's episode turned out to be a lasting effect. "Let's get outta here and figure this thing out."

Because Murphy's got no love of the pool, either.

"Yeah." He has no trouble leaving the room, that's for sure. He walks quickly, gaze downcast as he goes. He pauses and looks over his shoulder, thoughtful. If Murphy's got this idea about the masks (which isn't hard to figure out--he figured a while ago the mask had triggered something wrong), and everyone's got a mask, then... "What about... uh. Your mask? You still have yours?"

Edited 2012-12-03 02:46 (UTC)

Good. Movement. Which means progress. Murphy doesn't care where they go anymore, just as long as they get as far away from the pools as possible.

Murphy shakes his head adamantly at Alex's question. "No... Sorta. Shit. I've been tryin' to get rid of ours since this whole thing started. Airlock, trash chute... whatever. Augh, the damned things keep comin' back."

His and Anne's do, in any case. Inconveniently enough, both masks just happened to show up on the same door. If it bothers her the same way the masks have haunted Murphy and Alex, then it's something that he can't just ignore.

He hums a low, short reply, buried in his thoughts for a moment. He still felt like he was filing through a pile of old clothes, trying to figure out which ones he wanted and which he wanted to toss out—remembering exactly what he wants to remember right now isn't easy. But he's calm at least.

After a while, he replies, "... I'll take yours, then. Seems like a good enough trade."

Because that's something he can actually do. To help.

For a moment, Murphy is concerned with the fact that Alex might have retreated again, somewhere back into his own mind. He isn't an expert on psychosis; if it's one thing that he's got on his side, though, he's determined not to lose anybody else, as dumb and unreal as the idea may be.

His jaw clenches at the offer. It's not like he's opposed to it, because honestly it's been driving him just as balls to the wall crazy as it has been for everyone else. To Murphy, it has more to do with what that black face stands for than anything else, which might have largely contributed to why he's been fighting against his impulses so hard.

"You sure?"

Can you ask a more stupid question, Pendleton?

"You sure about mine?" And because he already knows the answer, it's more rhetorical than anything, and he adds, "It's the least I could do."

For causing you guys trouble, yet somehow you all still bother trying to push apart the crazy from the less crazy. He shrugs, pulling himself together enough that he can make choices so incredibly easy as this. Murphy's not the only one who wouldn't want to lose anybody.

"It's fucking with you, too... We'll make sure the other doesn't have to deal with theirs."

Murphy makes a noise, one that basically translates to Yeah, I thought so. Or something close to it.

After all, it's the least they can do, as Alex so accurately puts it.

"Sounds like a fair trade... and a better plan than just throwin' it out the ship every day."

Because Murphy can only do that so many times before it starts to wear him down, both physically and mentally. More so of the latter than the former, though.

"... You really been throwing it out of the ship everyday?"

Seriously? That's crazy. Totally.

...Maybe?

"So what if I have?"

What're you going to make it of, Alex?

"..."

He shakes his head, managing a small smile. Goddamn, Murphy, you kept this up for this long? How frustrated did you get by now, huh? Focusing on that is better than focusing on his own fragile state of mind. "They can't say you're not determined, at least. Not even space wants these damn things, huh?"

Considering that not putting the mask on had only made him increasingly more pissed off and more frustrated...? He hasn't been much of a happy camper.

"Doesn't seem like it, no. More I tried gettin' rid of it, the more it'd come back with this... I dunno. It felt weird. Like it got in my head." In spite of his best judgment, he wanted to put the mask on so badly.

Better to be stubborn and persistent than... whatever the hell would've happened to him if he hadn't resisted the siren call of nightmare fuel.

"Yeah, I felt the same way. I... I swear to christ, I didn't want to even touch that mask—I still don't, but for a sec, it's like I forgot... Before I knew it, the damn thing was in my hands."

He shakes his head at Murphy, slow and with warning.

"They're not good to be around people here. Even if people don't want to even think about them, they do something to your head."

"They're not good anywhere. Hell, not even in space..." Murphy can't resist a quick, smart aleck remark. "But what happened... It's not your fault. You weren't given much of a choice."

Alex was already in a pretty bad place without the mask coming along and screwing shit up for him. The fact that it has to amplify all of his issues makes Murphy wonder what the effects would have been if he had put his own on.

He'd rather not think about it.

He's quiet for a moment, rubbing his arm with a fidgety hand.

"... I could've fought it. I should've. I don't know what happened."

His head's still pounding, some sharp ache lancing through the back of his head to the front. He's betting his brain would look like swiss cheese by now; if it didn't, it'd be a Silent Hill Miracle.

"I can't let that happen again; I don't know how much worse it could've got if I kept that up..."

"I dunno, either..." Murphy wishes he did. He also wishes he had something better to say than to just throw his hands up and say It's a Silent Hill Miracle! or something along the lines of that. "For all I know, it's some kinda fluke."

Because Murphy has a hard time believing that he's got any stronger a state of mind than anyone else who couldn't fight the mask-temptation, because he isn't. It just made sense for him to fight it.

"It won't happen again, I'll make sure of it. Maybe see if there's any... alternatives to gettin' rid of 'em, since the airlock option's out. If we had a safe... with a key or a combination..."

Now where to get one, there's the rub.

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put me in the hospital for nerves and then they had to commit me

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