02 ☕ Voice
May. 4th, 2012 02:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
psychic_hotline[Warden Filter]
I have a question. I know I'm new here and it's a little personal, but it's your choice whether or not you answer.
[A pause. Still very much unused to this 'talking into the ether' thing.]
I've heard there are floods where you completely change. Either you literally turn into somebody else - someone you knew from home - you do that, or your identity changes so much you might as well be somebody else. And theoretically the person you turn into might get off on hurting people, or just won't care enough to protect them if they get hurt.
And - correct me if I'm wrong, but floods are random. Whether or not you're affected is the luck of the draw. You can't do anything to stop it, and you can't do anything to soften the blow.
How do you deal with knowing that?
[Private to Sarah Connor, wayyyy backdated to a few days post-port]
I'm glad I had someone to have my back in there. Hell of a place.
You alright?
[Spam for Arthas, taking place after this.]
[Sara woke to find her sheets shredded, the oversized T-shirt she slept in hanging off her body in pieces, the Witchblade's armour smothering the entire bed - but it melted back onto her wrist as she staggered to the bathroom just in time to throw up everything her body had to give. For a long time she just knelt there on the cold tiles, shaking and hyperventilating.
What the fuck had she just seen? Parts of it were vague and fuzzy as she gathered other people's dreams were, but other things she recalled with her usual clarity. She could feel herself elbow-deep in Arthas' mind, rummaging through his corrupt and rotten memory like it was a goddamn filing cabinet.
The symbiote was silent. If anything it seemed unsettled - well, that was fucking perfect. The nigh-omnipotent entity strapped to her arm was unsettled.
She threw on the clothes closest to hand and escaped, eventually washing up on deck. It was maybe 3 a.m.; the air felt fresh and cold. She sunk down against the railings at the bow of the ship and sat there, breathing deeply.]
I have a question. I know I'm new here and it's a little personal, but it's your choice whether or not you answer.
[A pause. Still very much unused to this 'talking into the ether' thing.]
I've heard there are floods where you completely change. Either you literally turn into somebody else - someone you knew from home - you do that, or your identity changes so much you might as well be somebody else. And theoretically the person you turn into might get off on hurting people, or just won't care enough to protect them if they get hurt.
And - correct me if I'm wrong, but floods are random. Whether or not you're affected is the luck of the draw. You can't do anything to stop it, and you can't do anything to soften the blow.
How do you deal with knowing that?
[Private to Sarah Connor, wayyyy backdated to a few days post-port]
I'm glad I had someone to have my back in there. Hell of a place.
You alright?
[Spam for Arthas, taking place after this.]
[Sara woke to find her sheets shredded, the oversized T-shirt she slept in hanging off her body in pieces, the Witchblade's armour smothering the entire bed - but it melted back onto her wrist as she staggered to the bathroom just in time to throw up everything her body had to give. For a long time she just knelt there on the cold tiles, shaking and hyperventilating.
What the fuck had she just seen? Parts of it were vague and fuzzy as she gathered other people's dreams were, but other things she recalled with her usual clarity. She could feel herself elbow-deep in Arthas' mind, rummaging through his corrupt and rotten memory like it was a goddamn filing cabinet.
The symbiote was silent. If anything it seemed unsettled - well, that was fucking perfect. The nigh-omnipotent entity strapped to her arm was unsettled.
She threw on the clothes closest to hand and escaped, eventually washing up on deck. It was maybe 3 a.m.; the air felt fresh and cold. She sunk down against the railings at the bow of the ship and sat there, breathing deeply.]
Spam
Date: 2012-05-08 06:27 am (UTC)Do you think I don't know that?
Spam
Date: 2012-05-08 05:15 pm (UTC)[He presses - it's been a long time since he's actually killed a warden, and he's very very tired of not being taken seriously.
But he doesn't like to hurt the host. It's not their fault.]
Spam
Date: 2012-05-08 05:27 pm (UTC)Spam
Date: 2012-05-09 12:02 am (UTC)Re: Spam
Date: 2012-05-09 06:20 am (UTC)Spam
Date: 2012-05-10 12:13 am (UTC)Can you hear it now?
Re: Spam
Date: 2012-05-10 09:12 am (UTC)[A more nuanced answer would be 'always, but right now it's not saying anything comprehensible'.]
Spam
Date: 2012-05-10 07:27 pm (UTC)Did any of that ...happen?
Spam
Date: 2012-05-10 07:37 pm (UTC)[Not to her, anyway. But she remembers Irons' gallery, his little shrine to wielders past, and the number of queens and empresses represented there was....well. Disproportionate.]
Only a handful of people even know I have it.
Spam
Date: 2012-05-10 07:49 pm (UTC)I guess I don't need to tell you.
Re: Spam
Date: 2012-05-10 08:48 pm (UTC)No. You don't.
Spam
Date: 2012-05-10 09:50 pm (UTC)Spam
Date: 2012-05-10 10:03 pm (UTC)[Well, that's a straight-up lie, but she's developed a hell of a poker face over the last few years.]
Spam
Date: 2012-05-10 10:12 pm (UTC)[Welp, that's it. That's about the maximum amount of fucks he can give about a thing nowadays.]