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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