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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There's that type of person -- the type of person that can never stay still for long, always fidgeting, preferring to flit from place to place like an overactive hummingbird.

And Soysauce is that type of person. Even when he's not making his rounds on SEC patrol duty, Soysauce tends to wander the hallways -- aimlessly floating from hallway to hallway, lingering in the rec rooms or common areas before continuing on his way. So it's not too surprising that he'd end up in the area further out in the ship once in a while, humming softly to himself as he meanders down the corridor. What is surprising is when he hears what sounds like a rather agitated voice.

Immediately Soysauce goes from a walk to a brisk jog, shoes tap-tapping against the floor as he turns a corner to find -- Alex. Alone. A small blink, before Soysauce looks at Alex curiously. "-- I thought I heard someone here. Are you alright, sir?"

He's wearing his overalls and his orange shirt today, because Sara said he could wear the same shirt twice if he was good. It's his favourite, because the colour reminds him of how pretty the leaves are in the fall--the one right by his window.

Cid has, however, managed to slip away from Sara for a few moments. He feels a little bad that his mother is probably panicking, but Cid was a curious kid. He wanted to explore.

That's exactly why he finds his way to the pool. He's going to go back, now that he's seen what it is but something stops him. A figure laying down. He's watching the other from across the pool, waiting. Wondering if he's dead.

But, no--the body jerks, snaps awake, and Cid merely blinks slowly, not saying anything. Watching him.

A few days passed and he didn't see Alex in the Gardens. Which, while unusual, wasn't exactly cause for concern. The gardens were goddamn gigantic and despite being there for most of the day, every day, it still was very possible for Netherlands to work and not see several of the staff. Let alone the part-time staff.

So whatever.

Another day or two and he got concerned. Asked a few people who were generally around the same time as Alex, and no one had seen the kid around at all.

Okay, that was bullshit. If you're gonna quit, just man the fuck up and quit.

After fuming for a few hours over it he leaves work early, taps his foot and grinds his teeth the entire way up the lift to 008, and stalks down the hallway to pound on Alex's door. No answer. More pounding. He huffs and growls that he's not gonna tackle you this time, moron, so if you're in there at least call through the door. No answer. Tries the kid's comms device. No answer.

Fine.

He decides to throw himself against the opposite wall and sits, arms and legs crossed, alternately chain-smoking and whittling a few pieces of wood until Alex shows up.

He almost ignores the question, because right now, there are already plenty of voices elsewhere. It's probably just one he's having a hard time pinning to a face, because there are plenty enough of those as is. But then the shadow catches the corner of his eye, and he looks up quickly. Ah, he remembers that guy. Soysauce, wasn't it? The weird nickname, the guy from SEC.

Now's not a good time to have a conversation with someone he scarcely knows. Or even someone he's close to. He hesitates a beat longer than he should've and nods. He'd been sleeping, hadn't he?

"I'm fine. Just... Guess I was talking to myself. One of those--"

"Don't you think you're a little old for all this make-believe?"

He motions with a hand, as if trying to remember something he couldn't. It's hard to think over the sound of someone else in your head. He's so damn tired.

"... weird habits."

Alex doesn't even notice the kid yet. Too busy realizing where he is, realizing he doesn't remember how he'd gotten here. He clumsily drags himself backward up the steps until finally he's resting beside the steps on his knees, where his hand drags through his hair and he utters a panicked curse under breath. Why? Why here? What's going on—

He's gotta' get outta here. But of course, when he goes to stand up he finally notices the little boy sitting on the other side of the pool; unsurprisingly, he startles at the unexpected sign of life; then again, maybe this kid isn't even real. Wouldn't be the first time he's imagined someone who wasn't there, and his brother is a sad reminder of that.

His hand's over his heart, and he sighs. There's uncertainty in his voice when he speaks, like he's testing reality (and yet he talks like he's talking to a kid anyway; keeps his tone careful and gentle).

"—Scared me there."

Alex doesn't show up for a while more, but the sound of squeaking, wet shoes give him away before he even rounds the corner. He's walking quickly, trying to avoid people in general, looking as though he's ready to crawl under a rock and hide for a few centuries. When he spots Netherlands, it leaves his hope for solitude crushed.

Great. The last person he wanted to talk to after having a miniature psychotic breakdown was this guy. But it's hard to look annoyed when you're too embarrassed, caught looking like a sad mutt left out in the rain; he sighs and approaches, jacket hanging in a gripping hand. What could he even say to the guy? How would he just walk by and ignore him?

You can't is the obvious answer. He avoids eye contact—hey, the floor is really interesting, did you know that?

"What?"

Murphy has no life. Each day turns into proof just to support this fact -- how he devotes hours of his time disposing of masks, and checking in on those who've been high strung lately. It's enough to take his mind off of his own issues; it's always easier to act like nothing's wrong when you can deal with someone else's problems.

Wrong? There's nothing wrong with Murphy Pendleton, but he'd be lying to himself if he said that he didn't feel it, too. Every second was another fight against the gas mask that had popped up on his door -- it has been angry with him somehow. How the hell a mask could communicate in such a way to convey that fact is anyone's guess, but Murphy knows raw anger when he feels it. It's like a second nature ripping out of his skin, saying Hey, you can't ignore me!

Which was why he never puts it on. God help him if he ever touches it with his bare hand. He'd also avoid his own room if he could manage it. Sometimes, it's like he's a boy on his way home again, knowing the adults would be there to scold him for being where he isn't supposed to go.

How far has he been walking now? How much distance did he put between himself and the gas mask since he airlocked it last?

Pretty far, to have landed himself in this place.

It was like some sick and twisted little mind game at work here. The blue waves, the way the reflections rippled... The pool area seems to be empty, save for the one person that Murphy never thought he'd find in this place.

"Alex?"

Murphy had started to leave, but has second thoughts now. Because Alex had been one of those acting off lately. That would explain why he's here of all places -- something tells Murphy that Alex didn't come to this place to swim.

Edited 2012-11-11 08:00 (UTC)

Alex seems unresponsive at first. Hands curled around the edge of the pool, eyes focused on the deepest section, it's concerning; he's not even sure why he's here himself. He looks up at Murphy, though, and with that there's some normalcy to him; the distant look in his eyes suddenly regains focus. Something not-quite-a-smile draws on his features.

But he's not seeing Murphy. The guy who walked in—it's not Murphy.

And maybe it's why there's some anxiety to his words.

"Sorry. You weren't looking for me again, huh...?" He rakes the back of his head thoughtfully with his fingers. "I'd... be back in my room, but... kinda' too much in long doses, y'know?"

Doses.

Murphy doesn't like the way he words that. It's bad enough that Alex has been acting like he doesn't even know where he is half of the time... Most of the time. Shit. What can be considered normal with these people anymore?

"Hey, it's fine." The door shuts behind Murphy, and he walks carefully into the area. Pools aren't really his thing, but neither is it Alex's. "What're you doin' here?"

And why the hell do you keep acting crazier every time I see you?

Alex sighs after a thoughtful pause, looking back down at the water. It's a pretty good question, he won't lie. It's not like it's anything like Toluca. He feels like maybe he's not supposed to be here though. The thought makes him shift, and apparently, he's not even aware that his shoes are still on and entirely submerged. That or he just doesn't give a damn anymore.

"Just thinking. It was pretty quiet in here, so..."

... This place does feel emptier than usual. Maybe he had just... imagined more people, before he'd gotten a breakthrough on his delusions. He doesn't even wear the jacket or the dog tags today; that's good progress. Of course, the faint scars on his arms from his second trip to Silent Hills aren't even noticed. No recollection of that world, not here.

"Is... uh. There something you wanted to talk about?"

From where Murphy was standing, he didn't notice the shoes at first. It's not until he actually approaches the poolside that it comes to his attention. The scars aren't even a big deal; he's sure they all have their fair share of those.

Great. Now he starts to doubt that he's even talking to an Alex that's at all there. Seems to be a common theme running around here lately -- people not acting themselves. Murphy's sure that he's the same as he's always been, but that's just the kind of thing a crazy person would believe, right?

"Not really. Just wanted to see how you're holdin' up." He doesn't plan on leaving just yet, though he's reluctant to sit down by the water and get comfortable.

"Holdin' up."

A shrug. He's alright. Just fine... Sorta. He's worried the other'll learn about it later rather than from himself, though; if he had to admit it, he'd rather do it now, save himself the bitter hope that it'll go unnoticed. Nothing's ever unnoticed around here. Maybe if he plays it off, it won't be so big of a deal.

"I mean, I had some... bad days. I guess." How embarrassing to admit this, that he's taken a step or two back in the last few days. But more importantly, how worrisome, because if they don't think he's getting better... Would they keep him here longer? "I've been waking up places, not remembering how I got there."

... And hearing voices. And other things that would be not very good.

"But I'm alright, otherwise..."

It was then that Murphy actually does sit down. He keeps his distance from the water, and settles with his legs half-crossed. Judging by the way Alex is talking, he has a feeling that neither of them are going anywhere for awhile, anyway.

"What d'you mean, you don't remember how you got there? How long has that been goin' on?" Because that isn't Murphy's dictionary definition of okay, not by a long shot. He knows well enough that Alex isn't all right in the head, even before he got here. So maybe the stress or something has been going to his head, or...?

Don't be stupid, Murphy. There's been a much more obvious and clear-cut reason for why this is happening. Something that he's been fighting with day after day.

He senses his vision going red, but only for a brief second, before he looks at the water.

Dammit, he didn't want it to sound like it was some kind of big deal. Just—don't make it out to be anything big. He's getting so much better, so what's it matter if there are a few hiccups along the way? This isn't some easy process, right? When he talks, it's not as casual as it usually is. Pretty stiff and formal actually, like speaking openly to someone you'd only recently met.

"Just a few days. It's nothing to worry about... The dreams aren't as bad, either. I've been... I've been doing a lot better." He swallows dryly and hopes it sounds reassuring enough. "Sometimes when I go to sleep, I don't wake up in my bed, that's all. I woke up in here before, too... I dunno, I just—I've still been doing better. I swear, man."

He's got everything under control.

No, Murphy doesn't like this. It's like he's sitting in a room again, talking to a stranger in a chair who tries to tell him that everything is fine, because -- What you're feeling is completely normal, Mr. Pendleton. As if that's supposed to help him in any way.

Only now it's like being the asshole sitting in the chair, pretending to actually give a shit.

...Again, Murphy does not like this.

"It is somethin' to worry about." Hell, Murphy worries enough. If Alex keeps on doing this, who the hell knows where he'll end up. It's a big ship. "What if you wind up someplace... get lost and can't find your way back? It could take a long time to find you here."

And Murphy would try to find Alex if he up and disappeared. Because if any of them got lost before one of the jumps took place and couldn't find their way back...

This could be bad.

By then he's calmed down considerably, enough to have a few tiny figures arranged in a row in front of him and he's working on the fourth when he hears a sound he's intimately familiar with, but hasn't heard in his entire time on the ship - wet shoes. Soaked ones, even.

So, yeah, there's pretty much no avoiding the big Dutch bastard. As soon as he hears the sound he whips his head toward it, only to knit his brows and flatten his lips into a stern, concerned line. Kid looks like someone threw him in a lake.

"The hell happened to you," he demands as he scoops up his figures and stuffs them into one of the many pockets the jumpsuit has, then rolls to stand on his feet, back popping.

"Slipped and fell in the pool," is the grumbly quick reply. He considers just trying to leave it at that and go, but there's no way that would fly, so... standing here seems like a good choice. And after a beat, a pair of grey-rimmed eyes look at the country—y'know, actually look at him. "If this is about the gardens, I'm just—I'm taking a break for a little while. I'll be back, so don't get your pants in a twist."

He hates when this guy pokes holes in his resolve, in his short-lived successes. He's been doing better—why can't that be enough? "I'll work on it. I'll find my way back. It's not like I can go too far around here; you always end up finding me, don't you?"

He scrubs his achy eyes with a hand. It's too bad that sleep's been a roller coaster of a chart, but what can he do? His frown drops further, mumbling in a defeated tone, "Are you taking me back in the room again...?"

Edited 2012-11-11 22:37 (UTC)

The entire time Alex speaks, there's wighted, heavy silence from his end, and certainly a good amount of staring. One might call it judging. He'd call it critical.

"Sliipped." He's not sure if that's a lie, or if Alex is just that kind of guy. Either way his quirked brow is echoed in his tone.

It was about the Gardens. It should be about the Gardens. But right now he's not sure what the hell it is.

"Yeah, slipped." It's more agitated than it'd usually be, but to be honest, he just wants to get this conversation over with. and the staring? It isn't helping. He breaks the eye contact the moment it holds too long.

"I'm not so sure about that, Alex."

"I'm fine."

There's -- something distinctly strange about the way Alex is acting. A strange hesitation before he speaks, accompanied by odd gestures. As if -- shooing someone away, or trying to recall something distant. Not that the conversation they're having now (if it could be called that) requires any vigorous attempts to remember anything.

So Soysauce is looking justifiably confused as he looks around the hallway, as if searching for some other person that Alex might have been talking to. Nope, no one around.

"Eh -- well. I suppose everyone needs a method of keeping oneself sane."

And though he follows that up with a lame little laugh, Soysauce can't help fidgeting nervously for a moment, then adding,

"-- Mister Shepherd, are you feeling alright? You look a little ... distraught, with all due respect."

"If that's your idea of tryin' to tell me that there's nothing to worry about, you're not doin' a very good job at it." Seriously. Murphy couldn't look for Heather when she got lost in these corridors, and he'd seen what happened to people if they went in deep enough. He'd very well gotten lost in the labyrinths at one point, himself.

At the risk of sounding crazy himself, something about this conversation feels off to Murphy. For as much as Murphy had made the effort to keep Alex out of his room...

"Wh... No. Why would you ask me that?"

He laughs a short, faint laugh at that first bit. Maybe he's never been the best at making things sound better; blame it on the upbringing, he guesses. He doesn't like to bring it up to the doctors, though. They always seem to say all the things he doesn't wanna hear. "... I guess not, huh."

But the second part leaves him quiet and subdued. Maybe a little wary.

"I mean... before, you had that schedule. I figured if I took steps back you might--" His head hurts. He presses a palm to his forehead, grimacing at the sudden dull ache. "Look, man, I'm... I'll figure it out, so please... no more of that therapy, doc. I can't do it anymore."

Murphy shakes his head. "Guess not, no."

This is insane. What Alex is talking about is insane. And it doesn't get any less insane when he opens his mouth and says one word that grabs his attention.

Doc.

"Alex, who the hell d'you think I am?"

Other than the fact that he's fairly sure he already knows the answer...

What?

He looks over, anxious—clearly so. Is this some kind of trick question? It's obviously just a trick question. The doctor always asks things to throw him off, to see if there's any chance that something isn't working right or at all. He's just testing his mind. Testing his certainty.

"You're Doctor Copen. You—my dad sent me to you—"

...

"What kind of question is that?"

And it's a strange thing, because Alex doesn't look dazed or listless. There's no haze in the way he squints at Murphy; he looks like his usual self, save for the obvious unease of this line of conversation. Or who he thinks he's conversing with.

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