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!
Floor 14
...but then there was the clatter of the controller flying at the screen. And shouting. No, more like screaming. And a little, long-buried part of himself wants to recoil even faster from it. It had been years since he had heard Porky having an all-out tantrum about something, and the rush of memory and emotion that it was bringing on was bad stuff.
But he can't quite seem to make his feet move. He's rooted, not far from the door, staring with a pained grimace.]
no subject
In his mind, Pokey's own screaming is the quietest.
He kicks the beanbag chair again and again, using the kicks to punctuate his words.]
How am I supposed to save you? I can't even find you and in the end you....you saved me!
And it's always me in the end! It's always m-me!
[His kicks start to decrease in their, honestly, rather meek ferocity. Pokey grits his teeth, entire face clenching tight as he closes his eyes in an attempt to keep the tears from coming.
It didn't work.]
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It should've been me.
[And he just goes on like that, apologizing to voices only he can hear.]
no subject
What was wrong with this version of his brother? Saving someone? Apologies? This wasn't Porky. If it's a trick? Like it has to be? Oh, so what if it's a trick? Who is he even tricking? He has to do something. He can't just stand here and watch this and he can't just leave.]
...hey.
[Picky steps forward awkwardly, not entirely certain what that something he should be doing actually is.]
Hey. Pokey. That bean bag didn't do anything to you. T... take it easy, okay?
no subject
Picky's voice, this grown up Picky's voice, melds and rides along with the voice of his brother in Mayfield. His little brother. His actual brother. And while this Picky sounds confused, and hesitant...the Picky he knows. The Picky he knows is shouting. In pain, and fear, and confusion.
And in despair that his big brother has left him again.
Pokey just stares at the older Picky in front of him. And then tries to push out against him.]
Get away from me! Get away!
You don't tell me what to do, got it? You don't even know what's going on here!
no subject
No! I'm not leaving!
[He's stood up to you before, big brother, and he'll do it again.]
And how... how am I supposed to know what's going on if you won't really tell me what's going on! Maybe I would care if I knew, d'you think of that? Huh?!
[He's not shoving back, though. His intent is to hold ground and defend himself.]
no subject
Pokey opens his mouth again and again and each time no words can come out. He wants to say something yet doesn't know what it is. If Pokey started talking right now he realizes he wouldn't be able to stop himself. He would try and start from the beginning of it all, from when he met Giygas to Mayfield to here, and he wouldn't be able to stop unless Picky stopped him. And he just can't do that right now. He just can't.
The voices won't stop. Won't quit crying in pain and betrayal and desperation and everything being done to them he can hear with such clarity. And Pokey can do nothing to stop it.
He keeps looking up at Picky. And then?
It just becomes too much for him. Pokey's face crumbles entirely as tears begin to fill his eyes. Burying his head in his arm, Pokey cries. He just cries, trying to stifle the sobbing with his arm and just hoping the Picky in front of him will just be disgusted and leave him alone.]
no subject
Picky would like to say that he swept in and somehow fixed the whole horrible mess. But how the hell do you fix something like this? He had no idea. He wasn't even sure what it was that he was fixing, or that Pokey even deserved to have whatever it was that was wrong fixed.]
Hey...
[It's just a hoarse whisper. God, why was he feeling so choked up? He shouldn't still care. He shouldn't.]
Hey... here.
[Picky had an awful lot of clean tissues in his jacket pockets. Having fished a few out, he offers them to Pokey. And at the same time he tries to come around alongside him, and rest a hand on his shoulder, and get him walking in the direction of one of the couches.
It's what a good big brother ought to do. Maybe what he had to do, here, was be a good big brother.]
no subject
I'm fine. I'm fine. I-
[He's just cracking. All Pokey can think of is how he must be going crazy. This isn't the normal symptoms of a flu for God's sake. There's something wrong with him or the Tower is playing some kind of trick.
Or both. Probably both.]
I just. Never mind.
How are you feeling?
[Have you gotten sick too. He needs to know. And he'd much rather talk about you, or anything, than about himself at the moment. Even if it is one of the weakest conversational passes he could have come up with.]
no subject
You're... kind of going crazy. That's not okay, okay?
[Hey, Picky just calls it like he sees it.
Then he's taken aback by the question.]
Uhh...
[The sniffle he gives may be a giveaway. His nose is pretty red and irritated, too. Picky's got the flu, but at least he's up and walking around.]
I guess I caught what everyone else's got. I'm fine.
[Why... is Pokey even asking this? It is such a weak conversational pass. But Picky's just dense enough to follow it.]
no subject
Yeah. Whatever.
....Keep a watch on it. It starts out as a normal flu and then...seems to have different effects, depending on who has it.
no subject
[Now he's really taken aback. For Pokey has just pointed out something that's scaring him. He actually shuffle-steps slightly away. Which is a completely useless gesture, he's already sick... but still!]
Woah, woah, no way, I don't want the crazy flu. I don't even want the regular flu!
no subject
Not much choice is there, now is it?
...Some people seem to just be getting sick. Maybe you'll get lucky and that's all you'll get.
Otherwise...know one guy has heard music just playing constantly. A few others hear voices, or time skips for them. I hear-
[He stops. Dammit. He doesn't want to talk about this.]
Just remember if you do experience something, it isn't real. It's the Tower trying to mess with you. Understand?
no subject
Yeah, okay. Guess so...
[Hearing about the kinds of crazy that people can go is... interesting? Maybe that's not quite the right word. He's eager to listen, though.]
And you hear...?
[Something terrible. Something he feels he has to apologize to. Something he wants to stop.]
You'd better remember that too, then.
no subject
Shut up.
[And with that Pokey will try and push past Picky in an attempt to leave.]
See ya later I guess.
no subject
[He lets Pokey shove on past. Maybe there's not much more to say. And he's not trying to kick the hell out of a beanbag chair anymore, so... victory?
He huffs goes to pick up the controller that had been tossed away, casting a brief glance back at Pokey.]
Yeah. I guess.