thusia | (no subject)

Who: Dirk, Dave, curious individuals and whoever hears Dave's raucous vulgar mumbling
When: Day 89, morning
Where: same place new people always show up of course
What: two for one special

[there are two blond boys who look like they are probably brothers standing in the shrine area. they are both wearing radical shades, and one of them--with the round shades--is holding a broken sword, which seems to change states from being broken, to whole, to old and rusted, without any kind of prompting]

Oh my fucking god.

We are literally going to spend the rest of our afterlives being blown like a wayward tumbleweed between worlds and physical states until we land some place full of ghost centaurs where all the trees grow apples and all the grass is made of hay and they accept us into their tribe or herd or whatever the fuck horses or horsepeople call their gatherings with a welcoming neigh, tell us to lay our newly-acquisition hind quarters down and have an apple, spend the rest of our days frolicking in the clover fields engaging in incestuous horseporn.

And where the fuck did this sword come from.

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I don't know what to do with peace! Or people just-- talking!

I don't know what to do with having failed myself and everyone important to me. Something about this shitty situation is trying to throw everyone here. Just because people ain't cursin' and hollerin' doesn't mean they're holding onto this wild bronco by more than the skin of their teeth.

. . .

[stills up at that...]

[=|a]

... Why bother holding it in? What are you hiding?

Bought the same time as the god of white unmarked vans and free candy.

Holding what in?

Like getting some tentacle dong?

Your pain or your anger!

Oh.

...nah, I don't think I am.

Ur'ghaste is more interested in seeing me do what I was apparently born for and just keep up the socially unacceptable observations and promoting the rich cultural values of incest.

Care to enumerate the dirty details of those sacrifices?

. . . Then you're just. . .

[wait

is this like Bebedora =|a]

It's not an act, or a carefully crafted mentality to better facilitate action unhindered by dramatic emotion. I think my lack of obvious affect is probably connected to my missing memories, though I have every reason to believe I am typically the chilliest of motherfucking cucumbers.

Edited 2012-10-30 05:27 (UTC)

. . . I do know someone as calm as you that has plenty of her own feelings inside of her. I've just never met a human like that, I thought it was because she was a puppet... fine, I'll believe that much.

[=|a]

Did she figure that out?

Figure what out?

How to feel... or act on feelings more normally.

. . .

[his expression shifts a bit to something a bit less inherently pissed off or distressed than he's been this whole talk.]

. . . I don't know about "normally." But being normal isn't important. Once she was free, she started learning about how to feel and what to act on in her own way. She likes every emotion she gets.

. . . Well, almost.

But even she can't laugh about everything.

I don't think our situations are identical, but I agree that being normal isn't necessary. However, being able to bridge understanding with what is normal is essential, and it's frustrating that I can't remember how to do that.

. . . You're talking to the wrong person for that.

[lipquirk]

Well, I'm going to be going after this like a plucky girl out to prove to her deep south daddy that she can be as good as the boy he always wanted but never got, so if you want I can let you borrow my notes.

. . . You're prattling on again. . . I suppose that's similar to Bebedora as well. . .

But from what I understood, I have nothing to prove to anyone here, so don't bother.

Is being able to understand and being understood in turn about proving something?

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