The Groups Will Support You Now [OPEN/MANDATORY]

[carriero_npc]

WHO: Every patient without an explicit exemption. (This means, if you are not on hiatus, please tag into this log, because your character will be there.) WHAT: Treatment.
WHAT: Hashed out pretty clearly here.
WHERE: The treatment rooms.
WHEN: July 10th, when else! From approximately 9 AM to 1 PM.
WARNING(S): It's a Carriero therapy session.
Please pick out your character's ID and tag into the appropriate thread.

Comments

[honkalypse]

Gamzee, to his uncredit, hadn't actually read the thing before he clicked yes. Or looked at his communicator since. So he has no idea what's going on. It takes him a minute or two to get himself sorted all out in the chair and knowing what all is up and around him. Then he gives her a smile. "'sup, sis. You got any knowing what all down with this? Where the motherfucker are we?"

Facepalming is a perfectly acceptable response.

[tendtoenunciate]

"The asylum," Kanaya shortly replies in the sharp sincere form of snark she's been working hard to cultivate in light of how deeply she hates human sarcasm. "Am I to assume you didn't read the message at all. They're continuing the farce of mental treatment that they supposedly brought us here for. We're supposed to assist... each other."

She'd begun to raise her arm in explaining herself, but now she just flops in her chair again.

[honkalypse]

"I'm all down with that." He likes the thought of helping each other out quite a bit and it shows in his hazy smile. But then the thought occurs to him. "But what all are we up to be helping each other with? I don't remember the message up and saying."

Because he didn't read it, but details. Gamzee barely moves, staring off into nothing. The far away look doesn't look drugged so much as mentally shut down for other reasons.

[tendtoenunciate]

"Something about xenorelations." She doesn't know exactly what that means, but she puts together two of her weaker suits -- xenopsychology and romance -- and takes a guess. "They probably object to our understanding how a social system should be constructed, I would guess."

[honkalypse]

"Xewhatsis? And how all can they be laying objecting down at what all is? Humans got them up and tight with a pink fleshy system but trolls are being trolls."

There's a sharpness in his eyes again as he says that. Trolls are trolls indeed. He can feel it creeping up when he is all looking some other way. Fight, hurt, hunt, kill. That's how trolls are all being, isn't it? But he doesn't want it. Well, maybe all up and tracking down a beast like the kitten sister up and did at home. That might be fun...

[tendtoenunciate]

"It should be the other way around, really, but here we are." She puts her chin in her hand as she slumps against the arm of the couch. "And for whatever reason it just seems there's nothing we can do about our situation." They're never going to get out. Kanaya has just resigned herself to this by now.

[honkalypse]

"They're not being all tasky at us this time?"

Well, he wanted to fidget a bit, but that happened a lot lately. He could deal. He could motherfucking deal and be chill. Yeah, get his chill on and wait like a fine motherfucker.

"So we just gotta get our wait on?"

[tendtoenunciate]

"I think our current tasky groove is to be discussing our difficulties in relating to members of other species." This is only getting her down more, though -- if she were a more slovenly sort, she might be on the verge of sprawling on her chair by now. "Though Skaia only knows why Feferi isn't being included in that category."

[honkalypse]

"Being all kinds of difficult because we aren't got our pans wrapped around them tight-like. Motherfucking hard when they're all doing one thing and up and saying what being turnwise from that thing."

His brow furrows when he tries to think that through. Thinking is hard and he just wants some slime. He's still trying to process the whole thing with Medic and it's more confusing than anything.

"And maybe she all up hasn't been here long enough."

[tendtoenunciate]

That makes her laugh. "Oh, yes, simply not enough time to develop any appropriate black stirrings."

She draws her knees closer to her chest with her arms. "They act like red and black aren't two equally necessary hemispheres. They all pretend to like each other when they don't... all humans ever do is pretend they're different from us."

[honkalypse]

"Not up and sure how much is pretending..."

He just wants to curl up in a pile again. That's soothing. All this thinking isn't what he up and wants to do. Getting his think on isn't all ever being leading to good things.

"You got your ponder on what about them being all just got know understands up with what's what maybe? Or are they all just being full up with denying what's motherfucking being true?"

A minute later he is curled up too. "Motherfuckers could have up and given us all a pile if they're for jamming our thinks out."

[tendtoenunciate]

Her chin falls flat on top of her knees as a jade flush slowly overtakes her entire face, going as far as her fingertips. Piles and feelings and failure and paleness and intimacy -- she doesn't want to comprehend the potential implication. Everything is telling her to reach out and go for the official designation she's felt obligated to lay down for so long, but she... doesn't want to. And can't. Why? (An Indian summer in the middle of the winter.)

"I know she's a filthy, unapologetic liar through and through--" and the contemptuous spitting out of a pronoun without antecedent is falling into the ashen patterns established with Eridan. "She kisses people without regard for emotional positivity all she likes but repeatedly denies caliginous emotions are even possible for her species. It's a complicated relic of mammalian evolution as far as I can tell, but I still don't know why."

[honkalypse]

It takes him a while to even comprehend that. He stumbles through different thoughts and memories until he thinks he's all got it settled. Some things aren't adding up though.

"Human sis? Andrea? You were all up and being ash with her and fin brother but..." He bites his lip, worrying at it until indigo wells up. "Sounding all up a bit what you aren't so ash no more. But! If it's being all up and true why are they up and getting their tell on that it's not? What's being mamm--mamwhatsis got up to do with any motherfucking thing?"

[tendtoenunciate]

"Humans are somehow evolutionarily cursed enough to believe that the only possible romantic relationship is a flushed connection between one male and one female of their species. That's what being mammawhatsis has to do with anything: It's the only way they can bear children."

She puts her face into her hands and lets out a hysterical whimper. "They don't know the difference between platonic hate and conciliatory and concupiscent. I hate Andrea more than I've ever hated anyone in my entire life; it was so ashen and so unambiguous at first, but she doesn't distinguish between concupiscence and conciliation... and after long enough in her company, I can't either."

[honkalypse]

Just the thought of that being the only kind of romance for humans is horrifying, and makes his stomach twist. So that hateful motherfucker really was all up and just getting platonic hate on for him? That... It hurts. It hurts so much, even knowing he was awful and forced black on the human sis to hurt her. Even with that, Gamzee had been getting a bit of hope on that things were different and--

He presses his hands to his head, trying to push the thoughts out, and makes a wounded keening sound. For a minute he doesn't react to the rest of what she says at all, but it slowly sinks in through his own distress. She's all up and hurting the same way, isn't she? Feeling all torn up and twisted, pretty black turned to mud and got all spit and stomped on by the humans. Gamzee is moved by...he doesn't know what. He hurts and she hurts and maybe somehow there's something they can do to make the hurt better? Like Willow's bandages...

"Sis. Sis..."

But he doesn't know what to say, and the instinct isn't telling him how to up and do nothing at all. He ends up sliding out of the chair but he falters and fumbles and crumbles to a confused and hurt stop, looking deflated and lost on the floor next to Kanaya's chair. His hand is outstretched for a moment more and then he drops it, full up and miserable and confused.

[tendtoenunciate]

The Prince of Hope, much like the Heir of Void in the alpha timeline, manages to fulfill his role even when he's absent, doesn't he? Romantic hate is confusing and Kanaya may not actually be skilled with romance, but she's even worse with platonic relationships. Back home she had them, with members of her own species, but Gamzee... There wasn't really anything there back then, was there? There's something now, and it's enough to pull her down halfway over her chair's edge, attracting her hand to hover over the twisted curls of his hair.

"It's pretty silly, isn't it, Gamzee? That we could have created a species so similar to ours yet so different." That's blabbered poetry, but it's a good enough substitute for the classic pseudophilosophy of her stupid sunny novels. Eridan always made fun of them. Gamzee might not even know she reads them. Being alive is terrible. Nothing is real and she's not a god and she's not anything supernatural, she's just six sweeps old or probably half again by now, she feels seventeen and nobody else in here is, not with Willow gone.

[honkalypse]

"Got a wonder on how we fucked the poor motherfuckers over."

And he sees that movement, something catching and making him hold his breath. He can't tell if he wants to lean into it or pull away. It's not quite right. And yet...

And yet, he's to the point where he doesn't care if it's the wrongest motherfucking thing. He just wants the hurt and confusion to go away. He wants to be happy again. Find the miracles and get his most motherfucking chill on all over. Everyone being the best of motherfucking friends and no one full of upset nowhere. Sitting back and getting their quench on with their elixirs of choice and just bumping graspers and being full up with contentment in the light of Mirth. Slamming and squawking what about their chillness and all together. Why can't they have that? Why? It feels cold and empty instead of up and miraculous, like the Messiahs aren't up and getting their watch on no more. Where did they go? Where did the joy go?

So after a minute, two, he finally rocks forward, seeking out the touch like a tiny starved kitten, blind and mewling for attention. Not that he makes any sound, but the expression on his face has that desperation all through it.