dec open log

[pethetic]

WHO: Till + whoever
WHEN: Mid December!
WHERE: Near the shops, and somewhere ambiguously park-like
WHAT: Till's sanity is finally giving up and he's starting to crack... aka he's being a big stupid baby
NOTES\WARNINGS: brackets or prose equally welcome. warnings for self-harm, kind of?

1 ► WASTING AWAY _

[Till was sort of okay, when he first got here. he was sort of pissed off, and still certainly freaked out—he'd died in a horrific fashion during an extremely traumatized, death-burdened day already and woken up a second later in this place and was...forced to cook in a potluck. then he'd discovered his dead friend (who he saw die) was also here...which was a relief, but.

he hasn't seen him since. at first, he thought that maybe he was imagining things. then he worried Ivan had left this place entirely, which he couldn't fault him for. then he'd seen him in chance passing, which made him realize he hadn't; he was avoiding Till. which pissed him off more.

he's also realized, since processing, that the girl he loves—whose lap he died in—is probably dead. and if she isn't, that means Till has to fight for his world.

all this shit has been fiercely gatekeeping Till from sleep. the food here is hard and weird on his system—by now he would have adjusted, if he'd eaten enough for his body to get used to it at all. he's more unstable than he would be as is, underfed and underslept as he is, compounding in a sort of delirium.

but he can't bear to be alone. it's always the same result. just heaving sobs, hair pulling, trying not to implode... he feels less lonely out and about, and it keeps him grounded.

well, not literally. feeling weakened (it wouldn't be surprising if he was maybe getting sick, actually), Till staggers in his steps as he wanders the row of odd shops, and looks a bit confused by it. blearily, he blinks, holding his head as he tries to step again, and he stumbles forward, the exhaustion sinking him like a bag of sand in water. his vision blurs and smears a bit as he reaches out blindly.

he accidentally grabs onto someone's shirt, nearly pulling them down with him.]

Sh-shit, sorry—

[his speech is a little slurred.]

2 ► MELTDOWN _

[Till has also felt blocked from his art; since realizing the one he loves might be dead, or at least doomed, and that his best friend (...who is a complicated connection) is avoiding him... he feels like he has nothing beautiful to pull from, inside. he sits with an empty sketchbook open to his right, guitar sat heavily in his crossed legs, shoulders sagged and slumped forward.

he didn't want to be alone in his apartment because of the result being so predictable, but it seems he can't quite totally get away from it. he's at some little pocket of land without much structure around, but he's not totally off the beaten path, either. maybe something like a park, but I couldn't find one on the map, so...we are using our imaginations here—feel free to assert the setting.

something inside Till finally snaps, and he... shoves his hand down in a brutal strum across the strings of his guitar, snapping one of the strings, cutting into the flesh of his fingers somewhat. he fights the guitar and its strap off of him, then in a bid to channel out all of this negative excess energy, though in a gesture hardly so intentional in that way, Till begans to just...pound the shit out of the ground beneath him with his fist, eyes wild and teeth grit as his breath struggles through them. his eyes are quickly glassy from the pain, but. he doesn't stop, and instead just curses loudly in frustration, chant-like, like he's pissed at his dominant hand for its lack of utilization like it isn't his stupid brain's fault.]

[ooc: mostly Till just being...angsty and useless lol i'm sorry about him. normally he's a bit more spirited but he's having a rough time at the moment cuz all his recent trauma's caught up with him and his best friend is being an avoidant loser.

if needed, feel free to DM, msg at poisonparfait or @ dimyellow on discord!]