Enoch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
warriorscribe) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2012-12-16 12:56 am
warriorscribe) wrote in towerofanimus2012-12-16 12:56 am
Entry tags:
Street-corner preacher in the cold
Characters: Enoch and anyone!
Setting: Room 3-18; Dormitory levels 1-3; floors 1-9
Format: Either is fine!
Summary: Enoch's illness has made itself apparent as Jason's lab rat in the most annoying way possible.
Warnings: None yet! Aside from Enoch actually acting like a grouchy old man, I guess.
For the first day since the nagging thoughts had grown worse, to where he couldn't keep them all to himself anymore, Enoch had managed to mostly keep the scathing thoughts he had to a minimum. He had a better sense of propriety than that, and knew they would only aggravate people.
But since this isn't a grave matter like taking someone's life (and because Jason was obviously doing better than Ruana), his mind gave out after that day. When he woke up, the first thing he did was direct scolding at the dorm room ceiling he knew to house the administrators' eyes. "Why aren't you doing anything? You're captive too, aren't you? Are you all cowards!?"
For a moment, he paused, thinking on the jarring harshness of his words, at their lack of his normal softness and how inconsiderate they were, compared to what he'd said before. But between his sluggish, heavy body and the cold sinking into his bones, the full impact of the change failed to hit him. He summoned his armor and put his Arch in its rightful spot, then pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders, pulling the hood as far over his head as it would go. He couldn't just talk to the cameras and his roommates if they were there, after all.
He'd snap at people passing in the halls - "Why aren't you doing something!?" "Are you going to just go about life here when all our lives are gone?" "We need more than idleness and aimless riots!"
This would continue into the cafeteria, where he was only stopped from approaching others by virtue of his mouth being full of food, or when he'd double over in a coughing fit. If someone was really lucky, he'd be cut off by coughing or sneezing. When he was done eating, he continued up the stairs, slowly for his flu-worn body, giving out the same admonishments to anyone who happened to be near.
His body finally gave out on the stairs of the dark ninth floor. Those passing through will see a cloaked, hooded figure huddled on the lit stairs...still scolding people for their inaction. Or perhaps they'll catch him in the middle of a coughing fit, or taking a nap. Or, sometimes, one might find the staircase empty, a monster prowling around. When it moves on, that figure emerges from the shadows of the darkened floor and resumes his usual routine.
Setting: Room 3-18; Dormitory levels 1-3; floors 1-9
Format: Either is fine!
Summary: Enoch's illness has made itself apparent as Jason's lab rat in the most annoying way possible.
Warnings: None yet! Aside from Enoch actually acting like a grouchy old man, I guess.
For the first day since the nagging thoughts had grown worse, to where he couldn't keep them all to himself anymore, Enoch had managed to mostly keep the scathing thoughts he had to a minimum. He had a better sense of propriety than that, and knew they would only aggravate people.
But since this isn't a grave matter like taking someone's life (and because Jason was obviously doing better than Ruana), his mind gave out after that day. When he woke up, the first thing he did was direct scolding at the dorm room ceiling he knew to house the administrators' eyes. "Why aren't you doing anything? You're captive too, aren't you? Are you all cowards!?"
For a moment, he paused, thinking on the jarring harshness of his words, at their lack of his normal softness and how inconsiderate they were, compared to what he'd said before. But between his sluggish, heavy body and the cold sinking into his bones, the full impact of the change failed to hit him. He summoned his armor and put his Arch in its rightful spot, then pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders, pulling the hood as far over his head as it would go. He couldn't just talk to the cameras and his roommates if they were there, after all.
He'd snap at people passing in the halls - "Why aren't you doing something!?" "Are you going to just go about life here when all our lives are gone?" "We need more than idleness and aimless riots!"
This would continue into the cafeteria, where he was only stopped from approaching others by virtue of his mouth being full of food, or when he'd double over in a coughing fit. If someone was really lucky, he'd be cut off by coughing or sneezing. When he was done eating, he continued up the stairs, slowly for his flu-worn body, giving out the same admonishments to anyone who happened to be near.
His body finally gave out on the stairs of the dark ninth floor. Those passing through will see a cloaked, hooded figure huddled on the lit stairs...still scolding people for their inaction. Or perhaps they'll catch him in the middle of a coughing fit, or taking a nap. Or, sometimes, one might find the staircase empty, a monster prowling around. When it moves on, that figure emerges from the shadows of the darkened floor and resumes his usual routine.
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...And he's just spreading his misery, isn't he? Oh, he tries so hard not to do that...he can't believe he slipped.*
I'm sorry. I'm...frustrated. And this illness isn't helping.
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*Really, it's stifling in there. Even more prison-like than just being stuck in this tower.*
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[Seriously, they were having the same argument all over again. If there's something Lancer has learned, it's this guy is too stubborn for his own good.]
[Not that Lancer would do differently if he got sick.]
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*Hey, Lucifel didn't stutter - Enoch didn't let anyone tell him what to do when his heart was set on something else. Though, denying what he knew to be sound advice did get a regretful look.*
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[What had the world come to now that Lancer was giving sound advice?]
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*And he would really have to try - his nerves were worn rather thin. Last time they'd been frayed by some great upheaval - the last two times, in fact - he'd cried instead. The nature of this place was different, though. It may well have worn him down in a different way.*