Alex Shepherd | SEC » 008 » 040 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
unsoldiered) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ataraxionlogs2012-11-10 12:03 am
unsoldiered) wrote in ataraxionlogs2012-11-10 12:03 am
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...?
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...?
no subject
So he shifts and, being careful not to be near the pool, he makes himself at home by sitting down on the concrete, crossing his legs. Staring at Alex. But Cid has a tendency to stare at everyone he's curious about.
"My mom put locks on my doors. Maybe you should."
no subject
He smiles—it's little crooked, humored by such a pathetic thought. Yeah. Give the 22-year-old a lock to put on his door; is that what its come to, Shepherd? This kid's probably got a better grip on his life than you.
"That wouldn't happen to be because you like sneaking out to places like the pool room, would it?"
no subject
So he shrugs. "Sara says I need to stay still but I don't like staying in my room."
no subject
He tilts his head to the side, frowning.
"... I'm guessing Sara doesn't know you're gone."
no subject
"Do you have a kid?"
no subject
"Is Sara a good mom to you? She sounds like she's a good one."
Lilian had never bothered really caring where he was...
"We can talk while I walk you back home? It's not that safe around a ship like this. We should stick with our friends and family around here, y'know?"
no subject
So he gets up, shakes himself off a little and quietly moves small legs towards the much older man. Walking back to his mom seems nice, he thinks. Now.
"Yeah, she protects me. I used to think she was bad. Do you have someone to take care of you?" Cid asks, blinking, looking up.
no subject
He looks back down to the child.
"It's nice, having someone there to take care of you, huh?"
no subject
"That's why I want a gun."
no subject
"I understand... When I was little, I wanted a gun, too."
He wanted to be 'strong', like his father. In the end, it didn't change much. Just made him a little better at shooting creatures in the face. Alex lets the boy take his hand without any complaint, even if something icy and pained fills his heart up; yeah, Cid's not the first kid to hold his hand like this. When they were younger and Joshua was nervous, he'd reach over and hold his hand.
Things changed since then.
He bites his lip, letting the other lead the way.
"Guns help sometimes... but sometimes they do more bad than good. You should wait to get one when you're a little bigger, so you don't accidentally hurt the people you want to keep safe like some people do by mistake..."
no subject
He freezes and his had tenses up and when he looks at Alex, he's holding onto his hand. Maybe it's a little too tight, but Cid's shaking his head. Refusing to move.
He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows but Cid knows that he can't know. That that's stupid, that he's overreacting. He has to calm down. He has to make sure he'll be okay.
Alex doesn't know. He can't. He doesn't know he cannot know he doesn't he--
Cid can't help it:
"I didn't mean to...."
no subject
"Hey. Look at me."
He slowly crouches down, and the look he has is anything but judgmental—or disappointed. He didn't need to know what the kid had done; the fact of the matter was, he was a kid. When Josh died, Alex was too old to have an excuse; he hates himself every day for what happened, wonders often if he should've died after that to compensate for the pain he'd caused.
But this is just a little boy. And he knows how it feels, to be scared of the way people look at you. And for doing something without meaning to, afraid of consequences.
"I don't know what you did, but whatever it was... I understand. I hurt someone I wanted to protect, and I didn't mean to do it... So don't worry about feeling that way around me, okay?"
no subject
He's shaking his head now. "There are monsters on this ship. What if I'm one of them? Maybe that's why I'm here and my mom is here on accident...."
no subject
"You're not a monster. There are people here who can be monsters, but not you, kiddo. If you wanna be good, I believe you can be good. And if you keep trying, I'll keep trying, too. Okay? We'll keep an eye on each other and make sure we don't turn into monsters."
He nods, brows furrowed and voice cautiously hopeful.
"Sounds okay?"
no subject
"...I'm glad."
no subject
And Alex smiles, moving to stand back up.
Something about this hurts him--holding a boy's hand, calming him, letting him know everything'll be alright... it brings back memories. Most of them are good, and that's why it hurts so bad.
"We won't turn into monsters. Me and you, we'll be okay."
no subject
"She's my mom, and she makes me feel better about everything. Maybe she'll make you feel better, too. Because you made me feel better. So--thank you."
no subject
(And tougher than he imagines her to be.)
"It's good to have your mom around. Take good care of her, okay? It's good to stay close to the family you got... and--" A pause. A short frown replaces a neutral expression, but he looks ahead, doesn't let the kid see it. "Keep 'em safe."