#handsthese

@handsthese​ said: ‘   is there something i can help you with? ‘

ratched | accepting

So far, Gerry has been the stalwart leader on this trip, equal parts because he is more experienced in dealing with the Entities, because he has the ability to See everything that is happening around the ruined world, and because it is his trip to make.  Edward did not have to come along, but the Eye would not have let Gerry stay in one place, insisting that he go out and witness everything on its behalf.  So, his staggering behind a little bit is more obvious than he would like it to be.

The Eye is pulling on him now, insisting to be fed, making him feel empty and lightheaded.  He presses his palm to his forehead, the eyes on his knuckles and wrist flicking about even more quickly than usual.  He sways steadily on his feet, looking as if he might fall over in a moment.

“No… no,” he says, shaking his head.  “I just… need to sit down for a little bit.”  He reaches blindly for some surface on which to sit, and when he finds nothing, he falls to his knees on the ground.  The Eye is insisting that he feeds it, and that is not something that he wants Edward involved in at all.  He knows that if he gave it its way fully, it would be digging into Edward’s secrets, unearthing all of their worst memories, making them afraid of Gerry.

“I just… need to draw for a little while.”  He sits back on his ankles, pulls his bag around in front of him, and digs through it until he reaches his sketchpad.  It never seems to end; no matter how many pages he draws on, there is another one waiting for him at the end, and always a piece of pencil or charcoal manifesting in his bag, even when he tries to throw them away.  He opens it hurriedly to a random blank page and reaches into the pocket where he keeps finding the drawing utensils, grabbing the charcoal this time.  And he begins to draw the scene that they are coming up on with startling inhuman speed and accuracy: rows and rows of holes in the earth, almost more holes than walkable ground, really, and each with a person packed tightly inside of it.  This is how he feeds the Eye and proves to it that he is Seeing, by giving it the artist’s rendition to Look at, as well as the real thing.

@handsthese​ said: ❝ well , i haven’t gotten out … ❞

migration of the love bugs | accepting

When Gerry came up the path to a factory, he knew that he had to go inside.  The only way out of these things is through them, and the Eye won’t let him go around.  He has to experience and observe everything that this fresh hellscape has to offer, so he made his way up the steps and through the front door, his boots landing heavily against the floor with each reverberating footfall.  He didn’t give much thought to staying hidden, as it seemed most things in this new world couldn’t hurt him, anyway—plus, the place seemed to be pretty deserted.  He originally marked it as a thing of the Extinction’s, a factory, a monument to the folly of mankind, empty, still standing long after the owners and workers are gone.

But then he came face-to-face with who appears to be the sole tenant of the place.  They seemed confused when Gerry brought up the state of the world outside, looking at him now with bemusement, admitting that they haven’t been out.  Gerry opens his mouth to ask them, haven’t they seen the world through the windows, but then he remembers that things are laid out differently now, in a dream logic sort of way.  Things don’t connect together like they ought to, and it is perfectly reasonable to assume that they can’t see any of the other domains from their iron tower.  So, he closes his mouth.

He decides to stick around for a bit, shrugging his leather bag off his shoulder and dropping it to the floor next to him, and then he leans, resting his hip against some old metal desk for support.  He crosses his arms while the eyes on all of his joints roll around frantically, trying to soak up as much of the interior of the room as possible.

“Good,” he says, “I can’t say I really recommend it.  It’s a total shitshow out there.  You’re probably one of—no, the only person I’ve come across who’s not experiencing some sort of existential agony and-or terror.”  It is good to think that this might be a place that is untouched, untainted, that he may have found some respite from all that prime bullshit, even if it is only temporary.  The Eye is going to want him to move on sooner rather than later, but he will take what he can get.  “What’s out there now isn’t really a good representation of what the world’s… well… supposed to be.”

Red Riding Hood (2011) Sentence Starters.

"You say you tried? Then that's it. That's all you can do. What do you feel pressure? Or is someone putting pressure on you to do better? If so don't let that get to you; i don't know who or what you are, but you seem very troubled."

 This couldn’t be right. The gps was putting her right at the driveway to a decrepit old mansion of sorts, not that the neighborhood it was in looked any better. All the matching pastel practically made her sick. She would’ve much rather stayed in the old gothic home. “well fuck it.” she parks her car and makes her way up the long driveway, curious to see if she was in fact in the right place or if she had been sent to the wrong address.

 Boots lead her to a large front door, knocking loudly. She can hear her knock echo within, and odd silence. This couldn’t have been the Airbnb. “Hello, I’m here for my reservation...For Rosalyn Von Greyson.” she taps her foot on the concrete step, inked arms crossing over her chest. “If I’m in the wrong place, I’m sorry!” she calls out, ready to turn and walk away before she hears movement. “Hello?”

Now, Christoph had a few questions. He just wasn’t sure where to begin since, well...

Did he say a “few”? He actually meant a “couple”-- well, hell, he might as well go the whole mile at that point and say he had “a lot” of questions. That felt appropriate given the current circumstances (but, just in case, he did doublecheck the calendar just to make sure it wasn’t halloween.) but he’s been known to be grossly wrong before.

Those just so happened to be the very same times that he’d refuse to talk about.

Stepping a little closer to them (he doesn’t even know what time it was, but it had to have been, uh... at least, midnight?) and craning juust a bit in order to sneak a look at them, Christoph felt his nose crinkle subconsciously in a tiny, little grimace. It wasn’t out of disgust nor aggravation, as it probably should’ve been, but instead was... uh... concern?

There was a heavy emphasis on the uncertainty relating to that, because Christoph doesn’t even know if that is what he was feeling.

Moreover, he felt kind of bad, actually. There was no reason for someone to look like they were on the verge of literal tears (just looking at them was starting to make christoph feel a little sad, but he’s sure that was just the empathy speaking.) for literally, again, no reason. And yet? Here he was, witnessing just that.

In the middle of the road, too.

“Hey, uhh...”

“...buddy, ya, uhh... lost or somethin’?”