#thread.akhila

Upon waking up on the beach, Charlie had not taken long before creating a working hypothesise. Given the circumstances, and his own sudden arrival, a fever dream from a comatose state made the most sense. He'd heard stories - though very few of them proven - of brain activity in a state of unconsciousness leading to very vivid dreams. And his mother had told him stories of people who had been put to sleep by god-like creatures and transported to worlds that were other and magical.

He'd seen so many patients over the years that he could imagine his mind conjuring up the individuals what inhabited this world. He wondered if they would embody the archetypes from his mother's stories.

However, he was most surprised to hear Akhila inhabited his coma-induced dream as well. Guided to the Medical Centre by one of his hallucinations to see Doctor Asthara - which could only be her - he wondered why his mind, usually very bend on not seeking out personal confrontations, decided it would not be such a bad thing if she was in fact here.

He thus decided to trust his mind on the matter, and walked into the doctor's office, which instantly reminded him of the real deal: tea mugs everywhere, a couch that looked like she slept there, and that smell of black tea that he'd become all too familiar with.

And in the mids of it: Akhila. A bit more desheveled than he remembered her, but from what he'd heard already: people had been here for longer than he had. To create some post-apocalyptic world that was more believable.

He had to play along.

"So this is where you've been all this time?"

Being the practical person they were, Baksar had quickly ensured they found at least some way to deal with the constant loud noises. Making sure there was a double layer of protection that muffled it all at least to a point where they still had constant jumpscares but didn’t hear the fart that was released a kilometre away. Or something, they had no idea what the limits of their power were. Just that they kept trying to stop focusing so hard on everything around them. 

Breathing exercises, yoga, meditation. 

So far distraction helped sometimes. And the best road to distraction was asking people if he could help. 

Cotton in their ears, construction headphones one, and the friendliest smile, Baskar roamed into the medicenter. They’d tied their long hair up and luckily hadn’t had to trade in the clothes they’d landed with: Chelsea football shorts, an oversized grey t-shirt from the official Paddington store that he’d gotten when he’d been fifteen. 

Adarsh had to admit he’d woken up his second day on the beach with violence on his mind. He hated admitting this and he hated feeling it even more. But it was true.

The first idiot to make a joke in his direction. ( “maybe amnesia is your superpower?” ) Had gotten a fist in their face. Picking fights with the wrong person seemed to fit as well. He’d lost. His nose a bloody mess to show for it. But not broken.

He’d slithered off towards the warehouse looking for bandages. Currently stopping the bleeding with his tank top, bare chested as dried blood stuck to his chin and chest. He should’ve probably gone to the medicentre or whatever it was called, but he didn’t actually want help, he wanted to stop the bleeding himself, find some meds, and slink back to his bungalow to take a nap.