NPCs of Carriero (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
carriero_npc) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
carriero_logs2012-07-10 08:54 pm
carriero_npc) wrote in carriero_logs2012-07-10 08:54 pm
The Groups Will Support You Now [OPEN/MANDATORY]
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.
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
"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.
no subject
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.