Event: Consolidation Theory, Part Four and Five

[snowblindmods]

Characters: red-marked characters and their new friends
Location: ???
Date: Morning 354, Morning and Day 355
Summary: A quiet morning and a confusing morning, or maybe they're both, or maybe they're neither.
Warnings: gore, psychological horror, warn for specifics in the subject lines

Part Four OOC Post
Part Five OOC Post

Comments

cw fingernail gore

[headjacked]

[ Rhys has been scrabbling against the wall all the while, though the efforts weaken when he hears that Beckett has her, has her stable as she can be. One nail is cracked and torn from the bed, leaving a thin bloody trail as he lightly scratches the barrier. ]

You always -- you always say that. Beckett. You -- you do.

[ He curls his hand back into a fist and drives his knuckles into the barrier, pushing until they go white. ]

Can you stay with her? Can you stay with her?

[ Because there's that uncomfortable implication hanging between them all. ]

[phaseshifter]

[ For a moment - just the briefest of wee baby momentlets when Beckett's hand crosses the barrier - Angel considers asking him to help her with a second attempt. It'd be quieter, less messy, and maybe they'd be quicker than the static things this time --

But then there's hand-holding and people are fussing and Beckett is straight-up telling her not to die and uhghghgh. She gives his hand a squeeze in return, then turns her head to look back at the blood splatter in the bathroom. ]

I don't need anyone to stay with me, I'm fine.

[ Especially if she is potentially responsible for Beckett's current state. Because yeah, Rhys. Uncomfortable. ]

[warriorscribe]

[Enoch sinks down into the corner where he’s closest to the others, cradling his bruised hand. She’s safe. But he can’t easily forget the way she reassured him before surrendering herself to the pit. Leaning into that corner, as close as he can be, he’s still utterly helpless. He’s so tired of losing people he loves.]

You might not need it, but...do you not want him to stay?

[Beckett can hardly move, as well. If he can be encouraged to stay, to not strain himself...]

[bookofnope]

[Does he always say that? In the current edge of delirium, everything they say - about what he says, about whether he can stay, Angel saying she's fine, Enoch asking - swirls around in Beckett's mind and settles in quite the wrong shape. He gets an implication all right. He makes a choked-off sound of distress.]

Damn you, I'll stay. Didn't want to leave. Had to. I had to. [His fingers twist into frail claws around Angel's hand.] You understand. If death was the way out - you understand.

cw suicidal ideation

[headjacked]

If you can, if you can. Beckett, only if you really can.

[ The distress is a white-hot jolt of shame, burning within. The kind that makes him wonder if damaging his port directly would act faster than static-figure intervention. A direct line to the brain is just oh-so-convenient.

But he can't.

It's not the way out.

He scoots back, fist still clenched 'til it shakes. ]

I'll stay back, I'll shut up. Anything that helps.

[phaseshifter]

I think... we're all getting some wires crossed.

[ And that's fine. It's good, even, because uncrossing them is a Constructive Thing That She Can Do. Maybe. She places her other hand over Beckett's, to reassure herself as much as him, and takes a breath. ]

Beckett. Do you know if - if it was any of us that did this to you? Or do either of you remember anything? I know I don't, but...

[ The last part is obviously directed and Enoch and Rhys. Sure, she might not remember - but different people have different reactions to drugs, don't they? So maybe it didn't blank out everything for them. Yeah. ]

[warriorscribe]

I remember nothing.

[He flinches at the sound of distress in Beckett's voice, but his words tell him the same thing they told Angel - he's thinking of the wrong instance of not staying. And while Enoch would love to talk about that, that's not what's at stake here. And he knows talking about the facts is something that will be good for Beckett, too. This is how he focuses. (And, judging by his conversation with Angel earlier, how he does, too...)]

Nobody seems to remember any- even the victims can't remember faces or marking patterns.