Pokey Minch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ceasetoexist) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2012-12-10 11:32 pm
ceasetoexist) wrote in towerofanimus2012-12-10 11:32 pm
It's that season
Characters: Pokey Minch [AU1] and You
Setting: Dorm 1-04, Floor Three, Floor Twelve
Format: Starting with prose. But will match.
Summary: Pokey's got himself a case of the flu and he is just doing his damnedest to take his mind off of it.
Warnings: Fat obnoxious kids all in this post
Dorm 1-04
If you're one of Pokey's roommates, you might notice that your bed has more or less been stripped. It is at it's very bare bones. The pillow and blanket from it is gone, and if you look hard enough you'll find those are all in a pile on one of your roommates' bed. And if you look close enough? You'll see that pile is moving sometimes.
Go away. Pokey is sick and trying to sleep and he needs all of this goddammit.]
Floor Three
[Well the sleeping thing didn't work. Now Pokey is miserably wandering around to try and find something to take his mind off of the fact that he was sick as hell. And cold. And miserable. A little hungry too but that's always there so it's not as bad as the first three. He'd already raided the infirmary a bit and took medication after medication, which was not the brightest idea he had.
At the moment he's reading a book in the library, a little zonked out from both the flu he has and the over-use of medication. But he's doing anything he can to try and get his mind off of how bad he is at the moment.
If you looked over his shoulder though, you'd notice he doesn't seem to be reading the book at all. Rather, it looks like he's reading what appears to be a comic book, although it seems like the comic was made by someone around Pokey's age instead of being an official one. Maybe even made by him. There was no reason for him to have put it inside the book he was reading aside from the weird thrill he got out of it, like he was cheating someone.
The kid is messed up in his own special little ways.]
Floor Twelve
[Either it's the medication or this room is just cool as can be.
Pokey can be found standing in the middle of the room, giving a kind of glassy eyed stare and sniffing a little as he watches the destruction of planets, of universes, of galaxies happen again and again and again in the projection room. He doesn't seem to watch it with terror, or fear, so much as curiosity.
He paces the room as he watches the spectacle over and over, as if being at a different angle will reveal something about what he's seeing. Will reveal some kind of truth to him. If it does, Pokey never says what that truth is. But at the end of one of the cycles of destruction, he finally says something.]
Stupid.
Setting: Dorm 1-04, Floor Three, Floor Twelve
Format: Starting with prose. But will match.
Summary: Pokey's got himself a case of the flu and he is just doing his damnedest to take his mind off of it.
Warnings: Fat obnoxious kids all in this post
Dorm 1-04
If you're one of Pokey's roommates, you might notice that your bed has more or less been stripped. It is at it's very bare bones. The pillow and blanket from it is gone, and if you look hard enough you'll find those are all in a pile on one of your roommates' bed. And if you look close enough? You'll see that pile is moving sometimes.
Go away. Pokey is sick and trying to sleep and he needs all of this goddammit.]
Floor Three
[Well the sleeping thing didn't work. Now Pokey is miserably wandering around to try and find something to take his mind off of the fact that he was sick as hell. And cold. And miserable. A little hungry too but that's always there so it's not as bad as the first three. He'd already raided the infirmary a bit and took medication after medication, which was not the brightest idea he had.
At the moment he's reading a book in the library, a little zonked out from both the flu he has and the over-use of medication. But he's doing anything he can to try and get his mind off of how bad he is at the moment.
If you looked over his shoulder though, you'd notice he doesn't seem to be reading the book at all. Rather, it looks like he's reading what appears to be a comic book, although it seems like the comic was made by someone around Pokey's age instead of being an official one. Maybe even made by him. There was no reason for him to have put it inside the book he was reading aside from the weird thrill he got out of it, like he was cheating someone.
The kid is messed up in his own special little ways.]
Floor Twelve
[Either it's the medication or this room is just cool as can be.
Pokey can be found standing in the middle of the room, giving a kind of glassy eyed stare and sniffing a little as he watches the destruction of planets, of universes, of galaxies happen again and again and again in the projection room. He doesn't seem to watch it with terror, or fear, so much as curiosity.
He paces the room as he watches the spectacle over and over, as if being at a different angle will reveal something about what he's seeing. Will reveal some kind of truth to him. If it does, Pokey never says what that truth is. But at the end of one of the cycles of destruction, he finally says something.]
Stupid.
Re: 1-04
Dying yesterday had been an absolute treat, and the fact that dying didn't change the fact that he was sick like it would have in Mayfield was more annoying than the fact that he had even died. Death was one of those things Pokey was starting to see as more of an inconvenience than anything. But the flu? Legitimately pissed him off.
The voices did too. They had started low at first, but over time they were growing. Voices he couldn't help but remember, strong and fearful and bringing memories with them like they were carried by an uneasy wind. He had tried following some of them, but they led to dead ends and, more often than not, some of the more dangerous floors. He kept trying to tell himself they were just that: voices, probably produced from how sick he was. Which was worrying that he might be getting that bad.
But at the same time they were so real. And they were so hurt. And they were from the few people he cared about. The urge to keep trying to find them was so bad. But he, eventually, was able to force himself into bed, and the extra layers were as much an inane, childish way of thinking he could keep the voices back.
With the voice of Dave growing so much stronger, he had to resist the urge to tell him to shut up. To go away and leave him alone because he knew it was just a phantom, a recording of someone who he once knew just playing over and over in his mind in confusion like a record player that just never stopped spinning. But when the poking and prodding began, lucidity managed to break through his confusion for a moment. Oh, right. There was a Dave he shared the dorm with. A different Dave than the one he knew in Mayfield, even if he looked exactly the fucking same.
Shifting a bit, Pokey peeked out of the covers for a moment, eyes raw and bloodshot, and spoke, his voice muffled slightly by the number of blankets over him.]
Better'n freezing. Least I'll die in comfort.
You want one, take the top most blanket. One I touched the least.
no subject
Pokey is already getting used to death is an inevitability. Such a great thing this tower has taught all these kids.
Dave doesn't have auditory hallucinations, instead he's been seeing things that he couldn't quite make out and were easy enough to ignore at the moment. Dave didn't know much about Pokey, but he had to try and make friendly with his roommates right? Assuming he can even have one long enough to make friendly. His roommates tend to come in and out like revolving doors at times.]
I guess that's true. The meadow floor stays the same temperature, actually. It seems to be the only floor that didn't get affected by the rest of the tower, if you want decent temperatures when you're not neck deep in blankets.
[At least he's trying to help.]
I don't need it. You can keep them for now. I was probably gonna leave again soon.
no subject
Yea yeah. Meadow stays the same.
Thanks. For the blanket for now.
I owe you one.
no subject
Don't worry about it. We're all kind of fucked for this month, so it's not your fault you rather be one with the blankets.
no subject
This that much worse than usual, or should I expect them to go this far with most the bull they're going to throw around?
no subject