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)
towerofanimus2012-12-19 02:15 pm
ceasetoexist) wrote in towerofanimus2012-12-19 02:15 pm
Entry tags:
Getting to Be Too Much
Characters: Pokey Minch [AU] and you!
Setting: Floor 2 and Floor 14
Format: Prose starting, but I'll match you
Summary: The voices he's been hearing are starting to get to Pokey, and he's desperate to find a solution to it.
Warnings: Possible violent imagery due to auditory hallucinations.
Floor 2 - The Infirmary
[It just won't end.
The initial begging for help Pokey could do. It had been so faint and far away that his callousness was still more than sufficient to ignore it. To be annoyed by it more than bothered or disturbed. But over the days it grew. And grew. And grew. Until he could hear the voices plain and clear.
And hear everything they were going through.
He'd tried to ignore it another few days or so, but this didn't work as well. When he could recognize the voices, tell who they were - he could no longer ignore it. And for more than once he'd wished he'd never come to understand others or learn empathy. The voices weren't real, they couldn't be. Just like in Mayfield it had to be a kind of trick. Pokey just needed to find a way to beat it.
So if you're stopping by the infirmary today you'll find a 13 year old boy sticking whatever cotton balls and cotton swabs he can find in his ears. He knows the voices aren't coming from outside but maybe if he can trick himself into thinking he can't hear them he won't. This may damage the hell out of his ears too but hey. That's the price he'll happily pay if this works and someone can stop him.]
Floor 14 - Media Room
[If he just gets his mind off it, it won't bother him.
Pokey is sitting down on a beanbag chair, mindlessly playing one of the video games in front of him. It appears to be a platformer of some kind, though he doesn't care. He's at that point where he's paying so much attention to the game he isn't playing it at all. It's all just response at the actions going on in the game, and even though he seems to be doing alright his mind still isn't on the game at all.
It's on nothing at all.
He can't hear the voices begging with him, pleading with him for help. He's too busy playing a game. One of them is crying for help, asking over and over again why it's happening, their screams only barely louder than the sound of a sledgehammer falling again. And again. And again.
Pokey's too busy playing.
One of them belittles him, asking why he isn't doing anything. If he never cared in the first place and each statement feels like it's just as cutting as the whip Pokey can hear alongside it.
He's playing the game. He's in the zone with this. Nothing else matters.
One of them is just screaming in grief and pain and unable to comprehend why this is happening. No understanding of why they could be in pain, just that they are, and a belief that crying out to Pokey will make things better. So they cry in a wet, sobbing voice while something hot and wet sizzles and burns flesh in the back ground.
The game controller goes flying at the TV screen. Pokey isn't in the game anymore.]
Shut up! Shuuuuut uuuuup! You aren't even real!
[Pokey's tearing the controller out of the game system, twirling it over his head by the cord like a lasso before flinging it across the room in a rage.]
You aren't real and even if you were I couldn't do anything!
[He tries to tear the game console away from the TV, and when that fails he resorts to kicking at it. Again and again and again.]
Even if you were I couldn't do anything!
Setting: Floor 2 and Floor 14
Format: Prose starting, but I'll match you
Summary: The voices he's been hearing are starting to get to Pokey, and he's desperate to find a solution to it.
Warnings: Possible violent imagery due to auditory hallucinations.
Floor 2 - The Infirmary
[It just won't end.
The initial begging for help Pokey could do. It had been so faint and far away that his callousness was still more than sufficient to ignore it. To be annoyed by it more than bothered or disturbed. But over the days it grew. And grew. And grew. Until he could hear the voices plain and clear.
And hear everything they were going through.
He'd tried to ignore it another few days or so, but this didn't work as well. When he could recognize the voices, tell who they were - he could no longer ignore it. And for more than once he'd wished he'd never come to understand others or learn empathy. The voices weren't real, they couldn't be. Just like in Mayfield it had to be a kind of trick. Pokey just needed to find a way to beat it.
So if you're stopping by the infirmary today you'll find a 13 year old boy sticking whatever cotton balls and cotton swabs he can find in his ears. He knows the voices aren't coming from outside but maybe if he can trick himself into thinking he can't hear them he won't. This may damage the hell out of his ears too but hey. That's the price he'll happily pay if this works and someone can stop him.]
Floor 14 - Media Room
[If he just gets his mind off it, it won't bother him.
Pokey is sitting down on a beanbag chair, mindlessly playing one of the video games in front of him. It appears to be a platformer of some kind, though he doesn't care. He's at that point where he's paying so much attention to the game he isn't playing it at all. It's all just response at the actions going on in the game, and even though he seems to be doing alright his mind still isn't on the game at all.
It's on nothing at all.
He can't hear the voices begging with him, pleading with him for help. He's too busy playing a game. One of them is crying for help, asking over and over again why it's happening, their screams only barely louder than the sound of a sledgehammer falling again. And again. And again.
Pokey's too busy playing.
One of them belittles him, asking why he isn't doing anything. If he never cared in the first place and each statement feels like it's just as cutting as the whip Pokey can hear alongside it.
He's playing the game. He's in the zone with this. Nothing else matters.
One of them is just screaming in grief and pain and unable to comprehend why this is happening. No understanding of why they could be in pain, just that they are, and a belief that crying out to Pokey will make things better. So they cry in a wet, sobbing voice while something hot and wet sizzles and burns flesh in the back ground.
The game controller goes flying at the TV screen. Pokey isn't in the game anymore.]
Shut up! Shuuuuut uuuuup! You aren't even real!
[Pokey's tearing the controller out of the game system, twirling it over his head by the cord like a lasso before flinging it across the room in a rage.]
You aren't real and even if you were I couldn't do anything!
[He tries to tear the game console away from the TV, and when that fails he resorts to kicking at it. Again and again and again.]
Even if you were I couldn't do anything!
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[Just snapping now because he hates being talked to like this or told to take care of himself and god the voices just won't shut up.]
It's none of your business so why don't you stay out of it?
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...No, I am not. But I could take you to someone who is, and I am a good listener, if you wanted to talk. I enjoy helping people. You would not be a bother.
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[And deep down, he doesn't feel he's worth anyone's worry or help at this point. It's better to just bear it alone here.]
It isn't something I want to talk about. Seriously.
I'll be fine.
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I see. If that is how you wish to exercise your free will, I shan't stop you. However, if you change your mind, I will always be happy to listen, and if you need a doctor, seek out a young boy named Shion.
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[He tries to soften a little bit, but it's hard. It's so hard with them still shouting, screaming. Pleading.
Maybe it'd be best to try and talk about it. It'd be the smarter thing to do. But at the moment the smartest thing isn't what Pokey is thinking about.]
...I dunno if a doctor will help. There's no pain you know. Not...
[Not physical pain.]
It doesn't hurt. ...It's just annoying.
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Don't mention it. We all need a little help sometimes. If I can help you out, then I would enjoy that.
[chaos nodded again as the boy spoke.]
Not physical pain..but it is causing you emotional pain, and doctors are used to dealing with auditory hallucinations. They shall know what to do. As for the emotional pain..I may not be able to help with all of it, but when you want, I shall try to help with what I can.
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So he closes his mouth and shakes his head.]
Thanks but. I'll be fine.
It's nothing I haven't dealt with before.
[Which is sort of true. Not entirely, but it's not a complete lie.]
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I see. Well then, how did you deal with it last time, if you don't mind my asking? Did you deal with it all alone? And, if so, did you like dealing with it in that way?
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[Feeling threatened was something that happened quite easily to Pokey in conversation, even when there was no reason for it. And when he does, Pokey does his best to try and subvert the conversation.]
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No, I am not. I simply enjoy helping people any way I can. If that means talking to them, then I will happily do that. I am not a therapist, and I will not charge money. I have no use for it anyway. If I have creeped you out, I do apologize.
[Perhaps it was his speech patterns that creeped out the boy. However, chaos was so used to his manner of speaking that he hadn't changed it much in awhile. It was one of the few ways he could show his true age without being caught, as people usually thought he was just being polite.]
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[He scratches at his arm, nervous and unsure what to do or say. Social situations, in so many ways, were still so bizarre and uncertain to him.]
...Why do you do it? Help people out for no pay, I mean?
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Don't worry. I understand what you mean. As for why I help people without expecting anything in return, there are two reasons. The first is that I do not need anything in return. Money, food, water..I do not need people to pay me those things, and thus, I do not ask or require them.
The second reason is because I enjoy it. I love humanity. I do not wish to see a member of it suffer needlessly. If I can help, even just a little bit, then that is reward enough.
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..I admit, some people are pretty hard to like..but there's usually one aspect about a person that makes them likeable..or understandable. Perhaps it sounds foolish, but that is how I have been living..so maybe it has worked on some level.
[Of course, chaos did have a woman he loved, but..she was dead, and the closest thing he had to her now was an android that held her soul and sometimes awakened knowing that. However, most of the time, that soul lay dormant.]
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But instead he says.]
They're screaming.
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I am sorry to hear that. What are they screaming about? Are they in pain or asking you to help them?
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He just keeps looking at the ground. Frowning.]
...All of the above.
I just want it to stop.
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So, he tried to treat this like he was hearing The Song of Nephilim.]
Then, instead of closing out your ears, close your mind to them. Do not listen to them.
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....It's not that simple. I just...
I have to. Sometimes.
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I know..believe me, I know how hard it is. Just..keep fighting. Please, do not give up. If you do, it is all over.
[That melancholy expression? It's growing.]
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I just said it's annoying, alright?
I'm still gonna try. I owe it to some people not to run away from it.
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Well, that is good to hear. If you try your hardest, you will succeed. You will not make your friends suffer or worry.
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What about when your hardest isn't good enough?
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