etrayalogs | vacillating [OPEN]

Entry tags:

vacillating [OPEN]

WHO: Knife (as Antigone/Pending), ota
WHEN: Mid-late Oct
WHERE: Assorted, tagged in prompts
WHAT: the up- and downswings of being overly exposed against one's will while stuck in a bubble zoo
NOTES\WARNINGS: mentions of dissociation & depersonalization, violent/suicidal thoughts, violence (attempted or otherwise), rampant swears/coarse language

i. badgerlike habits
warnings: attempted violence (or actual violence if you're up for it!)

[the encampment in Dewpoint can, at times, add some interesting ambiance to the frost-laden area, what with its gentle tinkling of chime-like glass shards and bottlecaps dangling from tree branches. it's a nice sound, even if the aesthetics are rather trashy (in that there is a lot of trash about).

however, now and then, someone gets too close and the tinkling of materials takes on a more intentional sound when a length of wire is pulled underfoot. then, then there's a growling and a sudden glint off metal in the light - a scalpel flung close to the offending foot.]

SCRAM! [the voice is muffled behind layers of fabric - from one of those flapping tent-flaps.] Walk around, wherever you're going!

ii. humanlike efforts
warnings: n/a in starter

...

[Maybe...maybe this would feel better if there were more than like. Six fucking people in a place at a time. Right now I feel like the world's shittiest stalker-spy.

...

Maybe I'm THIS world's shittiest stalker-spy.

Yay, me.

Pending's...making attempts to be a person, here. A person doing person-things like...picking up food! at the Otto-Mart! they may or may not be shadowing someone in there and...matching their aisle movements and selections and watching what they do.

or it's simply taking a walk outdoors and stopping short when whomever was ahead of them appears to be doing something of import, watching to see just what that important thing is and whether or not he needs to be making a habit of doing it, too.

or it's just...sitting at a distance and watching someone else read a book or work on something, their own hands empty of distractions. memorizing gesture, maybe slightly twitching a finger here or there to mimic while they memorize features and mannerisms.

apparently people-watching is normal so this? this is normal. this is very normal. Knife just feels like shit regularly so there's no cause for concern that this, too, feels like shit. good job, everyone.]

iii. rabbit-hearted impulses
warnings: n/a in starter

[multiple evenings in a row, Antigone makes to approach a diner or a bar or food shop, stands mere steps away from the entrance, fidgets a bit, leaves, comes back, then leaves again. something about the inviting warmth of their interiors is doing the opposite - making them seem ominous, a threat of a bad time. it's annoying that so many of these places never turn their lights off; maybe it'd feel better if she were actually doing something wrong as opposed to just feeling like she is.

it's the prospect of being seen and asked how she's doing that stresses her out the most: a dozen-plus answers bouncing along the sliding scale of cynicism flit about, but none taste right on her tongue, especially when imagining certain faces on the receiving end of them. guilt? guilt for what! not...doing well? fucking stupid, honestly. who even cares?! aside from the...handful of people who decided to make caring, like, their goddamn jobs. which isn't her fault!

...

well, another amble up, another lingering pause, and another failed effort sends Antigone back out of the borders of the street lights, only to hasten with panic when she hears door hinges squeak open. she scrambles into an alley for cover to hold her breath and try and sort this out again, maybe chalk it up to another failure and settle for garbage again.]

iv. disruptive tendencies
warnings: n/a in starter

[it's the lack of control that's really the problem, isn't it? the overwhelming pressure of tasks too big to accept as their own coupled with the ennui that makes itself comfortable when all those too-big tasks leave mind and hands free. Knife can control the way they appear outwardly, but it changes nothing but that appearance. laying in a miserable stupor works in little intervals, but hunger pangs cut into that quiet idle time and prompt them to move once more.

create or destroy seem to be the most favorable options: they've picked at clothes here and there when the meditative patience lasts, but the futility of the effort always catches up and leads them to abandoning their work to follow the impulse to move. here and there, bits of newly-embroidered jackets or layered scarves or the like can be picked up around Dewpoint and Alcyone's Wake in particular, no owners come to call.

for now, the grocery store's been pilfered of a fair amount of its egg stock for the day, a boxful of cartons toted away to another street.

Pending is sitting on the backrest a bus stop bench, feet on the seat by the cartons, periodically picking one up and lobbing it out at the water, at nearby animals, at passing helper bots, at signage or buildings within range.

the waste is the point - it's change, however brief. this place is a little uglier until the mess is picked up. childish, perhaps, but he's not here to be a model adult. he's not here for any good goddamn reason!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Yes, everything is up for criticism. Always. Do you exist? Then you're a fair target for criticism. Otherwise, how is anything supposed to get better?

Clea raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. ]

It's not the wine.

[ Oh, for God's sake. ]

Not like this. Go out there. Sit.

[ If they're going to eat, they're going to eat like civilized people. Has Clea ever plated food? No, but she's eaten at enough tables. It can't be that hard. ]

[the picking of nits around food...the no-nonsense delivery and the sharp eye to point out the undesirables...

Shit... She kinda reminds me of Valness.

...

Just...not a fuckin' centaur with an apron...

...Or a morningstar.

Probably.

Pending does as he's told, but not without rolling his eyes because honestly, why the decorum? if it's good, they can make more right there, but now they're traipsing around... whatever, man! he side-eyes one of the helper bots, shooing it away with the toe of his boot before pulling a chair and plopping in.

...

has...

has he... no, he hasn't actually...been at table to dine here. not as Pending. and anytime Antigone's done so, she's kind of had to stand, not sit.

this feels weird. he feels more like an imposter than he categorically is. makes him feel all itchy. he picks at the back of his hand while shooting antsy, furtive looks around, as if he expects someone to see him and know he's not supposed to be out here like this.]

[ Once it's clear he's obeying, Clea relents and tastes the food. Using a fork. It's not coq au vin, but it's not...bad. It had probably been too much to hope for, for someone from another world (one where people weren't literate yet) to be able to cook French cuisine.

She'd hoped and that was always a moronic thing to do.

Clea opens and closes doors, high and low, left and right, searching for place settings.

There.

Suddenly, she sits a plate in front of Pending. An empty plate. Then, on top of that, she places a shallow bowl, filled with the food he's made. Then, to his left, a napkin, upon which she places a fork, a spoon, and a knife (turned properly). Lastly, she fills a glass of water and puts it to the upper right of his food.

Then she repeats the setting for herself before joining him, sitting on the chair next to him. ]

Treat what you make with respect.

[ Clea delicately places a napkin in her lap, then picks up her fork. ]

[Okay, a LOT like Valness, Knife thinks, sitting and watching mutely, still all tensed up from feeling as though an alarm were to blare at any moment.

the remark breaks that spell, prompting a blink and a dubious look across the table.]

Ain't that just for the craftwork?

[ Clea takes a bite of her food. Then a drink of water. He looks like he's about to bolt. Like he expects someone to come up behind him and stab him. Ridiculous. He's no more at risk now than he had been when they were cooking.

She swallows, making certain her mouth is free before answering. ]

Why would it be? The craftwork is valuable because of the effort you put into it, the choices you made, and for its ability to invoke in others.

Food can invoke feelings and thoughts as surely as your other work. Taste and smell link to memory and mind as surely as sound and sight.

[he frowns a little, but makes an effort to echo her movements in more pensive, unpracticed ways. it's not quite that dinner scene from Beauty and the Beast, but it's not not that, either.

...neither of these fucks have seen that movie so it doesn't matter.

anyway.

tentatively:] Uh... Food is for staying alive. [what's up with this linking shit, huh?]

[ Clea sees that he's watching her. She slows down, becoming more deliberate with her movements but otherwise not calling attention to having noticed. ]

It is. It also can be more than that.

Life is for living. Not for surviving.

I'm, uh. Not sure I follow. [how do you live but not survive?]

Survival is survival. Your heart beats, you sleep. You eat.

Living is experiencing the world around you.

[ Obviously. ]

[talking with his mouth full:] What's that part gotta do with the, the whole respecting thing?

You put things into the world for others to experience. Those things come from inside of you: Your heart and mind.

As an extension of your self, they deserve respect.

[ Why does he not know this? Clea wrinkles her nose. ]

For example, you will note I am giving your food my full attention, rather than speaking with it in my mouth.

[She's starting to sound more like Reginald Fuckshit than Valness now, yeesh.

with a squint:] ...You just...eat it. What other attention do you need?

[ Clea picks up a carrot with her fork and slides it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully and swallowing before she replies. ]

I pay attention to the experience. The order of the tastes, the mixing of the smells. The textures in my mouth. I eat different pieces, so I can see how the flavors complement one another.

[one singular slow chew, then Knife can't help but hork it down.]

...I think that's why you're picky.

I'm discerning.

[ Not 'picky'. There is nothing wrong with having standards. ]

[in a dubious drawl:] Yeahhhh, that. [foregoing the mimicry, Pending just picks up a pair of carrots by hand to pop in his mouth.]

If you want to live a life with no standards, that's your own moronic decision.

[ Clea rolls her eyes when he grabs the carrots. How childish. ]

[unfazed, Pending chews contemplatively on his wine-soggy, pan-seared carrots.]

So people just...made you stuff that you wanted. Back before this, too. [his eyes flick back up to her.] Like a noble?

My nation no longer has nobility.

[ That is an important thing to Clea. She is not one of the stuffy aristocrats who think that the mere act of being born elevates their every opinion. Nobles and royalty are so dreary. ]

We are wealthy, but that is not what gives me the right to have standards. Everyone has that right. You can have standards for yourself.

[his mouth involuntarily twitches on one side for want to smirk, a reflexive yeah, right.

but...it's kind of what Soliton was on about. a place for even freaks like Knife to be able to walk about in without having to hide. get to do more than pick from garbage heaps or steal off unsuspecting tables and what-have.]

Maybe here. Not everywhere. And...only here so...we don't fight about it. Yeah?

Of course everywhere. The standards are for yourself.

[ What other people think has nothing to do with those standards. ]

You keep them so you know and remember who you are.

[he shakes his head vaguely, not getting it. this has to be some concept that just...doesn't really crop up when you're not engaged enough in what regular people think and do beyond what you need to keep alive. it sounds less important coming out of other people's mouths than compared to when Soliton's insisting.]

Must make better sense for humans, I dunno.

I wouldn't know. Before here, I'd never met a non-human person in the real world.

[ In Clea's world, everyone is human. So it's not a question she's ever wrestled with. ]

[Yikes.

...Well, maybe it's easier that way. I dunno. Don't gotta make six different sized houses for people to fit. No centaur seating.

it's hard for Knife to visualize beyond simply being stuck here, where most everyone is human. or human-shaped. Earth-2 had the idea, they suppose...and that was definitely yikes. maybe the yikes still stands.

whatever the case, they don't wanna think about it, instead just jutting his chin at Clea's plate.]

If it's bad, you can make it again and do different til it's better. Or give up, I guess. [he shrugs one shoulder.] Doesn't matter.

This conversation topic genuinely makes you uncomfortable.

[ Now it's her turn to peer at him. How strange. Who would not want to have some regard for themselves?

Besides, if they talk about his discomfort, they don't have to address the irrational anxiety Clea feels when she contemplates doing something she's bad at in public. ]

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